#they even got rid of my freckles which made my blood boil at the time

[underground-manticore]

Thinking about how I don’t get to look back fondly on my high school photos like my parents and grandparents because my school decided to photoshop them

[beanie-beebo]

Call for Action

Series Summary: You finally get your dream job, but it comes with a cost.

Warnings: Description of panic attack

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Over the next few days at work, Jared tailed you and Jensen like a schoolgirl. Asking you both for details of the date and how things were moving for the both of you. Not that you minded of course, at least at first. After a while though, it was a little annoying.

When he approached you on the fourth day in between sets, you couldn't hold back your annoyance.

"I just can't seem to get rid of you, can I?" You asked.

"Nope! As long as you're with Jensen, you're stuck with me." Jared said with a knowing smile.

"Awesome." You said, causing Jared to burst out laughing.

"Thought I heard your annoying voice over here." Jensen teased. "What's up guys?"

"Do you even have to ask that one?" You asked.

"You're right, I probably don't." Jensen said. "So, are we all game for hanging out in my trailer later on?"

"What for?" You asked.

"Just to hang and watch the show. Sometimes Jared and I will surprise the fans and livetweet, it's kinda fun!" Jensen said.

"Uh yeah sure." You said.

"Definitely count me in!" Jared said, elbowing Jensen.

"Dude shut up already!" Jensen said.

The exchange caused you to giggle; it wasn't hard to tell that the two of them had been close for a while. They reminded you of one of your few friends back home, Sue. She would always tease you every chance you got, and you loved her dearly. You occasionally talked with her now and again, but had grown more distant due to your deteriorating mental state. You wondered if you should try calling her up this week, just to shoot the breeze.

---------

Around 10 o'clock that evening before your late night shoot, you had made your way to Jensen's trailer. You took in the cool night air with a deep breath, feeling small jitters all over again. Somehow, you were more nervous to hang out with both guys alone, than you were with just Jensen. It could have been the fact that Jared's essence was slightly intimidating, despite how outgoing he was.

Despite how he was acting around you and Jensen, you were growing to like having him around. Even though at times he intimidated you, he was mostly like a giant moose. He was always flopping his giant legs everywhere, and he tended to be the life of the party. You guessed his nickname on the show had something to do with that, although you had no idea.

You knocked on Jensen's trailer door and waited until he opened it up. He smiled and let you right in, the light pouring in from inside. The TV filled a moderate hum throughout the decently sized space; Jared was sitting on the long L-shaped couch on his phone. He looked up when he saw you walk in and grinned genuinely.

"'Bout time you showed up!" He said.

"Sorry, had to wrap up the last scene. It's not like I have a job or anything." You said with a light smile.

Jared stuck out his tongue at you and glanced back at Jensen, who was making his way to sit on the couch.

"He really likes you, you know." He whispered.

"Oh wow Jared, I couldn't tell." You responded snarkily.

You paused for a moment and reflected on what he said. You figured he liked you, or he wouldn't have asked you on a date. But Jensen liked you, maybe even more than you knew.

"Alright fellers, let's settle down and watch some Supernatural. Huh?" Jensen asked, rubbing his hands together.

You smiled at his dorky Southern drawl and nodded, still awkwardly standing by the couch. You were unsure if you were allowed to sit on the couch, seeing it was all white and definitely not cheap.

"Here, sit." Jensen said, ushering a hand to the couch.

You quietly followed his request, sitting right next to Jared. Jensen sat down next to you, sandwiching you in between them. It made you feel pressured and slightly awkward for some reason, so you took a deep breath. You were instantly hit with both of their colognes, which was oddly comforting. Just as you were thinking of another distraction, the program began.

"You know, I don't even think I was working here yet when this episode was being made." You commented.

"Makes sense. Usually post production takes a few months." Jared said, sipping lightly on his alcoholic drink.

Even though you had practically watched at least an episode unfold already, it was all together different watching it on screen. It made you realize how truly special your job was.

Throughout the episode you watched as the two of them live tweeted certain scenes, teasing each other and poking fun at the episode in general. You followed along with both what was on the TV and your phone in amusement. It was like a live commentary, only better. The fans are what made it even more fun with their own comments. There was so much freaking out and animosity between everyone. There were even a few times when you commented with your personal twitter, just to add to the chaos.

No one knew you yet, but it was just how you had wanted it to be. Sitting in between two friends and watching everything unfold from the comfort of your own little bubble.

By the time the episode had ended, you had begun to grow tired from sitting for too long. You let out a quiet yawn and leaned further into the couch, letting it swaddle you.

Jensen looked over at you upon hearing you yawn.

"You look beat, want to take a nap?" He asked.

You looked at him like he had grown a second head. "Jensen, we have to work in a few hours."

"Doesn't mean you can't catch some shut eye before then." He said with a shrug.

You hummed. "Good point. I'll go back to my car then, so you two can finish doing what you have to."

Just as you made a move to get up Jensen caught your arm, sending tingles up to your shoulders.

"No, stay. More time to sleep instead of walking back and forth, right?" Jensen said, smiling sheepishly.

Jared looked between the two of you and made a scene of getting up from his position on the couch.

"I'll take this as my cue to leave." He said, groaning as he got up. "Have fun you two."

"Shut up." Both you and Jensen chimed.

On his way out from the front hallway, you heard Jared cackle causing you to roll your eyes playfully. You looked over to Jensen and instantly began to blush upon realizing the two of you were finally alone together. Jensen had apparently caught on as the blood rushed to the tips of his ears.

"Your choice, do you want to lay here or in my bed?" Jensen asked.

Your stomach flipped at the thought of being in his room. With a surge of confidence, you decided to take the second option. You had needed some quality rest, after all.

Jensen led you to the trailer's decently sized bedroom before heading briefly to the bathroom to change. While he was in there, you sat down on the bed and took a glance around the room.

The bedroom was mostly bare except for a few pictures staggered on the nightstand. They seemed to be of his family, all with smiling faces. You smiled; a family man, how perfect.

Not even a few moments later, Jensen emerged from the bathroom clad in pajamas. You couldn't help your lingering eyes from the bulge in his boxers; you gulped hungrily. Jensen noticed your reaction and smirked.

"Like what you see sweetheart?" He teased.

"Um." You paused, trying to recollect your thoughts. "Sorry, just tired. Guess it's time to hit the hay."

Jensen chuckled. "Sure..”

He pulled up the comforter and got underneath beside you. You blushed and looked away for a second, not used to the close contact.

“This is okay, right?” Jensen asked, not fully settling himself in just yet.

“Oh, uh.. Yeah. We’re dating, right? So.. yeah.” You stumbled.

He smiled and pecked your cheek, taking you by surprise.

“See you in a few hours, sweetheart.” He said before turning away from you.

You knew it was too soon, but you had just realized how much you had craved human contact. You just wanted to be in his arms, held until you fell asleep. But you had just met, and you didn’t want to scare him off by being too needy. You resisted the urge to ask him for the favor and turned away from him; it wasn’t long before you succumbed to a well needed rest.

-------

Your eyes slowly opened to unfamiliar surroundings, causing you to stiffen in fear. You had no idea where you were or how you had got there, and your inner system was slowly boiling into panic. You were just about to get out of whose bed you were in before you turned your head to a familiar face, Jensen. Everything slowly came back and you exhaled. Thankfully, Jensen had slept through your mini freakout and remained undisturbed. While he slept, you took a moment to observe his features.

For once Jensen had looked relaxed, cute even. His few wrinkles were smoothed out, especially around his eyes. His freckles and dark circles were more prominent since he had removed his makeup. If you had the time, you would count and kiss every one of them.

Speaking of time.. You turned over and flipped your phone rightside up, almost gasping when you saw it was close to when you had to be called onto location. Without too much consideration, you nudged Jensen probably a little too roughly until he began to wake up. He deeply inhaled and rubbed at his likely crusty eyes.

“Ugh, what time is it?” He asked, combing through his hair absently.

“Time to get up and head to set, that’s what time it is.” You said, smiling at Jensen’s adorable ‘I just woke up’ face. “Sorry I had to wake you.”

You barely held back a chuckle and made your way over to the standing mirror in his room. After fixing a few strands of hair and deciding you looked good enough, you turned around to Jensen looking at you dopily.

“What? You just gonna sit there or are you gonna get ready?” You asked, smiling widely.

“You’re beautiful.” Jensen said breathily.

“Huh?”

“I said,” Jensen paused and made his way over to you. “You’re beautiful.”

Here the two of you were again, inches apart with a magnetic force seemingly pulling you together. He looked down at your lips, you stared at his. The force was even stronger now, neither of you being able to resist it. Slowly you were closer and closer until your lips softly locked as one.

It had been a while since you had kissed anyone, so you were playing on unsure grounds. But Jensen held and guided you throughout the whole process. It was like learning to walk again, only more exciting and rewarding. He was gentle; a whisper in your ear. Your insides lit up like the fourth of july; you had missed feeling so alive.

After a few moments he broke the kiss and gazed into your (y/ec) eyes, not once looking away. Staring into his eyes, all you could see was love. You smiled warmly and pecked his lips before grabbing your phone off the nightstand.

“As much as I would love to continue more of.. this, we are needed on set in about twenty minutes.” You said, collecting your things.

Jensen seemed completely dumbstruck for a moment before visibly shaking it off. “Good point. Later?”

“Definitely.”

[curiousscientistkae]

oh yeah since I have new peeps here is a rundown of myshe ra kiddos +finally adding some i never talked about. Ages are just to show gaps between kids, they are not "canon". Under the cut stuff. I uh....ramble

Glimmadora:

Harper-20, eldest daughter/child. Born Feb 1st. She/Her, Demi-Bi. Heir to Brightmoon, gets called 'AJ' (Adora Jr) a lot by Glimmer since she looks and acts a lot like Adora. Has shoulder length two toned blonde hair (top half light like She-ra, bottom darker like Adora) with sparkles at the edns, sparkling purple eyes shaped like Adora's, tan skin like Glimmer, glasses, sometimes wears a hearing aid in her right ear. Has cream/purple wing markings on her back that later will turn into feathery cream wings with purple tips.

Sound based powers (cause my brain was like light and sound) but still can create light stuff they just make sounds also. Also can turn invisible. Being unable to control the powers as a toddler, she lost her hearing in her right ear. Everyone in the family knows sign language.

Smart af, witty, as the eldest of all the kids can be protective to a fault, anxious, wants to not fuck up and be a great queen. Will overwork herself and is a perfectionist, though can be forgetful. Is a great shoulder to lean on/be listened to.

Grows to 6' (she got them angella genes (who is alive in this au, not micah) and athletic build like Adora. Named to match the 'er' at Glimmer's name, her sound powers, and the Lyra constellation. Glimmer was the one to have her.

Mira-13, youngest daughter eldest twin. Born July 9th. She/Her, Lesbian, about 5 mins older than Micah. Powerless Princess. Got her great aunt and grandpa's hair color, pale skin (same as Adora), ice blue eyes shaped like Adora's, freckles on face. Usually has hair in ponytail held up by that butterfly pin from princess prom. Also almost always has a red cloak around her. Called 'Mimi'

Born with no magic and not connected to the moonstone (long story short in my au, First Ones cannot use magic without help or it will kill them. Mira got the most FO genes thus she cannot use magic. Whole ass idea i need to explore). Tries to make up for it with fighting skills. While she doesn't show it a lot, she hates the fact she is powerless and will not grow wings either.

Clever, rebellious, loves to explore. Can have a temper to her, wears her heart on her sleeve. Natural born leader. Butts heads with her mothers the most and has run away a few times (once for a very very long time heh). At the end of the day, she doesn't want to be in the shadow of anyone/wants to make her own mark.

Grows to 5'6", chubby build like Glimmer. Named to match the 'ra' in Adora's name and the 'Mi' in Micah's name. OG she was going to have healing powers before I got rid of that so it was also sort for Miracles. 'Mira' is a star, one that is an actual shooting star. Adora was the one to have her

Micah-13, youngest child only son. Born July 9th. He/Him and They/Them. Demi-Boy. Bi, about 5 mins younger than Mira. Has spell powers. Messy, chin length dark purple hair (the same shade as the bottom half of Glimmer's hair), sky blue eyes with sparkles and shaped like Glimmer's, freckles on face. Light tan skin (between his sisters). Has purple wing markings on back and later will get purple feathered wings. Called MJ (Micah Jr) or Mickey

Like his grandfather, great aunt, and Ma before him, he can use spells. Struggles with it but eventually learns he is best at defensive ones. They look up to many of the guards in the castle and wants to be one when he grows up.

Quiet, soft spoken, nervous boy. Def keeps his twin sister from doing something totally stupid. Trusting, sometimes too much, can hold grudges if wronged badly. Tries to see the best in others. Named to honor his grandfather, they want to live up to them and be a great sorcerer

Grows to 5'11, more avg/a bit stocky build. Named to match the 'Mi' with Mira and as Micah is dead in this still (i made them a long time ago) after him. Adora was the one to have them.

Scorpia's Kid

Onca-13, only child of Scorpia. Born May 4th. They/Them. Non-binary Pan. Magicat/Scorpion. OG a scorptra kid but Catra no longer with Scorpia. Has medium length snow white hair, usually in a small pony tail, light brown skin, amber eyes (only iris has the color not the whole eye). Cat fangs and white cat tail. Has those scorpion shouler pads and venom their fangs (not as strong as their mother's) and blue blood. No fur. Called 'Onc' or by Scorpia her 'Lil' Kitling'

Has electrical powers like Scorpia. Venom will only make the part they bite numb, does not fully knock anyone out. Is quick on their feet.

Laid back, quick to adapt, resting bitch face, can be a little lazy, sometimes acts without thinking, and easily distracted. Before growth spurt, they were small and grew a hatred of being seen as always needing help. Just a gentle giant really.

Grows to 6'3, strong build like Scorpia. Named after the latin species name of the Jaguar.

(i so need to work and the following kids more rip)

Bowfuma

Robin-18, eldest son/child of Bow and Perfuma. Born March 20th, He/Him. Gay. Dark brown skin, dark brown, short hair, dark brown eyes. Wears glasses. Has plant powers. Called Robby. Heir to Plumeria.

Plant powers are a WIP kind of, might be like Perfuma or a little dif but is connected to the Runestone. Knows some archery but prefers a crossbow.

Self assured, he knows who he is and what he wants to do, fair-takes both sides of an argument into account. Is the least likely to cause shit. Can be messy and hates when his things are moved. Procrastinator.

Grows to 6', lean build. Named after both Robin Hood, the archer, and the bird

Eliza-16, only daughter. Born Sept 15th, She/Her, Aro/Ace. Dark brown skin, dark brown hair in two braids, dark brown eyes, freckles. Needs glasses but wears contacts. Powers allows her to talk to animals. Called 'Liza'.

Also connected to the runestone, Eliza and talk to animals. She actually started to talk to them before speaking to her parents. When she talks to them, to others it sounds like she is making the animal sounds.

Passionate and loves animals. While her cousin Mira puts her energy into trouble, she puts it into being outside and building things or helping her mom and dad. Hates being stuck inside. Can be whimsical. Loves to be challenged and doesn't back down from stuff, even when maybe she should. Can be a bit dense.

Grows to 5'8", lean build. Named after Eliza Thornberry.

Ash-15, youngest of their siblings. Born Nov 23rd. He/She/They genderfluid. No real label-uses queer. Medium brown skin, medium length, wavy blonde hair, dark brown eyes. Freckles. Has no powers but does not mind it at all.

Unlike his younger cousin, Mira, Ash does not care they do not have powers or are not next in line for the thorn. They are happy to just learn from their father or others. Kind of a jack of all trades.

Has a big heart and a love for all life. Once she is set on something, she sees it through to the end. Very observant of the world and what goes on in it. Can be impatient and doesn’t always take things seriously. Jokes way to often. Free-spirit

Grows to 5'10", thin build like his mom. Named after the type of tree which you could use to make a bow.

Seamista

Newt-18, oldest and only son of Sea Hawk and Mermista. Born Dec 11th, Trans Man He/Him, Pan ace. Dark brown skin, dark brown eyes, short blue hair. Has no runestone powers but can still turn into a merman when in the water.

Newt was next in line for the throne but stepped down, not liking the idea of being a king. He likes to spend time at the beach, swimming, and enjoying being in the sun. Usually keeps his sisters from killing each other.

Hard worker, does not usually slack off, does hate being in the spotlight. Humble. Good at reading emotions. Can lose track of time easily. Has his mother's dry sense of humor. Will faint at the sight of blood

Grows to 5'7", build like Sea Hawk. Named for the salamander that is associate with fire. And with it being an amphibian and transitioning from one stage to another, kind of works there also.

Sandra-15, oldest daughter. Born Mar 7th, She/Her, Pan. Medium brown skin, brown eyes, dark long brown curly hair. Has water based powers (still a WIP whoops). Can turn into a mermaid when in the water.

After her brother stepped down, she is now the heir to her kingdom. Still working a bit on her powers but is connected to the runestone. FIGHTS with her sister all the time.

Very much a girly girl, loves pink, skirts, sparkles, all that jazz. Takes her role as princess seriously. Dutiful and punctual. Hates messes, likes things to be neat. Does not like things randomly being dropped on her.

Grows to 5'8", Mermista's body build. Nickname is Sandy and is called that the most. Named cause yeah....sandy.

Yamuna-12, youngest child/daughter. Born Apr 13th, She/Her, Greyromo/sexual Lesbian. Long blue hair though will dye it many colors, usually orange, light brown skin, brown eyes. Water powers. Cannot fully turn into a mermaid when in the water, just gets webbing and gills.

She can control the temperature of the water around her, freezing it or boiling it at will. Is a great sailor

Pure Sea Hawk child, pretty much his clone. Wild, hyper, will set shit on fire. Takes pride in everything she does. Will blurt out things without thinking and can be pushy. Doesn't like to be told to do things. Zero filter.

Grows to 5'2", small body build. Named after one of the largest rivers in India.

(these guys are VERY WIP so not much to them)

Ada-Entrapta child, on the younger end. Adopted, trans woman, het. Does love robots and what not, helps their mom out a lot. Probably can run on little sleep and still be fine. Name was given to me by my good friend Dorku named after Ada Lovelace, a mathematician and first computer programmer. Very close with Onca

Luka and Felix-Catra's sons, adopted. Both magicats. Catra moves away from everyone and wouldnt really come into focus until much much later when Mira runs off. Luka and Felix idk ages yet but are only a year apart in age. Luka means light (he is one of Catra's lights now) and Felix is a cartoon cat. Would become close friends with Mira later on

(im too lazy to proof lmao and free to ask questions or change stuff up lmao god)

[rebsrams]

Crumble (Ethan x F!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: NSFW/18+, swear words

Summary: She has a date. It’s not with Ethan. Yet somehow she happens to show up at his doorstep, that same night.)

Word count: 2,468 (sorry!)

Author’s notes: My first time ever writing smut. Don’t really know what came out, actually. Like a lot of smut but with that touch of fluffiness in the end. Also, I’m not a native speaker so please report any mistake, I’m here to learn!

Song: Crumble by Jeremiah Daly

The air in his apartment was thick with resentment, disappointment and a bit of disbelief.

Just knowing her out with some other moron made the blood boil in his veins so hard that he could feel the heat radiate under his skin.

He could clearly see her, her legs crossed, portions of her firm thigh showing up further and further as she laughed at the asshole’s jokes, causing the hem of her skirt to slightly roll up.

He saw the asshole’s filthy hand casually resting on her thigh, on her shoulder or caressing her cheek.

Trying to think about anything else, his fists clenched involuntarily.

His mind, however, reluctantly perched on the color of her eyes, her hair in the sunlight, her plump, freckled lips all over him. Him, and only him. Anyone else was just a waste of time, for both of them.

The very thought of it stirred his soul to its very foundations, making him think and feel things that he should definitely not think and feel about an intern.

A sudden urge began to show up, which he promptly had to cast out with a cold shower and a glassful of his newly opened scotch whisky.

Half an hour later he found himself once again laid on his sofa, face facing the white ceiling and counting hours until his next shift, when a timid bang on the door awakened him from his unpleasant reverie.

Then he found her, dangerously glaring in her garish green dress, which was perfectly matching her ivory complexion while divinely exposing her décolleté and emphasizing the morbid curve of her hipbone.

He couldn’t help but taking her in, staring at her and gulping not so lightly at the sight.

“Rookie.”

“Hi.”

She gave him an uncertain smile, as if she was badly regretting the decision that brought her in front of him, whatever the hell that was.

“I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here, I... G’night, Ethan. See you at work.”

She literally blurted out the words, her face becoming one with her ginger hair.

He could clearly see that awareness was dawning on her, the awareness of not having a single logical reason to be there, on a Saturday night, while a random guy, in all likelihood questionably dressed, was probably waiting for her somewhere else.

Feeling bold enough, Ethan decided to let go of the rules of logic for once in his life and took her wrist before she could step away aiming for the elevator.

“Rebecca, what happened?” he needed a moment to be able to pronounce the next sentence.

“Did he hurt you?” he let out, his voice almost a whisper.

She shook her head, lowering her gaze, and he immediately let out a sigh of relief.

First of all she was fine, and second (if he had to be completely frank with himself), he was a little too out of practice to smack a random douchebag’s nose without any inch of hesitation.

His eyes turned concerned, impatient and, if he had to say, a bit curious to learn the real reason she found herself at his doorstep in such a particular occasion.

He didn’t need to ask further questions  because she explained the situation in such earnestness that made her look absolutely endearing to his eyes, making him forget entirely that he was mentally cursing her for the sweet lines of her body and her bitchy attitude just a handful of minutes before.

“I left. I just couldn’t and, I don’t know, I felt like you needed to know this. I really don’t know what came over me, actually. That’s all. I think I need to go to bed right now.”

He couldn’t help himself from taking those words as a clearly invitation, moving a step forward and firmly grabbing her waist with both hands, his face just a breath away from hers.

“Yours…” he breathed “or mine?”

The spark was ignited.

In a split second their lips came crushing over one another, entangling themselves in a complete mess of ragged breaths and exploring tongues.

They kissed eagerly, urgently, and stopped only to regain some air and not suffocate in their almost strangling passion.

She clumsily shoved her hands under his already loosened shirt, teasing and scanning every inch of his skin, occasionally digging her red nails into his flesh.

The low and growled moans that escaped his mouth at the contact shook her at her very core, waves of warmth spreading across her body.

Soon enough, the door slammed behind them and she found herself pinned to the closest wall, medicine books, novels and fishing magazines tumbling down the bookcase.

His hands easily found their way to the zip of her sparkling dress, now laying on the shiny cedar parquet.

His fingers dug as deep as they could in the flesh of her ass cheeks as he lift her up, clinging to her as if his whole existence depended on it.

She kept her arms wrapped around his neck, tracing with the way from his collarbone up to his earlobe with heated kisses, biting the latter and making him moan loudly.

She then proceed to suck the tender spot just under it, soothing it with her tongue immediately after.

An allegory of what their relationship was.

Hurting each other but being the only one capable of soothing each other’s pain.

“Rebecca,” he groaned “what is it that you do to me?”

She got on her feet and grabbed boldly the protruding bulge now visible through the tight fabric of his pants, which he felt rather uncomfortable.

“You tell me, Dr. Ramsey.”

Letting himself escape a moan, he hastily got back to his mouth’s ministrations on hers, while his hand slipped between her thighs, caressing the tender spots agonizingly slow.

“Ethan…” she begged, thrusting her hips in response.

He once again swooped her off her feet, kissing her thoroughly while walking to reach his wide double bed.

They tumbled on it quite unceremoniously, hands in each other’s hair, trying to come even closer than they already were.

Her hands made their way to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them all and letting the item of clothing fall off his shoulders and on the floor.

His hands swiftly reached for her underwear instead, sliding  the black silky garment down her milky thighs, lightly tickling her already sensitive skin.

And instant and powerful surge of hassle shook him at the thought of her wearing that kind of panties while going out with some kind of haphazard jerk, but then he realized he was the one laying in bed next to her. The bed of his apartment, where she practically ran to when the evening hadn’t even taken off.

“Rebecca,” Ethan breathed between open mouthed kisses “spread your legs for me. I want to watch you.”

She gulped at that words, doing as told but never breaking eye contact with him, blue in blue.

“God Almighty,” he moaned in satisfaction, taking in the view in front of him “you’re so wet for me already. So amazingly wet, Becca”

With that words his fingers ran up her inner thigh, unable to contain themselves, and began to part her folds in light but firm, little circles, while he was losing himself in the sound of her moans muffled again his shoulder and the feeling of her sex wrapping around him, while he entered her with the first finger in a single, swift movement.

“Ethan…”

He could feel that she was trying her best not to scream his name out loud, keeping her eyes shut and her head tilted back as a sign of surrender.

“Becca, honey, I want to hear you” Ethan said, sliding another finger inside of her and making her back arch and her voice increase significantly.

“Look at me” he whispered on her lips, while the pleasure was unsteadily building inside of her at the slight curling of his fingers.

She opened her blue green orbits and looked at him through heavy lids, gasping loudly when his thumb find the way to her clit, circling and nudging it gently.

He then began to worship every inch of her upper body with his mouth, spreading wet kisses all over the line of her neck, her collarbone and down to her breasts and nipples, biting carefully through the thin lacy fabric of her bra.

Getting rid of the latter rather skillfully with just one hand, maybe making her wonder how many times did he do such a thing recently, his torso finally met hers without any barriers and almost melted with it, the feeling ethereal.

He progressively increased the pace of his hand on her, loud moans escaping from both mouths. His fingers seemed like dancing inside her cavity, knowing every single step of the way to her disarming climax.

Just then, the roughness of his stub brushed against the smoothness of her  inner thighs in the sweetest of contrasts and his supple tongue reached inside of her, his fingers still aiming for the spot that was slowly driving her to completion in sure, frantic movements.

“Come for me, Rebs. I need you to do this for me.”

Soon enough, everything that kept her aware of some kind of existence of the outside world shattered around her, the fierceness of her orgasm claiming her senses completely.

He looked up at her, ocean eyes sparkling with gratification, watching her chest rise and lower while she was trying to normalize her breath with her eyes kept almost stoically on the ceiling.

Usually, in moments like this she liked to keep her hands tangled in his hair, always complaining about him cutting them every month.

Ethan’s gaze immediately turned concerned at the wide gap between the two situations.

“What is it?” he asked, trying to hide that little sting of fear in his voice for what he was going to ask next.

“Do you regret this? I’m sure that prick is already having fun spending his night elsewhere, if this is what’s troubling you.”

It took an unfair amount of effort from Ethan to sound as much disinterested as possible, but the truth was he was so interested that he could even let himself go and cry at her affirmative answer, such was the emotional impact that certain moment was having on him.

“Of course not, Ethan.”

Once again, he had to put down the urge to breathe a sigh of relief at her words, though he couldn’t help but wonder what was really troubling that amazingly cumbersome mind of hers.

He didn’t have to speak, because the quizzical look in his eyes drew out all the explanation he needed from her.

“You know I don’t. How could I? It’s just that every time you hold me, every time you keep me in check like this I… I feel like I’m going to crumble in your hands, sooner or later, and that I will not be able to put all the pieces back. I feel like I’m running at full speed to self-destruction because every damn time that we hook up or make love or simply dart our eyes at each other through the corridors, you could regret everything and shut me out again after all the struggle I’ve been through to finally deal with it once. So no, I don’t regret a thing and I never will. But maybe you do and the thought of it makes my heart clench every time.”

By the end of her speech, her eyes were reddened and glistening with tears that threatened to fall at any time, while he just gaped for a second before gathering the nerve to speak.

“I’m not going to regret this, Rebecca.”

He finally managed to say, and he meant it so profoundly that his voice almost broke.

“Then show me”

She couldn’t finish the sentence that his lips were once again all over her, his teeth occasionally scraping sensitive portions of skin.

She kissed his neck eagerly, wanting more, more than she had that night and more than she ever had with him.

She wanted his soul, completely, without restraints or the fear that he could suddenly get cold feet and walk away. She wanted him whole.

“Ethan,” she breathed out, limbs aching to stay the closest she could to him, “I want you.”

She straddled him in a neat movement, pressing herself against the bulge still inside his pants while trying to get him out of them by clumsily loosen his belt.

He then lift her up impatiently, placing her on the bed as gently as he could given the urgency of the situation, and freed himself from the torture that his trousers and underwear were since the moment she showed up at his apartment in that damn golden dress, hugging her like a second skin.

A few moments later he was already placing himself at her entrance, thick and hard with the most ardent desire he had ever felt in his whole life, and scanning her face for some kind of sign to go on.

She nodded firmly and he entered her slowly, inch by inch, savoring the bliss that the feeling was bringing to the both of them.

After a few, slow thrusts, he began to increase his pace more and more, letting himself escape a nearly infinite number of low groans while she was repeatedly calling his name, as if to have some kind of guarantee that he was not going to vanish in her arms.

She began to feel once again her muscles clench around him and the tidal wave of pleasure reaching for her, drawing out cursing words from Ethan’s mouth.

“Fuck, Rebecca, I’m close,” he somewhat managed to say, panting heavily and occasionally moaning her name through her coconut scented hair.

Suddenly he lifted both of her legs over his shoulders for a different angle, thrusting deeper than ever and reaching the spot that made her finally crush down, crying out in pure delight.

He followed immediately after, hips rocking frantically while gripping at her hipbones, probably hard enough to bruise her.

They remained intertwined for what felt like a fragment of infinite, finally collapsing into each other’s arms with their eyes half shut from the exhaustion.

She kissed her forehead while he watched her drift into sleep, finally letting go of the brake that had her clutched to the conviction that he could ever regret something like this.

Things weren’t easy and they still couldn’t come out of the closet, not yet at least.

But there she was, safely wrapped in his arms and snoring lightly, making her the most endearing little thing he had ever seen.

The world around them could have crumbled down, but she would have always been intact as long as she was with him.

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

Told you the end was quite cheesy, I guess it’s kind of my trade mark ✨

[amethystdarkwolf]

Scarred

AU: Human/Highschool

Ship: Analogical

{Background Royality}

Prompt{s}: "Please don't be upset with me." "I care about you too much."

Requested by:×

Tw: Self-harm {Cutting/intentionally getting burned/bruised} {Therefore blood}

F/A/S: Flangst

POV: 3rd

[@apologieslogan ]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's interesting how many subtle signs you can miss.

"Mornin' Virgil!!" Patton said enthusiastically. Patton was slightly shorter than Virgil, a lot chubbier, and very, very faint freckles. Virgil flinched a bit at the loudness of his friends voice. "Hey, Pat." He said, his voice still having that grogginess as if he just woke up, which technically he did.

"How was your weekend?" He asked. Virgil shrugged. "Decent, I just pretty much slept and was on Tumblr, as always." He said. Patton pouted "You could've come to Ro's party..." "I.... Um.... Eh... You know how I am with social stuff..." Virgil muttered. "Yeah, but it wasn't that many people...." Patton said before shrugging and switching topics.

The two were talking, mainly Patton gushing about how amazing Roman, his boyfriend, is, while Virgil just listened his mind wandering every once in awhile wondering where his boyfriend, Logan, was. "Roman!!" He was snapped out of his thoughts as Patton yelled rushing over to the entrance of the school, where Roman had just walked through the door.

Roman was incredibly well built, tall, tan and had a hint of a posh sort of accent. Patton, being clingy was already trying to stand up on his toes to kiss him. While Roman just chuckled and picked him up, allowing him to do so. Virgil smiled a bit at the couple before a pit in his stomach began to take form. Logan normally arrived before Roman... Where was he?

He pulled out his phone and sent that exact question to Logan. He only had to wait a few moments for a response, which surprised him even more, Logan normally takes a bit longer to reply, but Virgil's not complaining right now. "I'm on my way, I was running late this morning, my apologies." That let Virgil's anxiety calm down enough for him to go over and start talking to Roman and Patton so he wasn't just sitting on the stairs by himself.

Logan eventually did join them. "Hello, sorry I'm late." He said as he speed-walked over to them. "Hey, Lo- what happened to your arm?" Patton asked as he glanced at Logan's right forearm which was almost entirely wrapped in gauze. Virgil's eyes widened, his mind immediately thinking the worst thing.

"Oh. That. I was rushing while trying to make something, and I was a little to careless with a pot of boiling water." Logan explained after clearing his throat. Virgil rolled his eyes, deciding to accept his story, since Logan would have no reason to lie. "Nerd, you gotta be careful." Logan looked over at his boyfriend. "Yes, I'm aware of that now." He said with feigned annoyance.

Virgil smiled, hugging onto Logan's non-injured arm. "Virgil you cannot stay attached to my arm, we must get to class. The tardy bell rings in five minutes." Logan said, trying to pull away. "So? We have the same class..." Virgil jokingly whined. "Exactly... And it's at the other end of the school.... So we have to leave." Logan said, he managed to pull his arm from Virgil's grip only to immediately hold onto his hand afterwards.

"Is this an adequate compromise?" He asked. Virgil faked being in thought before nodded "Yeah I guess." The two traded simple smiles as they said goodbye to Patton and Roman and walked to their class.

At lunch that day, Virgil sat with Patton and Roman... Noting that, Logan was late... Again, unlike him. The same feeling of worry began to bubble up in his stomach, catch in his throat and make him slightly shake as he began to overthink. "Virge... Lo's okay, you saw him this morning remember?" Patton said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Virgil nodded "But-" "Sorry for being late, again." Logan said as he rushed over to their table, catching Virgil's attention and making him look up from the table. "Ya scared me." He said, his voice a lot more joking and cheerful esc than he felt, but he was easily calmed down after that due to Logan explaining he was asking about an assignment... With slight hesitation...

Virgil seemed to not take note of said hesitation.

The rest of the day was fairly normal for the two couples, the one overly PDA couple paying more attention to each other than the other two, but Logan and Virgil didn't mind, they were perfectly fine being ignored as long as they weren't ignored by each other.

The weeks carried on, only Logan seemed to have fallen into a new schedule, he was later to most of their normal meet ups at school almost every day, the gauze around his forearm never got taken off even though he said it wasn't that bad of a burn when he explained it...

One day, he showed up with more gauze, this time wrapped around his left arm... He explained that the same thing had happened, only this time it was due to him multitasking, not rushing. Patton and Roman bought it, but Virgil had a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind.

The next day, it was particularly rainy, so of course everyone was wearing hoodies and jackets. What intrigued Virgil is that, Logan never wears hoodies, he normally just has an umbrella when it rained, this was not the case this time. "Oh it's just more frigid than I'm used to it being, so I decided to wear this, this time." was Logan's explanation.

He continued to wear the deep blue hoodie, even when the weather had gotten warmer, to the point where even Virgil wouldn't have his hoodie on all the time... That's what worried Virgil and made his mind think back to when he first got burned... That same thought of the worst case scenario.... He tried to get rid of it, since Logan was a logically minded person, he knows that any sort of self-inflicted harm is terrible so he most likely wouldn't... Right?

He eventually did get his answer, but of course, it wasn't the one he had hoped...

It was the last day of school, and the bell had just rang. Students quickly bolting towards the exit, in this rush is when it happened. "C'mon Lo! Hurry up!" Virgil said as he grabbed onto Logan's right wrist tightly in an attempt to drag him along. Logan winced "Ow!" He yelled pulling away hastily before slapping his hand over his mouth.

The two stayed there in the almost completely empty classroom now, the noises of the other students yelling and shouting now seemed muffled as Virgil focused on Logan. His eyes were wide and glazed over slightly with an extra layer of moisture. He cleared his throat "Sorry, it's just the burn. A-Anyway, let's... Let's go." He stuttered out, grabbing his bag.

"Logan. You burned that arm weeks ago.... And I grabbed onto your wrist... Not your forearm..." Virgil said. Logan stopped, his mind racing, a lump forming in his throat that he desperately tried to choke down. "I don't know what you're insinuating, V-Virgil. Let's go." He said, clearing his throat.

"Lo..." Virgil spoke softly, his voice quiet and less accusing as his previous statement had been. "Can I see your arm?" Logan shifted so that his arm was out of reach from Virgil. His eyes never meeting his boyfriends and instead staying at the ground. "Virgil, we have to leave." he said, much quieter and weaker than it had been previously.

The two stood in silence as the rest of the class including the teacher left the classroom... "Let me see your arms, Logan..." Virgil said his voice quivering slightly. "I don't want to be right..." He mumbled. Logan sniffled, his voice begining to do the same, as a few tears fell down his face. "I'm.....I'm sure you are...." He whispered.

"Lo, please..."

Logan drew in a shaky breath, "Please... Don't be upset with me..." He said as he set his bag back down, he unzipped and began to slowly take off his hoodie... Virgil's eyes immediately focusing on his arm.

His left arm was completely covered in burn marks, one large one that matched his story with the boiling water, but many others that were small, and looked like they could have been done with a lighter.   Deep purple bruises, that looked newly formed, and finally scars... some older looking, while the rest were bright red, some even still dripping with blood, all ranging from his wrist to under his shirt sleeve, so presumably his shoulder as well.

Logan winced as he pulled the hoodie off of his right arm, which was in much the same condition, only much worse... Virgil stood there, a hand over his mouth, tears starting to fall down his face. Logan looked at him for a second before looking away in pure shame.

"I-I'm sorry Virgil... I... I'm sorry-" Logan was cut off as Virgil moved his hand away "Why...?" He asked quietly. Logan sniffled as he began to explain. "for the past couple of w-weeks... I hadn't been able to feel much of anything.... Everything emotional felt numb... And... I just wanted to feel something.... I-I know it's stupid... I just wanted to feel something, anything, to prove that I wasn't some emotionless robot, like everyone says I am..." Then he broke down into sobs.

Virgil quickly but carefully hugging him, as he began crying himself. "Lo, please... Next time... Come talk to me... Text me or call me or something.... You're always there for me... Don't you dare think that I wouldn't return the favor for you..." He said muffled slightly into Logan's neck.

After a moment, the two pulled away, Logan taking off his glasses to wipe his reddened eyes. "I care about you too much for me to not help you...." Virgil continued as he wiped his eyes as well. Logan slowly nodded still sniffling as he put his glasses back on. "T-Thank you..." He said.

"Spend the night at my place tonight so I can help bandage these... Then tomorrow let's go to your place so we can throw anything you're using to do this away." Virgil said. Logan stayed quiet as he grabbed his hoodie putting it back on quickly, starting to feel really self conscious of his arms.

"This isn't going to go away in a day, we both know that... But I promise, it'll go away eventually... Hell, if I got through it... You definitely can. and I'm gonna help, just like you helped me.." Virgil continued. "Thank you, Virgil... I should have come to you first but... I didn't want to risk somehow pulling you back into it..." Logan explained.

Virgil nodded, this time noticing Logan wincing as he put his backpack back on. "Let's get out of here okay?" He asked, as he held onto Logan's hand gently. "Yes... Please..." He said.  The two stayed quiet as they walked outside. "Lo..." Virgil said. Logan only hummed in response.

"I love you, remember that, okay?"

"Okay, I love you as well, Virgil... You aren't allowed to forget that either.."

"I won't."

"Then neither will I."

[peakyblinders1919]

That Makes Her A Murder

“And what do I do Tommy?” You asked eagerly, watching your older brothers run off to get the supplies Tommy had just requested of them. He threw on his coat, his hair still flopping in his face from the rain as he looked down at you.

“Nothing. You’re not to leave this house. You stay with Ada or Polly, and you don’t move.” He said sternly, wagging a finger at you while you crossed your arms.

“That’s not fair. I’m just as much a part of this family as you. My nephews still missing and you want me to sit here?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got Finn out looking for him.”

“And it’s getting dark, he’s supposed to be back soon. He’s older than you anyway.”

“By two bloody years.”

“Too many people are going to get hurt tonight, you have to stay here.” He said while shuffling around the room, obviously confused, over thinking, worried.

“But Tommy-”

“I don’t want to hear it Y/N. Do not leave this goddamn house.” He said harshly while banging his hands on the table, making you jolt.

You left the room in a furry, almost running into Finn as he entered the house, breathless.

“Anything?” You asked, looking up at him. He just sighed and shook his head, walking into the room to talk to Tommy. You lingered by the stairs, hearing your brother dish out commands to the other, while your only one was to wait. Wait for everything to get back to normal. You were impatient, waiting made you anxious, especially when you could be out helping.

You grabbed your coat, running outside towards the garage was Finn was packing the petrol into Tommy’s car, like he was told. You lingered in the shadows for a moment, really contemplating what you were about to do. But if you waited any longer you’d probably run back inside and stay with the others like you were told. In the spur of the moment you jumped out from your hiding place, scaring your brother half to death as a can of petrol went flying through the air.

“Jesus fucking christ Y/N, what the hell was that for?” He spat angrily, staring you down before walking to retrieve the can and load it in the car. You walked right beside him, picking up a can as well and putting it in the car.

“I wanna help.”

“Well you can’t.”

“Why not? Because Tommy said no?” You said defensively, putting your hands on your hips as you watched him finish pacing the car.

“Yeah,” he said, as if it was obvious that no one went against your brother’s orders, ever. And you guessed no one really did, except for you.

“Well, I don’t care what Tommy said. I’m gonna come with you.”

“Y/N, you know I love you, but no.” Finn said, hoping the conversation would end there as he walked past you and into the car, bringing it around front like he was told.

“Come on Finny, you and I are like partners in crime, wherever you go I go, right?” You screamed as he shook his head, driving ‘round the corner.

You sulked in the dark back alley for a second, wondering how the hell you were supposed to live up to the Shelby name if they treated you as if you weren’t. You knew what Aunt Polly or Ada would say if you complained to them then, “He loves you, that’s why he’s not letting you get involved,” “You mean to much to him to be out there,” “He’d never live with himself if something happened to you.” You’d heard it all before, and there was no doubt you knew it was true, but there was always some missing. You felt a void inside when you couldn’t do what you wanted because someone told you you couldn’t, regardless of the reasons.

You huffed, running inside to get the gun you had stored under your bed. No, none of your brother’s knew you had one, if they did you’d probably be grounded for life, or worse. You had managed to steal it one time when John drunkenly left it on the sideboard and you’d found it before Polly even noticed. You rolled it in your hands, a foreign object somehow felt like it belonged in your hands. You didn’t know what you were going to do with it, but by God you were helping.

You ran down the street, pumping your arms and breathing heavily as your feet carried your closer to the office where everyone was waiting with Charlie, who was found and safe after all.

You stopped outside, trying to regain your breath before going in and that’s when you remembered. You stood up straight, taking the gun in your pocket and throwing it into the Cut.

“Y/N?” Finn called, emerging from the office looking for you. He found you hunched over the river, your reflection staring back at you.

You could smell the blood that dotted your face like fiery freckles, and surprisingly it is didn’t freak you out to think that the blood of someone else was on you. You didn’t feel a desire to wash it off quickly, you wanted to rid your face of the evidence that you’d done it. You were ashamed, you had done what you had needed to; Charlie was home, and Tommy was on his way, but if they saw…

“Y/N, where were you, what happened?” But you didn’t have time to answer as a car roared towards it, the bright lights illuminating the front of it. You cursed yourself, having waited too long. If it was Tommy, which you were sure it was, and he walked in to find you missing, you might be the next one dead.

“You better run for it.” Finn joked.

Ignoring him, you ran into Tommy’s side, catching him off guard. You kept him from his son, who was just on the other side of those doors. You cried into his chest as you hugged him, Tommy looking down at you confused but this was nothing you. He ruffled your hair playfully, noticing his breath was gagged too.

“I’m OK, I’m OK, but Charlie…” he said, knowing he wanted you to move. You let go and stepped back, the crimson splattered on your face illuminated by the lights. His face fell, no words spoken as he took your chin in his hands, examining it. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” He finally said as tears rolled down your cheeks. His big hands meet your face, running across them, freeing it of blood. “Come on, we’ll talk about this later.” He said, pulling you into his side and walking through the doors, a smile crossing his face and yours as you saw the little babe happily in Polly’s hand, reaching for you brother.

“I’m sorry Tommy,” you cried into his side as he sat on the bed with you. Your hair dripped down your back. After the happy reunion everyone had gone their separate ways, you falling into Finn’s side in the back of the car as Tommy took you guys and a sleeping Charlie home. He’d told you to take a bath and calm down, letting the boiling hot water numb you for 30 minutes until there was a knock on your door.

“What happened?” He asked calmly, and growing up with Tommy as your brother, you knew you should be scared.

“I...I don’t know, it all happened so fast…” you started in a shaky voice.

“What were you doing anyway? I told you not to leave the shop.”

“I’m sorry ok! But I more capable than you think.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face, trying to clear his head and keep calm, because he was seconds from breaking. His heart had stopped the minute he saw you with blood on your face, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Y/N, I wasn’t doing it because I don’t think you're capable. I know you are. In fact, I know just how capable you are. I was protecting you.”

“I don’t need your protec-”

“I was trying to protect you from this lifestyle. You deserve better than this.”

The room fell silent as you let the words sink in and wash over you. You furrowed your brow, looking around the your big bedroom with endless windows overlooking the rolling estate your brother owned, everything he worked hard to get. How could it get better than this?

As if reading your mind he inhaled sharply, drawing your attention back to him. You looked into his familiar blue eyes. “You deserve a good life.”

“But I have a good life Tommy, I have a good family that I love, what more do I need?”

“You should be safe. You should do something you're proud of.”

“But I am proud of-”

“Proud of the man you killed?” It was as if he pushed a knife right into your heart. Even though it was a few hours ago that you pulled the trigger in an attempt to save your own life, pushed up against a wall with a man twice your size on the other, you had forgotten what you had done. It had happened and then it was over. He was dead on the ground, non-existent anymore. You had done that, taken his life from him. It was setting in, becoming real again as Tommy talked about it.

“Y/N, once you kill, you never stop.”

Tears were pricking your eyes again. You couldn’t look at Tommy know, knowing his words were true. It was playing over and over again in your head, the bang, watching him fall to the ground, the rush.

“You deserve a normal life.”

“I don’t want a normal life Tommy.”

“You’ll never be safe again. You’ll always be worried about someone watching you, someone trying to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid to die.” You blurted, thinking again about how it felt to be pushed into a corner, a gun pointed at you. Your life flashed before your eyes, but then it fueled you, enough so to pull the trigger.

“You should be.” He said, then breaking the tension with a bit of laughter, something that brought you back in time. “But you're definitely a Shelby.” He said, shaking his head and giving your hair a ruffle again, something he felt compelled to do everything he was with you out of brotherly love, and partially because he knew you hated it now. He walked towards the door, once again leaving you wondering what he was doing.

“Tommy, is everything going to be ok?”

“Yes, everything is going to be ok. Give me the gun.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Threw it in the Cut.” You said followed by a chuckle as he looked at you and shook his head.

“Yup, definitely a Shelby. Don’t worry about him, it’ll be taken care of.”

You sat back down as he left, alone in the dark with nothing but your memories of the night. You didn’t know how he did it, how any of them did it. Killing. You weren’t afraid, you hadn’t hesitated in the moment, it coming like second nature to you to pull the trigger and watch the bullet fly through the air, and through the man's skull, but you knew the you’d never be free of the image. Tommy was right, if this is how you felt after killing, imagine if you killed again, and again. You didn't want that to control your life. You'd seen how too many ghosts can drag people down, Arthur and John and Tommy completely different people since the war.

You snuggled up in the warmth of your bed, thinking that maybe Tommy had a point. You'd always have them as family, but you didn't the burden that always came with the name.

yes so sorry its late but i wanted to get it up. there will be another part or follow up or something. tell me what you think of her and what not. also sorry the gif isn’t the best match but ya know

[thejacketandthehook]

When Emma Met the Doctor

Title: When Emma Met the Doctor 1/2

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere) 

Summary:  Emma Swan was just living her normal day-to-day life when she suddenly met two time travelers willing to take her anywhere in the universe. And where they land will change Emma's life forever. Crossover fic. 

Rating: General 

Word Count: 4,954

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Once Upon a Time belongs to ABC and Doctor Who belongs to BBC. 

Author’s Notes: Merry Christmas @distant-rose! I am your Captain Swan Secret Santa! (@cssecretsanta) When I noticed that you like Doctor Who and Once Upon a Time, I knew I had to write a Crossover fic (which was something that I had wanted to do for a while, but you gave me the push to do it). I am sorry this is late. 

If you're not familiar with Doctor Who, this first chapter goes into detail about the premise of the show and what exactly it's about. (Don't worry, Emma had no idea what was going on either, so eveything had to be explained to her). The second chapter is much more set in Once Upon a Time.

A30

Emma Swan calmly took her sip of her hot chocolate. She was early, but then again she always was when it came to meeting a skip. She wasn't certain if that's what everyone called them, but that's what she called them: a skip. A person who was dochebag, who skipped bail and chances are trying to find someone who has no idea who they are to spend the night with them. It made Emma's blood boil, really, to see them.

When the man, Ryan, walked into the cafe, Emma stood up slowly, acting as though she was unsure if this was the man she was waiting for or not. "Ryan?"

"Emma?" he asked in reply. He was about the same height as her with brown eyes and brown hair. He was remarkably forgetful. There wasn't anything about him, physically speaking, that would make Emma remember him tomorrow.

Emma gave a fake laugh, like she was so relieved this man in front of her was the person she wanted to meet all along. This was the part of gig that Emma both enjoyed and dreaded. She liked pretending that she was someone else. Someone who had a different life. Or maybe, just someone who had a life, and not just went out when she needed to work or have to go to the grocery store. Someone who might have a family, have friends who care about her. At least, care enough to send a Christmas card.

Emma and Ryan sat at the small table and talked for a bit. He was babbling about something that made Emma want to yawn so badly, but she was able to resist. Just barely, however. Finally, she saw her opening and took it.

"Now, tell me, what do you see when you look at me?" she asked.

"Well, you're pretty. Smart." Emma raised an eyebrow and smiled encouragingly. "And one of the best listeners I've ever come across."

Emma pretended to be embarrassed, when really she was just setting herself up for what was to come next. "Okay, let me do you now." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she resisted doing a shiver. "You're handsome. Well-kept. The kind of guy, now correct me if I'm wrong, embezzled from your employer, got arrested, and skipped town before they were able to throw your ass in jail."

Ryan sat there with a stunned look on his face. Somewhere between a confused, happy, and almost panic. "What?"

Emma continued. "And the worst part is your wife loves you so much that she bailed you out. And how do you repay her? You go on a date."

At this point, he bowed his head and shook it. He looked back up, his charming smile long gone. "Who are you?"

"The chick who put up the rest of the bail money."

He shook his head in disbelief. "You're a bail bondsman."

Emma cocked her head to the side before muttering, "Bail bondsperson."

Ryan shook his head in disbelief again before jumping up and running out of the cafe, knocking into a woman who gasped in shock. Emma shook her head before slowly getting up and casually walking out.

She wasn't running after this one, since she booted his car before he even walked into the cafe (stupid man went to have a cigarette down the block and never even looked back at his car). She knew he wasn't going anyway.

And that's when she noticed it out of the corner of her eye.  

Emma stopped dead in her tracks. She saw a group of Santa Claus's playing different instruments, but there as something weird about them. Something that made Emma pause. That's when she noticed that there were actually wearing metal masks that just made them look like Santa. And the clothes that Santa normally wears were not adorned by them. Instead what they wore was much more like a cloak then a suit. But their faces. That's what caught her attention. They looked so fake, so metallic. The eyes, honestly, were what scared her the most. They were just two big round circle with little black dots in the middle.

And what made her pause was no tip jar. It was a odd thing to notice, she will admit, but still. There were about four or five men there and not one of them wanted a tip?

Emma knew that she had to go after Ryan, make sure that he wasn't making a run for it. He most likely was at this point, but Emma just focused on the Santas instead. When they finished their song, they lowered their instruments from their mouths and then proceeded to point them like a gun. Right at a blonde woman standing not ten feet away from them.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but to Emma it was going in slow motion. When she realized what could happen, she screamed out, "Watch out!" to the blonde woman before proceeding to run towards her. Emma knocked the woman to the ground, going down with her. And she wasn't certain, but suddenly she felt an intense heat on her back, as though there was a fire behind her. And sure enough, there was. For the "Santa" holding the tuba was blasting fire, and the two trumpet players were blasting out fire as well.

The woman underneath her gently pushed Emma off, who was scrambling to get up without getting burnt. Emma tried to grab her hand to run, but the woman shook it off. "It's fine," the woman, who had a British accent, told Emma. "I'm fine. You need to go!"

"Are you crazy?! Those robots are blasting fire! You need to get out of here too!" Emma looked up, and those Santas were walking right towards them. "Now!"

Once more, the woman shook her off. "Believe me, I've seen them before. I know how to get rid of them."

Emma was certain that the woman knocked her head. What in the world was she talking about? "Get rid of them"? As though they were just pesky flies around a dinner plate? The woman was crazy, but for some reason Emma couldn't leave her until she knew that she was safe.

When Emma once more looked up and saw that the Santas were getting close, both she and the woman did run, though not nearly as far as Emma would have liked. Instead of running for blocks, the woman stopped behind a column and hid, grabbing Emma's arm and pulling her closer.

"Listen to me," the woman whispered. "I know what these things are."

"They are people who need to be arrested, that's for damn sure."

"No," the woman replied. And Emma was certain that she misheard the next sentence, "They're not people. They're aliens."

Now Emma wasn't certain if the woman was crazy or racist.

"What in the world...?"

"You need to leave!" the woman told her.

"I need to stop them!" Emma insisted. "I have connections with the police."

The woman shook her head. "Don't worry about that. I know someone is going to stop them."

"Yeah? Who?"

Just then, a man came running over towards them, slightly out of breath. He was a tall man, with brown hair that was just long enough that he could spike it up, giving him a just-rolled-out-of-bed-and quickly-brushed-my-hair look. He also had a long oval face with a little crooked nose, thin lips, and a dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks. He was also incredibly thin, wearing a pinstripe suit and a trench coat over it that went down to his ankles. On his feet were off-white Converses.

His brown eyes showed the concern he had for the woman beside Emma. "Rose!" he said when he reached them. He quickly grabbed her in a hug before pulling back. "Are you okay?"

"'m fine, Doctor. This woman here saved me from being a roasted marshmallow," the woman - Rose - replied as she gestured to Emma.

The man - Doctor? - proceeded to also grab Emma in a hug. "Oh, thank you!" Just as quickly as he grabbed her, he let her go making her stumble back. Emma couldn't say a word, for the man began talking a mile a minute. "I don't know what I would do without my Rose. But those Santas, you remember them, Rose? From when I changed? The pilot fish? Blimely, they haven't changed have they? And it's been how long? Ten years? More or less. I think we're in 2017, but I could be wrong by a couple of years. Based off of the technology and the read from the sonic screwdriver, I would say 2017, but it also could be 2018 or 2019 --"

Finally, Rose shut him up. "Doctor!" she yelled. "Get rid of the Santas!"

"Right. Of course. Allons-y!" he called before leaving the two women and running towards the Santas.

Emma looked over at the other blonde woman. There were about the same height, both with blonde hair. Only the other woman's hair reached her chin while Emma's was all the way down her back. The woman was wearing very basic clothes, a blue button-down and jeans with regular sneakers on her feet. Unlike her partner who just is wearing a trenchcoat, the woman, Rose, is wearing a black parka.

"Er, what just happened?" Emma asked.

"The Doctor," the woman replied. "That's what happened."

"Okay, but doctor what? Who is that man?"

The woman shook her head with a small smile. "You won't believe me in a million years."

Emma got her back up. She looked straight at the woman before crossing her arms over her chest. "Try me."

Rose looked over at Emma and must have been looking for something. And she must have found it for she said, "Okay, fine. His name is The Doctor. No other name. He's an alien from the planet of Gallifrey. He's a Time Lord."

"A what?"

"Time Lord."

That really didn't clarify anything for Emma. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it sorta means he's charge of time. Well, kind of. He can certainly travel through time."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Time traveler? Seriously?"

"Yeah. Can travel throughout time and space, he can. I'm a time traveler too."

Emma felt like she had fell through a rabbit hole and was now having the oddest conversation ever. "You're kidding me?"

"Nope. For me, the year is 2006. My mum and best friend, Mickey, are waiting for me back in London."

"And they know you travel? In time?"

"Oh, I do more than just travel in time! We go to different planets! I've been on Women's Wept - so beautiful. The whole planet just froze over. Just like that, completely froze over. I stood there under an ice covered wave. Unbelievable I tell you."

Emma shook her head, certain that she must have hit her head sometime in last half hour. "None of what you're currently saying could be true."

"It very much is. For me, this is the future."

"So have you been in the past? Like a long time ago?"

"Yep. I've met Charles Dickens."

"Seriously?"

"And Queen Victoria. I've also been to when the Earth exploded."

Emma may need to sit down. That is, if she actually believed any of this. "Oh, you're full of crap. Nothing you're saying could possibly be true. That guy's name is probably Dave or Chris or something simple. You two are probably pulling a joke for Youtube or something."

"What's Youtube?" Rose asked.

Emma raised an eyebrow before looking around. "Ha ha, very funny," she said with no sense of humor in her voice. "Now, where is your camera? How are you filming this? What are you using? An iPhone?"

"A what?"

"An iPhone. Or a Samsung Galaxy?"

Rose put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a phone Emma hasn't seen in years. A Nokia phone. A simple device that could probably play only one game (Snake, was a pretty good chance) and not get any kind of internet connection at all. "I use this. This phone allows me to call anyone I want. Well, that's mainly because the Doctor did some jiggery-pockery to it."

"He did what?" Emma asked, picking up the phone and holding it like it was an antique. Emma couldn't remember the last time she saw a phone like that. A decade, certainly.

Emma pulled her iPhone 7 out of her pocket before showing it to Rose. "iPhone. From Apple," she said, before giving it a small shake.

Rose looked at it with wonder. "Wow! That's a phone!? Blimely, were are the numbers?"

Emma pressed the small round circle at the bottom of the phone letting it turn on. "It's a touch screen." At the look of amazement on Rose's face, Emma continued. "You have seriously never seen one before?"

"No," Rose said before taking the phone and looking at it with interest. She accidentally hit the weather app, and seemed surprised when the weather came up with the current temperature. "Oh, this is lovely!"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Emma cocked her head to the side, looking at the woman in front of her. Emma always prided herself on the ability to be able to tell if someone was lying and currently no alarms were going off in her head. So either her "system" was broken, or this woman was currently telling the truth.

Just as Emma was going to make another comment, the Doctor ran back over to them. "All taken care of. Well, that is to say that they have disappeared for now. Pilot fish usually mean something bigger is afoot, though what I have no idea."

"Pilot fish? Something bigger...What are you talking about?"

The Doctor looked at Emma as though he has seen her before but he can't remember from where. "Have we met before?"

"Yeah. Like five minutes ago."

"Blimely, my memory is bad. Something that comes from old age, right Rose?" He winked at the other woman before looking back at Emma. "Well, I don't think I got your name. I'm the Doctor and this is Rose Tyler."

"Emma Swan."

"Emma Swan," the Doctor said with a smile. "Like a name in a fairy tale."

Emma snorted at that but continued with the question she had in mind. "Who are you, exactly? Doctor what?"

"Just the Doctor."

Emma paused before asking, "Seriously?"

"Yep," he replied with a pop on the 'p.' "Well, we must be off, places to go, people to meet. You know who I always wanted to met Rose? Agatha Christie. Oh, I bet she would be fascinating to meet."

"Wait, Doctor," Rose said before he started on a long babbling soliloquy. "I was just telling Emma here about how we're time travelers. Well, if she wants, can she come along with us?"

The Doctor looked at Rose before giving a big smile that seemed to light up his face. "Well, of course!" he joyously replied. "The more the merrier, I always say."

"I don't think you have ever said that before," Rose replied. She turned to Emma before asking, "Well, what do you think? Want to travel anywhere in anytime?"

Emma crossed her arms and tried to think about how badly this situation could end. Her dead body in a dumpster was surely high on the list of what she was picturing, but she had to admit a small part of her was insanely curious. Were they telling the truth? Could they really travel through time and space? And where exactly could they end up?

Emma wanted to know the answers to all of those questions.

"Okay," she finally replied, lowering her arms. "Sounds like fun. Oh!" she said suddenly remembering something. "I have to get Ryan."

"Who's that?"

"This guy who I was going to bring to the police. He's wanted for bailing on his court date."

"Ah, well, we do have a time machine. We can simply go back five minutes and you'll catch him."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Oh yes!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Okay," she replied. She tried not to sound hesitant, but she kind of was. Hearing that a time machine was real was not was she expected when she woke up this morning.

"Come on," the Doctor said before turning on the balls of his feet and walking in the other direction. Rose gave a big smile before taking Emma's arm and walking along side.

"I promise you it is a trip of a lifetime," she said to Emma. "You won't regret it. I've been doing this for...well, I don't actually know how long I've been doing this. You lose all sense of time when you can travel through it." Emma didn't know what to say, so she remained quiet. Rose seemed to sense her hesitation and continued. "It's like Christmas, right? Only happens once a year. But when you time travel, Christmas can happen again and again and again. Like, I had Christmas with Charles Dickens, yeah? But I've also had Christmas in 2006, with my mum and boyfriend, Mickey. Well, he's not really my boyfriend now. We sort of broke up."

Sensing a topic that sounded somewhat normal, Emma clung to it. "What happened?"

She nodded her head towards the Doctor in front of her. "Well, he came along and took me with him. Mickey wasn't overly thrilled, as I'm sure you can imagine. And the fact that I disappeared for like a year with no warning or anything made my mum scared to death and certain that Mickey had something to do with it."

"That must have been an awkward Christmas." Then what she said caught up with Emma and she asked, "Wait, you disappeared for a year? How did that happen? I thought he can travel throughout time, no problem."

"Well, when you can travel through time, there are certain rules. One of which is you can't go back on your own time line. Once I was seen in 2006, I couldn't go back to 2005. My timeline was set. If we went back, it would have created a paradox."

Emma shook her head. "And I thought this was all just make believe from the movies."

Rose hugged her arm as she said, "Trust me, with the Doctor, nothing is make believe."

"Ah!" The Doctor shouted from up ahead. He was standing in front of a big blue box that was about eight feet high and four feet across. Across the top it said: POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX with a small light on the very top. "Home, sweet home."

Emma stopped and looked at the box. "Seriously? You don't have a DeLorean or anything?"

"Nah," the Doctor said, actually taking out a key and putting it into the small key hole on the one door. Emma cocked her head to the side. A time machine/spaceship uses a key to get into? "The T.A.R.D.I.S. is a thousand times better than any old car."

"A what?" Emma asked.

"T.A.R.D.I.S."

"A what?" Emma asked again, certain she had misheard.

"T.A.R.D.I.S."

"That's not a proper word," Emma accused .

"It's an acronym," Rose informs her. "Stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space."

"Oh," Emma simple answered.

The Doctor opened the door and he and Rose grinned at each other before walking in. Emma wondered how in the world all three of them were going to fit inside of the box. It was not that big. It would definitely be a small squeeze.

Emma's hesitation came front and center and she had second thoughts about all of this. All she could see were the headlines saying Orphan Girl Found Dead in a Big Blue Box.

Both the Doctor and Rose went into the box and Emma stood there, berating herself for thinking this was a good idea. What in the world could she have possible been thinking!? Going into a strange box with people she barely knows?! And why? Because they claimed it could time travel! She had to have been the biggest idiot in the world for thinking any part of that was possibly true!

She was just shaking her head and calling herself every name in the book when Rose popped her head out. "What's taking ya so long?"

"Maybe this isn't a good idea..." Emma started before Rose came out of the T.A.R.D.I.S. and stood in front of her.

"It's scary. I get that, actually. I had the same thoughts you're having, only I had them when I was five million years away looking at the Earth dying. You have to trust me. As the Doctor once told me, you can go anywhere in the universe, free of charge."

To someone like Emma, someone lost and alone, this was honestly the trip of a lifetime. No one would be waiting for her return, and the ability to go anywhere sounded really appealing to a lost child. Before she could reason with herself, Emma nodded and said, "Let's go."

Rose smiled before taking Emma's hand and leading her inside. "Emma Swan, welcome to the T.A.R.D.I.S."

The moment she walked in, Emma's jaw hit the floor. She was certain she was not seeing things correctly. "This can't be possible," she muttered to herself. She looked around in amazement before walking back outside and looking at the box. An eight-foot box, four feet across she would say. If she tried, she could probably touch both ends of the box at the same time. But when she popped her head inside, it told another story.

For the inside of the box was bigger than her living quarters. There was a ramp leading up to what had to be the console. It was a huge octagon with so many buttons in it, Emma was certain that there were more than a airplane console would have. Dead center was a huge tube with some sort of lever inside. There were pillars that looked like coral found in the ocean, and the whole room actually gave a bluish glow even though the walls had a faint orange tint to them. There was a small bench that looked well used behind the console and beside that was another ramp leading to another doorway.

"How is this...How...not possible...It's--"

"Bigger on the inside," Rose finished with a smile.

Emma nodded dumbly. "Yeah, yeah, it is."

"Well, where do you want to go?" asked the Doctor who was running back and forth along the console. He was pushing what looked to be random buttons, but Emma was certain there had to be a reason for all of them. "Anywhere in the entire universe, at your disposable."

Emma couldn't quite get over the shock of the room. There was certainly enough space for the three of them. Hell, they could probably get half of the Boston population in it. "Oh, um, I'm not really sure. Somewhere amazing," she said almost in a daze. A little firmer she continued, "Somewhere you have never been before."

The Doctor smiled. "Oh, I like you." He began running faster around the console, pressing buttons, even hitting a few with a big mallet.

Suddenly there was a loud noise almost like an old car refusing to turn over, only much more ancient. And then the T.A.R.D.I.S started tilting side to side, and if it wasn't for the guardrail a few feet from the console, Emma would have been thrown onto the walls.

Holding tight to the rail, Emma asked Rose, "Does he know how to drive this thing?"

Rose replied, "He's actually gotten better than when I started."

That did little to comfort Emma.

Then, all at once there was a loud bang and the room came to a standstill. Emma was still clinging to the railing before slowly prying her fingers off as Rose and the Doctor looked at the screen on the console.

"So," Emma asked once she had fully let go. "Where are we?"

The Doctor smiled. Rose smiled brighter. "That's half the fun!" she proclaimed before running to the doors of the TARDIS. "We don't know 'til we look!"

"Wait!" Emma yelled, but the Doctor was right behind Rose and walked out. Emma had no choice but the follow them.

When she exited, however, she felt like she could have been anywhere. For around them was nothing but trees. Trees, trees, and more trees.

"Really? A forest. We could be anywhere! We could be in Central Park."

Just then they heard the hooves of many horses off in the distance. And just beyond the trees, they could see people riding horseback, a lovely covered carriage being pulled quickly. The clothes the people on horseback did not look like anyone Emma has ever seen before. Well, that's not true, she had seen those clothes before. But they were usually from a movie.

For the men on horseback wore clothes that screamed regal. They were dressed almost like knights, wearing silver garments with red cloth over it with some sort of crest. The carriage looked like something from Cinderella - a huge pumpkin shaped transport painted in white with wheels that almost seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Two men sat up in the front, each holding the rein of a horse.

"Are you certain that we're not in Central Park?" Emma asked. Someone could be getting married and they are just driving through the park.

The Doctor took a long metal tube out of his pocket and held it out and up pressing a button that made the tip of it turn blue and a low buzzing sound emitting. "No, definitely not Central Park. We're not even on Earth, I don't think."

"Well, then where exactly are we?" Emma was starting to think that her driver had no idea where they were exactly.

"Well," the Doctor started to say, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not entirely certain, but I do we think are in a place named Misthaven. But that's - that's - that's impossible!"

"Why?" Rose asked.

"Because Misthaven...Well, it also has another name, but it's just...Can't be true."

"Doctor, where the hell are we?!" Emma all but shouted at him.

"We're in the Enchanted Forest." When neither woman made any sound, he continued. "You know, like from a fairy tale."

"Are you telling us that you think we're in a fairy tale?" Emma asked.

"No," he replied sternly. "We're in the land where fairy tale characters actually exist.

"Wait a minute," Emma stopped walking and turned to the Doctor. "'Where fairy tales actually exist'? Are you saying fairy tale characters are real?!"

"Certainly."

"So Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, all real people?" Rose asked looking around the trees. "So that carriage could have had famous princess on it?"

"Could have been."

"That can't be real," Emma shook her head. "Fairy tale character aren't real. They were made up by the Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson to teach children about not lying and always be good and other crap like that."

The Doctor looked so serious, he almost looked like a professor ready to scold their student. "Where exactly do you think they heard the stories from? I'm going to assume you studied history in your classes in school. How did you learn history?"

"My teacher explained it to us."

"And where did the teacher get it from, huh? A book,  I'm going to presume. Someone wrote down the stories about what happened in your past so you would learn from it. Why would fairy tales be any different?"

They continued walking. Emma shook her head, trying to get it into her mind that not only was time travel possible, but so was going through different dimensions. Also, Snow White, Prince Charming, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack from "Jack and Beanstalk" were real living people.

She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

"This is idiotic," she said after a few minutes of silent walking. She stopped and the other two followed suit. "This is completely idiotic. I mean, fairy tales don't exist! They're just a story!"

"We're all stories in the end."

"Thank you, Aristotle," she replied sarcastically. "I just...I appreciate you bringing me along, but I think I'm going to go back to T.A.R.D.I.S. I just...this isn't for me. You guys go have your fun and I'll...I see you back at the T.A.R.D.I.S."

"Emma, are you sure? There is more to see than a forest, I'm sure," Rose replied, stepping forward a bit.

"No, I'm certain. I just...I can't wrap my head around this. I'll meet you at the T.A.R.D.I.S when you're finished."

Emma turned around before either of them said another word and walking back from where she came.

~*~*~

He sensed it. Nothing got by him, not when intruders came. Especially when they didn't come by land or sea. No, something was new. Something was different.

Quickly getting up from his seat, he ran towards his tower, the one that contained all of his magic. All of his spellbooks, all of his ingredients. And that one thing he needed right now - his crystal ball.

Once he was settled, he took the cloth off of the ball and waved his hands around it, muttering a spell to activate it. For there he saw three people talking. These three people were wearing the most unusual clothing, which made them stick out right away.  But it was the one with the red jacket, something about her that made the man sit up and take notice. When she turned around, he got a clear view of her and almost fell off of his chair in shock.

"No!" he yelled to no one. "No, it can't be Emma!"

[elidellochan]

part one

It's been a year since Aelin Ashryver Galathynius took back her throne. A year since her Court fought tooth and nail for peace. A year since they left their horrors behind them.

In that year, Aisling Wynslow has had little more to worry about than the bickering of her siblings and the scarcity of her savings.

It's a simple life, but that simple life was hard won.

But a force is rising, a force born from a shadow of what might have been. A force that wants nothing more than to burn that simple life to the ground.

part one  --  i thought i knew my survivor's guilt 

“Tell me how wrong it is: I’ve made a home of your mouth. I shiver for this. I asked for this. Take out your sharp like the good silverware. The night stretched thin but I would never force you to stay. We were believers once, to something taken up residence below the ribs. I thought I knew my survivor’s guilt, the day we ran out of hot water. How we were always running out of things, like what to say & time & yellow light.” - Ana Carrizo, “Survivor’s Guilt”

He could have picked any of them, he would have picked any of them.

Any of the souls that wandered that street, thrumming with vitality. Tempting him, luring him, enticing him.

He had never liked to be fussy, he didn’t see the point. It was always the same – the warmth, the power, the humanity. But none of them looked like her. And he wanted to send a message.

Once that was done, he would have a little fun. His fingers itched for it, the need roared in his ears and echoed in his veins and pounded through his arteries. It was in his pulse, in his blood, in every fibre of his being. It always had been.

And then, he saw her.

She wasn’t perfect. Too tall, too round. He catalogued these mistakes, noted her heaviness of foot. They wouldn’t see the resemblance, not in her alone. Luckily, she wouldn’t be the only one.

With a sigh, he pushed off the wall. And got to work.

//

Penn looked smug. It made me nervous.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, settling atop the table and worming out of my jacket, leaning the tiny distance towards the counter and stealing a sliver of carrot. My older brother hadn’t worn an expression far from worry or shame in weeks. I’d almost forgotten what his smile looked like, and even that – some self-satisfied smirk that twisted his lips – was a welcome reminder.

Penn opened his mouth to reply, but any sound was drowned by the shrieking of Luce and Greer as they trundled down the stairs. Luce didn’t often make a fuss – at thirteen, she was the picture of adolescent indifference and superiority. But she and Greer had been fighting more often than not those days.

“Aisling.” Greer was stuttering down the hall, the sounds of stomping and scuffling and shoving echoed her words. “Aisling! Tell Luce to take it off!”

“It’s mine!” Luce insisted, when they rounded into the kitchen – the two of them a tangle of tan skin and golden hair.

“It doesn’t even fit her anymore!” Greer ripped at Luce’s skirt, insistent that it did, in fact, fit.

“Can you two just shut the rutting hell up.” Penn said, tiredly. He didn’t even lift his grey eyes from the carrots. “You’re a constant bloody headache.”

“Penn.” I scolded and darted from the table to pull Luce away from Greer. “Greer, you need to get used to Luce wearing your hand-me-downs. Luce, you need to stop egging her on.”

“I wasn’t…” Luce began.

“Luce.” I sighed, shooting her a look. She frowned, and skulked back down the hall, her steps reverberated through the house as she made her way upstairs. Greer resigned herself to the kitchen, and Penn set her to work getting the water on the boil. I don’t wonder about the location of Ewan and Conley – the youngest of my siblings – they’d spent the day at the docks with Penn’s friend, Angus. “You could help, you know.” I told Penn, irate at again having to be the authoritarian.

“What?” Penn was completely oblivious. Neither of us liked having to act in the place of our late parents, but Penn often forewent even the illusion of reprimands and responsibility.

“So, what’s the news?” I asked instead, looking to Penn.

He grinned at me – a real grin. “I got a job.”

“Penn! You’re joking!” I jumped up from the table, bounded into the kitchen, and pulled him into a hug.

“Where? When do you start? What does it pay?”

“At the palace, joining the Guard. Angus got me the job.” Penn said as I pulled away from him.

“A Royal Guard.” I breathed. You could hardly hope for a better job in Orynth, not without a title or connections or a loaded pocket. Though low-ranking officers were essentially glorified security guards that were assigned to keeping the peace in the slums, even the base pay rate was almost twice what he used to earn.

“I start tomorrow. Training.” Penn said, still grinning as he returned to the vegetables.

“We have to celebrate! I’ll go to the market, get some cakes and…”

“Aisling.” Penn frowned. “We can’t afford…”

“I know what we can afford.” I shot back. “I’ll be back in twenty. Hopefully Angus has bought back Conley and Ewan by then.”

Penn was right, to an extent. Things were hard, and our savings were slim. Penn lost his job at the butcher four weeks ago, and even with my taking double shifts at the inn almost every day, we were scraping the barrel. Our parents left us some money when they died, but that had wallowed away into funeral expenses and maintaining bills in the early days of their passing. While I wouldn't mind not having to scrub so many stains out of Penn’s clothes, the lack thereof was an unhappy alternative when it came with the constantly-looming threat of poverty and eviction. Greer and Luce already lived in my hand-me-downs, and I was forever hemming Penn’s clothes for Ewan and Ewan’s for Conley.

We shopped exclusively at the market before closing, when the grocers were desperate to get rid of their almost-stale bread and wilting vegetables. I got a good price on half a dozen eclairs and an overcooked apple cake – Penn’s favourite – but almost lost them when Conley barrelled me over as soon as I returned home. My youngest brother - tiny and round and innocent – had always been excitable.

“Hey, watch it.” I tutted, smoothing back his hair as he clung to my side. We made our way into the house, an odd sort of three-legged race, with Conley chattering my ear off the whole while.

“There she is!” Angus has a booming voice, and every syllable resonates like a thudding echo. His whole being booms, really. He is impossible to ignore, a walking talking riot of muddy hair and a ginger beard and barrelling arms.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this one’s good fortune.” I said as a greeting, sidling past his attempts to wrap me into a hug and instead lifting a thumb in Penn’s direction. Angus, Penn’s best and oldest friend, is a Royal Guard, not very high ranking but he must’ve had more sway than I had thought to get Penn in. When the two of them stand close like this, it’s hard not to notice Penn’s slightness. He’s muscular in a wiry way, all of us Wynslow’s are – a by-product of long weeks living off leftovers and scraps and doing our best but falling miserably short. I daren’t think on it too much, or I’ll most likely jinx it – but I’ve seen what the families of the Guardsmen can afford. Penn wouldn’t look too out of place for too much longer. Greer and Isolde won’t have to fight for the clothes anymore. “Eclairs!” Greer snatched the greased paper bag from my clutches.

“Dinner first!” Penn ordered, ladling stew into bowls plonking them haphazardly and unceremoniously onto the table, slopping a portion of the contents onto the battered pine.

“You working later?” Angus asked, sitting beside where I’ve arranged myself and Conley.

“Later.” I nod, pushing a bowl towards Conley. “Where is Ewan? And Luce?”

Penn solves the issue by bellowing their names, and soon I can hear them tumbling down the stairs.

“I’ll walk you.” Angus said. It was not a suggestion.

“Don’t trouble yourself.” I said. It was not a suggestion.

“I don’t mind.” He didn’t get the hint.

I don’t reply, but rather turn to push Conley’s chair in. He’s short for his four years - not quite tall enough to reach the table comfortably and he was doing a brilliant job of sloshing more food down his front than in his mouth. Somehow, he’s managed to get a streak of broth in his chestnut hair and across his freckled forehead.

“Can I come with you?” Ewan asked, his mouth full of bread and somehow still lisping through his two missing teeth. “Is Hal working?” Hal, the pub cook, is seven-year-old Ewan’s hero. A fact which still befuddles me.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I scolded. “You have school tomorrow, and I’m working until close.”

“You can’t walk home alone.” Angus said, and continued – apparently unaware to the warning looks offered up by Penn. “It’ll be halfway to tomorrow morning before you’re out of there.”

“Hasn’t stopped me before.” I said, looking down at my bowl. “I can look after myself.”

“I don’t feel comfortable…” Angus started.

“That has nothing to do with me.” I replied, still not looking at him.

“Aisling is tough, she can beat people up!” Conley piped in, jumping in his seat and almost knocking his bowl and my own in the process.

“I’m sure she can, but…” Angus didn’t know when to stop.

“I’m going to be late.” I stood up, and put on my coat. “See you later, be good,” I added, pressing a kiss to Conley’s forehead and avoiding making eye-contact with both Penn and Angus. The former because he knew it was an excuse, the latter because I wanted to avoid another thinly-veiled argument.

I arrived at the pub half an hour early, but I’d rather hang around in the kitchen waiting for my shift to start than deal with Angus’ misplaced possessiveness. He’d been dropping hints about marrying me for years, hinting that our being together is inevitable without considering the complete unwillingness on my behalf. Penn thought I was being ridiculous, and had told me in as many words that I was unlikely to find someone better than Angus, that he’d take care of me and I wouldn’t have to work, that I’d be content. Safe. But I don’t want to settle.

I hardly had time to wallow in irritation when my shift started. Jonas hadn’t shown up – again - and so Bess had been relegated to deal with the inundation of patrons at the bar – leaving Meg to take care of the floor. Meg is monotonous in both looks and personality, and whenever something went wrong she tended to disappear out the back until the situation had been resolved by someone else.

I took the rowdiest section, a double-edged sword – the tips are great but they hardly made up for the bullshit you dealt with. The Green Lion, while being perhaps the most ridiculously named establishment in Orynth, was popular with rabble and the upper classes alike. Its proximity to the castle makes it a beacon for palace workers and dignitaries, and its cheap drinks are a lure for the low-born willing to travel all the way from the slums for a beer.

That night there were a lot of them.

“Did you hear about the girl?” Bess asked me, during a momentary lull, continuing at my quizzical look. “Nasty stuff, found her body near the docks. Apparently, it was pretty similar to the girl they found the other week too. Scary stuff, huh?”

“Yeah.” I agreed, but was pulled from any real consideration of the information Bess had so nonchalantly offloaded by another flood of orders to the bar.

The usual rush was punctuated by fights and brawls, broken up by a well-practiced Bess – the trick, she’s told me, is to offer a round on the house. Apparently, she hadn’t passed on this information to Meg, who was manning the bar while Bess takes a breather.

“Fight.” She told me as I dropped off a tray of empty tankards to the bar, and promptly disappeared out the back without so much as a second glance. I groaned, cursing her.

Hal emerged from the door Meg had disappeared into, “Meg said there was a...”

“Fight," I finished for him, nodding towards the burgeoning crowd, “better break it up.”

Hal is an imposing sight, even in his patched, floral chevron apron. His hulking form is more suited for an underground boxing circle than the kitchen, but he’s completely harmless. Of course, patrons don’t know that.

It took him less than a minute to prise the two culprits apart, and the larger of the two saw Hal’s form and balked – resigning himself. The other wasn’t so smart, and was still winding himself up to land another hit. But he didn’t need to throw the punch to cause any damage – his elbow flew back and caught me in the middle of my face. I don’t know if I passed out, but I can’t remember falling. The next thing I know I was sprawled across the floor and I could feel my nose swelling by the second. It was a struggle to even sit up, but thankfully I was not on my own in that.

My vision, blurred as it was, didn’t prevent me from noticing the hand that reached down to pull me up – and it didn’t prevent me from recognising that the incredibly attractive man to whom the hand belonged wasn’t really a man, but Fae. Seeing Fae wasn’t really a shock. In the year since the Queen returned, Orynth had become a sort of hub of Fae activity.

You got used to it quickly.

So, I don’t even blanch as he pulled me up with far too much ease – a consequence of the corded muscle bulging under his shirt. “You right?” He asked, releasing me to balance on my own.

“Swell.” I replied, my voice muffled and clogged. I was having trouble remaining balanced, and before I could become reacquainted with the floor the Fae male reached out and pulled me up to sit on the bar. “I’m fine,” I protested, swatting his hands away from my waist.

“Sure.” He ignored me, instead prodding a calloused finger at my nose.

“Ouch, back off.” I hissed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and you look it too.” He rolled his eyes at me, clearly exasperated.

“Didn’t you know this was a good day for me?” I retorted, trying to push him away so I could jump off the bar and clean myself up.

“Your nose is broken.” He didn’t budge.

“Wow.” I deadpanned, glaring at him. “Would you let me go?”

“I could reset it, if you like?” He asked, not looking at me and instead picking dirt out from under his fingernails casually, like he pinned waitresses to bars and teased them relentlessly every other day.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, but that’s a nasty cut you’ve got on your lip.” He might’ve, for all I knew.

“I can manage.” I said, though I wasn’t sure how I would manage to reset my nose on my own. Even if I had made it home, none of my siblings were budding first aid experts.

“Sure.” He repeated, still not looking at me. I huff, and try to nudge him away with my knee. He didn’t budge, and – taking in the sheer size of him – I didn’t see myself overpowering him any time soon. He was easily more than six foot tall, and almost as broad. I might have been exaggerating, but this guy looked like he’s been on some kind of crazy Fae steroids. His hair was nice, too – waves of bronze and gold and copper.

“You have nice hair.” I told him, softly. It had the desired effect, he looks up – startled, and I used the distraction to slide away from him and drop from the bar.

And promptly fall to the ground again.

His laugh was almost as nice as his hair, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the musical rasping. He doesn’t immediately offer me his hand, preferring to watch me struggle to stand on my own. I don’t know what Hal, Bess, Meg – everyone really – was doing, but the Fae seemed to be the sole witness to my strife. When he finally offers to help me, it comes with a condition.

“Will you finally accept my help now?” He asked and I grumbled, but didn’t decline. Within seconds, I was balancing on the bar again. I was slow to register the jolt of pain as his fingers prodded at my nose.

I felt oddly faint, disconnected from my body, as I felt cartilage slide against itself under my skin. My hair stood on end and I shoved the Fae away as soon as I am able, discombobulated. “You’re welcome.” He said, but didn’t resist to my shoving.

“I’ll thank you when I’ve stopped feeling like there’s something crawling under my skin.”

“Stop being dramatic.” He told me, watching as I jumped from the bar and managed to stand on my own two feet, albeit shakily.

“Thank you.” I said, somewhat awkwardly. I noticed that Hal had shuffled all the customers out, and was, with Meg, straightening up the room.

Bess appeared from the kitchen, seemingly unaware of what had transpired. “Rutting hell, Aisling!” She gasped, rushing over to me and making a fuss, fluttering her hands and shaking her head. “Your face! Bloody hell!”

“Is there something wrong with my face?” I asked, and Bess – who had been reaching to slap my arm – jolted at the sound of the Fae’s laugh.

“Oh...” She said, not at all subtle as she scanned him with her eyes. “Hello.”

“Well.” I said, nudging Bess to get her to stop making eyes at the Fae – who after a cursory glance at Bess, had returned his gaze to me. “Thanks again, I should really get home.”

“How?” He asked, still watching me.

“What?” I replied, disconcerted.

“How are you getting home?” He sounded far too concerned.

“I’m walking?” I said, quizzical. “It’s not far.”

“You could have a concussion, you shouldn’t walk alone.”

“I can look after myself.” I insisted, feeling as though this conversation was redundant. I’d had it too many times that day already. Of course, he didn’t know that.

“I’m sure,” I wasn’t able to place his tone. “I’ll walk you.”

“Bess can walk me.” I said, quickly. Too quickly. He raised his eyebrows at me, mocking.

“It’s completely out of my way.” Bess whined, but she looked at me like I should be thanking her. Her eyes told me she thought she was doing me a favour. Some friend. Some favour.

“How do I know you’re not a murderer? Or a rapist? Or a…”

The Fae sighed, and didn’t immediately reply. Rather, he gestured to the insignia on his cloak. It’s familiar; a common symbol to be seen on patrons of The Green Lion. The emblem of the palace guard.

"You’re a Royal Guard?” I said, taken aback.

“I’m the Captain of the Guard.” He smirked, victorious.

“I don’t even know your name!” I said, reaching. “And you don’t even know mine.”

“Oh, my gods, you’re so stubborn sometimes.” Bess shook her head, and then walked off to speak with Meg.

“Your friend has a point.” The Fae pointed out. “And, for the record, Aisling, my name is Fenrys.”

“How do you know…” I started.

“Your friend… Bess?” Fenrys replied, smirking. “Shall we make a move?” I nodded, and bid goodbye to my friends, leading Fenrys down the road.

It was quiet, and all I could hear are my own footsteps. Fenrys was silent beside me, and I guess he’d probably had far more practice in moving silently than I. “My brother is a palace guard too.” I said, torn between my discontentment with the silence and my unwillingness to let Fenrys get on my nerves and under my skin – something which, even in the minute time in which we’d been acquainted, he seemed to take particular pleasure in.

“Your brother?” He questioned. “What’s his name?”

“Penn Wynslow.” I said, “he hasn’t started yet, tomorrow he begins training.”

“He’ll be working with Safiya then, she handles most of the training.” Fenrys considered.

I nodded, “his friend, Angus, he got him the job.”

“Angus Beech?” Fenrys asked, and I nodded again. “Good guy.”

“I guess.” I shrugged.

“You don’t sound like you like him very much.”

“I like him fine. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“And we’re back to the stubbornness.” Fenrys sighed. “I thought we were making progress.”

“Yeah, I was going to invite you to my birthday slumber party. We’ll get matching outfits.” I deadpanned.

“Oh, I love a good frilly nightgown.” Fenrys bit. “Are you always this nice? A radiant pleasure to be around?”

“I am a delight.” I said, as we took a left, “this is my street.”

“You live in the slums?” Fenrys was taken aback, and his tone cut deep.

I don’t need anyone’s pity. “Sorry if it’s not quite up to your standards.” I said, bracingly. “I can manage from here.”

“I didn’t mean to offend…”

“I’m not.” I recovered quickly.

"Aisling! Aisling!” Conley came screaming out of our house, practically tumbling down the stairs to the street.

Penn appeared in the doorway behind him, and had the decency to look abashed.

“What’re you doing up, mister.” I said, my tone immediately softening. I scooped Conley up in my arms and scanned his overtired features.

“I tried.” Penn said, standing above me at the top of the stairs. “He’s being stubborn. Wonder where he learned it.”

“Ha. Ha.” I enunciated, adjusting Conley on my hip.

“Who’s this?” Penn asked, eyes fixed on Fenrys, who stood a few steps back – watching the exchange before him almost curiously.

“Fenrys,” He stepped forward, extending a hand to shake Penn’s own. Penn descended and approached Fenrys, but immediately dropped his hand in shock, staring, transfixed, at my face.

“What in the rutting hell happened?” He took the stairs two at a time, and clutched my chin in his hand, turning it up to the light filtering through the open front door.

“I’m fine.” I pushed him away.

“What in the rutting hell happened.” It was not a question.

“There was a fight, at the bar.”

“Did you hurt Aisling? She could beat you up.” Conley turned in my arms to look at Fenrys with the most withering look a four-year-old could summon. “I’m going to be a knight, and I’ll get you. With a big sword.”

“Luckily, I had nothing to do with what happened to Aisling.” Fenrys humoured him. “I would hate to have you and your sword after me.”

Conley was delighted to be taken seriously, and apparently accepted what Fenrys had said as the truth. “He reset it, so it won’t heal badly.” I told Penn. “And he wouldn’t let me walk home alone.”

“You broke your nose.” Fenrys - indignant, frustrated by my attitude.

“Yes. Well.” I said. “Thank you.”

“I suppose I’ll see you around.” Fenrys said. “At the tavern.”

“Yes. Probably.” I agreed, watching as Fenrys disappears up the street and into the shadows. When I return my gaze to Penn, he’s shaking his head.

“What?” I asked as I carry Conley back inside.

“If I’m right, and that’s really Fenrys – the legendary Fae warrior and Captain of the Guard…” Penn shook his head and closed the door. “Only you. Only you could break your nose and probably make a complete fool of yourself, but still end up with one of the mightiest warriors in history wrapped around your finger.”

“It’s a gift.”

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Eight

Summary: Moving across the pond was supposed to signify new beginnings for the Kirkland family. Arthur’s parents seemed to take that a bit too literally for his liking.

Chapter Index

This was moved from my old account

Vlad pulled into Arthur's driveway, his brakes squeaking as his car came to a stop. Arthur stepped out, thanking him before shutting the door.

It was the morning after Lukas' legendary date, and Arthur was preparing himself for what was to come. Though, at this moment, the near future mattered much more than the distant.

He had to admit that hanging up on his mother last night wasn't the most calculated decision. It was done out of impulse, out of his severe unwant of hearing his mother's nasally, squeaking voice. Considering that, and the fact that his cell phone had died around nine-thirty that evening from her constant calling, Arthur felt his actions justified.

Though he knew that she wouldn't feel the same.

Arthur waved as Vlad left, smiling until he could no longer see his car. Strolling up the walkway, paying no attention to the vibrant flowers along it, he jiggled the front door handle, surprised to find it open. His parents weren't ones to leave the door unlocked, so this was a clear sign of Arthur's impending doom. They were expecting him, but that didn't mean that they would actually see him.

Looking around for any possible neighbors watching, Arthur opened the door and snuck in. He was aware that he looked like a burglar at that moment, but who would rob a house at ten in the morning? On a Saturday, no less? Certainly not anyone who graduated secondary school.

A creak sounded through the entry hall as he shut the door. He cringed at it. Looking around, from what he could see, no one was up yet, so as long as he was quiet upstairs, Arthur was home-free.

Silently, Arthur tiptoed to the living room, imagining he was a spy as extra motivation. As a child, he dreamed of being one, but his parents quickly shut the idea down. Now, the dream was only a husk of what it once was, but he still kept those skills he had developed all those years ago. They became handy when he needed to do something stealthy, such as sneak in and out of his house.

He started moving faster the closer he got to the living room, getting an eyeful of the staircase just before-

"Arthur Kirkland, where have you been?"

He groaned, standing up to his full height and turning to face his mother. Sitting in the green armchair at the back of the room, her eyes were cold and harsh, her lips pursed into a fine line. A magazine was laying open on the armrest.

She bopped her crossed leg, the fabric of her polka-dot pajama pants bouncing as she did so. She grabbed her magazine, closing it and tossing it onto the coffee table as she stood. He found it difficult to take her seriously in that getup, especially when she put her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side. "Where have you been?" She emphasized and laced more anger in her words the second time.

Arthur snorted, strolling to the stairs. "Out. With friends. Where else did you think I would be?"

With an unsatisfied huff, she followed him, grabbing his elbow and pulling him back just as he was about to step onto the first step.

He let out an undignified squeak, his shoulders tensing up. Arthur quickly recovered, whipping around to face her.

They were close enough that he could feel wisps of her breath blow on his face. Arthur cringed at the stale smell of whatever was for dinner last night. He didn't even want to begin figuring out what it was, in fear of death by foul morning breath.

The skin around her eyes scrunched together as she spoke, and she stepped back as Arthur's disgust grew more apparent. "Did you not think to tell me that you were going out? Or that you were staying over at someone's house?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He couldn't believe she was actually trying to make him sound like the villain. As if she were the oh-so-innocent victim. Narrowing his eyes, he hissed., "Would you have let me go, even if I asked?" Arthur put extra emphasis on the last word, attempting to drive the point home.

She looked taken back, bringing a hand up to her chest, stumbling over her words as she tried to defend herself. Arthur smirked, feeling smug to have rendered her speechless for once.

He turned towards the stairs, running up them, stopping when he thought of something else to say. "Oh, and mother." She looked up at him from eh landing, a boiling rage clouding her features. From her tense jaw, he knew there would be a "conversation" at dinner that evening. "Sitting in the living room, reading, waiting for me to return to give the line, 'Where have you been,'? Where did you get that? The Hallmark Channel? That's so cliché. Be more creative."

The noise that came out of her mouth was a mix between a dying cat in heat and a whale. He snorted, leaving her behind to plan whatever else she could do to ruin his life.

Upon reaching the hallway, he slowed to a lethargic stroll, not giving a care in the world at that moment. Even if his father were to come stalking out of his bedroom, Arthur wouldn't even glance at him. He took his time examining each of the photos and paintings lining the hall, even if he knew the time and story behind them.

Many of them featured his older brothers, and he sneered at their freckled faces. His father had been reluctant about leaving them in the UK, but Arthur felt it was one of the best things to happen to him. He would finally get some peace, only to fall into a different kind of chaos.

"Arthur?" He turned to see Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He wore his favorite sailor pajamas, its threads worn thin and a small hole forming in the left knee. Their mother had been trying to get rid of them for weeks, but she just couldn't say no to Little Peter. It made Arthur's blood boil at the thought of how much she babied him.

"What do you want?" He didn't want this conversation to last long. Arthur's goal at the moment- though he wasn't taking it too seriously- was to get a hot shower. His hair felt greasy and dirty, a feeling which he despised.

"You weren't home last night." Peter kicked the hardwood, his sock whooshing against it.

"No, I wasn't."

"Why?" His voice was curious, and there was something else in it that Arthur just couldn't put his finger on. That he didn't want to put his finger on.

He pursed his lips, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Arthur thought of something that wouldn't get Peter asking questions, and said the first thing that popped into his mind. "I needed to get out."

"Oh." Peter nodded, continuing to kick his foot against the floor. For some reason Arthur couldn't even begin to think of, he sounded almost disappointed.

Arthur walked to his bedroom door, suddenly not in the mood to look at any more pieces of artwork. As he turned the handle, about to walking in, Peter spoke again.

"We had pizza for dinner last night." His voice was smug, as if he was confident that he got something Arthur didn't. He remembered himself feeling the same way with his older brothers, but it never lasted long.

Smirking at the fact that Peter was himself again, and not whatever he had morphed into a few moments before, Arthur decided to crunch his confidence into dust. "What? Pizza? Made by Mum? I had chocolate pancakes, and they were damn good, too."

Arthur cackled as he entered his room, Peter whining and telling him to burn in hell. Everything fell silent as he shut the door, and he sighed, taking it all in.

Last night, as the three of them were setting up their "snooze zone", as it had been called, Arthur felt a change shifting in. It crawled up his back like an army of spiders, and he rolled his shoulders at the memory of it. He had felt it before, when they were about to board the plane to the US. At the time, he felt it was nothing and ignored it, but now...

He was prepared for whatever was to come.

The water was steaming hot as he stepped in. He moaned as it showered onto his hair, hanging his head and shutting his eyes. He mentally checked to see it he remembered to lock the doors, but stopped when he realized he didn't care. Arthur reached for his shampoo bottle, clicking off the top and squeezing some into his hand.

Arthur stepped back from the water, running the shampoo through his hair. He scrubbed it into a bubbly lather, the shampoo squelching as he pushed and pulled.

As soapy water ran down the drain, Arthur stared. Streams of it whirled before being sucked in, rushing onto where ever it went. If only his worries and problems- no, if only he could wash away the same way.

Over the past few weeks, Arthur had seriously begun to wonder how in the world Mr. Vargas hadn't been fired yet. Sure, he would eventually put in grades- "eventually" being the key word- and did what the administrators wanted him to do when he had the time.

The thing was, he constantly made jokes at his students' expenses. He cursed enough to make a sailor wince, trashed his co-workers, and went on long talks about his past and recent escapades. Occasionally, when someone or something made him really angry, he would spend the entire period or practice ranting. That had happened twice this year already.

But what confused him the most was the fact that the class seemed to enjoy it. They laughed at his jokes, no matter what they were, some more than others. Students asked a multitude of questions during his stories, which only seemed to encourage Mr. Vargas, Once, someone even stood to act out what he was saying, causing Mr. Vargas to promise her extra credit in the participation part of her grade. It baffled Arthur to no end, and as each day passed, his confusion grew worse.

They were currently in Madrigal practice, Mr. Vargas speaking with Roderich. The latter was, as usual, sitting at the piano, his fingers ghosting over the keys.

Arthur was sitting in his section seat, his binder- half an inch, no more, no less- laying flat on his lap. He was ready to go, but everyone else was not. Multiple students were out of their seats, some in a completely different section. From just happening to see him, Arthur knew that Alfred was standing in the back with some other tenors and a few basses, doing whatever fools did when they had free time.

"Ok." Mr. Vargas smacked the top of the piano, chuckling when Roderich jumped. He walked to the front of the room, clapping his hands loudly. "Ok, ok! Get to your seats before I drag ya!"

Arthur watched with hidden wonder as everyone scrambled to their assigned seats, exchanging amused and relieved glanced with friends. He himself sat up, making a space between his back and his chair.

It was strange, the effect Mr. Vargas had on his students. They followed his every word, talked about him, admired him. Hell, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if a couple people in here feared the man. He apparently had the capacity to be frightening if need be, though Arthur hadn't seen it yet.

By now, Arthur had gotten used to Mr. Vargas' loud voice, so he barely made a wince when he started speaking. "Now, before we begin, I've a few announcements to make." He waved his hand, signaling Roderich to play three low, ominous notes, over and over again. Acting as if he were from a cheesy vampire horror movie, Mr. Vargas continued. "You may know of Madrigal practices on Wednesday, but now-" He took a dramatic pause, looking around the room. The music Roderich was playing abruptly stopped, and in a voice similar to one you would use with an infant, Mr. Vargas screeched, "It's on Mondays and Fridays, too!"

The class was divided into groans and squeals, some more exaggerated than others. Arthur himself felt indifferent, as it was less time alone, but, at the same time, an excuse to get away from his parents. They had grounded him for a month, no leaving the house alone in the evening or having anyone over, but this was a school activity, so he guessed it would get by.

Mr. Vargas feigned offense at the resistance, his eyes and mouth dramatically wide and gaped. He put his hand on his chest and breathed in, which made Arthur snort. That was one of his mother's favorite moves.

"C'mon, y'all! I know ya got work- well, everyone except the sophomores and Michelle, can't ruin those manicured nails-" He wiggled his fingers as the choir laughed, some calling out the mentioned soprano. "-but I'm sure you can work somethin' out. Plus, who wants to go to work, anyways? Not me."

A few nods of agreement at the last part. Whispering engulfed the room, and Mr. Vargas smirked, most likely knowing that he was in his students' good graces once more.

Arthur watched as Mr. Vargas walked around the piano and towards the door. "One more thing." He picked up a neon green sheet of paper- Arthur didn't understand why he wouldn't just use white- waving it in the air above his head. "If ya haven't started gettin' your costume customized or whatever else needs to be done, I highly suggest you get that taken care of. We start performing in November- I know, right, shocker- and I want y'all lookin' nice n' old time-y. This paper has a list of suggested tailors. Get one on your way out if ya need it."

As Mr. Vargas went on, Arthur eyed the stack of paper. He had already placed an order for his own costume, his mother giving suggestions about the design. It was strange how she had managed to go from the Kraken's worse nightmare to a doting mother between being at home and out in public.

But even then, as the tailor listed the prices for various accessories and adornments, he could feel her sharp fingernails digging into his shoulder, her cheery facade growing tighter and tighter as she tried to keep it on. He had gotten a venom-filled tongue lashing in the car afterward.

"Ok, now that that's over, let's get started! I really hope y'all've been workin' at home, 'cause thirty songs are a bitch to memorize. He waited until the chuckles died out to continue. "Let's- uh... let's do the one we started last week. See how far y'all got on that."

As the piano started the introduction, Arthur sat up, keeping his binder low enough that he could read the notes but still see Mr. Vargas. The others did the same, their chatter ceased, the concentration of the choir tuned to the sheet music and their conductor.

Arthur took a deep breath before their starting note, counting in his head until his section began to sing. He followed the ink on the page, looking down to the solfege he marked the week prior if he got stuck somewhere.

Mr. Vargas quietly whispered for them to stay on beat, waving his right hand to go along with it. His other hand flowed with the music, marking a pause for one section and a start up for another. At times, he motioned for Roderich to stop, if only to remind them all that they would be singing acapella at their performances.

Arthur panicked a tiny bit as they entered a new part, and he tried his best to not let it show. His voice shook with uncertainty, and the only reason he didn't stop was that he heard the same shake in the voices of his section mates.

He tried his best to go along, but sightreading had never been his strong suit. When he sang for his church back in England, they occasionally did lessons, but they were half-assed at best. It didn't help that the sopranos were going on a strong crescendo, overpowering the rest of the choir. As they hit a particularly high note, Arthur could feel the light pound of a headache coming along.

He knew that it would only get worse.

By then, he was completely in the dark. From the corner of his eye, he could see that he was receiving odd looks from those next to him, the reassurance that they were as lost as he was crumbling.

Arthur stared at his solfege with enough power to burn a hole through it. He just needed something, anything to show him what to do before it-

"Stop." The singing in the room ceased at Mr. Vargas' command, the only noise the quickly fading sound of the piano. Arthur lowered his binder, his cheeks burning from embarrassment and shame. He had failed, which was the one thing he hated most. Pressure started to build up behind his eyes, but he squeezed his fingernails into the meat of his palm, willing it away.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Vargas flipped a page back, scanning it up and down. Arthur lifted his binder up, sensing that they were going to start again. He could hear everyone else around him do the same.

"Measure forty-eight to measure sixty-six. Starting word: 'The'. Everyone, one- two- three-"

Arthur followed along, breathing where he needed to breathe and changing his dynamic when the sheet music called for him to do so. But even then, he still felt as if something was wrong, as if he wasn't with the group.

Mr. Vargas motioned for them to stop, the room falling silent once again. He bopped his head side to side, his eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling. "Just the altos and sopranos this time. Measure forty-eight." He counted them off, and at three, they launched into a wave of painful high notes and loud dynamics.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and read over his music, it being the only thing he could do. He now had a steady headache, each screech and shriek making the pounding worse. It would be no use watching the givers of said headache, and he had already grown bored of looking around the room and studying his classmates.

He pulled a pencil out of his pocket, starting to scribble down solfege as fast as he could. He had quickly learned to keep one with him and available at all times, not knowing when he would have to mark or circle something. Arthur didn't have much time; the girls were rapidly approaching their final notes, so he would only be able to label two measures at best.

When they finished, the two girls' parts sat back, letting Mr. Vargas do his critiquing. He bit his bottom lip, nodding his head and tapping his fingers against the metal stand in front of him. "Good." He turned his attention to the other half of the room. "Bass and tenor, measure forty-eight to sixty-six."

As he counted off, Arthur wondered why he kept saying the measures over and over again, but didn't bother to question it aloud. He would probably be ignored, anyways, or told to shut up and start singing.

Arthur made sure to make his words clear as he sang, not missing out on any 'T' or 'K' and keeping his vowels tall and strong. It was tiring to pay attention to that and the notes and getting the words right all at once, but he managed. He was used to it after doing it for so many years, but even so, it still took a level of concentration from him. A high one, one that he didn't need for other tasks. Arthur only hoped it was the same with others.

When they finished, his section's final note mercifully low, Arthur turned his attention to Mr. Vargas. The man cringed, his nose wrinkling. He turned to Roderich, the two furiously whispering, Roderich jerking his head to Arthur's section. Mr. Vargas nodded, his hand gripping the top edge of his stand.

"Basses only. Everyone else, sit back. One- two- three." Arthur started off again, beginning to grow bored of their current song. Mr. Vargas was looking for something, it was obvious, the only question was what it was.

From the corner of his eye, he could see those from the other three sections watching. He could've sworn some were cringing, one even shaking her head. Arthur still kept reading his music, his shoulders stiff and tense under those stares.

The music cut off abruptly, and Arthur looked up in surprise. His whole section did, from what he could see.

What horrified Arthur the most was that Mr. Vargas was staring directly at him, an obnoxious smirk spreading across his face. Arthur wanted to wipe it off, but kept a cool and indifferent expression, not wanting to get into it with one of the school's more decent teachers. He was already in boiling hot water, there was no need to turn the notch even higher.

"Arthur Kirkland?"

He raised an eyebrow. Those next to him tried to scoot away as far as possible without being noticed. There were several quiet giggles in the room, coming from all sections. The entire atmosphere had a pitying mood hanging from it, and Arthur almost balked at the thought that it was directed towards him.

"Er- yessir?" he could feel his cheeks warming up, and he mentally cursed, So much for acting like he didn't care.

The choir seemed to lean in as they waited for Mr. Vargas' verdict. With the way they were treating this, a drumroll would've been an appropriate accessory to go along with it. The fools were acting as if Arthur was about to be sentenced to a horrible life in prison, and he found it amusing, yet, at the same time, unnerving.

He glared at those around him, being as discreet as he could. Some looked away and others, to his growing irritation, glared back.

If he had to admit it, with the way Mr. Vargas was staring at him, eyes narrowed, Arthur had become slightly curious. He had noticed something was off, but just couldn't put his finger on what. Arthur didn't know if Mr/ Vargas was being silent to build up suspense, as he often did, or if he legitamently didn't know what to say. It made Arthur feel uneasy, no matter if it was the former or the latter.

When Mr. Vargas spoke, breaking the silence that permeated throughout the classroom, he did so in a low, accusing voice. "You were flat." He put extra emphasis on the last word, and Arthur would be lying if he said that he didn't feel a tinge of fear trickle down his spine.

He swallowed, his shoulders tensing and legs crossing. As he spoke, Arthur willed his voice to stay firm and steady, but he couldn't help the small shake and stutter in it. Arthur could only hope that no one else noticed. "I'm flat, sir?"

Mr. Vargas kept his deadpan expression. The giggling and whispering had stopped, thankfully, but it was now so quiet in the room that one could hear a pin drop. It didn't help that he had the full attention of his classmates- or clubmates, whatever the were.

Then, once the suspense and tension reached its peak, a slow, twangy voice destroyed it all, just in the typical fashion of its owner. "You were so flat, a piece of paper would've been jealous."

Mr. Vargas' serious expression cracked as the choir burst out into chortles and cackles. Arthur turned to Alfred, glaring at him, but it wasn't as its normal strength. It was his stupidity that had gotten him out of that mess, so he had to be somewhat grateful for it.

Leaning against the front wall of the classroom, his arm wrapped around his torso, Mr. Vargas was in a full out howl. His face was a cherry red, his laugh lines and crows feet prominent as he smiled. "Al- Alfred! You know I can't-" He burst out into another round of laughter, slamming his hand against the concrete wall.

Mr. Vargas seemed to set the choir off, the noise growing louder. He wouldn't be surprised if everything could be heard from the hallway. Arthur was probably the only person in the room who wasn't laughing his ass off. He didn't get why everyone thought Alfred's attempt at a joke was humorous, nor was Mr. Vargas' laughing. He blamed it on the fact that he was in America, and that they were all strange here, but that did little to ease his bewilderment.

"Goddamnit, get on with it, Old Man!" The voice was loud and deep, and Arthur quickly figured out that it belonged to someone from his section. He turned around, as did a lot of other people in the room, to see who it was.

There, seated in the back row- which must've been a pain, considering his short height, sat the boy in question. With curly brown hair and hazel eyes, he looked an almost carbon-copy to Mr. Vargas. If, of course, the latter was younger. Pissed off seemed to be the default expression for him, his brow furrowed and mouth etched into a frown.

Arthur huffed through his nose, smirking. He might like this guy.

Mr. Vargas shook his head, tsking. "Ok, ok." He turned his attention to his stand, flipping back and forth between two pages, addressing the choir as he did so. "Y'all'll have to excuse my grandson, Lovino-" he nodded to him, "- he's a hot-headed one. Total opposite of his brother, Feliciano, who sits in the tenor section." Mr. Vargas nodded to his other grandson, who smiled upon being acknowledged.

Lovino scowled as his brother was mentioned, crossing his arms and legs. Perhaps it was a sibling rivalry, Arthur thought with some nostalgia. He had had plenty of those in his lifetime, what with five brothers and his parents having a tendency to pick favorites. But as he not-so-subtly stared at Lovino, whose focus had not broken from his brother, he couldn't help but think there was something more to it. Something driven by hatred and jealously rather than rowdy competition.

"Arthur Kirkland, turn to measure fifty-three, everyone else, lean back and relax."

A loud thump sounded as no more than thirty backs hit their chairs, some later than others. Arthur's back, however, stayed ramrod straight. He let his shoulders slump down, raising his chin high and uncrossing his legs. Arthur bit his bottom lip.

Roderich pressed a key on the piano, the sound vibrating through the room. It was high, too high for Arthur's range. He didn't understand why the tenors didn't do it, and the basses be given a different- lower being preferred- note, but composers were assholes like that. It was what it was, but that didn't mean that he would willingly accept it.

"Play it again for me." Roderich did as he was told, and Arthur cringed at the note, but Mr. Vargas seemed indifferent to it. Even if he had one of the deepest singing voices Arthur had ever heard.

Mr. Vargas snapped three times, letting a short space of time in between each one. "Aaah~" he sang the note, exactly on the pitch. Arthur watched with a raised eyebrow, rolling his eyes and tsking when he was waved to join in.

He took a deep breath, making sure to use his diaphragm and not lift his shoulders. That had been an issue in the past, according to his old director, but he just figured that the old woman needed something to yell at him about. Maybe in those last few years, she had gone senile and simply couldn't remember that he had stopped doing what she accused him of. Arthur would never know.

Arthur let out his breath, his throat vibrating as he sang. It still seemed a bit too low, however, and he winced.

Mr. Vargas must've thought the same, as he put more breath into his own voice, making it louder, and waving his hand in an indication for Arthur to go higher. He had yet to take a breath, and Arthur was amazed that his face hadn't started to turn blue.

Arthur paused, gasping for air. It had always been a problem for him, controlling how much air went out. He breathed until his throat was tight ad his lungs couldn't hold anymore to continue.

As he started up again, still too low, he could hear the giggles and snorts of the idiots around him. His cheeks and the tips of his ears burned, and he couldn't help but want to get up and leave, want to curl up in a cave in the middle of nowhere and never come out.

Or, at least, slap every single person in this stupid choir until their teeth crack out. He clenched his fingers around the edge of his binder, the ridged plastic digging into the lines. the idea seemed to become more and more tempting as the giggles grew louder and the snorts more obnoxious.

Mr. Vargas stopped singing, and Arthur, taking the cue, did the same. He stumbled back against the piano, resting his hands on his knees, his shoulders shaking. Bopping his foot up and down, Arthur pursed his lips, watching with unbridled disgust and anger as Mr. Vargas humiliated him even further.

The man let out a whine as he laughed breathlessly, clapping his hands to go along with each one. Arthur thought he looked like a seal. "Oh my god- oh my god. Arthur." He shook his head, covering his heads with his hand. The way he smiled, it was as if he were joking with a dear friend, or a member of his family, maybe. Arthur didn't feel the same way. "Arthur, do we need to knee ya?" Is that what we need to do for you to get the pitch?"

Arthur scowled at him, turning it into a sneer when he didn't feel that it was enough. Mr. Vargas gave him an amused smirk as a response, tipping his head back and laughing after Arthur finished speaking. "I don't think that to be necessary, sir."

Mr. Vargas nodded, keeping his irritating expression. "If ya don't think it's necessary, then you're gonna sing the note at the correct pitch, right?" As his sentence went on and on, Arthur wanted nothing more than to slap that smirk off his face. Off of everyone's faces.

Instead of letting his anger out, like he oh-so-desperately wanted to do, Arthur cocked his head to the side, giving a venom-filled smile complete with honeyed words. "I'll try. In the meantime, could we practice again? I apologize, I'll start trying harder."

How the man didn't realize that Arthur was three bad sentences away from going off on him was truly the mystery of the century. He gritted his teeth and clenched and unclenched his fingers. Arthur could feel a rage building up, one that morphed from his mortification. Arthur pushed it down,  not unlike in a way he often found himself doing these days, but it barely helped.

"Okay, then. Roderich, hit the key." Arthur had no idea how he could despise a musical note as much as he did, but he managed. From the sighs and groans of those around him, he knew that they felt the same way. They were probably hating him as well, Arthur thought with a smirk. It would just be adding more to the never-ending list.

He took a deep breath, not stopping until his chest hurt. Arthur kept it in as best he could, straightening his shoulders and uncrossing his legs. Nodding to Mr. Vargas, and Roderich, for that matter, Arthur waited for the scale to play, the note he was having trouble with being high do.

After each note was played, he hummed it before singing, his voice shaking. He made sure that his singing matched the humming, going slow after each one. The room was already deep, boiling water, with all the anger that everyone was feeling making more and more bubbles rise to the surface. Arthur was sure that his own anger set the flames.

His throat was closing up, pain spiking like tiny needles the higher he went. Arthur looked to Mr. Vargas, hoping that the man would nod and say that he was good to go. Instead, to his ever-growing chagrin, he shook his head, waving for him to go higher.

Cursing inwardly, he stopped, taking a breath. When he was ready, Arthur started up again, increasing his pitch. His throat felt like it was on fire, his head pounded like it was being hit by a hammer over and over and over again.

Mr. Vargas smiled, nodding his head. Roderich let out a sigh of relief, rolling his head back, along with a few others in the room.

Taking that as a cue, Arthur stopped, gasping for breath. He sat back with a groan, snapping his binder shut and laying it flat on his lap. Lifting a hand to his throat, Arthur rolled his neck, closing his eyes.

He had done it. Finally.

Mr. Vargas walked down the aisle, turning off on his row. The kid seat next to Arthur- he was told his name but hadn't bothered to remember it- scooted back and to the side to let him through. Arthur pursed his lips as Mr. Vargas patted his back, moving his hand up and shaking his shoulder. Arthur could feel his brain rattle, which did nothing but make his headache worse.

"You did good, kid." Arthur figured that the smile he gave him was supposed to be supportive and easy-going, but he felt it anything but. "And, I know you might be a little angry-"

"A little, sir?" A little? He was not pissed, as they said here, or angry. Arthur was furious. Multiple violent situations were swimming around in his mind, like soup in a pan, growing worse and worse as time went on.

He wouldn't act on them, though. He wouldn't dare. Arthur wasn't stupid. His record was horrible, littered with fights and arguments with teachers and other stuff that he didn't care about. Assaulting a teacher would get him in deeper rubbish than he was now, and get him a one-way ticket to the Kirkland Disciplinary Circus. Not to mention an alternative school.

Mr. Vargas raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. Realization seemed to dawn on him after about a minute, and he rose his hands in surrender. "Ok, ok. Maybe you're really angry- embarrassed, too. But hey, look at the bright side-" he smiled as Arthur looked at him with suspicion, "-ya did it! The help may not've been the most ideal, sure, but ya still managed to hit the note! You should be proud about that."

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. Looking back at Mr. Vargas he gave him a small smile, letting a little sarcasm drip from his words as he spoke. "Oh, I assure you, sir, I am very proud of my... accomplishment." He slowly nodded at the end of his sentence, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs.

With another smile and a hard pat on the shoulder, Mr. Vargas turned away and returned to the front of the room. Arthur watched with narrow eyes as he walked, picking up his binder and opening it with a creak. Who knew what song he would choose next. Maybe Arthur would be sharp this time, and be forced to fix it in front of everyone again.

Mr. Vargas steadied his stand, pulling his wooden stool up to sit. He flicked through his papers, studying the notes he scribbled down during practices. "Everyone." He straightened his back, the choir imitating. "Turn to Jingle Bells." He bit his bottom lip, shaking his shoulders as people groaned and cheered.

As the music started up, Arthur prepared to sing his least favorite Christmas song. It was overused, constantly played on the radio, and though they were playing a different, older arrangement, he still hated it.

Mr. Vargas lifted his hands, establishing the beat. Soprano. Then alto and tenor. After that, finally, the basses were motioned to begin, the deep note welcomed after that awful one minutes prior.

And with each high note, each screech and shriek from the Sopranos added to his headache, Arthur wanted nothing more than to scream his head off and kill every single person in that room.

The maths classroom was silent as Arthur scribbled on his scratch paper. This was his second page and it was quickly filling up.

They were currently taking a test, a pop quiz, Mr. Wang had called it. To "test what they had learned so far", he said. Arthur thought it was a test that had crawled its way from the cracks of Hell.

Sure, he was aware of his concepts. He had an idea of what he was supposed to do, but applying it to the actual problems... no. It was like telling someone how to ink a tattoo, but each one was different and something he'd never seen before. It was impractical. Really.

With a quick look up and around, Arthur noticed that he was the only one left taking the test. He swore, making sure it was quiet enough that Mr. Wang wouldn't hear it. It still earned him a couple looks.

Arthur often prided himself in his grades. He had had straight As since year four, though with his progress and ability in maths, he often questioned it. His parents did, as well. Hell, once, they had even flat-out asked him if he was cheating. <i> That <i/> had definitely helped his secondary school self-esteem.

Being somewhat content with his answer on his scratch paper, Arthur transferred it to the regular test paper. He made sure to write each number and letter carefully, a habit born from many teachers having difficulties reading his handwriting.

After he finished that, with one final glance to that particular problem, he turned to the next one. And cringed.

He reread the problem, again and again and again. It was harder than the other ones. Arthur had no idea where to even start.

Deciding to half-ass it just to get it done, he reached for his scratch paper, looking it up and down and flipping it over. He tsked. It was full. Not a single space left.

turning around in his chair, he unzipped his backpack, pulling out a green plastic folder. He had reserved it specifically for blank, lined paper- college ruled, it had much more room than wide ruled- and it had been handy so far. Especially in maths and science.

As he started scribbling, his pencil scratching against the paper in a pleasing manner, he could hear Mr. Wang clear his throat from his desk. "Has everyone finished?" He was currently grading papers, or so he had claimed at the beginning of the period, and the stacks were quickly dwindling.

Several heads perked up and looked around. Including Alfred's. There was some shaking, some "no"s, and Arthur new with a bitter cringe that he had to do it. Even if he didn't want to.

He raised his hand, frowning when he noticed an embarrassing shake. Multiple heads turned to him, and Arthur could feel a warmth start to spread across his cheeks. "Er- I'm just about finished, sir."

Lies. He wasn't even halfway through. Why Mr. Wang insisted that it'd be multiple pages, he had no idea, but it wasn't helping him at all.

Arthur snarled at those who sighed, groaned, and glared at him. He felt it was necessary. The fools still had time. They could check over their answers, and be happy that they actually understood this rubbish, or draw or read a damn book. They weren't the ones stressing out about it all, so they shouldn't be saying- or breathing in a certain way, really- anything.

Mr. Wang nodded, looking a bit annoyed. "That's fine. You've got ten minutes."

Groaning, Arthur rolled his head back, setting his hand on his neck. He looked to the side, only to find Alfred staring at him, his brow lowered and mouth slightly gaped in confusion. Arthur sneered at him, which conveniently- as if often did, thankfully- caused him to turn away.

He turned back to his paper, practically staring a hole in it. Scribble, scribble. Scratch, scratch. Furiously erasing over and over again. Arthur gave up. Another question down.

Arthur moved to the next one. He scowled, the question being even harder than the one before. Glancing up at the clock, his scowl deepened, his mood worsening as the second hand ticked and ticked. He was running out of time.

But then again, it wasn't s if the eight minutes he had left would do anything. They only had a day to do this test, and he knew he wouldn't finish anyways, or get a single question correct, So the question that he really needed to be focusing on was: why was he even bothering? He was going to fail, anyways.

Arthur picked up his calculator, clearing the previous numbers from the screen. He typed in the numbers for his current problem, pressing symbols and deleting it when he found the results unsatisfying. Leaning back in his chair, he sighed, carding his fingers through his hair.

Arthur tossed his calculator onto his desk, the racket drawing many heads to his direction. Including Mr. Wang's and Alfred's, both showing various levels of shock on their faces. Mr. Wang's more than Alfred's.

He snorted. It seems the golden boy had gotten used to his antics. Great.

Angry and a tiny bit ashamed- though he would never admit it to anyone- he threw down his pencil, too. Arthur decided that he would sit and twiddle his thumbs until the bell rang, waiting until he could leave this damn test behind and go to lunch with Vlad. Speaking of which...

Lifting his feet up on his toes, Arthur twisted around to look at his friend. Vlad was already starting at him, his brow furrowed and head cocked to the side in the feline way Arthur had come to associate him with.

Leaning against his desk, looking the epitome of a concerned friend, Vlad made his words clear as glass as he silently mouthed, "Are you okay?"

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Arthur felt almost touched. He had had very few relationships with people who were... worried about his "emotional outbursts", as his family called them, and it was nice to know that Vlad was one of them. If he was here, Arthur was sure that Lukas would be the same way.

Realizing that he hadn't yet given a reply, Arthur shook his head, mouthing hack that he would tell him at lunch. That seemed to please Vlad, as he leaned to the side to grab a book from his backpack, giving his attention fully to it.

Arthur turned to face the front of the room, letting his feet lay flat against the tile floor, He tapped his fingers against the table, examining the scratches on the wooden veneer. wincing as his fingernails sent a spike of pain down his fingertips, he stopped, lifting his fingers. He tsked at the white parts, which had grown long. He would have to cut those when he returned to his house.

The bell rang with a shriek, Arthur wincing, Headaches had become more often recently, some more painful than others, but he didn't think anything of it. He had had his fair share of them over the years, and was at a point where he could ignore the minor ones. That bell never failed to make them worse, however.

Arthur stood from his seat, grabbing his calculator and pencil and shoving them in one of the pockets in his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, waiting for Vlad to walk up to him.

"Mr. Jones and Mr. Kirkland, stay behind, please."

As Vlad stepped up to him, he gave Arthur a confused look. Arthur pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders. The shrug was weighed down, however, from the brick that was his backpack. "I'll see you at lunch."

Vlad nodded with a smile, patting Arthur softly on his back. "We'll wait for ya. I think Lukas brought some PB and J, so I hope ya like grape jam."

"I like strawberry better."

Vlad laughed, beginning to move away, and Arthur watched him turn in his test and walk out the door. He waited until he, Alfred, and Mr. Wang were the only ones left in the room before heading to the latter's desk.

Alfred walked in the adjacent aisle, giving him a weird look. "Dude, strawberry jam? Really?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur huffed. Of course, the idiot was trying to start something. Of course. He didn't say anything in return, letting Alfred interpret the silence as he would. They didn't need to get into an argument in front of a teacher again.

Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, studying Mr. Wang's desk. It looked as if it were one stressful day from being thrown into disorganization. Papers were stacked on the edges, some marked with red ink, others sitting ungraded. A set of keys clinked against a cup of coffee, each on reflecting off the plastic. Various pens lay scattered, one without a top.

Mr. Vargas picked up his mug and took a sip, cringing before setting it back down. Cold, most likely.

"Mr. Kirkland?" Mr. Wang leaned forward on his desk, bunching his fingers together. He looked exactly like his therapist several years ago, with that questioning look mixed in with pure disappointment. Arthur remembered that expression, along with his mother's, just after-

Arthur shook his head, so light that the two next to and in front of him wouldn't think it anything but moving his hair out of the way. He didn't need that memory budding its ugly head out now.

"Yes, sir?" Arthur racked through his mind, trying to figure out what he did. No arguments, save for that tiny incident when he first met Alfred, and no other behavior... issues. He was good to go, as far as he was concerned.

Unless Alfred had made something up. Or maybe it was Kiu, trying to get revenge for whatever he thought Arthur did.

Mr. Wang reached for one of the inked paper stacks, taking off the one on the very top. He held it for both Arthur and Alfred to see, the former wincing and the latter whistling.

It had his name on it, Arthur easily recognizing his own neat handwriting. Red ink covered the entire paper, each of his answers crossed out. A comment was written in boxed writing, calling for him to try harder, along with a big fat zero. Not a single one correct.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Alfred staring at him. His eyes were wide, his brow raised and lips pursed. He looked like Arthur had just told him that he won the lottery, or was being drafted into major league baseball, maybe, since he was into rubbish like that.

"Do you think you can explain this?" He waved the paper in the air, his lips pursed into a fine line.

Arthur stared at it. At the zero taking up space in the corner. At the comment scribbled across the top. At the lines going through each and every one of the answers he spent hours going through and checking. Hours.

He had no idea how to answer. What to say. But he was going to try, if only to guard his pride from further wrecking. It had already faced enough this week. "It looks to be one of my homework assignments, sir, One that I scored pretty badly on."

"Mr. Kirkland, you missed every single question on this assignment. Every single one."

Arthur lifted his eyebrows. Mr. Wang must've been out of sugar packets to coat it with. Surely he could've scrambled up some, if only to pad his ego from the fall it just took.

Arthur looked to the side, weighing Alfred's reaction. He had his hands clasped behind his back, finding the hundreds of black spots dotting the ceiling much more interesting than the current conversation. He stepped around, back and forth, occasionally rolling back on his heels. Alfred looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. And quick. Good.

"Why are you pointing this out to me, sir?" And more importantly, why in front of Alfred?

Mr. Wang kept his expression, not even changing it a single bit. Ever the cold professional. "Arthur. You're an AP student. You chose this class, you knew what the workload would be, and yet you- "

"To be fair, sir, I didn't choose this class. My mother did." Alfred looked surprised about that, too, but Arthur ignored him.

Mr. Wang shook his head, setting the paper down on top of his laptop. He drummed his fingers against his desk, watching him and covering his mouth with his free hand. It was a bit unnerving, but Arthur made sure it didn't show.

"Even if you didn't choose this class, you decided to stay in it, which means that you took on the workload, whether you accept it or not." Mr. Wang, in a burst of tidiness, began to move the stacks of paper around and into the drawers of his desk. "Which brings me to this. If you don't start getting your grades in order, I'll be forced to remove you from this class and place you in a lower one."

Arthur nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and it showed, if the burning in his cheeks and the tips of his ears said anything. He was just about to open his mouth and speak- saying what, he had no idea- when Alfred, for once thankfully, cut him off.

"Mr. Wang, where exactly do I come into this?" He looked nervous. Uncomfortable. As if he couldn't stand being in the same room as Arthur for more than an hour, and being in maths with him pushed his limit far enough. Being so close to him now must be unbearable.

Poor Alfred, being forced to stand next to the Big Bad Arthur, having to see how much he sucks at maths. It must be extremely traumatizing, to be exposed to such a thing. How terrible.

Alfred must've seen Arthur staring at him, as he turned in his direction, sticking his tongue out. Arthur rolled his eyes.

Mr. Wang watched their exchange, his expression turning into something unreadable. He grabbed a stack of his papers, tapping them against the desk into alignment and murmuring, "I see what Romulus was talking about."

Arthur perked up at that. So Mr. Vargas had been talking about him- or he and Alfred, maybe. It wasn't that much of a secret that teachers talked about certain students to each other- grades, social lives, behavior. The fact that Mr. Vargas had told Mr. Wang something- most likely the confrontation that had occurred in madrigal choir a few weeks ago- didn't really surprise him. Teachers, in general, didn't really surprise him anymore.

The cold professionalism was back. Mr. Wang rolled his shoulders, leaning back against his chair. Arthur could've sworn a flash of un-comfort went through his eyes. "Alfred, you're one of the highest performing students in my class." Arthur couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at that. Alfred? A top performer in maths?  That seemed more unlikely than Arthur getting a decent grade in the very same subject. "And Arthur is the lowest performer in this class. There's not a doubt in that."

His cheeks burned even hotter, and Arthur looked away. he tapped his foot against the tile and crossed his arms, suddenly not willing to say anything. Let Alfred finish the damn conversation.

"Uh- uh, sir." Arthur could hear the shake in his voice, and figured that he realized what Mr. Wang wanted him to do. Arthur himself had an idea, one that he didn't particularly like, but he wasn't in the mood for talking- especially confirming said idea. "I think I know where you're heading with this, and I- uh-"

"Alfred, I want you to tutor Arthur after school."

His voice sounded so firm, so definite and sure of himself, that Arthur couldn't help but argue. "No. Absolutely not."

Alfred turned to him, his eyes wide and a small smile on his face. He nodded his head in a small thank you. Arthur ignored him.

Mr. Wang raised his eyebrows. He must've not expected Arthur to reject his request, if you could even call it that. It was good to know that Alfred felt the same as he did about the situation, even if he was too worried about his "reputation" to say so.

"Mr. Kirkland, if you want to stay in this class, then this isn't a choice. Your grades desperately need to improve."

"But- uh, sir." Alfred took a step closer to the desk, readjusting the strap to his backpack. "Arthur and I- we've got Madrigal choir practices on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays now, and it'll get super duper busy once the season starts up. And it's not like we really get along too well and I've got a-"

Mr. Wang shook his head. He quickly glanced at his watch, scowling at the time. "Look, I don't want- I can't take up your lunch period. I know you two have very, very busy schedules, but all I'm asking is two afternoons a week. Until we get Arthur to at least a high B. Y'all're off on Tuesdays and Thursdays, yes? After the final bell, just go to the library and work together on homework til around three-thirty or four. And as for not getting along, you two can work it out, I know you can."

Arthur was glaring a hole in the side of Mr. Wang's head, furious at the torture he was trying to subject him to. It was bad enough being forced to do maths for homework, but with Alfred, no less? He was also grounded, and didn't wish for a time extension, and while he could tell his mother that he needed it- because really, he did- it just wasn't practical. It would just get him that disappointed look again, and maybe some yelling, which he certainly didn't need in his life at the moment.

Arthur took in good faith that Alfred was against this as well, and would flat out deny helping him. He didn't need it. Arthur could just devote a bit more time to studying his notes than to reading, it was as simple as that. And though he didn't to give up such a precious hobby of his, he was willing.

Taking his silence as a rejection, Arthur gave no one, in particular, a haughty smirk. It wasn't until Alfred spoke about a minute later that his smile crashed and burned. "What do I get?"

Mr. Wang looked taken back, Arthur the same, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What do I get, y'know, for tutorin' Arthur?"

He could not believe it. The fool was actually considering it. And if his tone of voice and his expression said anything, he was close to agreeing. Arthur could truly, truly not believe that the idiot was willing to give up his free time for the sole purpose of destroying Arthur's.

Arthur turned to him, cocking his head to the side. Staring. Alfred ignored him, his only acknowledgment being a quick glance, keeping his focus on Mr. Wang.

Mr. Wang cleared his throat, rolling his chair back. Pulling a drawer open, he lifted a heavy grade book onto his desk, not before moving his laptop away and to the side. He licked his thumb, tabbing through the pages as he spoke. "Well, I can't really offer too much. Being accused of favoritism is a bi- a pain to death with, and I really wouldn't want that can of rumor going around the break room. And I certainly can't pay you. But-" he added when Alfred's face fell, "-I can give you a few points of extra credit per week- and I mean per week- and write you an outstanding recommendation letter for college. You do plan on applying this year, yes?"

Alfred nodded, his face lighting up. Arthur inwardly cursed, knowing that Mr. Wang had reeled him in tight and strong.

Personally, Arthur had no idea where he was going to go, but he had to figure it out fast. Application season was just about to start up, and he sure as hell wasn't staying with his parents another year. He could've sworn there was a university- and a large one, at that- nestled deep in the jungle that was the downtown area of the city, so he could always try that. The only problem was that he was definitely not going to get any scholarships, what with his record, but he could figure it out. He always did.

"Ok. Yeah, I'll do it." Alfred turned to Arthur, excitement and hope in his eyes. "It all depends on whether Arthur wants to or not."

Mr. Wang turned his attention to Arthur as well, the two expectant for a positive answer. It felt good to have this much power, even if it was in horrible circumstances. Even with such a decision.

Arthur didn't want to do it. He definitely didn't want it. Not at all.

But these were his grades at stake. Grades that he had worked and slaved over for years and years and years. Arthur knew he couldn't just throw all that time away for something as petty as his anger and embarrassment. No matter how much he wanted to see the look on Mr. Wang's face when he denied his request. He couldn't.

Arthur bopped his head side to side, weighing the pros and cons. He would have to talk to Alfred, see him and have conversations with him. Twice a week. He would have to deal with and accept the fact that Alfred knew more than him in a subject, that he was better at it.

But then again, he could get away from Peter, from the house he lived in. Arthur would be able to keep up with his straight As, if it all worked out like Mr. Wang hoped it would. He would be able to laugh in his parents' faces, show them that he succeeded when they expected him to fail, to crash and burn. And maybe, just maybe, it could give him a chance to work on his plan. His current main goal in his life.

Arthur sighed, knowing that it was truly too good to pass up. That the pros outweighed the cons by a landslide. "Fine. I'll do it."

Alfred smiled brightly, whispering, "Yes!", and pumping his fist. Mr. Wang smiled as well, though it was much smaller, and nodded his head.

"Fantastic. That's all I needed. You guys can go on to lunch. Turn in your tests to the black basket next to the door. " He pointed to the mentioned basket, before turning his attention to a stack of sticky notes, grabbing a pen. "Decide on whether or not you want to start Today or Thursday, and notify me later on your decision. Have a good day."

And just like that, it was done. Arthur made sure he was the first out the door, tossing his test haphazardly into the basket on his way out. He walked briskly, eager to spend what little minutes he had left with his friends to rant.

"Hey! Arthur!"

He didn't stop, waiting for Alfred to catch up to him as he walked. Too busy focusing on navigating his way through the maze that this school called hallways, Arthur didn't look at Alfred as he spoke. "What is it?"

Alfred didn't struggle to keep up, matching his stride step for step. "So~, do ya wanna start today this afternoon or-"

"Let's start Thursday. So you can savor what little freedom you have left."

Alfred looked taken back at that, most likely at Arthur's usage of "you" instead of "we", stumbling before regaining his balance. "Okay... that's fine. Wanna meet at the library or do ya wanna do it someplace else?"

Arthur had no idea why the fool was trying so hard, but it was quickly irritating him. "Yes. The library's fine. I'll meet you after the final bell. See you then."

"Yeah, okay! Seeya!"

And with that, Alfred was gone. Arthur watched as he ran off, his backpack bouncing up and down with each step. He had no idea what he had just gotten himself into, but he knew it was going to be eventful. Very, very eventful.

As he arrived at his lunch table, Arthur was pleased to find that Lukas had made a special peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him- one with strawberry jam instead of grape. Vlad and Lukas listened fervently as he ranted, nodding their heads and wincing at certain points. They were sympathetic with his woes, offering support when Arthur asked for it.

But what he failed to tell them- didn't find the need to, really- was the face that, after thinking about it. he was looking forward to this chance, just a tiny bit. Arthur had, thankfully, anticipated surprises like this when crafting his plan, and though Alfred tutoring him was completely unexpected, Arthur could tell himself with pride that his plan was being subjected to an earlier start date.