#they’re meant to be holding up the pride flag and kissing behind it

[falloutphan]

No but seriously imagine it…

(silly little phanart doodle i did while bored at work)

[joyfulmagic]

❤❤❤❤❤🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

@frombehindpaleeyes

Send me a heart emoji ❤️  for a shippy headcanon I have about our ship

Add a lemon 🍋 emoji for it to be spicy! 5 hearts + 5 lemons = 10 headcanons!

Illya enjoys cooking for Anne (this is a theme across his ships), but especially either dishes familiar to her or introducing her to Soviet "high end" dishes - what his ex-diplomat father would have had served to him at political meetings. He's proud of his cooking skills and enjoys just having Anne watch him cook.

Illya learns to knit from Anne, but it was all because he wanted to make her a scarf since he noticed she gets cold easily. He was somewhat successful, and Anne loves it because it'd been an excuse for them to be together too, doing non-mission stuff.

Illya's favorite non-mission activity with Anne is taking her to little known spots in whatever city they're visiting. He's been around Europe for so many decades that he found the spots.

Illya likes watching Anne do her makeup, finding it a fascinating artistic project. He finds her very talented and even lets her put makeup on him once. He loved it, spending the time with her. And yes, he looked very pretty.

Illya learns from Anne about LGBTQ+ identities in modern times, and works with her to discover his bisexuality and asexual spectrum identities. It meant a lot to him to have words for what he experienced. Anne bought him pride flag pins for his work suit and he proudly wears them.

6. Illya leaves various flowers around for Anne as “riddles” - having gifted her a vintage copy of The Secret Language of Flowers. When he first wished to sleep with her outside of a mission, he left her a bouquet of flowers that translated to love, lust, and beauty. This isn’t exactly lemony, but it’s romantic 7. Illya always goes to hold Anne’s hands when they’re close to release during sex. He feels the need to be grounded and connected to her like that. He also kisses behind her ear after every time because he knows its an erogenous zone for her.  8. Illya writes Anne love letters with hidden hints as to what sexy secret idea he has for that night. He also writes her regular love letters, but he loves watching her decipher riddles. He often gets impatient when leaving hints and just swoops Anne up before she can finish the puzzles.  9. Illya is more open with Anne about his kinks than he has been with other partners in the past, as she introduces him to a lot as well. 10. Illya has a tendency to leave hickeys on Anne’s body, just intentionally placed so no one would see unless they had her naked. 

[mourntheantagonist]

I had a cute teacher au idea

so you know those ceiling tiles in schools? the rectangular ones? you know the ones. well anyway, at my school and I know many other schools, students would often paint a ceiling tile either for extra credit or as a gift for their teacher.

so I’m thinking, art teacher steve and new in town english teacher billy.

because steve is both the art teacher and well liked among all his student, his ceiling is completely full of paintings, not a single bare tile. but when billy had arrived to his new classroom, all the tiles were completely white and bare. the teacher before him had taken them all with her when she left so they were replaced. billy didn’t even know it was a thing until he’d entered some of the other teachers classrooms and saw almost every teacher had them and he’d be lying if he didn’t feel a little left out. but hey, maybe he could just offer extra credit to his students if they made one.

except they reach the last day of the semester, and none of his students come in with a painted tile.

and to make matters worse he has an after school meeting that day and their holding it in mr. harrington’s classroom. billy had seen him around school and was undeniably attracted to him. he was cute always walking around in a paint splattered apron and he’d only ever heard good things from other students and the staff.

and all of that was confirmed when he saw his ceiling. most teachers had maybe five or six painted tiles but his was covered in beautiful artwork. he spent the whole meeting staring up at each tile because he was completely mesmerized. steve noticed but chose not to say anything. instead finding his way to billy’s classroom after the meeting had ended and peeking through the window of the door to see the blank ceiling.

he waited for spring break, which was just around the corner, to acquire a spare ceiling tile and take it home with him. propped it up on his easel and pulled out the acrylics and the closest picture he could find resembling the blue camaro that roared into the parking lot everyday.

when he finished the painting, just in the nick of time, he arrived to the school much earlier than he usually did when it was still dark. he bribed a custodian to let him into billy’s classroom where he quickly popped out a center tile and replaced it with the painting of his camaro. sure to lock the door behind him, leaving no trace of him other than the painted tile in his classroom.

when billy got in that day he was stunned to say the least. the painting looked almost like a picture. he probably would have a sore neck the next day from looking up at it for so long. his students kept asking about it. asking who did it and he just had to say he didn’t know. he wasn’t sure who had done it, but he had an idea.

steve had been coming around his room a lot more frequently than he had before. dropping in during his lunch to say hi or borrow markers that he damn well knows steve already had. he was the fucking art teacher for god sake. and just before they were let out for break they had had an innocent conversation about billy’s car. that couldn’t be a coincidence. could it?

somehow his students must have been reading his mind because as they were all discussing who it could be, the girl sitting at the front of the class with her sketch pad on her desk says “looks a lot like mr. harrington’s work”. and suddenly the class breaks out into unorganized chatter. only picking out a couple of phrases from the chaos that make his heart flutter. “that’s adorable!” and “mr. harrington likes mr. hargrove!” and it takes billy everything inside of him not to ask “you think so?” instead of shutting them all up and telling them to open their books.

instead of confronting steve about it, he waited for steve to inevitably show up during his lunch break to ask for some other art supplies that he definitely already has. which he did. colored pencils this time.

all of his suspicions are confirmed when steve walks in and actively avoids looking at the ceiling. like it’s very obvious he’s trying not to look. so billy makes him look. “see the new ceiling tile?” he says.

“yeah it looks great. who made it?”

“I was thinking you could tell me that.”

steve’s eyes get wide and he starts laughing uncomfortably with a hand pressed to the back of his neck. stuttering his words.

“did you paint it mr. harrington?”

“I might’ve. how did you know?”

“apparently my students seem know your art style very well. also our conversation about my car last week tipped me off.”

“oh yeah that. I was hoping you’d forget.”

billy can see he’s nervous, which is odd. he’s never seemed like the person to get nervous about his artwork. maybe his students were right about the other thing too. but that’s wishful thinking.

“thank you. for the tile. It meant a lot to me.”

“you’re welcome.” he can see steve start to relax a bit more.

and billy decides, fuck it, and goes for it.

“my students also have this idea that this means you like me. were they right about that too?”

he doesn’t immediately deny it like billy expects. no. steve blushes. he fucking blushes. and that is all billy needs before making a glance to door to make sure it’s locked and the window is covered before gently holding the tip of steve’s chin in between his thumb and index finger, slowly angling him down, and capturing his lips in a quick but deep kiss. steve doesn’t pull away. just lets his eyes fall shut and kisses him back.

and that’s just the beginning of their relationship. their fist kiss underneath the ceiling tile that started it all.

eventually news travels around school about the two of them after a student found steve on facebook with a picture of the two holding hands at the beach. billy freaks out at first, having previously taught in an environment that was definitely not okay with teachers being out and proud. but the two are met with so much love by their staff and students and they all think that it’s super cool that the “first and second coolest teachers in school” are together. they’re both always arguing about who is first and who is second.

there’s still the occasional student who will say the wrong thing. he’ll sometimes overhear kids whispering about the two of them, using slurs, and billy is always quick to shut that down. and despite billy not taking shit from little high school freshman. it hurts a little bit sometimes. sometimes he doubts his students are actually okay with it or they just think it’s all a joke.

until it’s the last day of school before summer, and the girl who sat at the front of his class who was never anything but sweet, walks into his class after school with a large rectangular object in her hand.

it’s a ceiling tile.

six painted stripes in the order of the rainbow. it’s a pride flag.

she doesn’t say anything before dropping it off. just gives him a shy smile before walking out the door.

and billy could cry.

okay he does cry.

he definitely cries.

[diavolosthots]

I saw the amazing fic about about Diavolo meeting his mc’s strict religious parents. Could you maybe do that with Lucifer too?

Yes! I actually had a lot of fun with this. I went ahead with Christianity on this since it was the easiest

Warning: religious... Assholes?

...And I was there (LUCIFER X GN!READER)

Religion. He scoffs at the concept; at the belief in someone greater than yourself. As the avatar of pride, he believes there’s nothing and no one greater than one’s self. Besides, he knows it’s just a sick way for his father to gain recognition he never got from his children, or at least not enough. Why worship an entity who pulled you into existence literally for his own amusement? For his own sick pleasure? God doesn’t care; he never did. And as a former angel, as the former favorite, he should know that. He does know that. So he doesn’t quite understand that aspect of humanity and he thinks it’s ridiculous that you’re getting worried about what your family might think of him. 

“Lucifer, you’re literally a demon. Your name screams red flag to any religious family, and you’re also like… super tall with dark hair and red eyes. They’re going to be scared.” He scoffed, “You weren’t scared.” You rolled your eyes, “yes, but I’m also a dumbass. You can’t compare years of deep rooted religion to someone like me, who has an open mind and was quite literally thrown into hell for an exchange program.” Really, he hated even having this discussion with you. He told you before that one thing he would never do is change himself to appease someone, especially someone he doesn’t even know, but for some reason you still found the need to try and ask him right before you showed up at your parents’ house with him. 

“Sorry, darling but I wo---!” The front door opened, revealing your mom who first looked at him and then back at you, smiling happily and taking you into her arms, “(Y/N)! We missed you!” You smiled softly, hugging her back, and silently praying that Lucifer won’t do something idiotic, although you could almost bet on it, “I missed you too. Mom, this is my boyfriend,” Lucifer smiled, his red eyes holding a mischievous glint behind them as he took your mom’s hand in his and kissed the back of her hand. You rolled your eyes; show off. “Nice to meet you madame, my name is Lu--!” “Luke. His name is Luke.” you intervened, smiling sweetly and taking his other hand, dragging him inside, “is dad here?” 

Lucifer narrowed his eyes behind you, but he didn’t say anything. Not yet. “He should be back any minute. He went to get takeout so we could all enjoy some food while we got to know each other.” Your mom smiled up at Lucifer, slowly taking in how tall he actually is, “oh my! Aren’t you a giant!” “actually ma’am I’m a de---!” “Decent sized fellow who had good luck in the gene pool!” You laughed softly, yanking him down to sit beside you on the sofa while he glared at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Apparently so!” Your mom laughs softly, “would you like something to drink, Luke? A glass of water? Wine?” Lucifer smiled softly, “water is fine, thank you,” and watches your mother leave before turning to you, “You’re lying to them. I told you before that I won’t create a fake persona to appease anyone and you ignored that. You can be glad we’re not home right now beca--!” “Honey, where are you?” a man called out and he scoffed silently at realizing it’s your dad, who walked in with a few bags of take out. 

“Daddy!” You jumped up, going to hug the man in front of you and Lucifer swallowed thickly; you call him daddy too. He stood up, smiling softly and holding out his hand to the man in front of him, “A pleasure to meet you, sir, my name is Lu---!” “Luke! He’s my boyfriend and he wanted to meet you guys!” He growled lowly, barely audible, as you interrupted him a second time. Your father raised an eyebrow, looking Lucifer up and down. He was well dressed, your father had to admit, and he seemed to have manners… He reluctantly put his hand in Lucifer’s, giving it a firm shake which the demon returned. “Firm grip, son. I like that.” Son? Lucifer didn’t particularly like that. “Sit down. I got chinese so we could all get to know each other.” 

After everyone gathered at the table and started on their portions, you felt the tension in the air grow, knowing that there’s questions weighing on your parents’ minds. “So.. Luke. There a reason you’re dressed like Dracula or are you into cosplay or something?” Lucifer paused for a second, almost going to sass back at your father but a hand on his thigh reminded him to be nice. He shook his head firmly, “no. I suppose it’s just my style. I have been told by several tailors throughout the cent---.... The years that black and shades of red suit me well. It brings out my eyes and it holds a sense of seriousness to me, which is important in the business world.” Your mother’s face lit up, “so you’re a businessman?” Lucifer slowly nodded, “yes. I hold the manager position if you will.” “At what company?” You silently cursed your dad; how could he find a way out of this. “Modlived. We create weapons. It’s a private company, not meant for the general market and thus I can’t speak much of it.” Did he just… flip the devildom name and make a fake company? Smart. Your mother seemed to smile even more, giving you the ‘wow’ mom look at which you rolled your eyes. 

“Hm.. interesting. Well, Luke, you seem like quite the catch.” Lucifer mentally cringed but opted for a soft smile instead, “thank you, sir.” “But there’s one thing.” Lucifer already knew. He knew the minute he walked into the house and everything seemed full of bright colors and bible verses; crosses on the wall and statues of angels that would never look like humans depicted them, “yes?” “Are you religious? We want our little angel with a nice christian man after all” This time he actually scoffed; if only they knew what an ‘angel’ you were. “No. I am not religious.” You watched your mother place her hand on your dad’s shoulder who obviously doesn’t seem amused. “No? Any particular reason?” “I just know that the man upstairs could care less about any of the people on this planet and his little ‘angels’ are nothing more than frauds who can’t seem to think for themselves and instead, find the need to follow every little one of daddy’s little orders.”

You dropped your fork; wrong answer. You turned to look at Lucifer with wide eyes; and he was doing so good too! “Lu--” “No, darling, it’s quite alright.” Your father glared at Lucifer, standing up, “No. It’s not alright. I might have been able to accept your lack of faith, but I will not tolerate you pissing on my religion, boy.” Oh.. You could feel the anger underneath Lucifer’s skin and you were thankful he was so easy to control it. Lucifer stood up, glaring back, “I am not a ‘boy’, as you so kindly put it, and my name isn’t Luke; It’s Lucifer. I should know what I’m talking about, considering I knew the man personally.” your mother let out a gasp at his name, still hoping it’s some kind of joke, “Luke, I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing bu---” Lucifer let out a sigh, “humans. For a species who believes something that was written down thousands of years ago by a few illiterate idiots, you fail to believe in things that are right in front of you.” He looks straight behind your dad, making the window explode and your mom shriek.

“What the-- Are you really the devil?!” Lucifer silently groaned but opted to roll his eyes instead, “No. My name is Lucifer and for some reason you humans can never get that right. The devil is a whole different person.” Your mom clung to your dad and you tugged on Lucifer’s shirt, “g-get out.” Your dad tried to sound stern but you knew he was just as scared looking into Lucifer’s red eyes right now. “Gladly. Thank you for the food and I’ll be taking what’s mine.” Before anyone could say anything, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, walking out to the sounds of your parents screaming for you to come back. 

The next thing you knew, you were back in the Devildom and on your own two feet, “Luke? Really? You couldn’t have made Lucien or Lucas or anything like that out of my name?” He pouts softly but you were trying to be angry at him, “Lucifer! You were supposed to go along with it and have a nice meal with my parents an--.” “Lie. You wanted me to live a lie. I told you before I refuse to change myself for anyone; I am proud of who I am.” You rolled your eyes and turned your head but he caught your chin in his hand and brought your face back to look at him, “My name is Lucifer and just like your ignorant parents, you best make sure to remember that, Darling.” 

[hen-of-letters]

@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

[whumpinggrounds]

Defiance - SOW

i meant to get to a few of the summer of whump prompts but i’ve been weirdly busy and it got away from me...anyway, this is all i’ve managed so far. it’s a very isabella kind of defiance.

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire and @killtheprotagonist

CW: pet whump, lady whump, aftermath of conditioning, migraines, intimate whumper, mentions of noncon, mentions of physical abuse

After the dinner party, Miss Mara is different. Happier, more relaxed. She touches Isabella more often – fingers on her arm, on her face, tugging her in for kisses as her pet is cooking dinner. It used to be that Isabella couldn’t get enough touch to satisfy, and now it seems that wherever she goes in the tiny little box of an apartment, her owner’s hands are on her. Not that Isabella minds that. Isabella likes that. She likes it. She does. 

Isabella is perfect, after all, perfect after her little…retraining incident. Whenever Miss Mara asks her something, whenever Miss Mara reaches for her, she finds her Box Babe pliant and pleased and smiley. Isabella is pliant and pleased, and it’s not hard to be smiley when her owner is so good to her.

Sometimes, when they’re kissing, Jamie’s indistinct face, her scratchy voice, will flash in Isabella’s eyes or echo behind her ears. Then Miss Mara’s hands slide under Isabella’s shirt, or her fingers turn mean, and the image of Jamie’s red hair dissolves. There’s no harm in a mistaken memory, a mistaken image, Isabella tells herself. There’s nothing wrong with not telling her owner that her incorrect impulses haven’t exactly stopped.

If Isabella is honest with herself, it goes deeper than that. It isn’t just that she doesn’t think there’s any harm. It isn’t just that she wants to be good, that she doesn’t want to be hurt. There’s something between her and her owner now, a jagged wrong edge that grates at Isabella’s perfect cheer.

But Miss Mara doesn’t notice that. Days pass and Miss Mara’s good mood continues, bright and unstoppable. She goes out with Miss Violet on a work night, comes home way too late and sparkling drunk. She makes Isabella come so hard she sees stars. She eats Isabella’s dinners and praises them til Isabella is blushing burning pink with pride. She takes her pet to the nursery – their first outing that isn’t straight to the facility – and lets her pick out a few plants to keep on the windowsill, for some color in the apartment, for something else to do while Miss Mara is at work.

Isabella picks yellow flowers like trumpets, and a plant with strange, fat green stalks fringed with spikes, and something small with flowers that are purple and starry and cluster close to its leaves. Miss Mara pays at the counter for three pots and promptly forgets about the little plants, but Isabella doesn’t. Isabella spends hours staring at them – their familiar shapes, the smell of earth, the smooth, living feeling of a petal between her fingers. When she smells their bright blooms, something aches behind her eyes.

Six days after the dinner party, Isabella is cleaning the apartment. Top to bottom, it takes about half an hour, given that she goes through the same motions every day. She waters her row of plants, hand moving in circles so the dirt is soaked evenly. She knows how to do that. In the back of her head somewhere, Isabella already knows how to do that. She knew which flowers to choose and how to repot them and where to place them so they’d get the most sun. Miss Mara doesn’t notice her sure movements, quiet confidence, thinks it’s the same good old training as always.

It’s not. There’s something in Isabella that’s more than training now. There’s a new set to her jaw. The bruises on her body have faded, the vicious welts and lines of scratches. Miss Mara has smacked her around but it’s not enough to get the fear back in her. There’s something in her that’s pushing back against the fear, that might even be stronger. When Isabella’s last chore, the dishes, are finished, she sets them out to dry instead of toweling them off straightaway. For once, she has something else to occupy her time.

Taking a deep breath, Isabella walks around the kitchen counter to the wall opposite the couch, the wall where Miss Mara’s pictures hang. She plants herself in front of them, eyes squeezed shut to brace herself. Then she opens her eyes, and she looks.

The first picture is Miss Mara as a kid, a tiny kid who’s grinning so hard her eyes are squeezed shut. Her black hair is chopped in a straight bowl cut, and a familiar tenderness runs through Isabella, almost makes her lose her resolve. Quickly, before her strength deserts her, Isabella moves on.

The next framed photo is Miss Mara and her parents. She’s wearing a long red robe and holding a piece of paper in front of her. There are flowers. She’s outside, and it’s sunny. She’s a teenager and she’s smiling; she and her parents are smiling. When Isabella looks at them, at the faces of Miss Mara’s parents, the needling pain returns behind her eye. Good. Isabella focuses harder, tracing her eyes over the father’s strong jaw, the mother’s purple glasses. She even scans her eyes over the words on the piece of paper – she was discouraged from reading but they didn’t break her of it, not all the way.

Unbidden, words are coming to her mind. High school graduation. With it come other memories – a green robe, sun beating down, grass underfoot. Not from the photo. Something else, something that hurts. Isabella closes her eyes and tries to chase the feeling, tries to push it. She’s never done this before, but she squeezes her eyes shut and tries hard to want the memory into being. It’s slippery; it’s running from her, but beyond the electricity and the white rooms and the needle in her arm, there’s something else.

A face flashes before her – two faces. A man with a neat gray beard and an easy smile, a woman whose eyes are flashing, busy, looking everywhere at once, mouth ever half open. The pain that comes with the faces is blinding, blinding. Isabella staggers, sits down hard on the floor, tries to hold the images in her mind. They slip through her fingers, slide away from her, and Isabella wants to curse or cry. The only thing that keeps is the beard, the beard and the outline of the woman’s curly brown hair. With one hand, Isabella’s hand comes up to finger her own wavy dark locks.

And she doesn’t stop. Isabella takes breaks, and cleans, and practices signing, but over and over she comes back to those photos, the row of them. Sometimes she makes it through just one or two, sometimes she gets through all five in one long aching row. Miss Mara’s toddler photo never evokes anything, but the longer she stares at high school graduation, the more Isabella thinks she can hear a voice droning names, the smell of new cut grass, the feeling of a hard plastic chair beneath her.

The next photo in the line Isabella’s titled Dog Picture because it’s just Miss Mara with her arms wrapped around a black lab who’s trying to twist around to lick her face. When Isabella looks at the bright eyes, the pink tongue, she can picture a different face around them, a different body, a big lanky golden one with a tail like a waving flag.

Isabella spends a lot of time with Dog Picture.

Fourth in line is nicknamed other graduation picture, and this time it’s not the paper or the people that trigger Isabella, but the building behind Miss Mara. It’s all sharp, imposing white marble edges, stairs leading up to big double doors, and if Isabella pushes past her pain, she thinks she can smell old books, can feel exhaustion tugging at her senses, see a table scattered with papers. Library, her brain tells her. That’s the library. Much fainter, behind the library, there are other things – long tables full of people eating, a room with a hundred chairs or more, sitting at a desk with a sheet of paper, circling numbers on a list of answers. Isabella gets hangovers from this picture, long throbbing headaches that make her feel weak. She looks at it anyway, saves herself up for it. Her head hurts but something about the pain makes her feel more real.

The last picture in the line on the wall isn’t part of Isabella’s memory exercises. The last photo is of Miss Mara and Miss Violet. This, Isabella looks at for different reasons. She examines it up close, from a distance, from one side and then the next. The two women are smiling wide, arms wrapped around each other. They’re both well-dressed and beautiful and there’s water behind them, some big nameless water like a river or maybe a lake. Miss Violet’s looking at the camera, grinning like mad, but Miss Mara’s eyes have slid away from the dark eye of the camera and towards the woman beside her. Miss Mara’s eyes are on Miss Violet, and they’re shining, and Isabella’s owner is beaming as if she’s found something perfect, precious, singular.

Isabella wonders if Miss Mara has ever looked at her like that. If, on the nights she spends with Miss Violet, Miss Mara slaps her girlfriend, holds her by the throat. Lately, Miss Mara’s been dressing Isabella in tank tops and tiny shorts, smiling when Isabella trots around the apartment half-naked. She’s been tugging Isabella toward her with a finger looped through the collar around Isabella’s neck, and she doesn’t care when she does it from the wrong angle and Isabella gags. Some nights, in the middle of a movie, she’ll guide Isabella between her legs without saying a word, without looking away from the screen, and afterwards she’ll just leave her pet there, kneeling on the floor.

Isabella wonders if Miss Violet knows all that. She looks at their picture and thinks probably, Miss Violet doesn’t.

The thought of Miss Violet burns in her head, and so Isabella doesn’t just study photographs. She sniffs every spice in their cabinet and examines every shirt in Miss Mara’s closet. Most of it does nothing, but there’s enough to give her hope. There’s a yellow sweater Miss Mara doesn’t wear very often that makes the pain in Isabella’s head flare, though there’s no memory that comes with it yet. The green tea bags in the pantry make Isabella wince, especially when she dares to steep one and taste what comes. She still drinks every drop.

Oh, and the first time Isabella makes chicken pot pie, the taste of the crust in her mouth makes her weep, right there at the table with Miss Mara. They hadn’t eaten it since, but now Isabella pushes, now she asks, and when she focuses hard, she can almost see the outline of a tall brunette woman with her father’s jaw.

All of this, Isabella practices, repeats over and over, almost obsessively. She can’t write it down, so she signs it to herself in the mirror, trying to imbue each shape, each movement, with memory.

I have a father and a mother and a, a, an older sister. I had a high school graduation. I did. I did. I think I did. My father has a strong jaw and a beard, and my mother has curly brown hair, and my older sister might have both. We have a dog – a yellow dog, and Miss Mara and I went to college together, and someone…someone used to drink green tea.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing, it’s hardly anything, but Isabella can’t stop. Through pain and persistent sickness in her stomach, through fear of Miss Mara and Handler Collins, Isabella digs into her memory, teeth gritted against the ache in her skull. It’s so easy – so easy when she’s surrounded by reminders, by triggers, by remnants of a life that lie like little time bombs all around the apartment. For months, Isabella has been resisting the persistent tug of memory, and now when she leans into it this hard, the results are more than she’d ever hoped for. A life. Isabella had had a life. It’s confusing and terrifying and some days she thinks about abandoning it, but that’s not what she wants. Isabella wants – she wants –

She doesn’t know what she wants, but every time she uncovers some new truth, she feels something close to joy.

None of this she shares with Miss Mara. It’s hard enough convincing Miss Mara to try chicken pot pie again. There’s a suspicious jut to Miss Mara’s chin when Isabella says she’s ready to try again. Her owner knows more than she’s letting on, more about why it hurts so bad to eat, but whatever it is, Miss Mara isn’t sharing. There are things Miss Mara knows that she won’t share and Isabella has a hard time thinking about why, about what that means. It seems big. It seems significant. It seems like another thing that owners aren’t supposed to do that Miss Mara’s doing anyway.

Isabella feels strange, emboldened, newly brave when she thinks about what she’s keeping from Miss Mara. It’s wrong and she knows that, but Isabella can’t bring herself to stop. Not after Miss Mara handed her over to Collins, not after Miss Mara lied to Jamie. Something has snapped. Some line has been crossed. There’s no going back now. She’s already broken. She may as well break all the way.

And most nights Isabella still sleeps with Miss Mara, still cries out Miss Mara’s name in bed. Most nights they talk over dinner, and they laugh together, and when Miss Mara puts her arm around Isabella, Isabella leans into it. There are flowers on the windowsill from Miss Mara. The clothes on her body, the collar on her neck. Miss Mara isn’t bad, she’s not. Isabella smiles into her kisses. Miss Mara’s still her owner. Isabella’s still her pet.

But now she has secrets, real secrets, secrets that have weight. It’s wrong and it’s disobedient and she’s a bad, bad pet – but Isabella can’t stop carving out space in her head that is hers alone. It feels too right, too wrong, too important, too real.  

[sonicgetsrawed]

Love is Love

All I gotta say is fuck homophobes!!! 💁🏻‍♀️ warnings for homophobia!! Enjoy!!!

Rapunzel’s squeal could be heard from a mile away, the blonde quickly scooping up the two younger boys in a fierce hug. “You guys look adorable!”

“Thanks, but I’d like to be able to, you know, breathe.” Hugo grumbled, trying and failing to get out of Rapunzel’s grip.

“At this point you should just accept it.” Varian laughed, bringing his arms up to return the hug as best he could.

“You know, Sunshine, ponytail is right, they do need to breathe.” Eugene said, patting Rapunzel’s shoulder gently telling her to let go of her victims.

“Right, sorry!” Rapunzel laughed, finally releasing the two boys. “But you do look adorable.”

Varian beamed, placing a kiss to Hugo’s cheek before the older spun him in a little circle. Hugo smiled down at his boyfriend, Varian wearing a pair of cuffed jean shorts, knee high rainbow socks, a grey tank top with the sleeves tied up with blue, purple, and pink ribbons that read ‘bi disaster- stay clear’ in bold print, his cheeks sporting small painted bi flags on them. Hugo was dressed similarly with the same shorts and socks, but his shirt was a grey crop top with pink, yellow, and blue ribbons on the sleeves which read ‘pantastic’ across the front, his cheeks sporting the pan flag on them, his hair tied up in colorful ribbons.

“Thanks! It was hell getting this one into anything that wasn’t a flannel.” Hugo said, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Varian’s jeans as Varian stuck his tongue out at him.

“Believe me, I know.” Eugene said, rolling his eyes as he pulled Rapunzel to his side.

“This is honestly so rude, I feel so attacked right now.” Varian teased, Eugene reaching forward to ruffle his hair.

“You know we love you.” Rapunzel said, trying and failing to hide her laugh behind her hand. “But we can’t show our pride on an empty stomach! Let’s go get some breakfast!”

Rapunzel ran ahead, Varian following quickly behind her, they did have the biggest appetites of the small group so Hugo wasn’t particularly surprised. He was surprised, however when Eugene placed a hand on his shoulder, a questioning look on his face. He couldn’t help the small swell of panic in his gut, he’d gotten more than one shovel talk from the man already and he didn’t expect them to stop anytime soon. “Hey, kid, you think you could paint those little flags on our faces too?”

Hugo smiled brightly, it seemed the holiday of sorts brought out the best in even Eugene. “Does Rapunzel have a makeup palette I can borrow?”

“Hell, I got my own.” Eugene said, clapping Hugo’s back and sending the young man pitching forward as he tossed a small makeup palette into the air. Hugo barely caught it, shooting a glare at Eugene’s back as he sauntered into the restaurant. Hugo took a deep breath, he wasn’t going to let anything ruin his mood today, and followed the group inside.

The diner was one they’d been to numerous times before, a quiet little place on the side of the road, not many people paid it much mind, but it was one of his favorite places. The worn out leather seats and the outdated tables have it a certain charm, and he had spent many nights both alone and with Varian in those booths. It held many special memories and now there’d be another, their first pride festival. Hugo had been many times in the past, but this was the first time he’d get to go with Varian and their friends. He slid into the booth next to Varian, his hand finding a spot on Varian’s thigh as soon as he was settled. Varian smiled at him, his hand resting on Hugo’s knee. Hugo returned the smile, rubbing their noses together.

“Gay.” A group of people snickered from a few tables over, the tone harsh and demeaning. Hugo shot them a glare over his shoulder, Varian giving his knee a light squeeze and shaking his head.

“Ignore them.” Varian said, placing a soft kiss to Hugo’s lips. More snickers sounded behind them.

“They’ve been doing that since we walked in.” Rapunzel said, angrily dumping an insane amount of sugar into her coffee.

Eugene pried the sugar out of Rapunzel’s hands. “It’s not worth it, Sunshine. Besides, Hugo agreed to give us little flags.”

“Really?” Rapunzel beamed, already sliding over to Hugo and Varian’s side of the booth. “Me first.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Varian laughed, moving over to sit by Eugene as Hugo pulled out the makeup palette. He made quick work of adding their respective flags to their cheeks, almost wishing he’d used makeup instead of face paint for him and Varian solely for the fact that Rapunzel and Eugene’s flags had a slight hint of glitter to them. By the time he’d finished their order had been taken and Varian was back at his side where he belonged.

“So what do we do when we get there?” Varian asked, spooning more whipped cream into his hot chocolate.

“Have fun.” Hugo said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He intended to say more, but another snicker caught his attention.

“I bet it’s real fun giving it to him up the ass.” One of the girls at the table said.

Hugo was seeing red at this point, those insensitive assholes kept making jabs the whole time they were there. Varian placed a hand on his cheek, lightly shaking his head. “Ignore them, they’re not worth it.”

“I bet you wish your guy gave it to you up the ass!” Eugene yelled across the dining room, standing up in his seat.

“Eugene.” Rapunzel hissed, pulling him back down. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. Let’s just go.”

The group slid out of the booth, not wanting to waste any more time there. They could always grab breakfast somewhere else, somewhere less hostile. They were almost to the exit when another voice echoed behind them. “Ah, I guess we know who wears the pants in the relationship, and I bet you let her peg you too, Eugene.”

Rapunzel froze, a look of anger crossing her face like Hugo had never seen before, her hand twitching at her side. “On second thought-“

“Blondie-“

Rapunzel moved quickly, spinning around and picking up a frying pan that just so happened to be sitting in the middle of the counter, sending it flying through the air. There was a brief moment of silence, an odd second where the pan seemed to be moving in slow motion as it soared through the air, and then it hit its target. The poor unfortunate, well not unfortunate in Hugo’s opinion, the idiot more than deserved it, sap at the center of the table of homophobes got hit square in the forehead with the pan, sending him flying back, his chair tipping over. There was another moment of silence and then all hell broke loose.

“You little bitch!” One of the girls yelled, lunging at Rapunzel, Eugene putting himself between the two. The girl had a smug look on her face, her voice mocking. “You wouldn’t hit a girl.”

“I’m an equal opportunist, cunt.” Eugene said, kicking the girls legs out from underneath her.

Hugo watched the situation unfold with a shocked expression, he hadn’t expected Rapunzel of all people to start a fight and yet here they were. He hadn’t even noticed another one of those sorry excuses for a decent human being sneaking up behind him until the sound of a plate breaking reached his ears. He turned to see Varian with the broken remains of a plate in his hands, the food on the floor with the person, a proud smirk on Varian’s face. It didn’t last long, the boy being tackled to the floor by another assailant. Hugo wasted no time jumping onto that person’s back and wrapping his arms around their throat. He didn’t know where Eugene and Rapunzel were, but given the sounds of the frying pan swinging through the air it couldn’t be far.

“Duck!” Rapunzel yelled, Hugo barely having time to follow the instruction before the frying pan collided with the person’s head, sending them pitching forward. Hugo rolled off their back, his head spinning as he hit the ground. He quickly pulled Varian to his feet, the younger looking a little dazed and sporting a freshly spilt lip, but otherwise in one piece.

“Are you okay?” Hugo asked, cupping Varian’s face as he checked for any more injuries. Varian hummed, nodding his head as he did so. Hugo placed a soft kiss to his forehead, opening his mouth to say more, but Rapunzel interrupted them.

“Well, I think that’s the last of them.” She said, dusting off her hands and tucking her frying pan underneath her arm.

“You did amazing, Sunshine.” Eugene said, wrapping his arm around his wife as they admired their handy work. Hugo and Varian joined them. The group shared a look, each of them knowing exactly what they meant.

“On the count of three?” Varian asked, a smirk already working its way onto his lips. “One, two, three!”

“Fuck you, homophobes!” The group shouted, each sticking up their middle fingers. The small diner erupted into applause. Their victory was short lived as the sounds of sirens reached their ears.

“How the fuck did I know you all would be at the bottom of this?” Cassandra said, pulling her sunglasses off, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared down the group, her badge glinting in the sunlight.

“Yeah, yeah I know the drill.” Eugene said, leading Rapunzel away from the scene and into the cop car. Hugo smiled widely as they left the diner, they’d probably never be allowed back but it was so worth it.

*********************

Twelve hours later they all sat in a holding cell. After hours of processing and three failed phone calls to Nuru, they finally had a moment to relax. Rapunzel was on the women’s side, a line formed around her as she chatted to the other women and braided their hair. Eugene was currently playing a harmonica he’d taped to the underside of the bench a while ago. Varian rested his head on Hugo’s shoulder, their hands linked together.

After what seemed like an eternity Nuru burst through the door. Her sparkly rainbow skirt doing nothing to dim the petite girls fury. “I swear if I have to bail you guys out one more time-“

“I’ll buy you ice cream.” Hugo cut her off, a wide smile splitting her features, the small bi and trans flags crinkling on her cheeks.

“And Amber too?”

“Sure.” Hugo agreed with a tired sigh.

“Great she’s in the car.” Nuru said, stepping to the side so the guard could let them out.

The car ride was silent, Rapunzel and Eugene chatting quietly in the back, while Varian rested his head on Hugo’s shoulder. Hugo placed a soft kiss on top of his head, Varian turning to look up at him, a goofy smile on his face despite the tiredness that lingered in his eyes. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to go to your first pride festival.” Hugo whispered, Varian gently brushing Hugo’s stray hairs out of his eyes.

“It’s okay, I still had fun. Nothing better than telling off a bunch of assholes, right?” Varian said, yawning as he returned his head to its previous position. “Besides, there’s always next year.”

“Yeah, and it’ll be the best year ever.” Hugo said, kissing Varian’s head again as they slowly drifted off to sleep.

[valdez-and-the-argo-crew]

God!Percy fic ch.4

Previous chapter: https://valdez-and-the-argo-crew.tumblr.com/post/190922626186/godpercy-fic-ch-3

Percy, once again, you might destroy Olympus! How do you feel?

I gotta be honest, now I understand why gods hate mortals.

Oh yeah and also it might be Jamie, not me, so...yay?

Chiron had gathered me, Jamie, Grover and Rachel in the Big House to discuss the new prophecy. Annabeth invited herself and was sitting on the arm of the couch next to me.

“The prophecy didn’t tell us anything about the quest, how are we supposed to know where we are going to go and what’s the whole point of the quest!” Annabeth began rambling. “I know prophecies are usually vague but still, this is just...” she shook her head.

“Hey Owl Head,” I said, nudging her arm. “This isn’t your quest, don’t get so worked up.”

Annabeth punched me in the shoulder, but still visibly relaxed. I looked over at Rachel, who was talking quietly to herself.

“Is that all we have on the prophecy? No instruction manual?” I asked. She shook her head.

“That’s it, unfortunately.” She sighed.

Chiron (now in his wheelchair) rolled up to us. “I’m afraid I know where your quest is taking you.” He looked at Grover, who looked confused and then seemed to come to some sort of realization.

“Nico’s accident...” Grover said. That got my attention quick.

“Wait what? Nico’s accident?” I said. I hadn’t heard anything on the son of Hades in a while, probably over a year.

“Who’s Nico?” Asked Jamie from the small chair beside the couch. I’d forgotten that not all of us were seasoned end-of-the-world heroes.

“Nico is the son of Hades, the god of the underworld.” Annabeth explained. “He’s a little bit of a loner so he’s not always here at camp.”

“But back to the whole ‘accident part’...” I said, turning to Grover. “Explain.”

“Well just recently, Hades had Nico go check up on the doors of death, which is what let’s monsters back into this world. But the thing is the doors are in Tartarus, so—“

“Hades let Nico go to Tartarus alone?” Annabeth interjected. “Is he crazy!”

“Some say,” Chiron said under his breath.

“Nico was able to handle himself, however as he didn’t see a few spirits slip by. Arai, I believe they were.” Grover said. “And now they’re rampant somewhere in America.”

Jamie was looking back and forth between all of us, visibly confused.

“So... Jamie and I need to return really bad spirits to the underworld? Doesn’t sound like the cause of Olympus to fall...” I shrugged.

“Don’t underestimate the Arai Percy. They’re really tricky things to deal with.” Annabeth said.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Who all is going on this quest? I mean other than those two,” she gestured at me and Jamie.

“Annabeth, obviously.” I said right away. She was the natural choice. She was smart and clever and the only person I’d want at my side while fighting spirits from Tartarus.

“Slow down. I may not be best for this. The Arai reveal ugly truths, and knowing Pride is my greatest fault, I feel like that could end disastrously.” Annabeth said. “Sorry.”

“It’s chill. What about you, G-Man?” I looked at Grover, who bleated and shook his head.

“No way, I told Juniper I wouldn’t die this summer.” He said. “Besides, I have to do Lord-of-the-Wild things.”

“Wow thanks.” I laughed. “Guess it’s just you and me Jamie.”

“I’m still confused...” Jamie mumbled.

Chiron chuckled. “I’ll fill you in. Percy it might be in your best interest to go prepare for the quest.”

The meeting adjourned and I headed back to my cabin, my head swimming with thoughts. I started to get a bit annoyed at the prophecy. Why me again. Like one time, sure, but two times is frustrating.

I sighed and flopped on my bunk. Stupid fate.

There was a knock on the door and before I could react, Annabeth let herself in.

“Wrong cabin. The smartass cabin is that way,” I smiled and pointed lazily in some random direction.

“Oh shut up fish face.” Annabeth said and sat down on the trunk beside my bed. I propped myself up so I could see her.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Can I not just have a moment alone with my best friend?” She laughed. I examined her face and could tell she was worried.

“Seriously. What’s wrong?” I asked her. She hesitated for a second and sighed.

“It just... we’re adults now Percy. I mean, I am. You’re...immortal.” She frowned a bit, because she still has issues with that face of life. “I don’t like how you’re the subject of a prophecy again. Like I’d understand if it was Jamie, but... “ she shook her head. “I don’t even know why I’m worried, it’s not like you can die or anything.”

“I get what you mean. Frankly I’m quite annoyed too. I already went through this 10 years ago.” I said. Annabeth smiled a bit at that.

It’s funny how we find comfort in our memories of that war. We lost so much, and got hurt in more than one way but we were just so...together that it didn’t matter.

We were silent for a moment.

“I’m tired Percy.” Annabeth said. “All I’ve done in the past 10 years is train. Whether here or with the Romans, all I do is drills over and over.” She looked at me. “And even though we see each other every summer...Its all different. You haven’t been you in so long.”

I didn’t know what to say to this. I didn’t think I was any different than I had been, but the fact that Annabeth thought I was made me think.

“I’m sorry to suddenly go all emotional on you like that.” Annabeth said. “I know it’s not like me but I’ve been holding all that in for a while.”

“It’s fine, Wise Girl.” I smiled. She laughed, which instantly lightened the mood. I laughed along with her for a minute.

“I think I know how to cheer you up.” I said.

“Oh yeah? How so.” She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Well it’s Friday, is it not? And after dinner is—“

“—Is capture the flag!” She smiled wide. “Oh it is so on Jackson. And no cheating by being all godly or whatever.”

“Cheating? Do you really think that low of me, Chase?”

“I never know what to think of you. But just know that you don’t stand a chance.”

I threw a pillow at her. She gasped and threw one of my shoes from the floor. I rolled my eyes.

“Ow!” I whined.

“That’s what you get.” She smirked.

I crossed my arms and pouted.

“Oh grow up,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes. “You probably still need to pack for your quest, so I’ll leave you to that. See you at dinner seaweed brain.”

And with that Percy was alone again.

Dinner came and went, and so did the game of Capture the flag. Annabeth won by catching Percy off guard and having some Demeter kid go grab the flag. Now Percy was doing his cabin chore (organizing the armor racks) with Jamie.

“You’ve been quiet, kid, are you okay?” Percy looked at the young boy.

“I’m fine,” Jamie smiled. “Its just...Chiron told me people get hurt on quests. I’m kinda scared.”

I finished racking helmets and sighed. “Yeah, people can get hurt. And it is very scary, especially because you’re only 6.” I looked down at him. He was struggling to put a chest plate back in its place. “But I promise nothing is going to hurt you on this quest, okay?”

He nodded and I helped him secure the heavy armor in its proper place. Looking around, I see that all that’s left to do is to put the shields away. Jamie trudged over and grabbed one, lifting it up and walking over to the shield rack.

“Jamie you can set that down, I got this.” I said. With a mere flick of my wrist, the shields all slid nicely into place. Jamie’s jaw dropped.

“How did you do that!”

“Let’s walk back to the cabin.” I said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

As we walked I explained that I was a minor god. I told him the story of the titan war we fought, and when we reached our cabin, I told him how hardly anybody here knows. I figured that since he is my brother, and that we’re going on a quest tomorrow, he had the right to know.

The night flew by, and all too quickly it was time to set off on our quest. Jamie was noticeably nervous, as he was biting his nails and picking at a loose thread on his shirt. We both had backpacks with food, money (both mortal and Greek), hygiene stuff, and other quest necessities.

“You sure you’re ready?” I asked Jamie. He nodded silently.

“Don’t think you’re leaving without saying goodbye,” said Annabeth from behind. I turn around and see her and Grover have come to see us off.

“It’s lot like we’re gonna die, it’s just going to be a quick quest.” I said.

“Is it though?” Annabeth said.

“You’re uncharacteristically worrisome lately,” I said. “I miss the Annabeth that would face Hera and walk backwards into the underworld.” She rolled her eyes.

“Stay safe you two,” Grover said. “And in case you needed some direction, last I heard the Arai are in Nevada, but they’re traveling east.” He said. “They’re easy enough to track if you know what to look for in mortal headlines.”

“Thanks man.” I said and gave him a fist bump. I turned to Jamie. “Ready?”

“No. Lets go.” He said.

“Percy, one last thing...” Annabeth said. I turn around, only to be met with a kiss on the cheek. “Please stay yourself.”

I got to be honest, I had absolutely no clue what she meant by that.

Regardless, Jamie and I set out, going past the camp’s borders and officially starting our quest.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Some Alpha: Part 6

Fandom: Marvel (ABO AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.

Bucky drove to the restaurant located downtown. After parking the car, he raced out and opened your door, his hand extended towards you. 

You thanked him, stepping out of the car. He closed the door behind you and walked beside you as you both approached the restaurant. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the door to allow you in first. Again, you thanked him, but not before pressing a kiss to his cheek, which made him all the more nervous and excited. 

The place was neither too fancy nor too casual. There was a good mixture of people who were there for a date, and anniversary, for business, etc. There was also a bar located to the very right of the restaurant. 

After giving his name to the host, you and Bucky were led towards the left of the restaurant. A host gesturing you to the table and informing you that your server will be with you in a moment. 

Bucky pulled out your chair, allowing to sit, and then he sat in his own. You looked at the menu and saw that that there were different sections of different cultural cuisines, “Wow. There’s such a variety.”

He nervously cleared his throat, “Yeah, uh, I wasn’t sure what your favorite kind of food was and I remembered this place had a little bit of everything. So it seemed like a safe bet.”

You nodded comprehensively, “That’s smart, but for future reference, I’m not picky so any place is fine with me.”

“Right. Got it. Wait, future reference? A-As in you’d wanna go on another date with me?” his hands were definitely clammy and sweaty. He rubbed them against his slacks to try to dry them off, “I mean, the date barely started and I might-I don’t know-spill a drink on you or somethin’.” he set his hands onto the table, fidgeting with the menu.

You giggled, hiding your smile behind your menu, which Bucky didn’t want. He wanted to see your smile, “Bucky, regardless of whether or not this date is a disaster, I’d still very much like to go on another date with you. I told you,” you reached over, placing your hand on top of his, “I really like you.”

Bucky could feel all the tension leave his body with the reassuring smile you were sending his way, “That’s-That’s really good to know,” he ducked his head to hide his reddening cheeks. 

You decided to go for the mango chicken curry and Bucky choice the kobe beef burger. You took a sip from your glass of chardonnay, your eyes glancing up at Bucky to see his eyes were trained on you, specifically your lips. You smirked, setting your glass down, “So, Bucky, we talk about a lot of things, but I don’t think I know what you do for a living.”

“Oh, um, I work for a tech company. I help design and manufacture products to help those in need. Whether it’s for individuals or the environment.”

“Oh. What’s the company called?”

“Um, Wakanda Inc.”

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped, “You’re kidding! You work for one of the biggest companies in the world!”

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah, it’s-it’s a great job. The Udaku Family they’re a great to work for. They make sure that all of their employees are comfortable and taken care of. Best place I’ve ever worked for.”

You were ready to ask him more, but you were interrupted by Bucky pulling out his phone. His brow furrowed in confusion, “Speaking of work. Sorry, I should take this. They usually don’t call me unless it’s important.”

“I understand. Go ahead. I should really be eating more of my food anyway.” Bucky gave you a thankful smile as he stood up and walked towards the bathrooms to take the call. You continued to eat your meal, taking a few sips of wine in-between bites. You felt a presence appear and you thought it was your server, but when you looked up, it was a man, an Alpha, who reeked of alcohol. He was staring down at you and you politely asked, “May I help you, sir?”

He smirked and leaned over to you, “I can smell you, Beta.” 

Red flags were already going off in your head, “Please, sir, I suggest you leave me alone.”

The man glanced at your neck, his smirk turning into a grin that made you want to shiver, “An unmated beta. Even better. I can change that, baby. I can fill you with my knot so good. You’d be popping my pups out back to back.”

You immediately stood up, glaring at the drunk Alpha, “You need to leave. Now.” despite your confident tone, you were frightened.

The Alpha snickered and took a bruising grip to your wrist, “You don’t get to tell me what to do, little Beta.” 

Bucky, smelling your distress, quickly ended his call and came marching over to you ready to punch this guy in the face if he didn’t back off you, “HEY! GET-” but he stopped when he saw your fist fly to the Alpha’s face, causing him to stumble back. You beat to him to the literal punch. 

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” the drunk Alpha cried out, holding the cheek you punched. 

The restaurant’s security came just in time to haul the guy’s ass away, allowing you to relax a bit more. You sat back down and shook your fist, trying to gain feeling back into it from the powerful punch you just delivered. 

Bucky appeared at your side, crouching at your legs, “You alright? I saw what happened. Nice swing, doll,” he said with pride.

You nodded, “Yeah. I took care of him. My hand hurts like Hell though.”

Bucky stood up and was ready to ask a server for some ice, but he was met with just that. Your server held a towel with ice out to him, an impressed look on his face, “Your Beta is badass,” he said before going back to the kitchens. 

You took the ice from Bucky, mumbling out a thanks. He went back to his seat, looking at you cautiously, “Do-Do you wanna get out of here? Your night’s probably ruined-”

You shook your head, “I promise you, it’s not, Bucky. I’m not gonna let some dumb Alpha ruin this date for me. What we’re gonna do is finish our meal, get some dessert, and then we’re gonna go back to my place and probably makeout on my couch.”

 Bucky chokes a bit when you say those words so nonchalantly. After all this, you still wanna continue the date and not only that, you wanna makeout with him! Someone pinch him ‘cause he definitely thinks he’s dreaming. 

You and Bucky stood outside your place, both feeling a little nervous. You anxiously bit your lip as you glanced towards Bucky, “I, um, you don’t have to come inside. I realized that what I said earlier at dinner was a bit forward and I didn’t mean to make you unco-”

Your words went unfinished as Bucky’s hands cupped your face and his lips met yours. The kiss was soft and gentle, like Bucky. Your hands went to grip the lapel of his jacket, wanting to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. 

“I wanna come inside you,” realizing what he just said, his eyes went wide and he started fumbling over his words, “Wait. No, that’s. I missed some words there! I meant that I wanted to come inside with you. Inside, like your apartment. I wanna-” he took a deep breath, “I wanna go inside your apartment with you.” he finally managed to muster out. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. God, he was so handsome and adorable. You found yourself falling for him more and more with each minute goes by. 

You leaned in, lightly pressing a kiss to his lips, “I get what you meant.” you fished out your keys from your purse, opening your door and letting it swing open, “As for you coming inside me, maybe we should wait after a few more dates for that,” you teased with a smirk, causing Bucky to groan.

“Babydoll, you’re gonna kill me,” he grumbled as you lead him inside, the door closing behind him.

Some Alpha Taglist (CLOSED): @cametobuyplums | @strugglingsemicolon| @geeksareunique  | @mydemonexorcist | @slender–spirit |  @mrsdeanwinchester19 | @suhhhhhhh-dude| @buckysthing | @learisa | @deanmonunicorn | @uguid | @dianaxx99 | @iamwarrenspeace | @feelmyroarrrr | @xxsirensong | @petersunderoos96 | @stuck-y-together | @stressedandbandobessed7771 | @translucuiid | @titty-teetee | @mamaraptor | @randomfandompenguin | @ayatimascd | @hiken-no-stark | @bubblegum-love18 |   @madisonpillstrom | @hailqueenconquer | @nerdy-bookworm-1998 | @brastrangled | @isthiswhattheycallwriting| @ravennightingaleandavatempus | @undiscovered-misunderstood| @thottywithoutthebody | @blueberrybuchanan | @buckysthighs134| @crystalwolfblog | @tastefulknife | @bluescorpio1999 | @chuuulip| @celestiallucifer | @mrsalh32611 | @yipthegoddess | @lydklein1 | @jamierdr| @unsent-voicemail | @itsthelittlethingsnlife | @a-daydreamers-day |

[offical-dystopiantale]

*Chapter 2: Talk to me..*

Ink: Age 16

Error: Age 17

Part 1

Ink sighed, leaning back against the large oak tree behind him. Error, who sat beside him, looked up from his own math textbook, adjusting his red framed glasses. “You good?”

“My brain hurts.”

Error hummed, closing his book and tossing it aside. “We don’t have brains.”

Ink groaned and rolled his eyes, earning a snort from his friend. “Since when have you cared if something was accurate or not?”

“Since just now.” The taller skeleton took off his glasses, placing them into their special case. “The sun’s gonna go down soon. We should probably head back.”

The two boys were about half an hour out of town, at a small hill with a tree at the top; they found out about the place when they were younger, when Winter had taken them out for a picnic. Once they had gotten their driver's license, it became one of their regular hangout spots; along with Ink’s room.

… Speaking of which, it suddenly occurred to Ink that he’d never actually been in Error’s room. Or his house in general.

“Hey, earth-to-shorty.” Error gave him a gentle push, Ink blew a raspberry.

“Don’t call me that, you jerk.”

Error snorted again, leaning over to rest his arms on his knees. He gave Ink a wink, making the smaller skeleton’s ‘stomach’ do a flip, and his cheeks to flush. “It’s not my fault you’re only 4 feet tall”

Ink sank into his turtleneck sweater, efficiently hiding his ever growing blush. “I’m 4’11, not 4 feet.”

Error scooted closer to him, poking his cheek. “Aw, come on. Don’t be mad, I was only teasing you.”

That’s the problem, you idiot…

Ink had known for a while now that he had feelings for his taller friend. When they first started grade nine he started noticing he enjoyed being with Error more than just a friend would, and he’d get moments where he just wanted to hug him, or cuddle him and fall asleep curled up to his chest, or hold hands as they walked together.

Or kiss him.

He really, really wanted to kiss him.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he pushed Error’s hand away and stuck his tongue out. “Not all of us were blessed with incredible height”

.”Awe, you think I’m incredible?” Error wiggled his eyebrows as Ink’s blush darkened.

“Screw you!”

The ebony skeleton erupted into laughter, rocking backward. “You’re like an angry kitten, oh my god!”

Ink huffed, throwing a pencil at his friend, and gathered up the rest of his stuff into his bag. “Oh, whatever. Let’s head back, you big Glitch.”

Error gave a weak chuckle at his nickname, standing up to follow Ink to their car - since the two of them were almost always together, they decided they would buy the car together, and take turns driving.

“Do you want to hang out at my place for a bit? I think my mom was planning on baking cookies today.”

“Oh hell yeah, her baking is the fucking best.”

Ink slid into the car’s passenger seat, laughing and rolling his eyes. “Didn’t you say you were going to work on not swearing so much?

Error started the engine, and it made a whirring noise as it came to life. “I lied. I’m here for a fun time, not a long time, so I’ll say whatever shit I want to.” Ink giggled quietly, but there was a part of that sentence that made a lump form in his throat.

The ebony skeleton switched on the radio, an upbeat song suddenly filling the silence. Ink felt his worries wash away; things were good, they only had one more year of high school after this, and nothing bad was really happening in the world.

And he had Error.

The small monster felt himself relax, singing loudly and happily to the songs on the radio.n Eventually he got his friend to sing as well which only made his cheeks bloom with colour once again.

*****

Error grabbed another one of the still warm cookies off the plate in the middle on Ink’s bed, listening to the smaller monster ramble from the other end of the bed.. He always enjoyed being with Ink in his room; obviously not only because he was with his friend, but because the room was so colourful, cozy, and so very ‘Ink”.

The walls were painted baby blue with a soft gray carpet covering the floor. Above his plush bed - that was easily big enough for the both of them to sit (or lay) on at the same time - was Ink’s rainbow flag. In grade ten, during their school’s pride day, all the students were encouraged to wear rainbow items, or anything that supported the LGBTQ+ community. Ink managed to get Error to wear two buttons- one with the pan flag, and the other one with a rainbow - since he didn’t own any pride items himself, and the smaller skeleton has decided to tie his flag around his neck and wear it like a cape all day.

The poor monster had been bullied ruthlessly by a lot of their classmates because of it, and it came to the point that Error debated beating the shit out of them. He didn’t though, per Ink’s requests.

Now the flag stayed in his home, behind closed doors.

It pissed Error off to no end. He could still remember the way Ink’s eyes had drained of their sparkle when the flag idea backfired.

At least Winter was accepting of her son.

Unlike some people Error knew...

He shook his head, slipping back to the moment at hand.

Next to Ink’s bed was a side table with a glass of water and a lamp sitting on it. Next to the lamp was a framed photo of Error and Ink taken when the where 10 and 11, during their first summer as friends. Error remembered once asking his shorter friend why he decided to frame that photo, and not one that was more recent. The white skeleton had smiled and explained that that photo was extra special because it was taken so soon after they met; and that it meant a lot to Ink that they became friends.

Error didn’t know why someone like Ink cared about him, but he was thankful nonetheless.

“Error?”

The ebony skeleton snapped his eyes away from the picture and focused back on his friend, his cheeks turning blue. He’d completely zoned out, and had no idea what Ink had been saying.

The monster giggled, cheeks coming to life with a dusting of colour. “You got kinda distracted there, you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Uh, sorry, can you repeat what you were saying?”

Ink giggled again, making Error blush harder: it was such a soft sound… it made him want to hold the smaller monster close to him, to find other ways to make him make that sound.

… wait.

What the hell has gotten into me?!

It wasn’t necessarily the first time he had thought something like that, and it always made him do a double take on himself.

He wondered what it meant.

“ I was talking about how I get my braces off in a few months!” He smiled widely, showing off the brackets and wires that covered the surface of his teeth.

Error hummed, then said, “I still don’t understand why you wanted to get those in the first place. The teeth gap was cute.”

Ink’s eyes widened, his blush darkening immensely. He covered his face, grumbling. “No it wasn’t… it gave me a lisp when I started getting older, especially if i was talking fast. Besides, Bylk and his friends said-”

“You shouldn’t listen to what those assholes say.”

“COme on, Error, they’re not that bad anymore…”

Oh, sure. They weren’t ‘that bad’ because Bylk was absolutely terrified of Error, all because he beat his ass back in fifth grade. Truth be told, Bylk was also only 5’6, while Error was a towering 6’0. Not that he was complaining about it, he liked that Ink wasn’t getting harassed as much anymore, but the griffin’s little gang still took jabs at the small skeleton when he was alone (since Error and him only had two classes together this year).

At least they knew better than to actually lay a finger on the skeleton now.

“Whatever, they’re assholes.”

Ink huffed, leaning back against his pillows. “It’s getting late.” He said after a few minutes.

Error groaned, turning to his phone. Sure enough, it was almost 10:30.

Fuck

“Guess I should head home then.”

“Mm… yeah, I guess so. Oh! That reminds me. I’m not going to be at school tomorrow morning!”

“What? Why not?”

“Another doctor appointment.” Ink rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. For as long as Error knew him, Ink had always have to miss at least a day of school every two months for a ‘doctor’s’ appointment. From what the small skeleton had explained, all they did was take a look at his soul, make sure his magic levels were good and somehow they checked to make sure he was feeling things normally.

… Error didn’t really understand it.

“Do they bother you?”

“Eh, not really. They used to make me kinda uncomfortable but, you know. I’ve had so many, they’re normal now.” He let out a small laugh. “That being said, they are pretty annoying.”

The ebony skeleton couldn’t help but wonder what that must be like for Ink; what goes through his head when he really thinks about it.

“I...should be going” Error stood up, grabbing his school bag off the floor.

Ink waved. “See ya, Error!” He called after him as he waved and left the room.

He gave a short goodbye to Ink’s mother - who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through some papers - and thanked her for the cookies before exiting out into the chilly night air. A wave a dread hit him as he stood at his front door.

Sucking in a breath, he unlocked the door, and pushed it open; praying his father was passed out.

Light from the TV in the living room eerily illuminated the dining room and front entrance. The stairs in front of Error looked like a tunnel, leading into a dark abyss. The seventeen-year-old pulled off his shoes and silently leaned into the living room. His father, Cyber Sona, sat spralled out on the reclining chair, empty beer cans and bottles littering the tables and some floor space around him: some were old, and others were new.

Error’s nose scrunched up in disgust and he quickly left the room; trying to be as quiet as possible as he went upstairs to his room, careful not to wake up his dad. Closing the door, Error sighed, sinking down onto his bed and dropping his bag carelessly onto the floor.

His room wasn’t anything like Ink’s; while his friend’s room was colourful and full of life, his was dark and gray. His bed was pressed against the wall next to the window and pointed towards Ink’s room - there had been many nights where they’d both sit by their windows, talking to each other through their phones. On the wall adjacent to his bed, he had a wooden desk covered in grade school assignments and writing utensils with his laptop sitting on top of it all. He also had a closet for clothes and such, but that was about it.

The house was deathly quiet, aside from the mindless chatter of the TV and occasional snore from the sleeping monster downstairs. Rolling over on his bed, the skeleton plucked his earphones off the cluttered side table next to his bed and plugged them into his phone.

He pressed play on a playlist, setting his phone down beside him, and stared up at the ceiling.

A recognizable numbness washed over him as the music made the house disappear around him, leaving only him...all alone. The feeling usually came when he got home from Ink’s, though sometimes it wasn’t so bad. Some days it was worse. Sometimes it lasted for days at a time, and he could barely bring himself to drag his ass out of bed.

Most days the numbness evolved into a deep and desperate sadness.

He rolled onto his side, pulling his comforter up and over top of him and burrowing his face into the pillow and blankets. He knew that sleep wouldn’t come to him, not yet at least, but the warmth gave him at least a little comfort; like a leash, keeping him tied to the real world and protecting him from falling into his thoughts completely.

Things always got worse when that happens.

[artificialqueens]

learning to be silent (multi) — chapter three - roza

[ summary ] : the short program for grand prix qualifications has begun in grenoble, france and while some might be riding above and beyond expectations, some are cracking under the pressure.

[ author's note ] : hope y'all enjoy, finally realized I'll make two chapters for the short program as it was beginning to get quite long to my liking, also that gives me more planning and space — lily.

AO3 / My Tumblr / (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`)

— *.✧

It was officially setting in for Shea that the short program for the ladies single skate was beginning, even if they had been training and she had given her time and dedication to the competition at hand, a part of her felt unsure if it was truly happening or a completely delusional dream.

The arena itself had an audience of about 4,000 which was definitely not the biggest number but considering the arena size and it was sold out completely, both the Short and Long program final days, Shea was proud to be a part of the experience, though experience didn't win you medals, it did give you exposure.

Being in the first group wasn't a blessing or a curse, she didn't know exactly what she was up against: there was no accurate way to predict figure skating results. Of course Sasha and Brooke were a shoo in to win but you never knew if today was the right one. One small slip or under rotation on a GOE could be the difference between sitting out and winning a medal.

Her Team USA jacket covered her costume as she stretched around the Kiss & Cry. She spotted out of the corner of her eye Katya Zamolodchikova who had covered herself in a large coat, looking beyond happy to see her fellow Russian competitor even if she (herself) had moved now to train in America. It was sweet of her to come and see Sasha perform, as if she needed the luck though it only increased media attention and didn't deter her from absolute madness of press.

Shea began to realize that, behind the perfectly tuned machine that was Katya, there lived a heart of care and love for her Russian sisters. She apparently had a special bond with Sasha, who she lived with, according to Sasha herself during a long conversation with Shea at the rink yesterday.

"First to skate, representing Australia, please welcome Courtney Act."

"Premier à patiner, bienvenue, représentant de l’Australie, Courtney Act!"

Shea couldn't focus on Courtney who had begun skating. it was difficult to warm up however considering her want to scope out the competition. Choosing to do just an unsurprising medley of mambo. It wasn't anything too surprising music wise; she knew Courtney well enough to know she had taken many a latin dance class and enjoyed the style that came with the dancing compared to something slower or with lyrics.

Courtney always had good energy, but that didn't make up for her average technical scores. She was very talented, but unfortunately talent wasn't enough in figure skating,. Shea both admired her and thought she was the dumbest person alive, and she wasn't sure which was more correct. She knew This sport was changing and evolving faster than anyone could anticipate and the only thing left to do was adapt or be left behind: Courtney was slugging behind.

Shea couldn't name anyone else who deliberately asked to not have any quad's in her programs, the other girls at least tried and with good reason: risk was being awarded nowadays over artistry. Shea could fall on every one of her jumps and still get a higher overall score than Courtney, it put less of a worry in her mind.

On the plus side she perfectly landed her triple axel and made it look absolutely stunning. Courtney had definitely the greatest stage presence of her competitors, despite her safe choices. The only competitors who could give Courtney a run for her money in the charisma department were the Russian girls, who were specifically trained to rack up points in any possible way. Of course they’re good at everything.

Not paying much attention until the final few notes, Shea smiled and clapped for her fellow skater who ended with a camel spin. Courtney’s arms were held out, the tassels of her pink and red dress shaking along with her hands. Shea could feel that Courtney also knew it wasn't a winning short program. And yes, there was always the free dance, but with the competition as tight as ever, if you couldn't even catch up on the first day you could kiss that medal goodbye.

The blonde picked up the two bear plushies thrown on the ice for her before meeting her coach who could only hug her as she tried not to burst into tears, the Australian keeping her dignity and self respect in high regard as she sat with her coach and her girlfriend, who she recognized as Willam, not a skater but an established actress who was sweet enough to always come and support her. The Kiss & Cry now obtained by the Aussie who patiently awaited her scores, knowing no matter what number it showed she'd at least have a solid three minutes to be in first place.

"The scores please."

The music dimmed as the audience hushed, the focus all turned towards the screens that would illuminate the judges score. Shea knew in her gut that it wouldn't be enough to keep Courtney in the race for the Grand Prix final, no matter how badly the blonde wanted it to happen.

"Courtney Act has earned in the short program, a total combined score of 72.08. She is currently in first place."

"Courtney Act a obtenu dans le programme court, un score total combiné de 72,08, elle est actuellement en première place!"

Courtney nodded in approval, A smile dimly flashed across her lips; she’d been expecting about an average score. Willam rubbed her shoulders and mumbled into her hair before walking her over to the first place chair where she sat alone, waiting to be replaced in a few minutes. Shea rubbed her hands together and sat down next to Bob and Adore, who anxiously watched the events on the ice. Adore wouldn’t go until last in the second group,  so she had a while to warm up beforehand. Still, she refused until she saw Shea skate for herself.

Yuhua and Jinkx both went after Courtney, who was already sulking in the corner with her coach and Willam about her scores and what she needed to do to improve for her other competitions. Yuhua had just barely pulled in front of Courtney, her attempt at a quad saving her from the bottom.

Jinkx, who had dominated the competition when Shea began her adventure as a senior skater was stumbling, to her complete surprise, she under-rotated her quad lutz and fell on her triple axel. Although she had gotten up immediately and skated through beautifully, presentation wasn't everything and her Grade of Execution scores showed that.

Shea and Brooke had been enraptured from the moment Jinkx began to sway downhill. She was the oldest competitor in their qualifications. There was a confidence growing in Shea’s chest as she glared up at the screen for Jinkx' score to be announced. She pulled her hair back and checked her skate guards as everyone watched the utter shame on Jinkx’ face wiped off with an obvious fake smile when "85.05" was announced. some reaction out of the room considering the press around her as the Russian immediately stood up and ran out of the way, wanting to be alone, It wasn't a wonderful day for Jinkx Monsoon.

She was currently holding the reign at first but looking at who was next, it wouldn't be too long of a first place finish.

"Next to skate, representing Russia, please welcome Sasha Velour."

"Après le skate, représentant la Russie, veuillez accueillir Sasha Velour."

The crowd seemed to completely jump to its feet, Shea smiled as she gave a small cheer for the blonde who met eyes with her, noticing that sections of the crowd were spilt with fans waving and screaming with the tri-colored colors of the Russian flag, of course there was always to be at least a corner huddled of Russians when it came to figure skating competitions but being in Europe where travel was twice as simple meant a large amount of traveling support for Sasha, who deserved the love and appreciation, she was their gold star after all.

Sasha couldn't help but feel a smile gaze upon her lips once she was announced aloud, the consistent loud applause and screaming, chanting in Russian definitely helped.

There was always an odd sense of urgency when she would skate, it wasn't the pressure of winning, she of course needed to, it was her damn job to do so but all nerves always melted away when she skated, figure skating was about the story and connection you made as you graciously racked up those points and scores at the minuscule chance you'd even accomplish something— let alone win the gold and that prize money.

Shea couldn't help but glance over at Katya who had gotten up from her seat when Jinkx must've finished skating, approaching Sasha quickly with a genuine smile across her face as she took the younger figure skater in her arms and groaning in happiness, squeezing her tight, almost mauling her over with the sheer size and volume of her fur coat that was covering Sasha.

"Я очень горжусь тобой!"

The Russian wasn't exactly something the American could obviously pick up on but judging by the sheer pride that was exposed throughout Sasha's face she guessed it was a compliment and a compliment from Katya Zamolodchikova was a definite rarity, "Огромное спасибо." The whisper leaving her lips as Shea stripped off her Team USA jacket, knowing she'd be next right after Brooke Lynn went once Sasha was finished with her short program skate.

Katya she was never rude or disrespectful towards competitors per se: she just didn't speak her mind on others and their programs, she focused on herself and even if it sounded selfish in Shea's head it truthfully wasn't, she was just concerned for doing the best she possibly could and winning medals, that's how the hierarchy in Russian skating worked from what Sasha had told her when they ran off alone to the abandoned rink two days before this night of the Short Programs.

"Kill them." She whispered to Sasha in English before the younger Russian immediately skated into the ice and waved happily to the fans and those watching inside the stadium, Shea impressed with the flow of applause and steady stream of flags piling up.

She could hear the excitement breathing on her neck as the music began and she started once the first chords were strummed, her coach was weary of her doing a song with words but had been swayed once hearing Sasha's concept and the fact that it was in Serbian was a huge plus to the Russian crowd as opposed to an English song.

Her feet turned in her skates, twizzling across the ice as she rotated onto her left foot, turning in to her right and out stretching her arms as she twirled into a camel spin, feeling an immense boulder fall off her shoulders getting into the swing of her program perfectly.

Coming out of the spin she skated into an Ina Bauer, her fingertips opening and tightly clenched into a fist before she kicked her leg out and started to feel at peace, the song itself spoke to her beyond belief and she knew a decent amount of Serbian already to know and understand the meaning but many didn't: she had to show she was an artist beyond just her skill in technique. Turning on her skates she waited until the moment before slamming her toe pick in the ice from the back inside edge of her foot, landing on the outside edge of her opposite foot.

Quad Flip, accomplished.

Sasha was a bit more different than her Russian sister's, of course she enjoyed the roar of the crowd and them screaming when her jumps happened but it almost took her out of the moment, Katya always said it fed her energy but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Sasha though she couldn't help but peak at the older Russian who was watching with a permanent grin across her face, finally meeting her match in her own skating sister.

This was the only short program and the world record was held by Katya, an impressive 90.23 score that Sasha hoped to break by the end of the song. Slamming her toe pick in the ground she jumped from her outside edge and rotated three times before landing on the back of her opposite before quickly adding a triple toe for added points before landing again, taking a deep breath for herself noticing she had yet to slip up, she couldn't tell you if the gruesome training and dieting was worth a medal but it was worth the praise and applause despite the obvious drawbacks.

Slowing down the tempo of music she glided across the ice, hands bursting from her chest, it was difficult to not think of her mother while skating to a song she picked specifically due to its story and essence of love.

She spun once skating away from where the judges sat, preparing herself for her quad salchow which she had been working on for days in the training facility back in St. Petersburg, she had nailed the rest of her combinations and quads so far: triples were easy game, it was considered now detrimental to your score if you didn't at least have at least two quads, she jumped in the air spinning before landing and dancing across the ice, hands straightening at her sides before taking off from the back inside edge of her foot and pacing the beat before landing on the back outside edge of the opposite foot to thunderous applause and screaming, Sasha having to give a wide smirk in the moment, it was so difficult to keep focus when you landed the one thing people had been struggling with, that even though she had been struggling and working towards for so long. She prayed she hadn't cheated the move out and take off at the perfect time.

Managing to add in her triple axel and one more quad with the lutz she skated around the edges of the rink, feeling the stares of those watching and the thousands who were behind the screen, those beyond France who were rooting or watching her for the first time in real time.

"Jos jednom, da ga, Pogledam…"

Finishing off her skate with a layback spin she felt herself completely diminished after the last note had been sung, kicking herself out of the spin and landing on one knee before she stopped, as did the music.

Holy shit.

She collapsed on the floor, heavily breathing as she pumped her fists in the air to signal she was indeed not in need of medical assistance, the crowd around her circling in her head as they screamed, the Russian's chanting with pride and hearing a distinctly familiar scream that could only belong to Katya, she propped herself up as the volunteers came on the ice to clean up all the gifts and flowers being thrown to her, she picked up one that had a penguin and smiled, hugging it and waving to the packed stadium who only cheered louder.

Making it onto the ground again, she collapsed into Katya's arms, her coach walking over and wanting her to come quickly to the Kiss & Cry though the older blonde refused, wanting a minute as her fingers ran through her hair and she stood firmly, grounded in silence. Sasha slipped on her skate guards as not a word was exchanged between the two though the gesture said a million other things, she caught a quick glance of Brooke who hadn't cracked under the pressure yet, the Canadian in firm focus as Shea smiled at the Russian who gasped and quickly ran into her arms as well, fingertips on her cheeks, "Shea you're gonna do so, so amazing!"

Interrupting every message of praise Shea had planned in her head, she whispered her words before kissing her cheek before she ran quickly off to the seats, knowing her scores still had to be announced. Shea brushed her hand across the area where her cheek had been kissed, flushing heavily, praying that wouldn't be the subject of media playback but it was certainly worth the questions.

"Sorry, sorry!" She apologized to her coach ruthlessly as she sat, penguin in hand as she parted her hair back, not being able to even describe the sheer want she had to wash her hair at this very moment in time. Her coach gave a decent review of the skate, saying her axel was a bit awkward and they would work on it but she had at least, in her coach's eye, landed all her jumps with no problems concerning the status and rotation.

"The scores please."

Biting her tongue, the Russian slipped on her team jacket and waited hopelessly, not sure what to expect at the moment in time: the applause made her think positively about the entire skate but that didn't mean in technical score it would be perfect, Sasha hoped for a score to at least significantly tie her to the lead for the time being, her biggest competition was Shea, that was a fact: Brooke was always low on presentation score and Aquaria, she wasn't sure what to expect from the newly inducted senior.

"Sasha Velour has earned in the short program…"

The pause in the announcement made Sasha's entire heart stop, gripping her plush with nothing but chapped lips and frizzy hair, pushing back every insecurity that grew in her body about her score before she felt her entire face bleach a pale white upon hearing the score.

"101.72 points."

Her coach had made an audible gasp, Sasha quickly exhaling and trying not to completely break down in tears, the screaming from fans in the stadium not helping. The announcer spoke through the eruption of cheers and talking, "This is a new world record."

"Sasha Velour a obtenu au programme court un total combiné de 101,72 points, elle a établi un nouveau record du monde!"

Sasha stood up and covered her blue eyes with her bare hands, unable to keep in all her emotion much longer before sniffling as tears fled her eyes, ending up across her arm and skin, groaning as she cried and held herself with as much poise as she could, she had beaten Katya's three year record and the older skater could only laugh and cheer, knowing it was soon to come and was glad it was done by Sasha, who now sat at the top and would most likely sit at the top for the rest of the competition.

Congratulations exchanged from Jinkx who still unable to face defeat from her scores hugged her fellow Russian skater and friend, Sasha sat and gave a wave to the camera, laughing at how pathetically red her eyes must be before she stared on to the ice again, watching as Brooke Lynn was to take the ice next.

Shea physically stood wanting to fall of the edge of the earth, there was no way she'd even touch Sasha.

She could, realistically their programs were similar in components but Shea wasn't as delusional as some of her friends. She knew her limits and what she was good at, artistry was not something she could ever excel to a level even comparable to Sasha Velour, who deservedly sat in that first place chair next to Yuhua and Jinkx. Her stomach churned knowing that Brooke, known for her crazy height in elements and perfect executions was next and she still had her teammates: Aquaria and Adore, Sharon putting all her bets on the younger girl she was now raising. Bob grabbed Shea to the hallway next to the rink, suggesting she warm up and actually focus.

"I want to see how this turns out."

The Canadian stretched her legs out before hearing the announcer began to speak, immediately handing Manila her skates, "Take a deep breath, you got this." Her Coaches advice was solid, she often didn't think for herself as she stepped on the ice but that wouldn't win you the gold, especially after seeing Sasha Velour absolutely destroy Katya Zamolodchikova's old world record.

"I'll do what I can."

Realistically, she could kiss at least the short program medal goodbye, she'd get lucky to even manage the top three and a chance for the Grand Prix. She was the best Canadian skater currently for women's solo, she had been an ice dancer when she was younger but learned quickly how much she hated sharing the limelight and how badly she needed to be alone in her thoughts when skating, not having time to worry about a partner period.

Her name was called and she immediately slid into the ice and skated to the center of the rink, appreciation for the Canadian who of course knew French and would be doing a French song for both her short and long program: out of every country she could've been assigned to besides Canada, this is where she should feel at home yet, something about it seemed oddly tipped off.

"C'mon Brooke!" Screamed Detox from her seat in the arena, Alaska rolling her eyes and giving out a muffled laugh, "She still has the blue tips you gave her." Brooke's hair was naturally blonde but as a tribute to her idol since childhood, she asked Detox to dye her hair: the royal blue clearly visible from a mile away though it was slowly but surely fading away, knowing the Canadian she would most likely wash it out soon after competition if she qualified to further events.

Hearing Detox, her face lit up and she gently waved and blew a kiss to the woman who had become somewhat of a mentor and always had been a skating idol to her ever since she started training in Vancouver permanently, the applause and steady stream of Canadian flag's growing made the blonde at least curl her lips into somewhat of a smile, she stood silent, waiting for the piano notes to cue her to stay.

I have to beat Sasha, I don't care if I break my knee after this, I'm winning in France this year.

The piano introduction to La Bohème begun and the Canadian lifted her skates off the ice, intentionally staring at the reflection below her before lifting her head and beginning her projection map. The short program was always far more important to Brooke than the free skate.

Brooke's Edea skates began to skate around the corner of the ice, starting with her triple toe, triple loop combination: waiting for her takeoff she approached forward on the inside edge of her blade, quickly switching to a backward-facing position as the skater's right back outside edge and left toepick jammed into the ice and she took off. Rotating three times before turning one rotation in the air, landing on the back outside edge of the same foot after another successful three rotations, hearing applause but letting it fade out in her thoughts.

That combination was second nature, of course she nailed it, everyone did toe jumps.

Taking off from the back outside edge of her skating foot, she felt herself jump before she somehow landed on the back outside edge of the same foot to excruciatingly loud applause, she guessed in the back of her mind she had landed that quad loop. Brooke always had the upper hand when it came to training and jumping, she did Ballet all her life and still continued to, many skaters didn't find it necessary anymore with so many elements but Brooke believed in artistry and the traditional way which gave her gateway for very fluid programs.

Her Blonde hair perfectly styled, she gave an arabesque as she passed the judge's scoring panel. She couldn't let herself dig so deep into it, she had to her satisfaction landed all her elements so far and now she jumped freely, slowing her program down as the singing and music came perfectly engulfed in one, preparing herself for another quad, this time the lutz that she had just begun to work on without a harness: she landed it in warm up just an hour ago.

As she dug the toepick into the ice she felt herself slam against the floor once she rotated, Brooke ignored the audible gasps and groans, continuing on immediately once her knee had hit the floor— not wanting to even think about it, she knew that cost her the gold today immediately with no doubts, now she was back to square one.

She kept herself in the program as best she could though the disconnect was painfully obvious even to her, no matter how technically gifted she could be: presentation and interpretation was still a big part of the score, it was half of it in fact.

Taking the last of her elements she twizzled across the ice rink, turning an astounding ten times on her outside edge, grabbing her skate and bending her free arm above her head as she finished the pattern in the center of the ice, kicking out a leg before finishing off the final notes of the chaos with an I-spin, fully extending her leg up, Brooke had the flexibility and abilities skaters dreamed they had expect Katya, who had been a trained gymnast but thank god, she was going to compete in the Rostelecom Cup.

The two minutes and thirty seconds allotted seemed to fly by but Brooke didn't think about it until she found herself in her final pose, waiting for the music to end and applause to cut in before she moved, smiling softly and giving a small bow as the red costume she was wearing sparkled in the gleaming lights. "Thank you." She mouthed aloud before waving and taking the roses tossed onto the ice, wanting to break down profusely.

Manila met her once she stepped off the ice, immediately holding Brooke's face to her shoulder tightly, her arms around her back patting her. She knew she didn't want to speak of the fall and little errors she couldn't even see or notice, it wasn't her best but still a damn good effort. The Canadian sniffled once and got herself together as she sat with Manila on the Kiss & Cry couch, camera's placed so lovingly in Brooke's face, just what any skater wanted after crying and sweating. Her coach whispered into her shoulder as she finished putting on her Team Canada jacket, disappointed to be representing her home country with that skate.

"The scores please."

Music cued with a silence, Brooke knew already what to expect with the fall and the dismay of emotions shown in presentation quality, she certainly hadn't beaten Sasha.

"Brooke Lynn Hytes has earned in the short program a total combined score of 90.51, this is a new season's best."

"Brooke Lynn Hytes a obtenu dans le programme court un score total combiné de 90,51."

The utter opposite of joy, there was applause and it was definitely a high score, she was sitting in the silver position and second once again to Sasha Velour who seemed utterly unstoppable. It was almost unfair to Brooke how one person could be so talented, beautiful and intelligent: Russian media treated her like their darling dear and while the Canadian would normally call it a stretch or say it was yellow journalism, it was all entirely factual: she was always kind and honest as can be, nothing but passion for the sport and for her country.

"I'm proud of you honey." Manila's voice spoke up as she brushed Brooke's dusted crystal on her costume, "And you definitely look the most beautiful here, no doubt."

Brooke had to at least giggle, she did and that was thanks to Manila's gorgeous sewing skills. It was definitely a wonderful perk as your costume always helped the illusion of the skating, helped to show your artistry and of course, it was obviously wonderful for photographers.

"I tried my best." The words leaving her lips as she sat next to Sasha, staring at the Russian who quickly got up from her seat and cheered in happiness, paying respects to Shea who was next and one of the strongest skaters here certainly.

Shea didn't expect to feel a certain sense of urgency course through her veins as she threw her skate guards to the bench, taking off her Team USA jacket and handing it to Bob who only could pat her back and say a prayer to the skater whom she had all her hopes riding on, she only trained Shea in the senior level, she mostly worked with Junior and Novice skaters.

"C'mon Shea!" Screamed a clearly disgruntled Trinity who made her ears perk up, looking around as she adjusted the details of her short program costume, admiring the crystals and sheer amount of pink, it was perfect. She had managed to find the Floridian with Alaska and Detox, unsurprisingly though it was sweet they all decided to come and support the team. Trinity gave a large thumbs up as Detox had her arm slung around her waist, speaking to Alaska in low whispers on the right.

They managed to mouth a few final words to each other as her fellow friend and skater made note of her dress.

"You look gorgeous and you skate great, you'll win."

"Not while Sasha is here!"

Her face flushed gently turning as she saw Sasha standing and clapping, as if she was bowing to her match: this was the moment though there was of course the long program tomorrow, hopes were still riding on tonight to get the gold.

Trinity rolled her eyes. Gnawing at her jaw in nothing but stress, she tightly squeezed Detox's hand in comfort: "God, I can't do this, I'm just praying somehow she'll manage a medal." Alaska nodded, more here for Aquaria and Sharon but definitely happy to support Adore and Shea whenever she could, they were all still usually sweet and friendly despite being major competition to each other.

"C'mon Shea!" Alaska yelled, holding out her name in a loud scream before Trinity clapped and cackled, falling on her lap and chanting for her best friend, not one usually stand and jump around she felt it necessary as her best friend took to the ice, this was a huge chance to finally win and though her head said it wouldn't be possible to meet Sasha for the gold, her heart ignored that and let herself dream of Shea winning gold.

"You think she can do it? Beat Sasha?" Detox pondered aloud as Trinity grinned widely, interlocking their fingers, "I know she can, the thing is I don't know if she believes in herself enough." Alaska butted in, "If anyone is as cocky and confident as me it is Shea fucking Couleé, I think she just can't hold back which I doubt she'd ever do in the first place."

Shea skated into the ice around the corner of the rink, waving to the onslaught of American flags before stopping in the center, a prayer whispered under her breath before she looked up, confident as ever.

This is your moment and no one can stop you.

—

"Огромное спасибо." = Thank you very much

"Я очень горжусь тобой!" = [I'm] very proud

[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 12/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 4k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3, FFN, and below.

On the car ride home from what was most definitely the best date of her life, all Chloe can think about it how easy it would be to let herself fall completely, totally, irreversibly in love with Beca Mitchell.

Well. More in love than she already is.

Their time together had been astoundingly perfect. It wasn’t because they’d happened to get lucky with weather and a spectacular sunset; it wasn’t because Beca had thought of everything (except plates and utensils); it wasn’t even because Chloe loves picnics. It was because it was with Beca.

As Beca drives them back home, stereo playing some artist Chloe hasn’t heard of, Chloe watches Beca’s profile, enraptured by the way her lips form the lyrics coming from the radio. Beca’s window is down just a crack and her hair blows in the breeze. It’s rapidly becoming darker outside, but in the glow of the dashboard and with the moonlight outside, Beca looks so beautiful that it makes Chloe’s chest ache.

It’s strange, knowing that she’s allowed to feel like this now. She’s allowed to think about Beca as more than a friend. She’s allowed to touch Beca again, to link their fingers together and have it actually mean more than friendship. She’s allowed to think about holding Beca, kissing her, and being in love with her.

It’s not something she felt she had any right to think about. Until today.

Even before the date, Chloe hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up. Beca had assured her she’s ready to date girls (Chloe still feels bad about saying “no” at first), but Chloe had been prepared for her to change her mind and call the whole thing off.

She’s never been so pleased to have been proven wrong. She could tell Beca was a little on edge at the beginning, nervous around other people and purposely taking her to a quiet area of the park, but the tension had melted away over time. When they’d left, Beca had held her hand all the way back to the car, not seeming to care about the potential of other people seeing them.

Chloe wants to kiss her. More than anything, she wants to kiss her. For years, she’s been dreaming and thinking about what Beca’s lips would taste like – at least until the guilt over those fantasies reappeared.

(If Chloe’s honest with herself, she wants much, much more than to just kiss Beca.)

Still, she wants to go at Beca’s pace. Beca’s comfort with everything they do is her absolute priority. So, she’ll wait. She’ll wait for as long as Beca needs. Even if that means they never do anything more than what they did tonight at the picnic, that’s okay.

Simply holding Beca like that had been bliss. When she held Beca, it was like she’d been holding the world.

Yeah. She’s already completely, totally, irreversibly in love.

Beca pulls into the Bella driveway and parks in Chloe’s usual spot alongside Ashley’s minivan. She rolls up her window, turns off the car, and dangles Chloe’s keys off the tip of her index finger.

“Thanks for letting me drive her to take you on a date,” Beca says with her signature crooked smile.

“Thanks for the date,” Chloe replies, plucking the keys from Beca.

“Anytime.”

“So… you’d want to do it again?”

“Definitely,” Beca answers instantly, then hesitates. “You want to?”

“Totes,” Chloe nods emphatically. “It can be my treat next time.”

Beca grins, looking pleased. “I’d like that.”

They smile at each other, not saying anything. Chloe knows this is the part of the date where people usually kiss, but in this case, she’s not sure what to do.

The same thought seems to have occurred to Beca, too, because her hand rises to rub at the back of her own neck awkwardly at the same time her eyes fall to Chloe’s lips. Chloe’s breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t move, wanting Beca to dictate the next few minutes.

Which she does, but by clearing her throat and looking away. “Uh, I suppose,” Beca says, resting her hand on the door handle. “We should probably make sure no one’s died or anything in there.”

Hiding her disappointment, Chloe nods quickly and opens her own car door, not wanting Beca to feel any more awkward about the situation than she already seems to. Reaching into the backseat, she grabs the picnic basket and some of the many blankets (is that a flashlight? Beca really was extra prepared) to carry inside the house. On the driver’s side of the car, Beca grabs her own armful of picnic equipment and together, they haul it into the Bella house.

As soon as the front door swings open, Chloe’s nose is assaulted with a torrent of alcohol fumes; their house reeks like a seedy bar. Empty bottles cover the kitchen table, and pineapple, watermelon, and orange rinds fill the garbage can. Rainbow Pride flags have materialized and are strewn haphazardly along the walls, draped over the staircase handrail, and are wrapped around Jessica, Emily, and Flo as blankets for where they sleep on the couch.

“Oh… my… god,” Beca breathes as they walk through the front door. She looks around for a clear space to set down the picnic things but has to settle for nudging aside some bottles to clear a space on the table for it all. Chloe winces at the almost guaranteed stickiness of the table but does the same with the basket in her arms.

Now that they’re in the kitchen, Chloe can hear a pounding bass coming from deep within the house. By the way she can feel the vibrations in her feet, she guesses everyone else still partying must be in the basement.

Sure enough, seconds later, footsteps sound on the stairs and the door to the basement swings open, spewing forth Amy, several additional empty bottles, and the full volume of the throbbing music.

“Oh, hi, Bhloe!” Amy greets them enthusiastically. “Wanna join? There’s a party for the ghosts downstairs.”

“Amy, what the hell did you do to the house?” Beca asks, having to shout over the music.

“Uh. Ummmmmm.”

“You know what?” Beca cuts her off. “I don’t want to know.”

“Suit yourself,” Amy shrugs, setting the empty bottles down on the floor and pulling more vodka out of the kitchen cabinet. She winks theatrically at Chloe, then turns back to head downstairs.

“Mom and Dad are back!” Amy yells as she starts down the stairs, resulting in a chorus of mingled cheers and boos. The door slams behind her, instantly muffling the voices and music.

Beca rolls her eyes and looks at Chloe in exasperation.

“That seems fun,” Chloe can’t resist teasing, making Beca narrow her eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says. “But, uh, do you want to come upstairs? Looks like we’ll have my room to ourselves.”

Chloe pauses at the suggestion. “Uh –”

Beca’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh!” she says, “no, not – I meant for – like Netflix or something, not – no.”

Chloe takes pity on her and cracks a smile. “It’s okay, don’t freak! I knew what you meant,” she assures, trying not to laugh.

Beca glares at her. “Oh my god, don’t do that to me,” she huffs. “I changed my mind. Uninvited.”

“Oh, but –” Chloe puts on her best pout, jutting out her lower lip and making her eyes huge. She knows Beca can never resist when she does that.

They have a staring contest: Chloe, unblinking, trying to look as miserable as possible while Beca stands there, hands firmly on her hips and attempting to hold a poker face. Chloe makes her eyes even wider, pushes her lip out further, and –

“Fine,” Beca grumbles. “Come on, then.”

Chloe grins happily and reaches to intertwine their fingers, a spark traveling up her spine when Beca’s thumb traces over the back of her hand. They go up the stairs together – if a little awkwardly, from the hand-holding – and arrive at Beca’s door. Beca opens it, gesturing Chloe ahead of her grandly, and Chloe takes the last few steps up and into the attic bedroom, hearing Beca close the door and follow.

Up here, they can’t hear any sounds of the rave happening in their basement. Chloe glances around, smiling a little at the mess of laptop and mixing equipment strewn across Beca’s desk. Beca’s side of the room is neater than Amy’s, but not by a lot, with jeans and Converse littering the floor. The bed is made, though, and when Chloe sits on the edge of it, she can smell the light floral scent of Beca’s perfume.

“So, what do you want to watch?” she asks when Beca grabs her laptop from the desk.

“Uh, up to you,” Beca says, opening up the laptop and booting it up with a whir as she sits beside Chloe on the bed.

“Uh, maybe…” Chloe thinks, then asks, “Have you seen Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt yet?”

“Nope,” Beca replies, settling back against her pillow, propped up against the headboard. “Comedy?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies, joining her against the headboard so their legs stretch out over Beca’s comforter. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I’ll trust you,” Beca grins at her sideways, then starts the show.

Chloe tries to focus on the episode, but she’s already seen it so she knows what’s going to happen, and her attention span isn’t helped at all by the way that – because Beca’s bed is kind of small – Beca’s side is pressed against hers. And, really, it would be way more comfortable if she could put her arm over Beca’s shoulders, but she’s not sure they’re there yet even though she can feel every breath Beca takes against her side.

And yet. Despite the sharp awareness of Beca’s proximity, Chloe is struck by how normal this feels. It could be any other night with Beca, but now with the barest electric undercurrent running between them. Apart from that, it’s simply her and Beca, Beca and her, like always.

With one tiny difference.

When Chloe looks sideways, she meets the determined deep blue of Beca’s eyes.

“I could hear you thinking,” Beca whispers.

Chloe doesn’t – can’t – reply. Beca is so close that all it would take is just a fraction of movement from both of them. A lean, a tilt, and they’d be there, kissing.

Something settles deep within her chest.

“Chlo…”

Everything else in the world disappears. Every past worry, fear, and insecurity melts into nothing as Chloe looks at Beca and Beca looks at Chloe. The bedroom fades away around them, until even the laptop cradled on Beca’s legs, still playing the episode, ceases to exist.

Beca’s eyes flick down to her lips, and stay there.

Chloe’s eyes drop, too.

Beca’s tongue pokes out, just briefly, to soften her own lips.

Chloe’s hands twitch.

She’s not sure who leans forward first. It doesn’t really matter, she supposes. All that matters is that they’re getting closer and closer, and now she can feel Beca’s breath ghosting over her face, and they’re so, so close to touching.

Chloe closes her eyes.

Bang!

The door to the bedroom is flung open with enough force to shake the walls. Beca jerks back so violently it looks like she’s received an electric shock; she almost falls off the bed, but Chloe catches her arm at the same time Beca grabs her laptop protectively, and crisis is averted.

Footsteps on the stairs and a loud, drunken, “Beca, have you seen my orange boots? I have to teach Legacy something,” announces Amy’s arrival into the room, as if the thundering of the door opening hadn’t.

“Um, no, I –” Beca’s flustered, her face pink, her eyes darting wildly around the room without once landing on Chloe.

Maybe that’s okay, Chloe thinks. She wouldn’t want Beca to see the disappointment that’s probably clear in her eyes.

Amy makes her way fully into the room, eyes searching the floor, not even looking over at Beca’s side of the room. Hastily, Beca and Chloe reposition themselves so they’re sitting several inches apart on the bed, laptop between them, and legs dangling over the sides.

Nope, nothing to see here, Chloe thinks wildly as she does her best to rearrange her expression to one of Platonic Friendship rather than mild sexual frustration.

“Hm, I really need – oh! There they are!” Amy crows in triumph, reaching behind her bed to extract the pair of violently orange knee-high boots Chloe has only ever seen her wear at the disco-themed bar downtown.

“Great,” Beca deadpans. “I’m glad you found them.”

Amy glances over at the tone, her expression clearing when her eyes focus on Chloe.

“Oh, hi, Chloe, didn’t see you in here,” Amy says, then fixes them with a serious stare. “You two lovebirds stay off my bed, yeah?”

“Hi, Amy,” Chloe greets her over the sound of Beca’s groan.

“Listen, Beca,” Amy continues, “you remember the time you bet you could twerk better than me?”

“Uh –”

“You were drunk,” Amy reminds her bluntly.  “Well, now’s the time to prove it. Come on, Short Stuff, there’s no getting out of this one.”

Beca looks to Chloe desperately, and Chloe knows she shouldn’t find this funny – they’d just been interrupted before what could have been the best moment of her life – but the whole thing is so completely ridiculous that she can’t stop her lips from twitching in amusement.

“It’s okay,” she assures Beca, “I should call my parents, anyway. It’s been a while.” Besides, if she’s lucky, someone (probably Stacie) will obtain video evidence of Amy and Beca twerking for her to laugh at later.

On the other side of the room, Amy has resumed digging behind her bed, possibly in search of other neon clothing.

“Oh, right,” Beca says quietly, looking down at her laptop between them. “Are you going to tell your parents about…” she trails off and looks up, gesturing between them.

“I – if that’s okay with you?” Chloe asks uncertainty. It hadn’t occurred to her to not tell her parents about going on the date. “I mean, they – well, my mom – already kind of knows… how I feel about you?”

Beca blinks, her eyebrows raising. “She does?”

“Don’t sound so amazed,” Chloe teases, knocking her shoulder into Beca. “Yeah, I told her about it. It’s been... a while,” she smiles, trying to soften it.

“And… she – and your dad – they’re okay with it? With us?”

Chloe’s heart stutters over the word “us,” but she tries to play it cool.

“They’re more than okay with us,” she replies sincerely. “They love you, and they want me to be happy. And,” Chloe leans forward, a thrill shooting down her spine when Beca’s eyes again drop to her lips. “They know you make me happy.”

She pulls back to a more appropriate distance for having Amy in the room, and watches Beca’s expression turn pleased.

Beca looks pleased, if a little embarrassed. “Well,” she huffs. “I’m only sorry it took this long.”

“Oh, no, Bec, no! I didn’t mean –” Chloe frowns at the change in mood. With a glance at Amy (who has reemerged from behind the bed and is making for the stairs), she says softly, “I wouldn’t change a thing. Really. It’s okay. Don’t ever feel bad about it.”

Beca searches her face almost cautiously. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Beca’s expression relaxes gradually, a small smile eventually breaking out to erase the tension. Chloe breathes easier, relieved the awkwardness had passed. She can’t stop herself from glancing again at Beca’s lips.

Then, Amy causes a slight distraction by falling down the stairs noisily.

“Amy!” Beca and Chloe shriek simultaneously, shooting up from the bed to see if she’s okay.

Luckily, the flight of stairs into the bedroom is very short; before either of them can get down to her, Amy pops up holding her orange boots and what appear to be Moon Shoes.

“Crushed it,” she says proudly.

“Oh my god,” Beca stares. “What in the actual hell –”

“That’s the spirit!” Amy interrupts. “Let’s go, Twerk Girl!”

And with that, she turns and heads to the second-floor landing. Beca turns to Chloe in exasperated amazement, but Chloe can tell she’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Your drunken bet is calling you,” Chloe teases, tucking an errant strand of Beca’s hair behind her ear before starting down the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I – okay. Thanks for the date!” Beca calls as Chloe makes her way down the stairs.

Chloe waves over her shoulder and smiles, already thinking of how excited her mom is going to be when she hears the news.

***************

“Jesse! Where is Beca? I thought she was gonna be with you tonight?”

She hates speaking to him. She really, truly does. He’s so annoying, with his huge, dumb puppy eyes and overeager smile. She hates that Beca chose that over her, and hates that every time she sees him, she’s reminded anew that he gets to hold Beca, gets to kiss and touch her.

He gets to sleep with her.

She hates speaking to him because she’s forced to acknowledge that he’s real and present and Beca chose him instead of her.

She knows (or at least, imagines) that he can tell. She’s seen the way he watches her when she’s with Beca, his eyes full of mistrust. She always touches Beca more then, pulls her closer, does anything she can to keep Beca’s attention on her instead of on the idiot she’s dating.

In her darkest moments, she despises Beca for it, but then that fades quickly. She could never stay angry at Beca.

“I thought she was with you?” Jesse asks, confused.

Christ, he doesn’t even know where his girlfriend is, or who she’s with. God, she’d love for Beca to cheat on him, just once, so he knows what it feels like to be second place in Beca’s heart. But Beca would never, and in the next instant, Chloe is disgusted with herself for thinking like that, and for hoping for their relationship to be torn apart in such a way.

God, she’s the worst best friend.

“I thought she was with you?” Chloe asks, equally confused.

The worst part about it is that she sees aspects of herself in Jesse. They’re so similar. It’s annoying, and it makes her cringe, but Chloe knows that in a lot of ways, she is just like him. Not in appearance, but in personality: bubbly, enthusiastic, lover of a cappella, and hopelessly in love with Beca Mitchell.

There are really only two differences between them.

One: Jesse tries to change Beca, while Chloe sees she’s perfect as is.

Two: Jesse gets to date Beca, while Chloe does not.

They’re more similar than they are different, but Beca could only choose one of them.

Chloe lost.

***************

The phone rings three times before her mom answers slightly breathlessly. “Hello? Hi, sweetie, how’s it going?”

“Uh – were you running?”

“What? Oh, no, actually, your father wanted to try some of that – Eric, what was it?” Cheryl calls into the house.

“Pilates yoga!” Chloe’s dad’s voice calls clearly from the background.

“Pilates yoga,” Cheryl repeats.

“Right,” Chloe replies, smiling at the ceiling from where she sprawls on her bed.

“Oh, while I’m thinking of it,” Cheryl says abruptly, “we should set up a time to come get some of your things from the house.”

“My things? We don’t move out until August.”

“I know that, but it’ll be better to take some small stuff now and save room in the car later.”

“Okay,” Chloe agrees, unease at the looming deadline churning her insides.

“Um, so, how’ve you been?” Cheryl changes the subject, maybe sensing the shift in mood. “I saw the news this morning. It’s fantastic!”

It takes Chloe a second; the passage of the marriage equality law seems like years ago rather than hours.

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” she says happily, a fresh wave of excitement tingling through her chest at the memory. “It’s pretty cool.”

By the pause that follows, Chloe can tell that her mom expects her to say more about it, but Chloe doesn’t; she really just wants to talk about Beca.

“You okay, honey?” Cheryl asks shrewdly. “Normally, you’d be over the moon over something like this.”

Chloe draws her lower lip between her teeth, trying to contain her excitement enough to get the story out. She rolls over to her stomach, resting on her elbows.

“More than okay, Mom. It’s… the best thing happened!”

“What?”

“Beca asked me on a date!”

Chloe holds her breath, waiting for her mom to say something, like maybe congratulate her or start asking a million questions. Instead, she’s met with silence.

Then more silence.

Until –

The volume and pitch of the noise coming from her phone is unprecedented. It makes Chloe jerk it away from her ear, trying desperately to protect herself from hearing loss brought on by her mother’s deafening squeal of excitement.

“She did?! Oh my god! Chloe, tell me everything right now! When? How? What are you going to do on this date? Are you sure it’s a date? I know you said she wasn’t straight anymore, but are you sure? I don’t want to pry but –”

“Woah, Mom, slow down for a sec!” Chloe cuts her off with a laugh. “Hang on!”

On the other end, Cheryl chuckles and takes a quick breath. “Sorry, but I’m really excited for you! Eric, come here! Chloe, honey, just wait for your dad, he’ll want to hear, too.”

Chloe rolls her eyes playfully, waiting until she hears her dad’s voice. There’s movement on the line, and Cheryl’s voice calls back, sounding further away.

“You’re on speaker! So, you wanna tell us about it?”

With a wide smile, Chloe tells her parents about going to the gay bar (leaving out the girls who’d hit on Beca), about Beca asking her on a date once they were outside, how she’d originally said no (“Oh, honey…” Cheryl sighs), but then had said yes after listening to what Beca had to say. And, yes, she assures her mom, Beca is definitely something other than straight and wants to date women.

“Okay, so when will this date be?” Eric asks once Chloe has explained everything.

“Well, it already… kind of... happened?” Chloe replies, knowing her parents are going to want more or less a play-by-play of the picnic.

“Why am I the last to know these things?!” Cheryl groans. “Spill!”

Clearing her throat, Chloe launches into another explanation, this time giving out the details on the sort of spur-of-the-moment picnic, the food, missing plates, and the sunset. She skirts over what it had felt like to hold Beca in her arms, because she wants that memory to be hers, and hers alone.

“... and then, we went back home and watched some Netflix in her room together.”

“That sounds like a wonderful date, honey. Very you.”

Yeah,” Chloe sighs happily. “She gets me.”

Eric snorts. “Even if she forgot the plates.”

“Yeah, well. That part is very Beca.”

“Careful, there. You’re sounding pretty smitten,” Cheryl warns.

“What are you, a hundred years old?” Chloe laughs, trying to deflect. If her mom knew exactly how “smitten” she is after just one date, their talk would quickly take a more serious turn.

“I’m just saying, sweetie. It’s the early stages. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I know. But Beca is – always has been – different. You know that. I… it would be so easy to just…”

Chloe stops her rambling, wincing at giving herself away.

“It sounds like it,” her mom says. “But, hon, keep in mind that Beca’s still a little new to this. And... I know we always supported you and never had to really talk about liking girls, but from what you’ve told me, I don’t think Beca had quite that same experience growing up.”

Cheryl pauses, as if collecting her thoughts, then continues, “If she hasn’t told her family yet, well, that’s something you two are going to have to talk about sooner or later, so… be prepared for that.”

“And other challenges,” Eric adds.

Chloe doesn’t know quite what to say to that. It catches her off guard; she hasn’t thought about that yet, too focused on how perfect their evening had been.

“Anyway. Enough of that,” Cheryl says, tone lightening. “The real question is… what are you going to do for the next date?”

Chloe smiles broadly into the phone, shoving her worries about Beca’s family away. That’s a different problem for a different day.

“I already have a plan…”

[cianmars]

Cherry Wine (1/1) AO3

Emma thought that she shared True Love with Killian, not long after they're married she sees a darker side of him, she keeps trying, only to find herself without friends or family and forced to move out of town by him when Sophie is only a month old.

What will it take for her to leave?

A/N: This is very anti captain swan and Killian is abusive in this - I like Killian in general but not as part of this relationship. There are references and depictions of domestic abuse, if you are triggered by this please go careful or don't read at all.

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The wedding was idyllic, at first, like something out of a fairy tale. It reminded her a lot of her parents marriage, they would cuddle up watching things on Netflix, go on little adventures, they’d surprise each other with little gifts: the only real difference was there was a lot more alcohol involved, but Emma knew her dad had issues surrounding alcohol and his own father so he barely drank, and Snow could easily outdrink any soldier but after having Emma and Neal she couldn’t hold her alcohol anymore.

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Six months into their marriage came the first thing which shouldn’t have even been a red flag, it should have been a flashing neon sign, with loud music, telling her to run. It was a night after Killian had drunk a lot. They had argued about that, Emma telling him he should stop or at least slow down, there had been a lot of shouting, Emma had snatched the glass of rum from him, and thrown it into the kitchen sink, at first there was just the smashing of the glass, then there was a punch, not a slap, but a proper punch, Emma fell onto the hard kitchen floor.

Killian had apologised almost immediately, Emma had made him mad after all, and Killian had meant the apology, he made it up to her the entire next day, treating her like the princess she (technically) was, giving her gifts, and looking after her. He even stopping drinking for nearly a week.

Emma didn’t notice the change, at first. It had crept up on her like a monster under a child’s bed. The change happened slowly, the two battled each other like a dance, trying to find either equilibrium or power, depending on which person you were. Slowly, without her realising, Emma had lost while Killian had gained complete control. She suddenly saw less of her parents, her brother, her friends, her son, half the time because Killian had told her not to, and half the time because she didn’t want them to see her like she was. She was ashamed, because she truly believed that it was her fault, he reminded her (all the time) of the fact she had been the one to force The Darkness into him, he had a right to still be mad.

She had been in love, she was in love, true love…. Wasn’t she?

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

She heard the door slam, she was lying in bed, her body was aching from an earlier disagreement, she had been trying to sleep but she was in too much pain.

She wasn’t sure if it was the actual smell or simply the memory of the smell of all the times it had happened before, but she knew that he smelt like a distillery. He no longer held out for rum, his alcohol of choice, he would accept any and all and all available.

She heard hit boots come down heavy on the wooden stairs, her heart quickened with every step. She couldn’t tell if his gait was just drunk or horny drunk, or angry drunk.

She heard him calling her name, her new name.

“Mrs Joooones”

Horny then.

She pretended to be asleep, it wouldn’t stop him, but it would at least mean she could try and protect herself as best as she could.

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She found out she was pregnant with only 4 months to go. She didn’t really show and didn’t have any symptoms, and when she found out she was she felt sick, Killian was there when she found out, and he was absolutely overjoyed. His pride and smile, a smile so full of love when he looked at her… it reminded her of when she had first believed they were in love.

He didn’t lay a hand on her anymore. Sure, he was still controlling, no, protective (she reminded herself) but she remembered her father being protective over her mother when she was pregnant with Neal (it wasn’t the same, she knew that deep down, but she kept trying to rationalise it). But she didn’t get a single bruise on her from him while she was pregnant, sure there were words and mind games, names, and taunts, but he didn’t hurt her physically.

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Soon Emma gave birth, with her husband holding her hand, she had ghost memories of holding Henry after he was born, though she knew they weren’t real,she thought of them again while holding her newborn daughter.

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What Emma didn’t know was that by the eighth month of Emma’s pregnancy Killian was feeling stifled by Emma’s family, her parents in particular, and Regina who had always thought that Emma was too good for him. He had been in the modern world for a long time now, he knew how things worked even outside of Storybrooke, he only played the fool.

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He stood watching Emma nursing their daughter, who currently had hair darker than his though he knew that could easily change, Emma looked up at him and smiled.

“I have a surprise for you.” He smiled. Her head tilted to the side a little. “I bought us a new house. I know I’ve always hated this place, too many bad memories, I swear I can still feel that bloody sword in the stone in the basement.”

Emma bit her lip. The guilt inside of her for her actions while dark was an endless well. “Okay. Where are we moving to? Nearer to my parents-?”

“No. I think we both need a new start, somewhere new, where we can just be us, not the daughter of Snow white and Prince Charming, and a villian.”

Emma hated when he put on a sneering voice to say her parent’s names.

“But, but what about Henry, I can’t leave him-”

“He’s practically a man, and he spends most of the time out with his mates or with Regina, he won’t want to come live full time with us. We’ll give him your old car he can drive and visit us. Emma, look down at Sophie.”

Emma did as she was told.

“Do you want her to be able to live to see the age of five.”

“Of course I do-”

“- She won’t if she lives here.”

Emma felt as though that sounded like a threat. She held Sophie closer to her.

“Emma think about all the threats, all the monsters, all the bloody portals. Sophie won’t stand a chance. I’ve made the decision Emma, for us, as a family. I have a job set up, a house, you can stay at home and look after our baby, the things you never got with Henry. You want that, right? We can come visit here, if you want, but I want you and Sophie to be safe.” He walked over to her, bent down, and tenderly kissed the top of her head. “You know I’m right, don’t be so bloody stubborn Swan, yeah?”

She felt his hold on her tighten. She nodded, not that it mattered.

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Sophie was a month old when Emma left all her loved ones behind, when she led on the floor on her new home bleeding and blaming herself for it she watched her goodbyes to her parents, son, and toddler brother in her head. She wondered what they really thought of her move, they had been crying and telling her to visit but they were trying to smile and telling her that this was going to be good for her. Perhaps Killian had told them that moving was her idea.

Their new home was hours away, in a place which was in a seaside town on the east coast, their house was smaller than their one in Storybrooke, and not as well done up, but Emma tried her best to make it a home.

She tried her best to ring her parents and Henry, she had tried facetiming but there were too often bruises on her face, if she had been crying too much then she would text.

She had tried to bring up visiting them… that had never gone well….

When Sophie was two Henry had invited her to his graduation, she had begged Killian to let her go, he had beat her up so bad that she had ended up in the hospital. She told the doctors she had slipped on one of Sophie’s toys. She didn’t realise until she was back and cradling her daughter in her arms that she was lying for her husband like she had lied for too many foster parents in her own childhood.

Killian no longer gave her apologetic gifts or even said sorry.

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3 Years (Sophie 5 1/2)

Emma was exhausted. Killian hadn’t let her sleep most of the night, he had gotten horny and drunk and the alcohol had stopped him from being able to get it up, which had made him angry at her.

She was pregnant again, only this time her husband didn’t care to keep his hands to himself, the worst of it was he didn’t seem to care that Sophie had heard him shouting at Emma many times now.

She had only just put Sophie to bed, she was trying her best to stay awake, but she had so many things on her list she needed to do, the most important was to tidy up the house and make Killian dinner for when he came home.

……. Only he came home early. He nearly slipped on one of Sophie’s toy cars. He saw red.

He threw the car at Emma, pushed her against the wall by her throat with his fake hand, he punched her in the face with the other. “I told you to keep her fucking toys tidy! It can’t be bloody hard! It’s just too hard for you, isn’t it?” He threw her to the ground.

Emma didn’t realise Sophie was heading downstairs until she already by her side.

“Daddy no! Mommy! Mommy!”

She was crying, terrified of actually seeing her father like this, Emma tried to hold her, to hold her as safe as she could. But Killian grabbed her, she let out a gasp and a whimper of pain, he had grabbed her roughly by the top of her arm and was half carrying half dragging her back up the stairs.

Emma whimpered and tried to push herself up, she needed to protect her daughter, she was frozen, absolutely terrified that he would hurt her daughter. He was back down the stairs quickly, too quickly to have actually hurt her, or so Emma hoped.

His booted foot came down hard next to her face, there was a smash as he completely totaled her cellphone. There would be no calling for help. “I expect this place to be bloody spotless when I get back from the pub, or you’re gonna wish you were never born.”

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He had once boasted that he had knocked down her walls, and he had, like a fucking cannonball. But it didn’t feel like she had no walls, it felt like she was locked in the tallest tower with a fire breathing dragon, and there was no way out.

She felt a stab in her heart as she heard the crying coming from her daughter’s bedroom. Emma had been through a lot, she had been hit, mocked, verbally abused, she had been cheated on- she hadn’t even felt jealous at that because at least it meant that she didn’t have to spend the night with him. But this, hearing her daughter crying because her daddy hurt her mommy, knowing that he was only getting worse… knowing that Sophie, and their unborn child, were going to see this and think it was normal… or they would become victims to their father’s rage.

Over the past six years she had been so scared that she would simply freeze. No more.

She pushed herself to her feet. She was sore but it wasn’t nearly the worst. She placed her hand on her stomach. “It’s okay baby. We’re going to go home.”

She made it up the stairs, a small feat being twenty weeks pregnant and having been beaten, but she had steel in her blood. She pushed open her daughter’s bedroom door. “It’s okay baby.”

Sophie launched herself into her mom’s arms. “Mommy, are you okay? Daddy hurt you, I tried to stop him, he wouldn’t stop mommy.”

“You’re a very, very, brave girl Sophie.” She pressed a kiss onto her soft hair, as a newborn baby it had been dark but as she had grown it had become blonde, like her mother’s. “Honey, we have to go. I told you about your grandparents, and your uncle Neal, and your brother, Henry, we’re going to go to them, but we have to be very very quick, okay?”

“We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, honey, we are. We, we’re not safe here.”

“Daddy hurt my arm.”

Emma looked at it and could see a bruise already forming. “I’m sorry, I should have never, he shouldn’t have…. He’s never going to do it again. We need to pack your things up, just very special things okay, some clothes, your toothbrush, a couple of toys. You choose your favourite toys okay? We can buy you more so just your absolute favourites.” She grabbed a few bags from her own room. She packed a couple of outfits for Sophie, photographs of the two of them, and some of newborn Sophie with Emma’s family in Storybrooke, her blankie Ruby had knitted before she was born, and some of her special teddies. She made sure she had enough clothing for her daughter for nearly a week, she didn’t really have many outfits or toys anyway, Killian was in charge of their money and he choose to use it to fund his alcoholism. She felt sick looking at Killian’s face even in a photograph, but she put one of the photos of Killian and Sophie into the bag, in case Sophie wanted it one day.

She kept Sophie with her as she headed into her bedroom. She had changed her sense of clothes to nearly the equivalent of a 50’s housewife when she and Killian had been engaged, she didn’t know why, she wasn’t aware she even did it until now. She would leave them, she grabbed as many clothes of her old style she could fit into, there was only a couple of things. She saw her wedding dress.

“True Love.” She sneered under her breath. She realised now how wrong she had been. She wanted to cry but it would hurt too much and she didn’t have time right now, he could be gone for an hour or so, or a couple of days, she had to be fast. She grabbed a box from the bottom of the wardrobe, inside of it was her baby blanket, photographs of her family, and other memories.  

“Soph, slip your sneakers on, we’re going to go in a minute.” She went to Killian’s beside table, turning her nose up at the smell of his strong cologne, she knew he had some cash there, she grabbed the entire envelope full of cash leaving him nothing, it was less than he had taken from her over the years. His car keys weren’t there, but she hadn’t always been this shell of a woman she was right now, she had once stolen a car and later drove it to find her parents. She could do it again.

She lifted up the bags, making sure Sophie had her bag of toys, and they left their prison which not long ago they had been calling a home.

She used an old metal hanger to open up Killian’s car, he must have walked to whichever pub he was at now, she made quick work of hotwiring it, she opened the trunk and the backdoor, she quickly put the bags in the trunk and helped Sophie into her carseat in the back.

“Mommy, are we ever coming home?”

It was dark but Emma could see the dark bruise on Emma’s arm. “No, Sophie, we’re never coming back here. We’re going to have a new home, with Grandma and Grampa, and you’re never going to get hurt again.” She knew her daughter was looking confused and truthfully she felt confused too, she just had to get back to Storybrooke and then she could cry.

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About an hour away from Storybrooke Emma stopped at a superstore and grabbed a disposable cell. She put in her mom’s number but stopped before she pressed dial. She deleted the number and typed her father’s number instead, the same thing happened again, she just couldn’t press dial, she didn’t know what to say, how to explain, to explain that they had been right when they had asked her constantly if she was sure about marrying him so quickly. She had thought, hoped, she had shared true love with him. She had been so wrong, and both she and her daughter had suffered because of it, how could she admit that to them?

So instead she got back in her car and started to drive home, she could only tell them it in person, and she’d only be safe back in the barriers of her hometown.

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Snow and David jerked awake at the sound of a banging noise.

“Wha’?” David slurred, less than intelligently. He looked at his wife then towards their bedroom door. “Neal?”

Snow was already getting out of bed. “It’s the front door.”

David shot up. ”Let me get it, it could be-”

“- A burglar knocking on the door?” She managed to quip. She heard a soft and sleepy laugh from her husband.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Jesus, who needs us so badly at four in the morning? They’re clearly evil.”

The two headed down the stairs together, hurrying when the knocking carried on and knocked harder, they didn’t want it waking their son.

David’s mouth fell open. “Emma…” He gasped. She was covered in bruises, her eye was swollen and her nose had crusted blood under it, and she was obviously pregnant. At her side was a little girl, a few years younger than Neal, his granddaughter who he hadn’t seen in nearly six years. She looked small and scared, cuddled against her mom, it was too late (or early) for her to be properly awake but he could see her assessing him as subtibly as she could, exactly like Emma had when the first curse had broken, all those years ago.

“Emma!” Snow quickly assessed her and her daughter, while David was looking a little dumbfounded, understandably. “Hello Sophie, I don’t think you remember me, but I’m your grandma.”

“Mommy told me stories about you, and showed me pictures.” Sophie kept a hold of her mom’s hand.

Snow hadn’t received a text from Emma in over a year. She had a feeling now that it wasn’t down to Emma.  “Well, it’s very nice to see you again.”

“Mom?” Emma’s voice caught in her throat, it came out too voice, and she fought the need to cry. “Can we stay here a while? Please?”

“Of course you can!”

“Of course!”

Both David and Snow said at the same time.

Emma was surprised at the lack of hesitation, she wasn’t used to that, not anymore. She allowed Snow to usher them inside She placed down the duffle in her hand onto the wooden floor of the hallway. There was a small thud as she did. Then she was pulled into their arms. She felt tears pour from her eyes her body shudder as she choked down sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

David’s hand cupped the back of her head. “It’s not your fault. Em, I, you shouldn’t have had to, I should have stepped in. Where is he?” He whispered, his voice was strained, and he was trying his best to hide his anger from his granddaughter.

“He’s not here, he’s, we ran away, as soon as he left. He grabbed Soph, he hurt her arm, I think he wanted to hurt her more… he didn’t but… I couldn’t let him hurt her, or our next kid, I shouldn’t have stayed that long.”

“It’s not your fault sweetheart. He shouldn’t have done that, he’s at fault, not you. He’s never going to get into this town, I promise you.” Snow kissed the side of her head and felt her wince in response.

David did too because he crouched down next to his grandaughter. “Hey there Soph, I know this must have been a very scary day, both for you and your mommy. Have you had hot chocolate before?”

“M-Me and mommy have it when daddy’s not home.”

David gritted his teeth before relaxing to give her a small calm smile. “Do you want to help me make some hot chocolate? Grandma’s going to help clean your mommy up which is going to be pretty boring, and I’ll show you my secret recipe for it.”

Sophie looked to her mother. She bit her lip and fidgetted.

“It’s okay Sophie, you go with Grandpa, I’ll be right here.” Emma watched as her daughter headed to the kitchen with David.

“How far along are you?”

Emma did a quick double take at her mom as it took her a minute to realise what she said. “Oh, erm, 20 weeks, I think. I haven’t had a scan, I tried but Kil- Hook, he wouldn’t-”

Snow gently cupped her cheek. “Emma,” She interrupted, “you don’t have to explain or try to make excuses, we all understand it, and why it was so hard for you to leave. I grew up seeing my father being abusive to both my mother and Regina, and abusing me in a very different way than he abused them, I understand. Your father was neglected and abused by Robert, his mother experienced domestic violence, he understands. What’s good is that you left him, now the even harder part is that you have to rebuild, for you and your kids.”

“I- I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. And you won’t be alone, you have me, and your father, Henry, Neal, Regina, you have all of us. You’re staying here, god knows we have the room, and you’ll need help, both you and the kids, we’re here for you. We’ll take you to the hospital to get a checkup and a scan tomorrow, and we’ll sort out your and Sophie’s rooms.”

“Thank you.” Emma’s voice was quiet and broken and despite the pain in her face as she heard her daughter’s giggles coming from the kitchen. At least out of this entire horrible ordeal she had her kids, she could build them a better life, with the help of her parents. “I missed you guys, a lot.”

[izukillme-moved]

This Love Is All We Need

Written for my wonderful big sis @inconceivablyreal!! Ty for being the ABSOLUTE BEST Hannah! Sorry I answered this so late :’( I decided to write for @ft-wwtdp, for Day 7 of the Pride Month event. Prompt: “Isn’t love all we need?” because I’ll never write for it otherwise lol

Enjoy!!

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“I can’t wait!” exclaims Lucy happily as she holds up the button and pins it to her chest. The button is striped in shades of orange and pink, with a single white stripe in the middle – the sunset lesbian flag whose colours look so good on her girlfriend, thinks Lisanna with a small smile. “Pride is going to be so fun this year! Even better than last,” she adds, casting a glance at the shy girl sitting on the couch, hands folded in her lap, watching her girlfriends get ready for the Magnolia Pride Parade. Juvia looks up, blushing and smiling as Lucy and Lisanna both blow kisses to her.

Lisanna wholeheartedly agrees that it’ll be better. Last year, she and Lucy were both so scared to come out as poly to each other, both so scared that it’d ruin their relationship if they admitted they needed another partner to feel whole. Last year, they didn’t have Juvia – Juvia their world, Juvia the most beautiful creature on Earth, Juvia who made their love all worth it.

“Juvia thinks so too,” Juvia says softly, pushing a lock of blue hair behind her ear and smoothing her shorts. Lucy smiles fondly at her girlfriend before turning back to her mirror and returning to flicking the mascara wand across her eyelashes.

Lisanna grabs her rainbow scarf and ties it around her head as a bandana, scraping her bangs back and exposing her forehead. Then she looks herself over in the mirror one last time – army green short overalls that reach her mid-thigh with a loose blue-chequered plaid shirt. Her skin is dark and clear, no eyeliner or lip gloss: Mirajane is the one who loves makeup, not her. No, sir, Lisanna Strauss is showing up at pride in baggy overalls and a cheap airplane lip balm like the butch queen she is.

“All right, I’m ready,” she announces, moving over to the couch to flop down next to Juvia. The blue-haired woman smiles shyly at her, and she scoops Juvia up in her arms, plopping her onto her lap and kissing Juvia’s cheek. Juvia blushes prettily, and Lucy laughs, “You guys are too mean. I want cuddle time too,”

“Well, if you wanted it so much, you’d be staring at us rather than your own reflection,” retorts Lisanna. Juvia chokes on a laugh, and Lucy pouts.

“I’m done anyway,” she huffs, closing her mascara, fanning a hand over her face to make sure her eyeliner and lipstick is dry, and flouncing over to her girlfriends.

Lisanna grins and shifts Juvia in her lap, yanking Lucy down into the hug and in the process making her lose her balance. Lucy tumbles messily into both her girlfriends, and suddenly they’re a messy tangle of limbs on the sofa, laughing and shouting as they struggle to extricate themselves from each other. Juvia ends up biting Lisanna’s knee; Lucy has Juvia’s butt shoved in her face (not that she really minds it); Lisanna’s hands are clutching Lucy’s back in a desperate attempt to avoid falling off the sofa.

“We’re going to be late,” gasps Lucy in breathless laughter, finally pulling herself away and straightening her rumpled clothes and hair. Thankfully her makeup is still somehow perfect; else they’d only leave tomorrow, thinks Lisanna wryly. Juvia smooths her own shirt and shorts and redoes her coloured lip balm anxiously – it’s the poor thing’s first Pride, no wonder she’s so nervous. Lisanna herself does nothing for her appearance except to fix the bandana so her hair stays out of her damn face.

The girls collect themselves, lock arms and walk out of their apartment together, laughing and giggling at the thought that they’re finally attending Pride after such a long wait. Together, because that’s how they’re meant to be – three joined as one, a single unit, a relationship that’s nothing but love in its truest, purest form.

Because this love – this love is what they need; it’s all they need.

--

@femslashfairies

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 5

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

“I swear, Ezra, he talked!” Crowley said with some exasperation in his voice. Ezra raised his hands in self-defense. “I believe you, dear,” he said in a tone Crowley knew was designed to calm him down.

Or, a lot of talk of talking, but no actual talking occurs.

Chapter 7 of 20 Ongoing 2199 words Romance/Humor

‘Anthony dear.’ 

Crowley hadn’t been called that in a long time. No one had called him by his first name since he started carefully avoiding Ezra, but once he apologized to the man for almost kissing him that one time, there it was again, awakening things in him that he’d painstakingly kept dormant, even with their now-increased contact.

And he said his eyes were beautiful.

Now, that was another can of worms on its own that awakened things in him which he would have a hard time pushing down. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything more cheesy, tropey, borderline romantic one could say to someone they liked, and Ezra had gone and did it.

He’d laid awake for hours after he had come home and tucked the already sleeping Adam into his crib, mulling over what all of it meant. Ezra Zacharie Fell was not exactly a paragon of subtlety, but what it meant- no, what it could have meant, was simply too good to be true. Crowley had done nothing to deserve something like that. After all, he was always on the verge of fucking something up one way or another and this couldn’t be an exception to the rule, he felt. 

Speaking of which, his morning was going far too smooth.

Adam wailed from his crib in the living room. There it was. At least it was better than being left alone with his thoughts any longer. He got up from his bed, pulled his ‘86 Magic Tour T-shirt over his head and slinked over to the crying baby, who was standing and hanging onto the edge of the crib. The kid calmed down slightly when Crowley came into his view. He stopped screaming and looked up at the man with tearful, blue eyes.

“What’s up, Adam?” Crowley asked casually, not expecting an answer in return. 

Instead, Adam made grabby hands at him, which could only mean one thing. 

“Up!” Adam said.

Crowley frowned. “Up?” he asked.

“Up!” Adam repeated.

Lucy hadn’t mentioned anything about Adam speaking, however small or simple the words might be. The man immediately rushed back to his bedroom to grab his smartphone, pulled up Whatsapp on his way to the living room, almost walking face first into a narrowly avoided doorpost. He opened his chat with Lucy and pressed the little microphone.

“Can you say that again, Adam?” Crowley asked expectantly, smiling in encouragement.

Instead, Adam looked at him with his big eyes and made a gurgling sound instead.

“Work with me here, Adam, I just heard you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

The boy’s little face scrunched up as he seemed to give this due consideration. 

“What’s up, Adam?” Crowley repeated, in an attempt to garner the same reaction, but nothing came. He sighed in disappointment and laid his phone down in the crib. “Okay buddy, time for breakfast.”

*

“I swear, Ezra, he talked!” Crowley said with some exasperation in his voice as Adam explored the ground floor of the bookshop again and, per the older man’s request, his sunglasses now rested on his hair instead of on his nose. “Man, I wish I could have just recorded it for Lucy. She’d love to hear it.”

Ezra raised his hands in self-defense. “I believe you, dear,” he said in a tone Crowley knew was designed to calm him down. “At this point, it’s important that you keep talking around him and to him. Ask him questions, so he can start associating words with people, objects and actions.”

Crowley nodded. “Duly noted,” he said curtly and he tried not to think of the day before. About the way Ezra had looked at him. Had talked to him. “So, what do you suggest we do?” he soldiered on.

Ezra shrugged. “Just talk to him constantly, don’t even think too hard on it, but do make sure you articulate. Oh, and you could read him bedtime stories.”

“Oh, I’m very good at that,” Crowley grinned. “I used to read picture books to Anathema every week.”

“Then you best get into practice again. I know I’m not a library, but you can borrow some of the picture books I have stocked here,” Ezra said as he got up and beckoned for Crowley to follow him, which he did closely. 

“That’s actually very generous. Thank you,” Crowley whispered.

“You almost sound surprised,” Ezra smiled softly as he looked back at him. “Just kidding, you’re welcome, Anthony,” he added. His eyes sparkled with… something or other. Mischief, probably. Pride, more likely, as no one in London believed in carrying out the seven heavenly virtues more than Ezra Fell and his family. But the sparkle, the smirk… suddenly, there wasn’t a single holy thought left in Crowley’s mind. Gaping like a fish out of water, his mouth abruptly felt very dry. If he was staring, Ezra didn’t seem to mind. But in due time, he turned away from Crowley and back to the matter at hand.

The children’s section of the bookshop was next to the staircase that went up to the second and third floor of the shop, and the apartment attached to it, was stocked with brightly colored, hardback picture books, as well as novels and informative books for young readers. It was decked out with colorful little flags and bean bags. Years ago, Ezra had the idea of organizing reading afternoons, where volunteers would read to visiting children while their parents shopped. It never caught on.

“Is there anything you’d like to read to Adam in particular?” Ezra asked as he crouched by the bookcase that contained the picture books. Crowley followed suit.

“Um,” he started. “I don’t really know any of these new ones. You’re the owner, what do you recommend?”

“A lot of the little kids that come in here are particularly excited about Rainbow Fish, because of the shiny bits, but I think the Very Hungry Caterpillar may be a better jumping off point. Oh, and Dick Bruna’s Miffy books are a personal favourite of mine. They have a very good sense of rhyme and rhythm.”

Crowley took the book Ezra held in front of his face, Miffy at the Zoo, let himself fall into one of the bean bags and opened the book to a random spread. With practised ease, Crowley found his storybook voice and read aloud:

“‘They must have traveled for an hour but now they’re here, you see and Father Bun steps out and says come Miffy, follow me.’ Oh, that’s cute. I’m sure he’ll like that,” Crowley noted as he looked back up to Ezra, who pointed to the space just beside his head. When he turned around, he found Adam watching over his shoulder, enraptured with the bunnies on the page. “Did you like that, Adam?”

Adam looked at him with bright blue eyes, a broad smile on his face and gave them a resounding “Bun!”

*

Ezra sat behind the counter as he listened to Anthony read three more books to Adam from his perch in the windowsill. He found his eyes closed and any tension left his shoulders as Anthony’s voice filled the shop. His reading voice was smooth, steady and well-articulated. That this was soothing, to say the least, reflected in that halfway through the third book, Adam had fallen asleep against his chest.

“You know, my dear, if there’s anyone you should call ‘angel’, it would be Adam. As someone who has worked with children in the past, I can guarantee you that children, much less babies this well-behaved are very hard to come by.”

“Ngk,” Anthony choked. “I really hoped you would have forgotten by now.”

“You seemed to make a point of repeating it, so no. I didn’t forget.”

“Right.” Anthony sat up straighter, but kept Adam securely cradled to his chest as he laid the book down.

Out of Anthony’s sight, Ezra’s hand still laid upon the magazine.

4. He acts differently around you. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you...” Ezra tried, but he found that the words he originally intended to say drowned in a flood of doubt. He frowned, looking at Anthony, who looked at him expectantly, if a tad uneasy. “If something were, so to speak, ‘up’... you would tell me, right?”

 “‘Course,” Anthony said almost hastily. He got up and walked up to the counter, still holding Adam like the most precious thing in the world. He looked up at Ezra, amber eyes piercing blue. “Ez, you are literally the best friend that I have, I can promise you that if something is up, you’ll be the first to hear.” There was an almost pleading quality to Anthony’s voice as he said that and a frown made deep creases in his forehead. 

“So the reason you’ve been acting so off lately is…” Ezra asked.

Anthony paled. “I…” he said, glancing down at Adam as if he would provide a well-timed distraction, as he had before, but the boy stayed soundly asleep. “I’m just… figuring stuff out, you know?” he finally admitted. “But like I said. You’ll be the first to hear.”

“When you figure it out?”

“When I figure it out.”

Ezra nodded. “That seems reasonable enough. And if you ever feel like you want to talk about whatever you’re figuring out—”

“I’ll know where to find you,” Anthony smiled apologetically.

“Good.” Ezra said with an almost satisfied nod. “And just for the record, I don’t mind if you want to call me ‘angel’. It’s just that no one’s ever bothered to give me a nickname before, is all. Especially one as ‘blasphemous’ as ‘angel’.”

“Well, like I said, it suits you. And you know I’m all about blasphemy according to your family, with my radical views on the world, what with that trans people should be able to transition, and same gender couples should be able to get married and whatnot.”

“Yes, well…” Ezra mumbled with a pout. He didn’t particularly like it when his family was brought up, especially when they’d been having fun before. He quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, it had me wondering what I should call you,” he tried. That ought to steer this conversation elsewhere.

Anthony chuckled and smiled his lopsided smirk. Ezra couldn’t help but gaze at his lips as he said, “I think I’ve told you upwards of a thousand times that you can just call me ‘Crowley’.”

Ezra’s cheeks heated up. He blinked hard and shook his head. “Well yes, but I don’t want to. That’s your family’s name, it’s not your name. I was thinking something more along the lines of—”

“Of?”

‘Handsome devil’, Ezra would have liked to have said in that moment, or ‘silver-tongued demon’, perhaps, but he quickly found that any such courage escaped him. He glanced away to the counter. “I forgot,” he lied, softly. “But I’m sure I’ll remember sooner or later. It’s a shame, though. It really suited you.”

Anthony smiled and hummed in amusement. “Sticking to ‘my dear’, then? For the time being?”

“I suppose so…” Ezra mumbled as he slid his magazine further under the counter. 

*

“Dearest ms. Device,” Ezra mumbled as he tapped the buttons on his cellphone repeatedly to get the letters he needed. It was the middle of the night, and as such, he lay curled up in his bed as he typed the electronic letter. The lights in Ezra’s room were still on, which bothered him, but the screen of his cell phone wasn’t backlit and had to be illuminated somehow. “It has come to my attention that your uncle Anthony has been behaving rather strangely as of late and I was hoping you could give me some insight into the situation, as he appears to be sending me rather mixed messages. One moment he’ll be borderline flirtatious with me and the next, he’ll be denying any such thing. It’s becoming rather frustrating, but I don’t know what to tell him. Thank you in advance. Yours sincerely, Ezra Fell.” 

He gave the string of three SMS messages another quick once-over before finally pressing the button to send them. Anathema was very wise for her age. Surely, she would know what to do. He put his cell phone down on his night stand and got up to turn off his lights when suddenly, his phone started buzzing frantically for what felt like an eternity. With shaking hands, he picked up the device and read its screen. “Ten new messages?!”

“He’s in love with you.”

“Like, head over heels.”

“I don’t think he knows how to tell you.”

“Or maybe he’s still in denial about it, tbh idk.”

“No wait fuck, he said he didn’t wanna ruin your friendship.”

“Obviously he loves you enough not to want to risk what you have.”

“While he definitely has trouble, you know, not acting on his feelings.”

“Which is kinda sweet but painful to watch.”

“But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Love, Anathema.”

“Thank you,” he replied. Turned off the lights and his phone and crawled into his bed. “Obviously he loves you enough to not want to risk what you have…” Ezra sighed. Tears pricked behind his eyes. That wasn’t reassuring at all.

[wordsintimeandspace]

In Disguise (1/4?)

Author: @wordsintimeandspace Pairing: Ten/Rose Summary: On the planet Aspao, the Doctor and Rose work together to unravel a mystery in the royal palace. At the same time, they struggle to keep their own secrets - they not only have to hide their relationship, but also their telepathic bond. Rating: Teen (will probably stay this way) Words: ~2100 Notes: This will probably be 4 chapters, unless I decide to split something up in the later ones. I’m having so much fun with this story and I hope you enjoy as well! :)

Read on tumblr or AO3!

Rose wrapped her fingers around a lever on the TARDIS console, holding her breath. The metal was warm under her skin, vibrating softly as the ship steered through the Vortex. This was it. She glanced back at the monitor, studying the settings and coordinates she had just entered. A twinge of uncertainty made her hesitate. Until suddenly, a wave of reassurance washed over her and drowned out every doubt. She could do this. Smiling, Rose looked up from the controls. The Doctor was watching her with a proud grin on his lips. He was leaning against the console, following her movements, but not once had he interfered while she’d set the course.

“Go on,” he said, sending another nudge of encouragement through their mental link.

Rose bit her lip. “Are you sure? You’re still teaching me, so I’ll blame you if I land us in the middle of a supernova. Or on… dunno, Clom or anything.”

“It’ll be fine.” The Doctor rounded the console with two broad steps until he was standing right behind her. He leaned closer, his chest touching her back, and placed his hand on hers. “Together?” he asked.

Rose grinned. She leaned back into him, letting out a hum as the Doctor pressed a kiss to her neck. “Always.” And with that, she pulled the lever and sent the TARDIS into flight.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as the ship shook around them. She turned in his arms and the Doctor’s lips found hers. Pressed against the console, Rose relished the pride and adoration radiating off the Doctor, together with a twinge of arousal. She couldn’t help but grin against his lips. Ever since he’d started teaching her, just shortly after they’d established their telepathic link, she’d suspected that he quite enjoyed seeing her at the controls of his ship.

The groans around them faded and the TARDIS came to a stop. Just when the Doctor was about to deepen the kiss, Rose pulled out of his grasp.

“We’ve landed!” she exclaimed and rushed to the doors with a spring in her steps. She ignored the Doctor’s protest trickling through their link, shot him a grin over her shoulder, and stepped out into the world waiting for them.

Red leaves rustled above her, the trees stretching high into the blue sky. Flecks of light shone down onto the soft, green moss under her feet. The air was warm and fresh, and Rose stretched her arms over her head, taking a deep breath. The breeze held the scent of salt and the sea.

Sensing the Doctor behind her, Rose spun around. “Is this it? Is this Aspao?”

“Yep!” the Doctor exclaimed. His eyes were sparkling. “Right where we wanted to be. Not bad for your first flight.” He held open his arms and Rose didn’t hesitate. She squealed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he picked her up, spinning her around. Their laughter echoed through the forest.

When the Doctor set her back down, he planted a quick kiss on her lips before holding out his hand. Together, they set off into the forest, eager to explore their surroundings. After just a few minutes, the trees cleared. Behind a small hill, a castle came into view. Rose held her breath as she took in the sight. The castle was nestled in front of a range of mountains, pressed close to the steep hillsides. A broad trench stretched out in front of the castle walls. A bridge was the only connection from there to the green hills they were currently standing on. Water lapped against the walls of the canyon. From the scent of salt that was still lingering in the air, Rose guessed it was connected to the ocean. She could see the blue of the sea peeking out between the mountains.

The Doctor squeezed her hand. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose said in awe. The Doctor tugged on her hand and together they made their way down the hill towards the bridge.

“Isn’t it? This is the residence of the royal family of Aspao. The society here is actually quite advanced by now and they do have a democracy, but people still love the royals. Bit like you lot.” He bumped her shoulder with his and grinned.

“If their royals are as handsome as Prince Harry, I can’t blame them,” Rose teased and the Doctor let out a huff.

“It’s the year 8004, the reign of Queen Sanyah. Allegedly she is very beautiful, but she’s rather known for her political engagement. Very vocal about equal rights and all that.”

They reached the bottom of the hill and approached the two towers guarding the entrance of the bridge. On top of the towers, a range of flags were waving in the breeze and the Doctor stopped to squint up at them.

Rose turned when she heard the sound of engines approaching behind them. A glider made its way down the hill, a crest painted on the side. It was the same symbol that adorned one of the flags above them.

Suddenly, dread crashed down on her like a bucket of cold water. Rose gasped at the sudden onslaught of the Doctor’s emotions flowing over their link, but a second later, it was gone. The Doctor dropped her hand and jumped away from her as if he’d been burned. A sharp pain behind her temples made Rose wince. Legs trembling, she realized that the Doctor had not only blocked out his sudden emotional turmoil, but he had cut off their link completely. His mind, usually quietly humming in the background of her head, a warm and comforting presence ever since he’d initiated the bond, was gone.

“Doctor, what’s going on?” Rose cried.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the glider came to a stop in front of them. Rose tensed. A door at the side opened and a person in a dark blue uniform hopped out. His skin was covered in tiny, pale blue scales that shone in the sunlight. He didn’t look menacing, Rose decided, but she was still wary. Something had to be wrong.

“Can I help you?” he guard asked, letting his gaze wander over them. “You know this area is currently closed for the public, don’t you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, err… we’re just-” The Doctor rummaged in his pocket until he pulled out his psychic paper. He flipped it open. “Here you go.”

The guard’s face lightened up immediately. “Oh, Detectives Smith and Tyler! Apologies. I’m captain of the guard of the royal family. I didn’t know they were sending someone from the capital so soon to investigate the case.”

“Well, that’s us,” the Doctor said, rubbing his neck. “Always a bit earlier than intended, aren’t we Rose?” He gave her a pointed look and Rose resisted the urge to let out a sigh. Not the year 8004 then, although she still didn’t understand what kind of trouble they were in.

“Hop in then,” the guard said, getting back into his glider. Rose shot the Doctor a questioning look, but he only shrugged and climbed into the backseat. Rose sat down beside him, carefully keeping distance between them, although her fingers itched to reach out to the Doctor. With a low hum, the glider took off into the air, flying over the bridge and the walls before going down in the courtyard.

Flowers in bright red and yellow lined the way to the entrance. Rose looked up to the towers and coloured glass windows as they approached the stairs, fascinated how the light grey walls shone in the setting sun. Inside, the captain led them down a corridor, past another group of guards that studied them with curious glances, up two sets of stairs until they came to a stop in front of a large, wooden door.

“I’ll let King Zaen know that you’re here,” the captain explained. “I’m sure he’ll want to meet you right away.”

As soon as he slipped into the room and the door fell shut, Rose let out the breath she was holding and turned to the Doctor.

“Doctor, what’s going on here?”

The Doctor grimaced and rubbed his neck. “We’re a few years too early, I’m afraid. I realized as soon as I saw the flags on the tower. King Zaen is the father of Queen Sanyah. Well, future queen. Princess for now.”

“I meant this,” Rose said, gesturing between them. She took a step closer to the Doctor, hesitantly reaching out to him.

The Doctor’s face fell. He turned, glancing down the corridor, and when no one could be seen, he finally took her hand.

“While they do have a quite liberal society in this century, interspecies relationships are strictly forbidden,” the Doctor explained, his voice low. “It’s ridiculous, really, considering how advanced they are in other aspects.”

Rose let out a sigh. “You could’ve told me that before we planned to go here.”

“If we’d arrived at the correct time, this wouldn’t be a problem. They’re changing the law a few years from now. And since you, Rose Tyler, were driving the TARDIS this time, this was technically your fault.” The Doctor smirked at her.

“Oi!” Rose slapped him against the chest, suppressing a laugh. “I told you, as long as I’m still learning, I’ll blame you for everything that goes wrong.”

“I really am sorry,” the Doctor said, suddenly serious. He raised her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Especially about our telepathic link. The people on Aspao, they’re telepathic as well. They would notice immediately if we have an active bond between us. And since it’s very clearly a marriage bond… well, they’d know we’re a couple just by looking at us.”

“It’s fine,” Rose reassured him, squeezing his hand. “Was just a bit unexpected. And a bit uncomfortable.”

The Doctor frowned. “Is your head hurting?”

“Did for a second. But it’s fine now. Really Doctor, no need to worry.”

“We can leave though, if you want,” the Doctor suggested. “Make a run for it. I’m sure I could fly that glider back to the TARDIS before our captain here comes back.”

Rose pondered for a while, but eventually she shook her head. What did the royal family need help with? What was the case the captain was talking about? Despite the lack of any information, her curiosity had been roused. “Let’s see what this is about first, yeah? Besides, it’s not everyday that we get to visit a castle. I mean, the actual castle and not just the prison cells.”

“Yes, this is a nice change,” the Doctor said with a smile, letting his gaze wander over the polished marble floor and walls decorated with murals and paintings.

“So, if they are this strict about relationships with other species, are they still okay with us being… well, aliens?”

“Oh, yes. Like a said, technically they’re a pretty advanced society. There are people from all over the universe living here. They don’t mind other species per se, they just don’t like it when they… intermingle.”

Rose’s lips twitched. “Intermingle? Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“No,” the Doctor said, his voice low and rumbling. He grinned and stepped closer until he could whisper in her ear. Rose shuddered as his breath hit her cheek. “We’ve been making love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head while he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Rose shivered as he trailed a finger down her back and raised her head, fighting the urge to pull his lips down to hers.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice wavering just a little. She tilted her head and grinned, her tongue poking out between her teeth. “What we did in the kitchen this morning felt more like shagging.”

The Doctor stared at her for a second, his mouth hanging open. A giggle escaped Rose’s lips and she leaned closer, ready to snog the dazed expression off his face, when suddenly the door opened.

Heart racing in her chest, Rose leaped away from the Doctor. The tips of his ears were bright pink, his eyes wide. But if the captain noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he gave them a kind smile and nodded towards the room.

“King Zaen will see you now.”

The Doctor cleared his throat, pulling himself out of his stupor. “Brilliant,” he exclaimed. “Allons-y!”