#I cannot be trusted in public. I will melt to the ground

[a-very-fond-farewell]

went to the city, me. fell in love with ALL the pretty women, me. much struggle.

[floppydiskettess]

VALORANT AGENTS BEING YOUR PARTNER

featuring : cypher, sova, chamber, yoru, raze and killjoy, phoenix

a/n : HELP ok omg i didnt think people would actually like my shitty writing !!! im now oddly motivated to write? :0

ALSO!!! SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO MY FRIEND WHO MADE THIS AMAZING VISUAL IF YORU PRANKING PHOENIX AND IT BACKFIRING (from my last post!!!!!) AHAGAHAGAGAG ITS AMAZING <33

anyways! lets begin!! tw for cyphers part, i like cypher angst..

◜Cypher◞

cypher truly loves you, but he is still recovering from losing nora.

be patient with him, he still has a lot of trauma and stress in his life that he is dealing with.

he often needs reminders to take care of himself. he usually gets lost in his work

if he is having a bad day, he locks his door and buries himself in his work.

if he let you inside on a bad day, he would be a bit grouchy. he is used to keeping his walls up. but after a few reassurances, loving touches, and kind whispers. he would crack.

he feels weak when he cries, he tries his best not to but he cannot keep it in sometimes

when he cries, he is soothed by the feeling of your hands on his masked face and your loving whispers in his ear. the mask often feels suffocating, but he just cannot bring himself to take it off.

he is extremely insecure...after years of battles (both with himself, and Kingdom) he has quite a few scars littering his body. he mostly covers up fully with his mask and long sleeves. he wouldn't show you himself until he really was ready to, so don't push him! he will when he is ready.

when he does show you though, you know he really trusts you.

he melts everytime you kiss one of his scars gently, it made him love that part of him self a little more.

if you have had a bad day, he will drop everything to help. if someone made you upset? oh boy...are they in for it.

he has a lot of bad days so this is nothing new to him, he knows how you feel and knows exactly how to cheer you up.

you are definitely his rock, your presence grounds him.

he is extremely sentimental. he would definetely gift you a photo album of all the key points and locations in your relationship.

he is a worrywart, if your on a risky mission he is keeping tabs on you at all time..

he often has nightmares about losing you or losing his home. once you found out, you got him to sleep in your bed. his nightmares happen significantely less since then..

he has experience in relationships..he was married after all.

his love language is words of affirmation!!!

"im so proud of you حبي.. you did so well darling!"

be careful with this man's heart, it is already extremely fragile..

if he lost you too, he would lose himself.

◜Sova◞

THIS MAN IS A SWEETHEART

his love language is definitely quality time!!!

he loves to spend time with his lover, he definitely plans tons of sentimental dates!

sentiment over price kinda guy. you could give him a dead flower from the area you met and he would be touched deeply.

he is not afraid to cry! he encourages you to express your emotions rather than bottling it up.

after a particulararely long mission, he would arrive at your room and the second you open the door he would bearhug you.

when you are upset, if you like physical affection he will carry you to the bed and cuddle with you.

if you are not up to doing basic things such as eating or bathing, he will pamper you :)

he would always be delighted to cook you a meal or wash your hair for you in the shower if you were not up to it.

he would whisper reassurences into your ear and cradle your face in his large hands

this man LOVES cuddles

big spoon, but on bad days he likes to be held

his favourite thing is when you run your hands through his hair !

he is not afraid to show his love for you in public, not as a "their mine" sort of way, he just loves to show his love for you at all times

he would greet you with a deep kiss on the lips as his handles cradled your face

he isn't an really jealous person, he trusts you and your judgement and he knows that you won't leave him. but if he sees someone getting a little too close to you and you don't pick up on their motive. you will probably feel a big hand go around your waist as he glares down at the person.

he is a big guy with a big heart :)

"лисичка..I love you so much, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

◜Chamber◞

this man doesn't really understand some social cues.

for example...he will still flirt with other women. its kinda just how he is

but if you feel upset and he (somehow) noticed on his own, he will get worried.

"mon beau? what's wrong...you have been acting strangely lately......oh...oh no no darling i am so sorry...i promise anything i have said i don't mean...i love you so much."

he has a big fuckin ego....

compliment him, he will love you forever.

he loves to tease you, but he knows the limits.

he isn't the best at comforting people, he usually just settles for a pat on the back and wrapping an arm around your waist or neck.

he would be a decent partner. he loves to overuse the petnames though

he used to buy you expensive things thinking he could buy your love, but then he realized that price isn't what matters.

you definitely helped him grow as a person. though he still is quite cocky.

big spoon. have you seen this lanky ass mf???

he LOVES bragging about you.

he will make sure everyone knows that your his partner. he will kiss you in public.

if someone is flirting with you, oh he will waltz right over and press a deep kiss to your lips.

"ready to go mon chéri?"

◜Yoru◞

hes a tsundere, obviously?

he really cares about you, often giving you "disgsuting goo goo eyes“ (- Jett, 2050)

if you called him out he would immediately look away and deny it though.

he is much softer with you in private, opting for a loving hug when he is alone with you

this man is so touch starved

if he is in a bad mood, he gets really snappy with everyone. he tries to shut you out but in the end he either never has the heart to or he says something he regrets.

"shit...im so sorry..i didn't mean to say that ダーリン ..i am just really tired right now, ok?"

if you were to forgive him, he would be treading carefully. trying his best not to accidentally say something else upsetting to you.

if you had a nightmare, his heart would break at the sight of your crying face. "doll..can you tell me what you need right now so i can help you?"

he would wrap you in a hug, pushing your face against his chest. he would be whispering sweet reassurances into your ear as you began to drift back to sleep.

oh if you tease him in the morning about it though he will absolutely deny everything.

he tries to act like he doesn't like you, but he really just doesn't know how to show his affection.

if you got sick, he would be at your bedside with warm food (that he definitely did not make himself. it's not like he cares..), medicine, and your favourite movies.

"shut up...i am only doing this so you arn't a liability on the mission ok?? we don't need a sick person.."

he is extremely domestic, but he would never admit it

expect to spend the next few days curled up to his chest as he lovingly stroked your hair, tucking peices behind your ears.

he is not much of a gift giver or a words of affirmation kind of guy. he struggles with his words. he is definetely a acts of service and quality time kind of guy!

he would rather have you in his arms then a stupidly expensive gift in his hands.

"愛してます idiot..."

◜Raze and Killjoy◞

POLY !!!!!!!!!!!!

having these two as your girlfriends would be amazing.

they are so different yet so similar!!

raze is the loud extrovert, killjoy is the omnivert!

raze would definitely be the more physically affectionate of the two! killjoy would be much more emotionally affectionate.

raze would greet you with a chaste kiss on the cheek, a bearhug, or (if she feels bold) a kiss on the lips! she would not be scared to do it in public either. she gives off "THATS RIGHT!!!! THIS IS MY PARTNER AND I LOVE THEM!!!!" vibes.

killjoy is the total opposite, she is not a big fan of pda. in public she would greet you with a light hug or a highfive. but in private? she would be all over you. she would pepper your face in sweet kisses and eskimo kisses! she also loves to hug you from behind. she is much much more shy about being public than raze is though!

when they are together you are often sandwiched inbetween them. raze offering physical love while killjoy is more emotional.

if you were upset, raze would freeze up. she isn't very good with emotions...if she were upset she would just go blow some stuff up and problem solved! but that doesn't always work for others.. she would still offer you a gentle hug and would trace shapes on your back similar to what her mother did for her as a kid.

if you were upset around killjoy, she would rush to comfort you. "please leibling...talk to me. i am here...i hate seeing you like this..".

Killjoy is a very good listener. She would patiently listen to your troubles as she rubbed your back sympathetically. She has had her fair share of anxiety so she understands what you are going through.

overall, they equal eachother out.

you are grateful to have your girlfriends, you recieve and give equal love to them and nobody feels left out.

raze is more a gift giver while KJ is totally a acts of service person!

raze would probably try (and fail.) to make you baked goods if you have a sweet tooth!

"I'm sorry darling!! I tried to bake you cookies but it was taking too long....so I used my blowtorch and they burned....T-T"

killjoy often has to pick up the peices (literally. the peices of the charred cookies. Seriously how did raze think a blowtorch could bake cookies?!"

can you tell I love these two??

these two are the perfect girlfriends!!!!

"i love you so much maus." "hey!! what about me? :(" "pff, i love you as well schatz." "much better :)"

◜Phoenix◞

he is a softie for his lover and my guy is not afraid to show it

he will give you big hugs as a greeting or if you did really good on a mission

"fam that was simply amazing! i am so proud of you!"

he really loves to show you off to the other agents

"look at my brilliant partner! arn't they just so cute?" "......phoenix you literally have showed us this picture like 20 times holy fuck."

he is a big physical affection guy, he loves to wake up holding you in his arms as you softly snore into his chest. he would give you a sweet and gentle kiss on the forehead before snuggling closer to you and drifting off to sleep. yoru wouldn't mind if he missed training for a day..

if you were trying to tell him something serious or just generally looked distraught, his playful and carefree demeanor would instantly vanish and turn into a caring and concerned gaze.

"is everything ok love? you don't have to tell me anything if you are not ready yet. but just know i am here for you and whatever it is... i will support you."

if you opened up to him, he would be by your side in an instant and holding you gently in his arms and softly pressing kisses to your forehead and temple.

"oh darling...thank you so much for telling me this. i am happy you told me. i love you so much alright? please don't ever feel scared to talk to me."

if you woke up with your face pressed into his back, his soft snores filling the silence in the room. you sure were not about to complain.

he really cares for you, and will do anything to make you feel better

you are his everything, and he is truly grateful that you want to keep him around..

a/n : i really enjoyed writing this!! you can probably tell i struggled to write chambers part...i thought he would be easier to write LOL. anyhoozies i hope you enjoyed this!!! and thank you so much for the support on my last post, waking up to so many people liking my post had me giggling and kicking my feet around i swear <333333

as always i am looking forward to some feedback!! let me know what i could do better, if i used anything wrong, or even just if you liked it or not!

[bonkers-4-hatter]

@sacredwarrior88​ asked: Can I please request a match-up from Disney, Haikyuu, and Free? :) Here's my info: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LcZkbfvsemN83rwCgmKT44zPlt9rJQiJy01NvofhEZo/edit?usp=sharing

I match you with:

Bruno Madrigal from Encanto 

Being in the walls for 10 years has made this man socially awkward, but he’ll try his best to start conversations to you. Be patient with him as it’ll take time for him to become comfortable around you, he’s just so used to being alone. Does enjoy your sassy and sarcastic ways, they make him smile especially when you’re dealing with someone rude.

Thinks your wardrobe is amazing and is so mesmerized by the style. He’ll ask your so many questions about it and he’ll be eyeing the steel toed boots you have on. Please buy this man some new clothing, he needs to retire that poncho of his for real. When you wear something a bit more revealing, he cannot keep his eyes to himself, he’ll try very hard, but you’re just so gorgeous he can’t help it. He’ll apologize relentlessly for it of course.

He enjoys playing video games with you, trying new games and playing each other’s favorites. He really enjoys reading himself and will have a wonderful time just reading with you and just enjoying each other’s presence. You both would exchange book suggestions and after reading, have a little book club of your own as you both analyze the book and how you liked it. It’s a cute way to spend time with each other, but a way for you both to have intelligent discussions.

Once you warm up to Bruno, he relishes your hugs and affection you show him, he can’t get enough of it. This man is touch starved and will just fold at any show of affection toward him. The moment you call him a pet name like ‘hun’ or ‘sweetie’ he’s melting on the ground, those are his weakness. He loves giving you cute pet names too and showing you affection too, he wants to show you that he adores you.

Kotaro Bokuto from Haikyuu

Be patient with him, he means well, he really does. He just has things that go right over his head and it takes him a minute to get it. Although, he does have his wise moments especially when it comes to trying to help someone, whether it’s someone on his team or even you. He’ll try his best to come up with the best answer and solution and get a smile on your face while doing it.

He’s your biggest hype man when it comes to your wardrobe. Always cheering you on and suggesting you wear specific things that he think would look cool on you when you guys are shopping. Thinks that alt/emo look is amazing on you and will buy you accessories to boot, man really spoils you and don’t ask him to stop because he won’t. 

He’s very patient with you when it comes to your trust issues. He doesn’t want to rush things and wants to get to know you first before pursuing something further with you. He’ll try to get you out of his comfort zone by doing new things and going to new places. He’ll try to let you know all the details, but sometimes he gets so excited that all the details get into a blur for him. Doesn’t care that you haven’t been in a relationship before. He enjoys spending time with you and getting to know you so he’ll keep at it especially if that means you’ll be his at the end. 

Man is very affectionate and you’ll need to set boundaries with him when it comes to that because if he could, he’d be affectionate with you all the time even in public. Once the boundaries are set he’ll follow them of course, he wants you to be comfortable around him. That being said, he loves when you give him pet names and he’ll give you his own pet names in return. He’d also do anything for one of your hugs, he just adores them so much to be able to feel your plush body and warmth, man’s whipped. 

Nagisa from Free

He’ll do whatever he can to make you fell better when you’re going through something. No matter if that be your depression, your period pains and anything else that happens. He’ll always have medicine, things to do, things to help, he’s always prepared and he’s always down to just cuddle you and give you all of his affection when you’re ready.

Loves that your language is unfiltered, blunt and not what everyone would expect. The fact that you say what’s on your mind, really draws in his attention and he can relate to that fact. Whenever you’re in a verbal scuffle with someone, he’s not far behind, but he knows that you don’t need his help and you can handle yourself, but just in case he’s close to you ready to pounce. 

Likes to have anime binging weekends with you. Both of you in comfy clothes, eating your favorite snacks and drinking your favorite drinks and just huddled in bed, eyes glued on the TV as you click ‘next episode’. Sometimes you’ll switch it up and play a round of Mario Kart or another game of your guys’ liking and go back to binging or just start watching something else entirely on YouTube. It just kind of depends on what you guys are feeling and he’s a bit of a nerd himself so he’s into a lot of different things. 

He’ll make you grow your confidence, being your hype man and just showering you in compliments, soft touches, he knows exactly what to do because you are beautiful, truly, he just wishes you saw what he does. Doesn’t give up though and he’ll make sure you know just how wonderful and gorgeous you are to him. You thought he was sweet and affectionate before? Oh, just wait and see.

[volleyball-dontknowher]

Kuroo NSFW Alphabet

A/n: THIS IS 4.5 pages of just Kuroo smut and I hope you like it. Today has been stressful to say the least and this was amazing for taking my mind off of all of my worries and I just hope you all understand!!! ALso only four requests lefttttt aaaah okay Natalie is done distracting you all from the real content here 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

A+ Literally the absolute best like mans takes care of you more than he takes care of himself because you just blessed him with the best sex of his entire life and if he doesn't treat you like a queen he knows you could find someone who does, so he is up right away getting more blankets or a glass of water, or a shirt or socks like literally whatever you want or need he is going to do it, like this will be the time you see him simping the most and he is not ashamed. He also loves loves loves loves loves to cuddle with you and if you throw a compliment or two in there about how good he was his entire heart melts 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of you is your thighs like he absolutely loves how beautiful they are and the way they wrap around him so easily and how he can always put his large hand on your thigh and it both makes you squirm and turns you on, there are really no downsides to it and he loves it. He also loves leaving hickeys on your inner thighs because he thinks it’s super hot because one slip of your skirt and everyone can see that he so clearly made love to you. 

His favorite part of himself is definitely his toned chest like he absolutely loves when he catches you drooling over it and staring at him like it just makes him feel so manly and just so complete. He also can’t deny the fact that when he hugs you and sees how your figure fits on his broad chest it just makes him so soft like you are so pretty and so much smaller than him and he just loves it. He also loves the attention it gets from other boys in jealousy like they stare too. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Kuroo is one of the nastiest with his cum like he is not ashamed or embarrassed of it at all and it makes him dangerous. He loves to cum on your breasts, on your face, or on your ass if he doesn’t get the pleasure of cumming inside of you. When you do give him that pleasure of cumming deep inside of you Kuroo always makes sure that he tolds it deep within you for an extra moment as he feels you pulsing around him, when he finally pulls out he loves to just slowly push it back inside of you so that you stay full of his cum, completely claimed by him. Kuroo has strong(ish) opinions on blowjobs like if he can see you swallow he is going to be hard again in an instant and completely turned on by you and ready to go again. He will never say no to a blowjob but spitting isn’t as hot to him so he isn’t going to be as ready to pounce right after but trust me he still appreciates it just as much. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Dirty secret, he absolutely bought a vibrating cock ring and used it to help him get off because he wanted the extra stimulation as he got off, but he first didn’t know what size and bought the small which was wayy too small so he had to go back and to get the large, which fit this time. So now he has an extra cockring and doesn't know what to do with it because giving it to someone would be weird. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Kuroo has lots of experience with quick flings from other girls, he knows what makes girls feel good from experience, unfortunately he didn’t really care if those girls got as much pleasure from it but when he met you everything changed. He started to really pay attention to what you really liked and what made you as loud as possible, he didn’t like the idea of getting more pleasure than you like it should be the other way around so he started paying a lot of attention to you and the ways you would moan and whimper when he did just the right things and went to being great at sex to being damn near god tier at sex. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

If you are having sex he is happy with the position in general but if you let him do it doggy style he is going to lose his shit, just something about the sight of you face down ass up gets him more than excited. Kuroo loves that in this position he is able to put his hands on your hips, around your neck, laced in your hair, literally whatever he wants and this also seems to be the position that makes you moan the loudest. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Kuroo is going to be more serious in the moment than goofy, but he isn’t going to let it be so serious that you can’t enjoy yourselves so if something embarrassing or funny happens he just plays it cool and not let it rin the moment. He does like for you to listen to him when he speaks and wants you to understand that he is in charge though so if you are having a rougher session he is completely serious

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Oh honey curtain matches the drapes no doubt, he doesn’t take the time to do the hair everyone sees so why would he take the time to do the hair only you get to see. He grooms down there sometimes, especially if he is going to send you pics or anything like that so it looks better but in general he doesn’t do much but wash it. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Kuroo goes both ways during sex, half of the time he is going to be sweet and loving with slow roaming hands as he praises you and your body for how gorgeous and perfect you are He tells you how much he loves you over and over and when you are done pulls you into the sweetest kisses and loving embraces. The other type of sex is going to bo more pleasure based where he is teasing you and fuckign you hard, soley focused on pleaure, he might groan out your name a few times but other than that there isn’t much loving happening during those sessions. Afterwards though he is super duper sweet to you and literally praises the ground you walks on and like I said before he takes care of absolutely everything so if you need anything at all he is already on it and he gives you kisses and love for the rest of the night. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He still does it when you’re not in the mood, or if he feels like he is going to be riled up several times that day because he wakes up with morning wood more often than he would like to admit and some mornings you are able to help him out and some he just has to jack off in the shower so he can get his throbbing length down.. Trust me this doesn't affect his sex drive at all like him getting off in the mornings still leaves him ready for several rounds at night. He is definitely the type to do it in the shower because you are asleep right next to him and he thrusts his hips into his hand with his eyes shut imagining all of his deepest fantasies with you. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Kuroo is so kinky like you cannot be vanilla and expect for this to go well like he is into seeing you in every sort of position, tied up, choking on his cock, begging for more literally everything. We cannot physically talk about all of his kinks here without taking up way too much space so I will highlight a couple. Kuroo has a thing for being the dom, whether you call him sir, master, daddy, whatever he is the one in control and you are going to listen to every command he marks for you, if he says no panties you better not even think about it, if he tells you to go cook or clean nod and tell him yes sir before doing it. He also expects that you do not cum without his consent, ever. 

Another kink of his is going to be that he is really into bondage, he loves typing you up and making you beg for him like just seeing you give up control to him makes him so so turned on like you cannot imagine. He also loves edging and orgasm denial because it makes you whiny for him and desperate for him more than you can control because at first you let out little whimpers and try to get him to do what you want and after the second or third time doing it you are begging for him and pleading that he can do whatever he wants to you as long as you get to cum and not only is that absolutely sexy, it is also an amazing ego boost for him. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Kuroo’s favorite location is damn near anywhere, he is not afraid to fuck you anywhere in your house, literally anywhere, you have had sex on a chair out back before, as well as on the kitchen counter, if it worls it works. If he is horny enough or you tease him enough he will fuck you anywhere with no problems like he iwll pull you into a dressing room, the back of his car, on a blanket in the park, on the beach, literally tease him enough and he will not be able to contain himself. His favorite favorite spot is the bed, not because of the privacy, because well he doesn’t care if someone sees you, but because that’s where you can be as loud as you want and not worry about it as well as the fact that is where all of his toys, handcuffs and everything is stored so he can make you have a better time in the bedroom. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You are on Kuroo’s mind all day all the time and he just cannot get enough of you like you are his own personal brand of heroin So send him a nude, or wear lingerie, or even just lace your hands in his hair and he is ready to pounce on you and you know it. He also absolutely loses his mind when you use innuendos in public or reference something you did in the bedroom discreetly like he is not able to keep himself together. Another thing that gets him super hot and bothered is when you wear his clothes because something about it just makes you seem so vulnerable and so completely his that he can’t help but get hard almost instantly 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kuroo would not be okay with leaving marks on you, like a spanking here or there or a hickey is one thing but people who use whips or anything like that is a no go from him. He also doesn’t like the idea of candle wax on you because that seems very painful and would burn your skin so that’s out. He also doesn’t do any of the hardcore humilation things because he does love you and care for you and that just feel so wrong. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh he loves a good blowjob trust me, his hands rake into your hair as he lets out quiet praises and mutters how good of a job you are doing and compliments everything about you and your body, like give him a good blowjob and you could literally steal his soul no questions asked he is yours forever. But hear me out here okay he is absolutely in love with eating you out like he is going to have you sit on his face, or he is going to bury his face up into you as his tongue perfectly flicks, licks and sucks your core until you are screaming and moaning. If he doesn't get you moaning out his name like a prayer he hasn’t done it enough, he loves to completely over stimulate you and just keep pushing orgasms out of you with his tongue, his skill is completely unmatched and if by the end of it you aren’t completley spent you know that means that he is ready for more sex after that. Kuroo loves hearing how needy and desperate you are as his tongue switches between thrusting up inside of you and toying with your clit. He is damn near god tier at eating you out and he thinks about it constantly, he is obsessed with the way you taste and the way you moan and clench your legs around his head, the whole thing is intoxicating for the both of you. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kuroo goes both ways with this like on rare nights he is going to be kissing you and making love to you in every meaning of the phrase, he is kissing you and going slow to make sure that you are feeling every inch of him as he enters you slowly, keeping the pace just fast enough that you will both feel the pleasure of release together but slow enough that you can take the time to appreciate each other and all of the love between you both. 

Other nights Kuroo is going to be fast and rough with you, going hard enough that you can barely focus on anything but the pleasure as you let out incoherent moans of his name as he pushes you quickly through several orgasms making you moan out his name. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes. Absolutely. You have a couple of minutes before you have to go you better pull down your pants and hop on his length because he is going to quickly pump you full and leave you breathless before pulling your pants back up, kissing you and letting you go about your day. LIke seriously if you have ten minutes he is going to have enough time to make you both orgasm and cum screaming each other’s names, it’s perfect, he is going to like quickies all the time like at least a couple nights a week because he just gets so excited by you and knows that a little bit of sex always boosts both of your moods. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is willing to try a lot of things in the bedroom and if you are really into something he is so down to trying it because he wants you to get the most pleasure out of it as possible so he is going to be super open to trying new things. Now he is also risky in where you do it like he will do it in semi public where he is more than 80% sure you won’t get caught, he clamps his hand over your mouth will he fucks you quickly and quietly trying to make as little noise as possible. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)’

Stamina is Kuroo’s strong suit like he can go for at least three solid rounds in a night that last at least half an hour each, he has gotten really good about waiting until he cums until after you because he loves how it feels when you clench down around him and he finds you so incredibly attractive that he is hard again within minutes. On nights where he doesn’t think he can go multiple rounds he is very good at making it last upwards to an hour as he coaxes several orgasms out of you. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Kuroo is absolutely in love with toys in the bedroom, okay, like he is going to have at least one of everything and that is on the safe side. A couple of his personal favorites are the matching butt plug, dildo, and gag he got you that let’s say he loves to see you choke on all three. He also loves pressing a vibrator agianst your clit while he is fucking you, making the intensity that much stronger but he always makes to let you cum, he also loves seeing you use toys on yourself when you are out of town, he video calls you and makes you grab very specific things to pleasure yourself all under his control. Kuroo did discover that pegging was something that he was insanely into, the idea of giving up control (but not really, he was still absolutely in charge) was erotic and gave you both a power play that you needed. On himself he also discovered that he likes when you lock him in a chastity ring, at least for a little bit because he loves knowing that you will be his only source of pleasure and he is not able to please himself on his own, or even get hard, but he has to be in a really submissive mood to let this pass. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kuroo would tease you literally forever just to hear how beautiful your cries and begs are for him like he is going to go slow and run his fingers up and down your body appreciating every part of you while hitting all of the spots make him moan and cry out for him. He is going to love teasing you and making you literally beg and moan for him to do everything because it shows him how completely his you are and how desperate you can be for him while you are under him. He also loves to tease you out in public like he is going to get hard and just press his length against your backside subtly while you are out and about to give you the message but if you try anything back his scolds you for being needy and desperate for him. He also loves to pull his shirt up and expose his muscles when wiping off sweat just to see you staring back at him. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kuroo is loud and he has no shame in it. Primarily he lets out deep primal grunts that come from within him whenever he is really enjoying whatever it is, he lets out deep and loud moans that encourage you more than anything else. When he really gets close he starts letting out high pitched whines and starts whining out your name between profanities that are the hottest noise known to mankind. When he isn’t close he loves to let out deep moans and praises into your ear letting you know how good you are doing for him and how tight you are. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kuroo has always wanted to wear lingerie like he wants to wear something that has the same reaction from you that he gets when you wear lingerie. So he went out shopping and quickly realized what was for men was not for him at all so he got himself a sexy one piece womens outfit and wore it in the bedroom and the look on your face was worth everydime and he loved the attention he got it more than he could have ever imagned and now he thinks about it all the time because that lead to some of the best sex of your entire lives

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has a beautiful dick, like the most beautiful dick, it is about eight inches and just wide enough your hands can’t reach all the way around it, he stands straight up with two prominent veins, one down the side and one down the back and his head is always a bright pink and leaking with precum. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has some of the highest sex drives you will ever see, he could do it up to ten times in a day before wearing himself out, typically he likes to do it 4+ times a week going for two to four rounds each time but if you are tired or don’t want to he is completely satisfied jacking himself off and going to bed but if you are willing to he is happy going at it every single night making you scream out his name and fucking you so good you fall asleep instantly after

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Hear me out, Kuroo can and will not fall asleep unless he knows that you are satisfied and comfortable, if both of those conditions have been met then there is absolutely no telling when he is going to sleep. Sometimes he takes about thirty seconds and some nights he is up until four in the morning just laying there admiring you and playing games on his phone, it really just depends on the night. 

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xiv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: When one threat is resolved, another makes presents itself. 

Warnings: character deaths, reference to sexual assault, ptsd, implied smut, shitty writing but we’re not gonna mention it ok, time jump!

Word Count: 2.7k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Confused, angry, annoyed murmurs filled the courtyard as people were ushered outside by the kingsguard. The summer sun had already risen and beat down unforgivingly on the crowd that began to form. An eerie feeling clung to the air – similar to the early morning sunrise when Sister Mary was beheaded. The people had not forgotten about the large army that gathered outside their castle gates this morning. They wondered in fear – had their king been overthrown? Or perhaps… the king was prepared to be a widow once more?

To their relief, King Steven stood at the platform. He was rather calm with his brows furrowed, lost in his thoughts. To their surprise, you weren’t dressed in the traditional execution black, nor were you cowering in the crowd in fear of your husband. Instead, their queen stood tall with her husband’s hand clasped in hers and a crown on her head, reminding them of who you were – reminding you of who you were: an angry queen seeking revenge.

The stoic expression on your face unsettled them. The last time you made a public appearance as queen was when you were struck by your husband. After then, the only time you had been relevant was when guards were storming the castle early in the morning in search of their runaway queen. Though they knew you were back and rested, they had expected your duties to be minimal – that you were to be hidden away, locked in the castle as a crowned prisoner.

They were wrong.

Behind you, stood your father, the invader from this morning. Though he did not seem to pose a threat to you or the king, his army was still sprawled out around the courtyard. Any attempt would be thwarted with ease with both Brooken and York standing together like this.

“Bring them forth,” Steven called out. The crescendo of the people’s chatter became louder and louder as the two criminals were finally revealed.

Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce trudged through the crowd, being led by guards. Shock was expressed on many noble’s faces. Confused muttering shook the crowd as they stared on at the two men who wore black.

“What is he doing?” “Has he finally lost his mind?” “That’s his cousin!” “That’s his father’s sister’s boy!” “Pierce has been an ally to the crown for decades!” “It’s the queen’s doing!” “She’s manipulating him.” “She’s made him a monster.” “No… He’s already been one for years.” “That’s his cousin, his father’s sister’s son!” “He wouldn’t dare.” “He’s a monster.”

The whispers didn’t stop. It felt as if the people were turning their back on Steven, losing hope, respect, and trust. He had yet to say a word that was heard by the crowd. Their mutterings became louder and louder, drowning him out, calling him a monster, saying he shouldn’t wear the crown. They called him mad and cruel, saying he lashed out – disguising his insanity and using treason as an excuse to blindly kill.

It wouldn’t stop. The vile accusations against him were deafening. You stared at the crowd, listening to every word spat out. It sounded like a long continuous scream.

The wails bringing you back to the violent sways of the boat. The nausea induced by the mercenary’s poor command of the boat. Seeing the man on top of Wanda. Hearing her screams of pain and pleads for help. The sticky blood on your hands as you stabbed him. You remembered the sharp shove he gave to your stomach – to your child. The ripping of your dress as he spat, “I should’ve raped you first” with his hands wrapped around your throat. The metallic taste of blood after Wanda slit the man’s throat open. You remembered her falling to the ground and the haunting lifeless look on her face. The terrible cramping pain in your stomach and the discomfort in your back. You remember the blood pooling underneath you as you lost your child.

Everything hitting you all at once. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The loss. It all spiraled together, morphing into one hideous feeling that you couldn’t describe. It bubbled in your throat, demanding to be let out.

“SILENCE!” You didn’t even recognize your own voice that bounced throughout the kingdom. It was so loud that you were sure your mother could’ve heard it in York. Maybe the true Mad King heard it from wherever he was.

The entire crowd fell into silence, surprised at your outburst. Steven looked over to you. His own frustration and anger melted into pure concern as he watched your shoulders rise and fall with every breath you took. He called your name but you didn’t hear it, basking in the silence as you wordlessly commanded the respect and attention of everyone in attendance.

Steven couldn’t help but smirk proudly at his queen as you stepped forward from your position, glaring at the crowd.

“You want to call your king a monster?” You asked them. “You have no idea what he has done to protect this kingdom… He has done nothing but protect each and every one of you. Whether the threat be my own father or foreign invaders,” you glared at the two bound men in black, “or lords who plot and conspire for his demise. He’s on the frontline of every battle when he could simply cower in the castle along with the rest of you. And you want to call him the monster?”

You gestured to the chained men. “Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce are the true monsters. They’re the shadows that lurk in the dark. Their the ghosts that haunt the castle. They prey on your fears, they isolate you, they manipulate you.”

You walked to the de-tongued Pierce, a shell of the noble he once was – thanks to your father. “Alexander Pierce brought King Steven two wives. Both from the same house. Both who have died. Everyone’s quick to tell the story that the king murdered his wives. They refused to give him an heir, so he ridded himself of their incompetency, right? I believed that story, too. But no one tells the truth of how Pierce deliberately chose wives of a house who swore allegiance to King Thanos.

“Brock Rumlow manipulated his way into my circle. He fed me lies of how Steven murdered his wives, confirmed untrue rumors – all to turn me against my own husband.” You looked over to Steven, who had a proud look on his face as he watched his wife take control of the situation. “I should’ve believed you, my love. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“These two men orchestrated to have me and my ladies murdered. They posted as people I could trust, promised me protection from a man they said was a threat. They arranged for my friends and I to be murdered on a boat. They hired a mercenary who rap – “you stopped yourself. The word had a foul taste that you could not stomach. “They hired a mercenary who murdered Lady Wanda Maximoff before my eyes. They’re responsible for the death of my child, the heir to Brooken.”

That fact alone stunned many. They were all quick to resent their queen because you had spent months childless… Little did they know they lost their heir they were so desperate to have.

“They’re monsters and if you cannot see that for yourselves, then you, too, will be on this platform next. Call me a killer. Call me ruthless. Call me the monster. I’ll accept it all. I’ve lost a friend and I’ve lost a child. And if their executions and your spiteful rumors are what I must pay for a moment of vengeance, then so be it.”

The crowd remained silent as they took in every word. They may never know what fact is and what is fiction, but everyone can agree that the hurt and the pain in your voice was completely genuine. No one could feign that type of grief.

Steven took a step forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before turning towards the two men.

“We needn’t relive the torment you’ve brought upon my wife. You both are guilty of treason, and everyone knows it,” Steven told them, directly. “I, King Steven Rogers of Brooken, with the witnesses of my wife, Queen (Y/N) Rogers and King Anthony Stark of York, sentence you to death for your treason.”

Brock had called your name. He begged for his life. He begged for mercy. He stared into your eyes, pleading for a shred of empathy or compassion. He knew you had it in you – he saw it when you defended your friends fiercely, when you tried to stop your husband from executing the old crone. But he was met with angry, cold eyes as he heard his cousin call for his sword.

Pierce was the first to go. He was brought to the executioner’s block with no hassle – he did not fight. He knew when he had lost and he would lose with any dignity he had left. Steven’s blow was quick and neat. The head fell into the basket with a soft thud as the body was removed from the block.

Rumlow thrashed in the guards’ arms. He begged and he called for your name. He sputtered out apologizes for his crimes in hopes for any ounce of mercy that could be thrown his way.

“Stop.” You said before your husband could lift his sword. “Get him on his feet.”

“(Y/N).” Steven warned, but you repeated your order. The king sent you a weary look before gesturing for the guards to lift his cousin.

Steven watched as you marched over and gave Brock a kind smile. Relief flooded through Rumlow as you fixed the black collar of his shirt.

“You don’t deserve a fast death.” You told him. Though your voice was soft, it was heard throughout the eerily silent courtyard.

Before he could process your words, you gave a swift, deep cut to his throat with a dagger no one knew you were hiding. After the attempt on your life, you always ensured that you had some form of a weapon on your person.

He choked on his own blood as the crimson spurted out from the deep gash. You watched with little remorse as he fell to the ground, clawing at his neck. You didn’t shift your eyes away as you did when Sister Mary was beheaded. No. You wanted to see your enemies fall.

Once he laid lifeless on the platform, you turned and made your way off the platform and back into the castle.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your farewells with your father were bittersweet and fast. You wished him safe travels as you gave him a sword – specially made for your little brother’s name day. You noticed the saddened look on your father’s face upon hearing Harvey’s name, but you decided not to press him about it.

You watched from the balcony as he and his army disappeared into the horizon. Your hands were still shaking – something you hadn’t thought would happen once you took Brock’s life. Though you have bathed – and re-bathed – immediately after the executions, your hands still felt sticky even if you only had a few splatters of blood on them.

You were too lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steven slowly walk over to your position. You jumped when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked you. He noticed how you were still trembling.

“I killed him.” You said. “I looked him in his eyes and took his life.”

“If you weren’t shaking, I would ask myself if I had married a coldblooded killer.” He joked lightly, but you scoffed at him. He kissed your temple. “But I know you are not a murderer.”

“As I know you are not a monster.” You whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to them whispering anymore,” you shook your head. “I do apologize for thinking such things.”

“You had reason to believe it. I do not blame you.”

“You should be angry.”

“I am not.” Steven assured. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” You responded, leaning into him. “Is it over? Is this unrest finally over?”

“It never is.” Steven sighed. “But now, everyone knows… They can’t turn us against each other. We stand together. King and Queen. We are a force to be reckoned with. We are taking strides to a brighter Brooken. Together.”

You smiled at the thought. You basked in Steven’s arms. The security the bring. The feeling of home.

You turned to face him and pulled him down for a kiss. Sweet and passionate. Lips melting together as if they had always belonged there. You pushed Steven backwards towards the room. He broke the kiss as he watched you close the balcony doors. You smiled at him before you cupped his jaw with your hands to reconnect the kiss.

You kept pushing and pushing until the back of Steven’s knees hit the back of the bed. He pulled away from you, combing the loose strands away from your face before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “We needn’t do this if you aren’t ready.” He told you. He was afraid that his desire for you would overwhelm you. Though some time had passed since the incident, he did not want to make you feel pressured in any way.

You shook your head. You tried to bring his lips back to yours, but he thwarted your attempt. “Steven…” You whined.

He chuckled, cupping your face with his large hands. “You needn’t give me an heir… Not yet. Not if you’re not ready.”

“Steven…” you frowned. “I want this. I want you.”

He shook his head. “We don’t need an heir… Not yet. I am happy with just you.”

You groaned at him. “If we have a child this night or the next, it makes little difference to me. I’m not trying to have an heir. I want to make love to you because I love you.”

He smiled. That warm smile that sent butterflies to your stomach. He kissed your lips once. Twice. And a third kiss one from an eager husband ready to make love to his wife. 

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six Months Later…

You let out an erotic moan, one that quite possibly awoke the entire castle. Not that you nor your husband minded as your hips rutted against his as you both came down from your highs. Exhausted, you slumped down to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to your glistening forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

“I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Three sharp knocks were stamped into the wood of your bedchamber’s doors. You and Steven frowned at one another. It was late at night, who could it be?

You quickly got off your husband and wrapped yourself in a robe as he did the same. He walked over to the door to find Lord Barnes, who was supposed to be vacationing in his chateau with his new wife, Lady Natasha. “What’s wrong, James?” Steven asked the obviously exhausted lord.

“Your majesties…” He said, winded. “There’s an emergency. Please. Come to the throne room now.” Steven asked for privacy so that you both may properly dress.

Your bare feet padded against the tiles as you hurried walked hand in hand with Steven. “What’s happened?” You asked Lord Barnes as he rounded the corner towards the throne room. When he didn’t answer, you asked again. He pushed the doors open and you gasped. “Mother?”

“Oh, my sweet child,” your mother sighed out in relief. She held baby Morgan in her hands, the infant had grown in your time away. You rushed to her side and gave her a hug, cooing at your baby sister who babbled happily as she recognized your voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Your husband asked.

“Always great to see you, Steve.” Your mother smiled.

“Pepper,” he greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “As much as I find your company a delight, it’s in the middle of the night… It’s winter. Travel is rather troublesome in the north, even for a three-day journey.”

“Where’s father?” You asked. “And Harvey?”

Your mother sighed sadly. Your face dropping. You looked to Natasha who stood with her husband and the guards you recognized belonged to your father’s kingsguard. “What’s happened?” You asked.

“York’s been invaded by Thanos.”

[yutahoes]

Be My Eyes

genre: angst (?), tragic (?), this is pretty sad. 

word count : 3.3k words

A lot of things do come to you in surprise. Sometimes, they're happy things. Sometimes, sad things. But now, you were angry. Why did this have to happen? That's the only thing you can think of. 

Of all the things that can fail, why your eyes? All you ever wanted was to paint, the only thing that makes you happy yet here you are suddenly suffering from blindness. You could just lose a limb or even be deaf. But the Almighty Being chose that you suffer blindness. God is really unfair. 

You don't know how to navigate outside your hospital room but you just wanted to get out of the stuffy confined space. You tried to reach for the walls, stumbling on things that you weren't sure of, before reaching the door where you even bumped your head. Damn it, this is hard enough. How can you even live normally now? 

Instead of feeling the hard wall, your fingers felt flesh. A person. You quickly bowed at the person you bothered then tried to reach out your hand for a wall. "Wait, where are you going?" You heard someone ask. You honestly don't want to tell the guy where you wanted to go. He might be a doctor. 

Instead, you just continued feeling the wall until someone held the back of your hospital gown, pulling you back. "You'll bump your head." The same person as earlier. You've already given up. Your life wouldn't be normal again. You're sure of that. Why are you even trying? 

"Where are you going?" That voice again. This might be the only positive effect of your blindness, your hearing heightened. "Let me take you to where you want to go." 

You were still standing at the same place, one hand on the wall while the other tried to locate the person talking to you. Should you trust him? What if he's some psycho? But then, that would be better. You wanted everything to end anyways. 

"Rooftop." You said quietly, not sure if the man was still listening to you. 

He held your hand and you felt warm. He then placed your hand on his forearm. "It's the other way. Come on, I'll bring you to the rooftop." You decided to follow this man, letting him guide you. Your parents will get mad at you for trusting someone so easily but he's so gentle, careful with every step he takes. 

All you could see is black but you know you're in an elevator. The faint smell of metal, the gears turning, you can even hear murmurs so it isn't just you and him inside the machine. 

His arm feels muscular, skin so smooth. You can also smell a faint musky cologne. His hand held yours that was wrapped on his forearm, not letting you go. If someone would probably see you, you'll look like a couple. But he's a stranger. A stranger who just decided to help you find your way. 

You felt the cold breeze on your face when you stopped in your tracks. You must be on the rooftop now. The stranger let go of your hand, tapping your shoulder in assurance. You felt cold all of a sudden. Because of the wind? Because the stranger left you? You're not sure. 

The scenery might look beautiful. You had always liked rooftops and what you can see from the top of buildings. It's always a colorful sight, a sight full of wonder. 

Which you cannot see now. 

Your hands touched the cold metal of the rooftop rail. You just wanted to end everything. Without your sight, life would be useless. You can't even go to this rooftop without someone's help. And now, no one will really help. 

You can feel your hands shaking in fright. What will happen to you now? Alone. Blind. Your knees weakened as you felt yourself dropping on the cold, rough asphalt of the rooftop. Tears were gushing out of your eyes. Surprised that a blind person can still produce tears. 

There were sounds of footsteps nearing you and you realized that the rooftop is still a public place for patients. You must have looked too pathetic now. Something covered your head that startled you then someone tapped your back as you were still crouched on the ground. The faint smell of musky cologne. The stranger. "You're still alive. You can still do great things."  He said, confirming that he is indeed that stranger. "There's a rainbow in every storm." 

A rainbow that she cannot see anymore. "I'll make you see the rainbow." You tried to look at him in confusion, what is he talking about? "I'll be your eyes from now on." 

--

You don't know if what he said was true but it's been two days that he's always in your hospital room. The first time, he brought fruits, and even if you can't see anything, you knew those fruits by smell. And he praised you, claiming that you're seeing things a different way. The second time, he brought you flowers which smells lovely. He said those were lavenders and they were light purple. You don't even know what it is at first but now you can envision the lavender flowers in your head. He's right. You're seeing things in a new light. 

The third day, he brought you chocolates and coffee making the nurse annoyed that she quickly pushed your friend away. "You're one lucky girl, do you know that?" She asked while fluffing your pillows. Lucky? How? "He's really handsome. What is his name?" 

You still don't know. You haven't asked for his name. He's handsome? Then he might be the same age as you. Why aren't you curious about him? You promised to ask questions about him the next day he'll come to your room. 

The fourth day, fifth day, and the sixth day came but he didn't show up. Even your doctor teased that you don't have new flowers which you normally have every check-up day. Maybe he's tired, you thought. Who in their right mind would visit a sick person in the hospital every day? But why is he here that time? Is he also sick? 

You've already given up on knowing about the stranger when you heard the door opened, making you sit up on the bed. That musky smell. "Oh, sorry. Are you resting? I'll come back later." His voice. He's back. 

"No, it's fine." You said then sat properly as you heard his footsteps getting closer. You sighed. A lot of questions were running in your mind when he was not here. Now, you don't know what to ask him first. "How are you?" You chirped then regretted it. You sounded so happy. 

You heard him chuckle. An enchanting sound that made you automatically smile. "You're really pretty, Y/N." He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Wait, how did he know your name? And he thinks you're pretty? 

"What…?" A lot of questions were now running in your mind but you think only one mattered now, "What's your name?" 

Again, a chuckle. "Yuta Nakamoto. Nice to meet you, Y/N." 

--

A lot of things are not yet answered but having Yuta in your hospital room every single day has made every waking day happier. You always wait for him in the morning and when he's there, a smile wouldn't leave your face. When afternoon comes, you'll be sad to see him go but he would always promise to come back in the morning. 

It feels great when you're together, even the nurses were saying that you look good together. It's only natural that you fell for him. A guy you can't even see. A guy you can only hear and smell. But a guy you slowly had developed feelings for. 

It was one afternoon, the two of you hanging out on the rooftop. Yuta was asleep next to you as you listened to the calmness of the wind. Your fingers trailed to where he is, feeling his warmth. This must be his arms, you thought, and trailed your fingers up feeling his skin. He must have comfortable arms. Maybe he does work out. Those were the only thoughts in your head when you felt the muscles on his arm. 

Your fingers went to his chest and your thought of him working out is confirmed. You remembered the statue of David that your art class would always draw. His body resembled that. You can also feel the lines on his stomach and blushed at the thought that Yuta would look good shirtless. When your finger moved south, a hand blocked yours. "Aren't you progressing too fast?" He asked with a hint of playfulness, holding your hand. "You can just ask me, you know?" 

You blushed hard at that, trying to slip your hand away from Yuta who just held your hand tight. "I just want to know if you're really human and not some kind of a monster." He laughed wholeheartedly, sitting up. 

Yuta held both your hands, placing them on his cheeks. "Feel me." Your thumb pressed on his cheekbones and they felt warm. He really is human. Your fingers went north to his forehead then trailed down to his eyes, feeling his long eyelashes that you envied. Yuta might have really lovely eyes. You went south to his nose then his lips. They're so soft. 

The next thing you knew those lips were on yours, confirming how soft it is. He pressed feather-like kisses on your lips, hand on the back of your head to pull you closer. Both of your hands held on his shoulder, slipping on the back of his neck as the kiss grew deeper. 

It's ironic, you thought. How can the person who made you breathe again make you breathless like this? "I love you, Y/N." He whispered then kissed you again. His hold on you and the way his lips devour you made you melt. You love him, you know you do. "I love you, Yuta." 

He must have done something today or maybe the doctors just don't care about the two of you but it's already night time and he's still here. You're still on the rooftop. You were lying down, his arm served as your pillow while he caressed your head, threading his fingers on your hair. "Y/N, what do you want to do most if you're going to see again?" 

"I want to paint again." You said almost immediately, missing the paintbrush in your hand and the smell of paint. "I want to paint the view outside the hospital window. The rainbow." You nuzzled your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I want to paint you." 

He chuckled which vibrated on his chest, making you smile. "I wish you would paint me like one of your French girls, Jack." You giggled at that. Maybe. 

But you knew that was impossible. You can never get your eyesight back. You cannot paint anything. You cannot paint Yuta. 

--

"I promised you a rainbow, didn't I?" He asked when he came to your room. He placed a ceramic on your lap, letting you feel the rough surface. A rainbow. "Do you remember the colors of the rainbow?" You nodded, even first graders know that. "Here." He handed you a paintbrush that made you annoyed. How can you paint this rainbow when you can't even see colors? 

"Yuta…" But he hushed you, opening something that you heard a pop. A smell of cherries filled the hospital room. "Cherry?" 

"Cherries are?" He asked, guiding your hand that was holding the paintbrush. You felt it dip into something and the smell of cherry is stronger now. "They're red. The first color of the rainbow." He guides your other hand to feel the edge of the ceramic you are coloring. You really are painting. 

Once you're done with the red cherries, he opened another one that smells of oranges. Orange, the second color of the rainbow. "You're painting now." He complimented and you realized that it was you alone who's painting the ceramic. You don't even know what it looks like but you can envision what it seems like you're doing. Yellow is banana while green is symbolized by a minty smell. 

"Indigo is kind of hard so I used a light blue for blue and deep blue for indigo. I'm sorry." He explained while opening something that smells like cotton candy. You were transported to your childhood and the pastel blue cotton candies in carnivals. For indigo or the deep blue, he used blueberries. And last but not the least, lavenders for violet. "You painted a rainbow." 

You smiled. He really did what he promised. "Yuta, thank you." 

"You know I'll do everything for you, Y/N." 

-- 

It's been two days since you got discharged from the hospital. And each day, you grew lonelier. Your parents are gone, most of the time you're alone. And Yuta never called or visited you. 

You gave him your address, even your phone number so why isn't he going to you? Why isn't he calling you? Is it because you can paint now? Because he made you see, feel and smell rather, the rainbow? Is your little romance gone? 

It was night, darker than usual when you heard someone knock on the door. It's dangerous. You're a woman, a blind woman. What if he's a robber? "It's Yuta. Y/N, please open up. Are you home?" Then your phone rang that he obviously heard. 

When you opened the door, he immediately hugged you. His warmth. His musky smell. It really is Yuta. "I miss you. I miss you," he repeated, mumbling the same words. "I'm sorry, love." 

You don't know what's happening. You don't know why he's here but you didn't care. The only thing that matters is Yuta next to you. "I love you, Y/N." He repeated, lips not leaving yours and showing you that he indeed loves you. 

The moment you woke up, you felt the coldness of the bed. Is that all a dream? Where is Yuta? Is this another waiting game for days? You'll wait until Yuta shows up again. You were convinced it was a dream, he just came then went. 

But your body is reacting otherwise. You can still feel his touch, his lips. You can hear his voice mumbling your name and his scent. He's not a dream. 

It was just four days after what you felt like a dream when you received a phone call. "You have a cornea donor." A donor? She gave up on that. What is this about? And why isn't she feeling happy? 

When the bandage was taken away, your vision had come back that you squinted because of the light. Is it always this bright? They gave you a mirror to look at your new pair of eyes. Sparkly, twinkling, compelling. You felt like you were sucked in by those dark orbs. A feeling that made your heart wrench. 

A tear escaped your eyes and the nurses panicked. That's not supposed to happen. "Yuta," you whispered. If there was one thing that you wanted to do if you get your vision back, that would be to see Yuta. "I want to see Yuta." 

The nurses avoided your look, even the doctors were not looking at you. Why? They know who Yuta is. Why can't they look into your eyes? Or the stranger's eyes rather. "Who's my donor?" You asked calmly but no one answered you. You shouted the same question and that's when one nurse handed you a piece of paper. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We promised him that we won't tell." 

You unfolded the paper which had the prettiest handwriting. The smell of paper mixed with ink and the musky scent. Yuta's scent. 

'Hi Y/N.' The letter started. 'Sorry, I don't have the confidence to tell you this. I know you'll cry and I don't want that to happen. If you're reading this letter, I want you to smile. That's a good sign.' But you can't. How can you even smile now? 

'The first time I saw you, I was really attracted to you. You are so pretty. But you look prettier when you cry. You're prettier when you look at me. I wish you could see what I can see. That you're an amazing person for not giving up.' 

'Thank you for making my heartbeat again. Every night all I could ever pray is for Him to extend my life so I can spend more time with you. But life is unfair. If only I knew you sooner.'

'I'm sorry for being a coward. For hiding everything. But every time I see that smile on your lips, I get reminded how thankful I should be for breathing another day. Thank you for making me feel alive again.' 

'Thank you for being my sunshine and giving color to my life. I love you, my rainbow.' 

There was a smudge on his name, a tear stain. And you felt yours staining the paper some more. 

Everything slipped in your mind. The first time you met. The countless times he's in the hospital. That time at the rooftop. Why didn't you realize that? He stays in the same hospital as you. The reason why he doesn't want you to give up and promised you a rainbow. 

The warmth of the breeze comforted you as you scrunched the letter closer to your chest. Every time you finish reading Yuta's letter, you can't help but let a tear escape your eyes. Yuta's eyes. 

Now, everything made sense. How your world became brighter when you regained your vision, how everything looked hopeful. It might not be possible, you might be crazy, but you're seeing Yuta's view of the world. He really did mean it when he wished that you can see what he can see. 

"He loves you, you know?" Someone said from behind and you bowed at the older man in white. The hospital's oncologist. "He changed a lot because of you." He then smiled as if remembering something, "Nakamoto, that rascal." You smiled. He probably missed Yuta more.

He shared that Yuta came to the hospital months before you and he knew what's going to happen to him. "He refused treatment, already giving up on life." He shared that made you purse your lips. "One day he just came to me and said he met someone in the hallways. A girl so pretty especially when she cried." You giggled at that and he laughed. "He asked me if it's alright to date in the hospital and I let him." 

"The things he brought…" 

"He would always bother the nurses to get him things." He said with a laugh. "Then he came to me, one night, asking if he can do the chemotherapy." His voice got so serious that you just looked at the sky to avoid the heavy atmosphere. "We tried but it was too late. He knew it cannot save him." 

A tear escaped your eyes again. He had been having a hard time all by himself. "He's going to be mad at me for making you cry." The older said with a chuckle. "That night, he begged to get out of the hospital to see you even if it's dangerous for him. The morning after, he was coughing too much blood but the last words he said is that he's happy to be with you in his last breath.” You choke on your sob. Until the end, he was thinking of you. 

“It was also his idea to donate his cornea to you once he’s gone.” The older laughed. “We had to break hospital protocols just to see your records.” You laughed. He really did all those things just for you. It made you miss him more. You wish that you had a chance to see him. The doctor tapped the top of your head. “Don’t tire yourself out. I’m sure Yuta is watching over you.” He pointed at the ray of color gracing the sky that made you nod. 

He really must be watching over you. Your rainbow. Your eyes. Nakamoto Yuta. 

[dreamiguess]

Day???: Coronation

A late submission for @fundyfiles FWT week. 

Summary:

Some twisted, selfish part of him wants someone to walk in, to witness the first and last time he’ll be able to love Dream publicly, to cause such a scandal he’d be removed from the line of succession entirely.

On AO3: divine rights

“I shouldn’t have found out from your father.”

No. He shouldn’t have.

“Found out what?” Fundy lies, thin as silk and half as smooth.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he answers, the ice in his voice melting. The disappointment is worse than the steel, and he feels as if he were to peel back another layer he would find nothing but raw hurt. Because it hurts, doesn’t it? For Fundy more than anyone else, maybe. Dream would come at a close second. He stares at the floor somewhere between them, not ready to face either.

“I didn’t know how.”

It’s a half answer to a question that wasn’t asked, tired and barely audible. He hadn’t known how to process it for himself either, with one sleepless night to churn the news in his head over and over again before preparations for the ceremony began. The work made it easier at least, kept him too busy to think or feel. But standing in front of the captain, his captain, in an empty hallway, there is nowhere to escape it. As the silence settles between them, he finds the courage to look up.

Dream looks vulnerable, too vulnerable to be out in the open like this. He wears only a half plate and sword belt, still more lethal than most would be in full iron but it looks unnatural for him to be patrolling the castle in anything but. It’s standard off duty garb, but it’s too fitting for him to still protect his heart at a time like this. He had pulled his mask to the side, and it’s more intimate than if he were completely naked, green eyes staring him down. They’re not angry, though, and he thinks that’s what breaks him.

“It was supposed to be Tommy.”

He’s in Dream’s embrace before the first tear can hit the ground, cries muffled in his shoulder before they can echo against the stone walls. It’s terribly improper, to be seen in the arms of a soldier, especially in such a public place. Some twisted, selfish part of him wants someone to walk in, to witness the first and last time he’ll be able to love Dream publicly, to cause such a scandal he’d be removed from the line of succession entirely. Even as the tears subsides he can’t bring himself to step back, just moves so the crown of his head is pushed into Dream’s chest instead of his face.

“It was supposed to be Tommy,” he repeats.

It was always supposed to be Tommy. On the surface level, he was a direct descendent rather than a grandson. But more than that, he was charismatic and loud, had strong opinions and voiced them frequently. He was loyal to a fault and way too sharp for his age. Most importantly, though, he wanted crown prince and, one day, the throne. Fundy wanted a street kid who climbed the ranks too swift and too violent.

With war brewing in the South, his Majesty was forced to choose the next successor far too early, and Tommy is still too young and brash for that weight to be placed upon his shoulders.

It haunts them. Laying in bed at dusk, a luxury they only allow themselves on the darkest halcyon nights, and tracing patterns down Dream’s back. He savors the moment, lets it melt in his ribcage and swallow him whole.

“What does this mean for us?” he asks, as if he wasn’t the one who should know better than anyone. They both know what he’s talking about, the glass shards lying on the floor for them in the morning.

“The end, probably.” Dream lifts his head enough to look Fundy in the eye. One would think he’d have forgotten how to hide his emotions after wearing a mask so long, but his face is as guarded as if he hadn’t taken it off at all. It’s a privilege, a blessing even, to see it at all and one he doesn’t take for granted. He venerates every scar and treasures each freckle, because he’s beautiful even if Dream himself cannot see it.

“You can’t marry below your station anymore.” He rolls to his back and sighs. “And if your uncles do not, you’ll be expected to produce an heir.”

Fundy can’t help but laugh.

“You really think they won’t?” he asks, disbelieving. It earns him a smile.

“Still. I have no noble blood.”

“Fuck the nobles.”

Like sin it follows them to the training grounds, dancing around it lest they reveal too much to the knights nearby.  The entire family is expected to be military leaders in the event of conflict, and now doubly so for Fundy. Who better to practice with than their rising combat specialist?

“I’m on duty for the coronation,” he mentions over the clash of their practice swords. Fundy wants him to use steel, to put his life in the hands of his love and trust him fully and recklessly. The captain always refuses.

“I feel infinitely safer,” Fundy replies, pulling his weapon back and aiming for a slash to his side.

“I am honored to bring you peace of mind, your highness.” He blocks the attack and catches the blade with the hilt of his sword, turning his wrist to fling the broadsword from the prince’s grip. Before Fundy can react there’s a hand in his tunic and a swift heel sweeping his right leg off the ground completely. Dream lowers him to the dirt slowly, only truly letting him fall a foot at most. He falls all the same. The tip of his sword is cold underneath Fundy’s chin, it’s wielder haloed by sunlight above him. The instinct to bare his neck is too strong and Fundy is too weak, and he doesn’t have enough shame to delight in the way Dream swallows at the action.

“I yield.”

He takes the hand that’s offered, staring into the mask’s eyes the whole time. Their hands stay clasped for far longer than necessary because they’re equally terrible, it seems.

“I’m thinking about taking the promotion.” Dream drops his hand and turns to retrieve his discarded weapon, leaving Fundy to reel in his shellshock.

“For General?” He asks mechanically, another question they both know the answer to. He’s had a lot of them lately, and this time Dream doesn’t even respond. Just strides back to their arena and extends the handle out, ungloved hand wrapped around the blade in a mirroring act of faith. They’ve put their stone sword in the hand of Themis to balance her scales on, where the head that wears the crown rests opposite the hand that bears the shield. The power to absolutely ruin, offered freely.

Fundy doesn’t take it at all.

“I hate to leave early, but I feel a bit faint after that fall. Would you escort me back to the castle?”

Dream bows his head, never one to slip from their polished act.

“Of course, your highness. I should have been more careful.” After returning their equipment and strapping his swordbelt – his real swordbelt – back into place, Dream falls into step with him out of the arena.  The October air is kind to them, leaving goosebumps where sweat had stained their skin just moments before. It’s peaceful for a few minutes, as morning doves and starlings steadily replace the ringing of steel and their gentle footsteps drown out the thumps of bodies hitting the ground. Time slowed since Dream broke the news to him, far too casual for something they had discussed for far too long, and Fundy can almost believe that the route he’s taken isn’t far too long to lead back to the castle.

“I thought you,” he starts once they’re well beyond hearing distance. “I thought you wanted to remain a captain.”

It’s difficult to phrase what he wants to say. Fundy is not Dream’s keeper and for his love’s sake if nothing else, he won’t act like one. He wants to, though, wants to hold on to him like a child and repeat every debate they’d considered since the offer was made. I thought it was too dangerous. I thought it was too much responsibility, you liked your squadron too much, hated meetings. I thought, I thought, I thought.

And of course, the drumming song beneath it all: I thought you wouldn’t leave me.

“I’ve always been a strategist,” he replies, voice too even to be genuine. A sigh escapes him, and he entwines their fingers and lets his head rest ever so slightly on Fundy’s shoulder. He’s living in the illusion, Fundy can tell, basking in the feeling of lovers talking a walk on an Autumn day. The prince can see right through him, can taste every thought he’ll never acknowledge, much less share.

“And the position needs to be filled sooner rather than later.”

This is what he means: We need to end, and I can’t stay if I can’t have you. He means to save Fundy from himself, to cut the chord so Fundy can’t try to keep him. To force Fundy to follow the rules.

“Bullshit.” He surprises himself with the outburst. “Leaving for some war won’t make me stop loving you. You don’t need to fucking protect me,” he throws their connected hands in the air and fights for words. “Protect me from-“

Dream tugs free before he can finish, unclasps his mask and throws it to the forest floor without even looking. He cups Fundy’s face in both hands, eyes shining with renegade tears.

“I don’t know how to do anything else.” He sounds broken and Fundy feels it like glass. There are too many things he should say so he says nothing at all, wraps a hand into the collar of his shirt like a man possessed and pushes until Dream’s back hits the tree and he can’t get any closer. He kisses him like he’s dying, kisses him like the world is ending, like they’re already on their future battlefields and Dream is his only lifeline.

The coronation arrives all too fast. He lives in a limbo between the grand hall and his chambers, between the seamstress and the head chef. The ceremony is beautiful, with green and gold filling the room and glass sparkling in the setting sunlight. He’s reached a state of calm he hadn’t believed possible only two weeks ago, looses himself in the dull ache of kneeling and the rhythmic voice of their Sage. No matter how foreign the crown feels, he doesn’t have to lie as he repeats the oath; he loves the kingdom, can swear to benevolence, to serve the people. The promises settle deep in his bones. The responsibilities, the service, was never really his problem.

“I present to you your crown prince,” the vicar finishes, and Fundy stands to face the people. He’d practiced the ceremony, knows he’s supposed to wait for quiet to settle once more and kiss his grandmother’s hand, to bow before his Majesty and show humility. Instead, he walks straight back down the aisle in long strides to where the guards are posted at the doors. The murmurs and gasps don’t matter, have faded from his awareness completely by the time he reaches Dream. And with sure hands, he pushes the stupid mask up enough to free the bottom half of his face and buries a hand in blonde hair, and finally falls into his love. He kisses him gently, and gentler when his love unfreezes enough to return the affection. In front of his father and his father before him and anyone else who cared to show up, Fundy claims his divine right.

Fuck the nobles.

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part three

go check out watch your six on my profile! *in the process of making a m.list*

pairing: eventual bucky x reader (its a slow burn babes)

warnings: trigger warning of sedation? it’s not a there for long though, also language and some creepy activity by gomez, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed something :)

a/n: heeeyy babes… ik i promised this a way long time ago, but it’s here now! i got way behind with my classwork and the freaking texas freeze week didn’t help at allll, it’s fine, i’m fine, it’s on fire but it’s fine. 

p.s.: our darling buck makes come in next upload :) stick with me, i promise i’m getting there. 

series m.list

ray’s m.list

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

“Alright ladies, listen up.” A tall woman with a short brunette bob commanded. “Our target is one Louis Richardson.” A picture flashed on a screen behind the tall woman. “Richardson is a prominent leader in the Svengali. He’s one of the higher ups so we cannot mess this up, girls.” There was a click and then another picture floated onto the screen.

“He’s going to be attending a gala next week. Our intel leads us to believe that the Svengali is going to conduct a trade of information from Richardson to a carrier.” She moved from one side of the room to the other, catching all of our eyes. I glanced around the room, searching for something familiar.

“Hey, you alright?” The girl to my left whispered to me. “Libra, stop drifting.” My head snapped to the girl. Gemini? Isn’t she dead? Wait, where am I?

“Gemini! Libra! Have something you would like to share with the group?” The tall women challenged, we looked at each other and shook our heads, remaining quiet. “Alright, so we’re going to be sending quite a few of you in on this one. Leo, Virgo, and Scorpio you’re going to be on the gala floor. Mingling with guests and keeping the public under control. We don’t want this breaking out into a whole scandal, do we?” The heads of the women in front of me bobbed back and forth as a response of no. The tall woman proceeded to give out tasks.

“Libra, Gemini, Cancer, Taurus and Aries. You are Plan B. If this should go south, we have intelligence that gives us an idea on where one of the Svengali safe houses is located. The five of you will be laying in wait. Your mission, should it be needed, is strictly reconnaissance. You are under no circumstances to engage the target in anyway, do you understand?” We nodded and then the room was silent. The tall woman took a deep breath, leaned forward against one of the desks at the front.

“This is a very sensitive mission that they are trusting us to handle. We will do so much better than anyone else could.” She stood to her full height, “You all have your assignments, this is all going down next week. Be ready, ladies.” She bobbed her head and sent us on our way. Picking up the folder in front of me, I turned to Gemini.

“Can you believe that they gave us this assignment, Gem?” My mouth moved, but I had no control over it. What the hell is happening? Gemini laughed at me and clutched her own folder to her chest.

“Will you chill out, Libra? It’s just recon. It’s really not that big of a deal.” I stopped and gawked at her then heaved out a cackle. She walked ahead of me, shaking her head at my reaction.

“Not that big of a deal for you maybe.” I puffed out my chest, “It’s my first mission, remember?” My chest deflated and anxiety began to set in. “Oh my god, it’s my first mission.” Gemini turned to look at me with raised brows.

“Yeah, so?” She breathed a laugh, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Libby.” She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me along to our shared quarters. “Just remember to stay out of your head and get it done. You’ll be fine.” She giggled as she released her hold on me and plopped onto her bed. “Everything’s going to be a-okay, Libby.” I smiled at the nickname.

“You’re right, Gem. Let’s crush this mission.” I walked over to her bed and swatted her side, “Scoot over, you cow!” I grunted as I shoved her. She gasped, then after relenting she laughed as I landed face first into the mattress. We both melted into puddles of laughter and I felt a slow smile spread across my face.

“She’s smiling. Why is she doing that?” A rougher voice left Gemini’s mouth. I giggled and looked over at her.

“What did you say?”

“Gomez, if she’s smiling that means she’s happy.” Gemini’s mouth moved, but yet again it wasn’t her voice. I know that voice, where do I know that voice from? I lurched from my spot on the bed and glared at Gemini.

“What did you shove me off the bed for?” I questioned Gemini incredulously. Another jolt of energy bounced me on the ground. What is happening? My head hit the side of something hard, something that allowed enough spring that my head rebounded back into it again. I released a groan of pain and went to clutch the area. When I tried to raise one arm, but they were clasped together behind my back. Opening my eyes, blurry images roamed in front of me.

“Oh, she’s waking up.”

“Yes, that is right on time.”

“Waking up? We haven’t gotten to the rendezvous point yet.”

“Well with the dosage I administered, she should be coming out of it right about now.”

“Then up the dosage, Doc. I’m not about to deal with another whiner for the rest of this trip.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You what?” There was a run of indistinct murmurs exchanged between the two voices. My vision began to clear up. I cleared my throat, wincing at the pain when I coughed. Blinking rapidly, I tried to get my bearings. I was sat in the middle of the Doctor and Gomez, shoulders making contact with the both of them. My eyes roaming still, I landed on Gomez’s now bandaged cheek. I smirked and then huffed a laugh.

He glared at me, “You laughing at something, little girl?” I leaned away from him.

“Honestly, laughing at the fact that I was able to hurt you.” Speaking through the gag in my mouth. The speech was so muffled but the effect was there. Gomez didn’t break eye contact with me as he leaned in.

“Better watch what you say around me.” He threatened, “Someone might think you aren’t just a scared puppy.” I glared at the man, nostrils flaring in anger. I should head-butt him. Contemplating my next move, my eyes flicked across his face. He intimidated me, but I couldn’t let him know that.

“Gomez, what the hell are you doing?” Suits asked from the front passenger seat. Gomez’s eyeline never left mine as he answered.

“Just letting the little girl know her place.” Mass scoffed from the driver’s seat and my gaze darted to the rearview mirror. Waiting with bated breath as to what he was going to say. Nothing, he said nothing. Although Mass didn’t really need to say anything. He looked at Gomez with disgust and then rolled his eyes.

“You got a problem, big guy?” Gomez pushed. Suits grumbled, turning to look at Gomez.

“Just shut up, Gomez. You can use your immature intimidation tactics there. Just not in the car. You’re annoying the rest of us.” I had to stifle a laugh, which isn’t hard when you’re gagged. “Give the girl another dose, Doc.”

“Already on it.” Not having been paying attention to the doctor was a mistake. In the time that I was dealing with Gomez, the Doc began assembling and filling another syringe. The prick in my neck alerted me that it was too late. I slumped in my seat, lids drooping again. “It’ll be quicker this time, but the effect will last for a longer time.” I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to Suits. It didn’t matter at that point, I was gone.

Cold, brisk air glazed over my skin, snapping me to attention. The quick jerking motion caused an ache in my stiff, restrained muscles. I groaned which slowly morphed into a scream. “Help! Someone help me!” I screamed until my throat sore again. Raspy shouts left my vocal chords, but that didn’t stop me. Wobbling around in the chair in an attempt to loosen the binds around my body. “Let me out of here! You have no right to shut me in here!” I didn't sound like myself, my voice was so gravelly. I jumped away from the right side of the room when a rush of air burst into the room.

Suits walked in and tossed a manila folder onto the stainless countertop. He pulled the chair out from the other side of the table and sat with a sigh. As he relaxed back into the chair, he stared at my face before flipping open the folder. Thumbing through the pages, he glanced up at me every now and again. What the hell is he doing? What’s in that folder?

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” I inquired cautiously. There was a pause as my question hung in the air and then a short snort of a laugh.

“Now, why would I want that?” My nostrils flared and my pulse quickened. Suits smirked at me and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table in front of him. He glanced back down to the open folder before him. “How many missions did you participate in?” My heart stopped, what the hell is he talking about? Does he know about my dreams?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice wavered, it wasn’t a lie necessarily.

“I think you do and I don’t take too kindly to people who lie to me.”

“Well then we don’t have a problem because I’m not lying.” I wasn’t really, at least I don’t think it was. Suits chuckled, it was humorless, almost sarcastic.

“I’ll ask you one more time. How many missions did they send you on?” There was anger layering his words.

“I already told you,” I said exasperated. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Now let me go.” Suits snickered.

“Alright, fine then.” Suits left the room. The LED lights illuminating the room cut out as soon as the door closed. I shivered in anticipation, trying to figure out what was happening. The temperature seemed to drop as my anxiety increased. My head fell forwards to rest my chin against my chest, deep breaths causing my whole body to rise and fall in time. I don’t know how long they left me there. Time seemed to crawl, mocking me as it slunked by on its wheel. I desperately wanted to rack my fingers through my hair and pull until this whole situation made sense. My brain felt fried and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Lifting my head I became aware of the sore crick at the base of it. I sighed heavily, how am I  going to get out of this one? As far back as I can remember, I haven’t done anything to anyone. No instances came to mind that would give someone, much less the government, to come kidnap me and chain me to a chair.

The door swung open and banged against the white wall. A surly, imposing man stared at me with an intimidating expression on his face. The lower half of his face was covered in a layer of stubble, thick, sculpted eyebrows gave way to deep honey eyes. Who the hell is this guy? He stalked around the table and the chair that I was confined to. My head jerked to follow his movements, I didn’t catch a good vibe from this one. Have I gotten a good vibe from anyone recently, though? I mean Suits wasn’t terrible, but he did kidnap me. I was rushed back to reality by the brush of the man’s hand through my hair, sweeping it off my shoulder. Without moving, I glared at the man through my lashes.

“What the hell do you think that you’re doing?”

“I’m here to ask you a couple questions.” He announced, his voice filling the room. My shoulders drooped, this is going to be a long day.

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

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.2

We Move Together...

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2400

Summary: In which Steve might get a bit tipsy and jealous in a sweet way. 

A/N: As adertised, What I’d Never Say or Do (Had I Been in My Right Mind) is only refered to as WINSoD. Also - enter Age of Ultron ;)

Warnings: mention of superntural creatures, alcohol, language, briefest mention of death, journalists acting like jerks 

Part 1 (previous chapter)

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The press conference was a thing from nightmares. You did not enjoy all the flashes of cameras; you were not Tony freaking Stark, all charming and witty when over a hundred reporters stumbled through the doorway of the huge conference room. No, you could only manage to be sassy and fun within a circle of your friends. Which you found yourself in anyway, but boy, the presence of the others was still very much apparent and they were the ones asking questions.

Even Bruce had been forced to come, much to his dismay, but him and Clint were for some reason left out when it came to the poisonous questions, their duo considered only unwilling participants of the whole plotting for and against the poor soulmate pair of you and Steve.

You truly envied Thor who was off to Asgard once more. And while you wouldn’t want to be in Bucky’s shoes, you sure as hell wished you could sit this one out as he did, the public still not aware of his existence safe for one priest who had helped him to find his way to Steve.

It was ridiculous. The tone a question was asked with was enough to distinguish whether it was aimed at you and Steve or at someone else. Hell, when it came to you and Steve, they didn’t even bother asking, just stating the facts instead.

“Such a long recovery. That must have been horrible, especially with amnesia involved, wasn’t it.” (Yes, shockingly. What is it to you, huh?)

“Such luck you were able to remember, isn’t it.” (Luck had nothing to do with it. God’s sister has.)

“You must be angry with Captain’s team too, aren’t you.” (No, they are the best, you idiot, this whole thing is a stupid lie.)  

“I am sure you’re willing to share your story since people were grieving for you in such a worship-like way…” (…fuck you.)

In reality, you tried to word your indignation towards this herd-like aggressivity aimed at the Avengers and the blatant pity for you rather carefully, speaking of hardship but justified, and yes, you were very lucky indeed. They didn’t need to know just how much.

Steve received a pretty similar set of questions, but they were more of anger and questioning whether the team was still able to function after such a betrayal that nearly ended up tragically. Steve was surprisingly convincing in his act of a disappointed teammate and friend and expressed hope that they would be able to continue to exist and cooperate, his team slowly earning his trust back.

“Have the outcome had been different, my reaction would be too. But the love of my life is here with me and that is what matters. I cannot begin to say how lucky I am to have her back and I thank God for that every day.”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at the private joke and smiled at him instead, earning a whispering wave of ‘awww’ from the crowd and a blinding mess of camera flashes when you gathered the courage to lean in and kiss Steve’s cheek chastely. The reporters went absolutely nuts.

Tony and Natasha on the other hand had to face the stoning. Seriously, there were being personally attacked, questions dripping venom. But they clearly had more experience and knew how to answer without the cunning reporters being able to twist their words into something else, much to the vultures’ dislike and annoyance. Duo Stark-Romanoff fought back and very effectively.

It filled your chest with pride, having friends capable in so many ways. They were so freaking badass.

It made the whole experience more bearable; that and Steve’s hand always touching you, grounding you and reminding you that never ever he would let you face the wolves alone.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You all knew that a public apology and trying your best to deal with the press somehow wouldn’t be enough. Well, you had hoped it would, but hadn’t quite believed, expecting to have to more in near future.

You were right, of course, which was why you were currently dressed up (or dolled up, as Steve loved to say, because you were his doll, after all) and forcing yourself to leave the elevator once it would stop, with Steve by your side.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed, knuckles brushing your cheek tenderly, planting a soft kiss to your temple, too worried about smudging your lipstick despite Natasha’s earlier reassurance that it wouldn’t smudge under any circumstances as she had thoroughly tested.

You tried not to think about that kind of testing and clearly Steve felt the same.

Instead, you gazed into the cerulean blue with a drop of green of his eyes, not convinced. He was being sweet and all, which you appreciated, but in reality, he had no way of knowing it would be alright. Mostly because Tony went all the way and invited all the important people who could influence the public opinion as much as rising stars of whom he felt could influence the public in the near future.

So next to a senator and a group of big-shot businessmen, there would hang out a pair of lawyers sticking for the little guy and right next to a supermodel, there would be a girl starting a new food bank. Thinking about it, it was a funny parallel to Steve and you by his side, except you weren’t doing any good, unlike them. Not that you would say that out loud.

To be fair, the Avengers decided to spice thing up a little by revealing Bucky Barnes being alive, very slowly leaking his story of a brainwashed soldier. Funnily enough, in a shadow of your big reveal, his own went rather quietly.

People were so freakin’ weird.

“I guess I’m gonna survive…” you murmured, ignoring the icy shiver that ran up your spine at your choice of words. Steve’s gaze seemed to turn distant for a moment before coming back to you, some of the strength he had been trying to project into you disappearing in the wind because of the painful memory. “Sorry. That was-“

The emotion no doubt twisting his gut caused his inhibitions to fly out of the window and his lips captured yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. You melted against his muscular frame that seemed to engulf you completely, his calloused fingers grabbing onto your bare shoulders, digging in a bit deeper than necessary.

Your head was spinning with the passion displayed so openly and in the back of your mind, you registered that the elevator stopped, but before you could get to the idea of thanking Tony’s AI, your brain got side-tracked when Steve shamelessly licked into your mouth and backed you into the railing by the wall.

Feeling the familiar heat pool in your lower abdomen, sending sizzling heat through your veins, you instinctively gripped the lapels of his suit jacket when his lips retreated to give you a chance to breathe in.

Who needed breathing anyway?

He grinned against your mouth, the little shit he was, and one of his hands guided your head to a tilt for better access. You most definitely whimpered at that as his body trapped you against the wall completely, not leaving an inch in between.

Feeling him this close would never get old and you thought you might burst by the time his mouth moved to your left ear, keeping you in place while his hand moved from your shoulder to trace the line of your dress, slipping between the high slit of your dress to caress your thigh.

“Watch your mouth, doll. Or I’m gonna have to do exactly this to shut you up every time you don’t,” he whispered and your ragged breath caught in your throat when the perfect comeback popped in your head – a reasonable one, surprisingly enough.

“I bet the press would love that.”

His fingers flexed on your leg and his teeth very carefully nibbled on the skin of your neck, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Don’t care about the press,” he growled lowly, sighing as if in pain when he slowly pulled back, leaving you clutching the railing so you wouldn’t fall as your legs turned into an uncontrollable wobbly mass. Then, as if he wanted to ruin you completely before the night even started, his lips were graced by a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. “I care about you.”

“And you call me trouble…”

He had the nerve to wink at you and thank the AI for the stop he never explicitly asked for.

“My pleasure, Steve,” Jarvis hummed, sounding amused and self-satisfied.

Your soulmate gentlemanly offered you an elbow to lead you out of the cabin.

“Shall we, my lady?”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

In all honesty, the party wasn’t that bad, mostly because it wasn’t just to celebrate your resurrection, but also retrieving a sceptre Thor’s brother had used during The Battle of New York.

You wouldn’t go as far as saying you enjoyed the evening greatly, but you had met several interesting people of which only few had weird questions regarding you; however, weird questions when showing up in public was an everyday occurrence.

You finally truly understood why Steve was happy you treated him like an equal (most of the time anyway).

Every single original male Avenger and Sam and Bucky made sure to dance with you as well as with Natasha and for a good measure, when the song got the right beat, your favourite redhead dragged you to the dance floor for a friendly dance; needless to say Natasha was much better at spontaneous dancing than you. Steve assured you about the opposite by a kiss and a rather filthy promise as soon as you shared your thoughts on your lacking skills with him.

Actually--- yes, you might even say you enjoyed the party very much, uncharacteristically for you, considering the insane number of people attending. The penthouse was way too full, but here you were, sipping on your third glass of champagne, listening to Thor’s colourful narrating regarding Asgardian battles. It wasn’t that you were interested in battles, no – it was the man himself creating suspense and gesturing wildly and making the whole clutch of listeners breathless.

“Careful with the admiring, doll,” Steve whispered to your ear, his arm sneaking around your waist out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I might get jealous.”

Giddy from the alcohol, you turned your head and brushed his lips with yours.

“We did establish I’d marry Thor if you weren’t an option, didn’t we?” you teased lowly, catching the wink Thor sent your direction as if he heard you despite your hushed voice. It wasn’t flirtation; no, it felt more like mischief, as if he was being your wingman, which he excelled at apparently, because Steve might get little possessive if the grunt by your ear was anything to go by. “As if you didn’t know I only have eyes for you.”

“Just eyes?”

“Why, Captain, are you implying something?”

“Maybe.”

“Of course, my heart is yours as well,” you smirked at him, making his somehow annoyed and pleased at the same time. You leaned even closer. “And everything else.”

“Alright, but what about that hammer of yours? I mean, I saw people swinging around Captain’s shield – though not as skilfully – but no one uses your weapon. Why? Is it that heavy? Are you the only one strong enough to… keep it up?” one of the women asked, apparently more than a little tipsy, judging by her implication.

Gee, she had no inhibitions. Were you being like this now? You really hoped not…

“Well, my lady, that is a very complicated matter…” Thor started, clearly pleased by that question.

“Dance with me again,” sounded softly at your ear and your lips automatically curled up in a smile.

“Whatever makes you happy, my love.”

Steve grinned as he swiftly got rid of the glass in your hand and was already pulling you away by the time you noticed the envious or the amused stares of your companions.

“Green’s not a good colour on you, Steve,” you hummed incidentally, earning an actual pout. “This is adorable though. And I’m not gonna complain about you getting a bit handsy more often.”

“Trouble, doll.”

“I love you too.”

“I do love you. I’m sorry if I got annoying. It’s just… ugh. Thor. You got this look in your eyes and I just-”

Oh.

You sometimes forgot Steve could be as self-conscious as you were. It made your heart ache and yet grow with fondness for your soulmate.

“No, Steve. I might get starry-eyed, because of course I do admire him. It’s easy to get captivated by his stories or his manners, just look at the crowd around him. But you… there’s something about you… that strikes me right here.” You tapped over your heart pointedly. “You know me through and through and yet here you are. You must know I’m yours and still – you treat me every day like you’re courting me and at the same time, we’re comfortable with each other and--- yeah, that. Thor is great. But you’re everything. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he confirmed, brilliant eyes shining, the drops of Asgardian liquor he had consumed adding to the glow. “And you’re mine.”

“Meant to be…” you cooed, happily giving in to his lips when they found yours again for a short moment. You barely realized you stopped in your steps as the slow song had made you only sway. You whispered into his lips then, unbothered. “Plus, I bet you could lift that hammer and keep it up too if you tried.”

His rich laughter filled your ears and he spun you both in circle, planting a kiss on your forehead. You already planned on how you’d get him a custom-made mug with a little hammer on it, reading ‘I am worthy’ or something like that. You were sure he’d love it.

Yeah, it was an amazing party.

Here was a funny thing though; when you had already been confronted with the fact angels and God existed, you should have known blasphemy was a thing.

So, naturally, as you had said ‘I guess I’m gonna survive…’, you should have known there would be a thick chance that you wouldn’t.

That was the first thing that flew through your mind the moment something burst through a wall as if it was made paper thin and not metal.

The second thought? Oh shit.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading! 

Like I said, chapters of this fic will be less chronologically tight. Buuut, you’ll see ;) Also, sorry it took me so long.

[emmylarsen]

Land on Your Feet: a K Howard deathday fic

Katherine Howard was too afraid to cry.

There had been tears—so many of them—over the past forty-eight hours, since she was manhandled out of her apartments at Syon and wrestled, screaming, into the river barge. Her face had been constantly red and puffy, if not outright dripping, for weeks.

But now the tears were gone, maybe forever, because the fear coiling in her gut was too overwhelming. It had always been there, a frozen stone dropped through her stomach; but now the stone was dissolving, worming its way into every crevice of her body, flitting in between her organs and into every crack in her skin, and it had begun to constrict, to squeeze like a python, forcing the breath from her and making every vein in her body so, so tight. She could feel the tension squeezing her toes all the way up to her face, where her muscles were clenched so tightly that her tear ducts were blocked and she could not cry for the fear.

The block wasn’t helping. She had asked for it, to be sure—asked for an executioner’s block to be brought to her chambers so that she could practice, so that she would know just how to fold herself over it when the time came, so that there would be no chance of adding insult to injury or of making an irrevocable mistake that would increase the humiliation of her last public performance. She had knelt over it for hours, now, practicing how to walk over to it, how to kneel (right knee, left knee, flex your feet, tuck your dress under your shoes), how to lay her head precisely in the divet in the block, how to wrap her arms around and cradle in her palms the rough wood of the closest thing she would ever have to a coffin.

Some time ago, she had suddenly lost the energy to stand back up; the constriction of the fear had gotten too overwhelmingly painful, the exhaustion from the constant crying had sapped all the energy from her bones, the knowledge that it would all ultimately be meaningless twelve hours from now had infused her with insurmountable apathy. And so now she was just crouched on the floor, still folded over the block in the position she lacked the energy to move from, eyes closed, struggling to breathe. God, all her muscles were ablaze with the fear, tensed so tight it stung; how was she going to get through twelve more hours of this?

It was quiet in her chambers, with everyone gone, with her ladies-in-waiting dismissed (except for Jane, in the room next door, awaiting a similar fate), with her husband God-knows-where—so very quiet that when the voice spoke, she yelped in startled fear, even though it was barely above a whisper.

“Katherine, darling. You have to stop that.”

She tried to jerk back, but—kneeling as she was—her feet caught on the long hem of her dress, and she tumbled backwards onto the ground. Her face burned with the humiliation, and her eyes burned especially, and the tears threatened to return, because she had nothing left, no scrap of pride, the fear was worthless because she had nothing left to lose, she was helpless and sprawled on the floor, the hollow shell of a forgotten queen—

“Oh, Katherine,” came the voice again, this time layered with even more sorrow. “Don’t cry, love. Everything is okay.”

Katherine tried to look around, but the room was dark; the moonbeams slipping silently through the windows illuminated uneven scraps of the floor. But there, the candles on the far wall were illuminating a slender figure, perched on the edge of Katherine’s bed, cloaked in shadow and all the scarier for it.

Katherine barely had the air to speak. “Who are you?” She had to give herself the credit for getting it all out without her voice catching, stumbling, sprawling into cracks.

“You know, I think,” the voice said softly, and the figure stood—melted, it looked like—and slipped off the bed to rise to its full height. In the silhouette, Katherine could see a middle-aged woman, slender but poised; and then the figure moved into one of the puddles of moonshine and Katherine caught a glimpse of her face and realized that she did know.

“Queen Anne.”

The woman dipped her head in assent. “Queen Katherine.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, painfully aware now that she was still sprawled on her back on a dirty stone floor in the Tower of London. “I am not so much a queen anymore.”

Anne shrugged, ever so slightly, as if indifferent. “No less than I.”

Katherine lowered her gaze to the ground, where she could see hazy scraps of floor through Anne’s shoes. “How are you here?”

Was that a tiny smile flitting across Anne’s face? It was gone too quickly for Katherine to be sure. “The supernatural—has its ways. It is not often safe, nor prudent, for us to visit the world of the living; but some days warrant an exception. Some people warrant an exception.”

“Then—why me? Why today?”

When Anne spoke, it was gentler, soothing. “I thought you might like some—company, tonight. I thought you might not want to be alone. I know I didn’t.”

Katherine wanted to speak, wanted to thank her, wanted to say anything, but her throat was sticky and it caught her words before they could reach her mouth. She felt the shame collapse back over her—what kind of a queen couldn’t even respond when spoken to?—but Anne seemed to understand. “It’s okay, Katherine. Don’t speak. Get up from the floor, now, and come sit with me. Over here, my lovely.”

Anne stayed there in the moonbeam, waiting with divine patience as Katherine took in a shuddering breath, got to her feet, and made her way over to join Anne. Up close, Katherine could see even more clearly that Anne was ghostly, that she was not solid; half of the bedroom cell was visible through her chest. And yet somehow Anne’s arm, when she wrapped it over Katherine’s shoulder, was warm, not misty at all.

Anne guided her gently over to the bed, settling her down on the mattress with her back against the headboard and her legs stretched out on the bed, and then sat down next to her. “Katherine, it really is wonderful to see you all grown up, though I hoped I wouldn’t have to see you again for awhile.”

Beneath the numbness of the morbid horror, confusion sparked dully in Katherine’s brain. “Again? Have we met?”

And Anne giggled lightly. “A few years after I came to England—1526, I want to say—I paid a visit to your father, who had been—shall we say, aggressive in his correspondence with me. I got to meet you just after I arrived. You probably don’t remember; you were perhaps three years old at the time? But you were ever so proper, even then; you gave me a curtsey and complimented my hood.”

Katherine almost—almost—smiled. “I’ve always adored French hoods.”

“And they look so very lovely on you.”

“What high praise, from the woman who brought them to England.”

Anne chuckled weakly. “Mary—Henry’s sister—is the one responsible for that, I’m afraid.”

“Really? Everybody at court says it was your doing.”

“Well. We both know, I think, that what ‘everybody at court’ is saying cannot always be trusted.”

And just like that the grief—which Anne had so momentarily banished—was back on her, as she thought of court and remembered her household collapsing around her, remembered each of her ladies-in-waiting methodically condemning her (except Jane Boleyn, who had said she would follow Katherine anywhere and would tomorrow follow her to the executioner’s block). She was overcome again with a flash of vertigo, which had never really gone away; they called it a fall from grace for a reason, she supposed, but her stomach had not stopped feeling hollow and swooping since they mentioned Mannox’s name. She was falling through the bottomless infinity of space, unable to stop, and now she was beginning to see the ground beneath her, but that was not better because it would crash into her and drive the life from her body with a single smack. Katherine squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing her breathing to calm, to little avail.

“Katherine.” Anne’s voice was a little hollow, and Katherine was afraid to look up at her, expecting a scolding or worse—Anne was such a towering, legendary figure, and Katherine could do nothing in front of her but cry—but Anne began stroking her back lightly. “Oh, Katherine, I am so, so sorry.”

***

It had been hours, and they had barely moved; Anne didn’t feel there was any need to make the child get up, and, besides, there was nowhere to go. Some time ago she had checked with Katherine, just to be sure that Anne’s suspicions were right and that Katherine had no plans to sleep tonight; Katherine had confirmed this with a weary nod and slipped into silence.

Anne had begun, some time ago, to braid Katherine’s hair, twisting it into complicated patterns and then undoing it to weave it into something else. It had begun as a ruse to get Katherine’s French hood off of her head so she wouldn’t have to do it in public—Anne remembered that humiliating moment of having to take off the ermine-lined hood at her own execution and replace it with that horrid white cap, and Katherine was certainly not in a state of mind to think of proactively taking off her hood herself—but the braiding had become soothing. It was something rhythmic, routine, engaging but not hard for Anne to do with her hands; and Katherine was leaning into the touch with an ease and an eagerness that made Anne wonder when she had last felt unthreatening hands on her.

The moonbeams were receding across the floor, snaking back out the windows; the moon was setting. The sky outside was gray now where before it had been black, and it wasn’t morning yet but it would be soon. Katherine would undoubtedly be escorted outside as soon as the sun was bright enough for everybody to trust that the axeman could see his mark clearly enough.

Still, though, it was not yet light enough—not quite—and so when the knock came on the door, Anne was shaken to the point of fear. Who was at the door? It shouldn’t be the executioner, not yet; it was not morning yet, and so who—?

The same fear had obviously electrified Katherine; her hand flashed out and grabbed Anne’s, squeezing in a vice grip, and a whimper escaped her lips. She was looking up at Anne with undisguised terror, and seeing her fear somehow tamped down Anne’s: she had much less to be afraid of than Katherine, and so she had to—would—be the strong one, the brave one, the one to answer the door. And so she rose to her feet.

But Katherine was shaking her head, fully panicked now. “You have to hide!” she cried breathlessly, her voice so tight. “You can’t let them see you!”

Anne felt a gentle smile rise to her lips. “No matter,” she told the child. “I have the power to decide who gets to see me; they will look straight through me if I want them to. I am invisible to them.”

Anne watched Katherine’s face relax, but only very slightly, and she would have swooped over to soothe but there was no time. She could already hear the deadbolts on the other side of the door being undone, letting in whoever wanted to come torment Katherine.

And then the door swung open to reveal three heavily-muscled, heavily-armed Tower guards. They were sneering. The man in the middle stepped forward to speak.

“Lady Howard,” he drawled, and bile rose in Anne’s throat, nearly choking her, at the sickening contempt in the guard’s voice. “His Majesty King Henry here to see you.”

And Anne was nearly bowled over by the shock; and then a sick adrenaline began churning in her stomach. She turned back to the girl huddled on the bed, pleading with dreadful desire. “Let me let him see me,” she breathed. “Katherine, please. Tell me I can show myself to Henry.”

Katherine’s face was twisted, crumbled, overtaken by terror and anger and total bewilderment and Anne couldn’t begin to identify what else. She stared openmouthed at Anne, seemingly entirely confused, and then she nodded. Anne felt her face curl into an almost cruel smile, relishing in the sheer power she felt coursing through her veins: she was going to get up in Henry’s face, to scream at her for what she’d done to the bouncy three-year-old she’d met when she first arrived to England who was now a sobbing teenager in her last hours of life—and he wasn’t going to be able to touch her.

She hid herself from him when he first walked through the door, going fully invisible, so that his face, when he entered, locked straight on Katherine and Katherine only, who was curled in on herself. He was so much fatter than he had been when Anne knew him, and his skin was beginning to sag, and his ulcer-ridden leg smelled disgusting; but the gleam in his eyes was one Anne knew only too well. It was the look that contorted his face when he played his sickening mind games, when he slowly and methodically twisted the perception of the person in front of him until they collapsed in on themselves, and it made Anne sick. It made her want to vomit. Especially because it was directed now at the girl on the bed, at Anne’s baby cousin.

She stepped right in front of Henry and she let her figure materialize; she let him see her face appear in thin air less than a foot away from his. She smiled; and when Henry yelped, screeched so loudly that the sound bounced off the walls and echoed crazily throughout the room, Anne let herself laugh.

She had wanted to let Henry speak first, but the way he was gaping, openmouthed and horrified, at her made it clear that he would not initiate conversation, not for a while. And so Anne let herself chuckle and ask, “I take it you didn’t expect to see me here?”

He gaped, stared, spluttered—and then he watched his eyes shutter and his face go hard and blank, blocking out all emotion. It was a look Anne knew well; it was, in fact, the last look she had ever seen on Henry’s face, on the scaffold barely five years ago.

Henry’s voice, when he spoke, was as emotionless as his face, hard and firm. “Move.”

Anne raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I will, no.”

“I’m not here to see you.” He shot out an arm, aiming to shove Anne out of the way; but she let her ghostly body go misty and his hand passed right through her. He stumbled, off-balance, and his face went beet-red.

“I know you’re not here to see me,” said Anne, “but I am here to prevent you from seeing her. I am here to prevent you from ever looking her in the eyes, ever again.”

“That is not”—and Henry grunted again, trying unsuccessfully to shove a ghost—“your decision. This is not your place! Move!”

Anne smirked; a bitter giggle escaped her lips. “No.”

“How dare—”

And hearing his bitterness, his anger, cut through Anne’s restraints and opened the floodgates to her own bitter outrage. “How dare I? How dare you, Henry? How could you? She is younger still than your own daughter. You marry this child and you condemn her to death for being still a girl, and then you come here tonight to laugh at her, to rub it in, to frighten her more just so you can see her cry again? How dare you?”

Henry had apparently not learned that he could not touch Anne—had not learned that she could make herself misty, let his hands pass through her—and so when he brought his open palm down in a vicious slap and he made contact with nothing, he was pulled off his feet. He stumbled sideways twice, and then he landed heavily on his left leg, oozing pus and unusable from the ulcer; he gasped at the sudden weight and then, unable to support himself on the rotted leg, toppled to the floor with a cry.

Anne smiled, at Henry’s predicament and at the awed gasp from the bed behind her; her grin only widened when Henry finally, with lots of stumbling and cursing, got himself back to his feet. His face was bloodshot at the humiliation; he opened his mouth, gulping like a fish a few times, before abruptly turning on his heel and stalking out without another word.

Anne watched his retreating form with a smirk; and when she turned back to look at Katherine, still huddled on the bed, the child was shaking with silent laughter.

***

Anne’s diversion had been pleasantly distracting, and Katherine was grateful for not having had to speak to Henry—god, even imagining such a confrontation left nausea snaking through her stomach—but it had of course Anne’s control had been temporary. And if Henry was awake, it meant it was nearly morning, and that meant it was nearly—time.

And so she was quiet, again; she did not have the strength or the bravery to summon words. Anne didn’t seem to mind; she seemed to understand. Katherine was tucked under Anne’s gentle arms, cuddled up in a side hug against Anne’s warm body.

After perhaps too long, she wondered how Anne could hold her so tightly, so safely, when Henry’s hand had passed through her so cleanly. She licked her lips a few times, looked up at Anne, and garnered up the courage to ask.

Anne smiled gently, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Katherine’s ears; Katherine shivered at the contact, touch-starved. “This—substance—is the form I take when I choose to visit your world. I can control it fully: who can see me, who can touch me. I didn’t let him feel me; but you I want to hold. No matter. I use this—body—rarely; I am nearly always… elsewhere.”

“Heaven.” It was not a question.

“No.”

“No?” It was what had sustained her, just barely, through the panic, knowing that there was a safe place waiting for her once she got through the terror. If not—if Heaven was not there—she felt her breath quicken, and suddenly the tightness in her heart was no longer bearable—

“Katherine, Katherine.” She heard Anne’s voice just faintly. “Focus on me, love, you’re okay. It isn’t the Heaven you’re picturing, but there is somewhere safe waiting for you. I promise, sweetheart, you will be warm and safe afterward. You will be with me.”

Anne’s voice was getting clearer; Katherine finally felt herself suck in a whole breath. “You promise?”

The arms around her tightened. “I promise.”

Katherine nodded, and slipped into silence. Anne had shattered her entire understanding of the world—how could there not be a Heaven?—but she was still here, holding her with warm arms, and if Katherine would soon be where Anne lived most of the time, then that was okay with her.

She lapsed into silence again, leaning into Anne; Anne cradled her and began to stroke softly across her hair. Katherine just buried her face in Anne’s shoulder and tried to breathe, tried to keep the oxygen flowing uninterrupted. Time passed; she could not guess how much, but it was warm and safe in Anne’s arms, and that was enough.

And then—and then. Heavy footsteps, faraway, growing closer.

Katherine bolted upright; leaving Anne’s side, the cold shot through her. “They’re coming.”

And she watched Anne close her eyes and nod. “They are.”

The lack of any denial sent the panic, which had been coiling in her gut, spiking up through her chest to stab her heart. “They’re coming to—to—to take me—and—”

Anne took her hands, which she had not noticed quaking, and held them tight, quelling the spasms. Anne’s ghostly hands were somehow miraculously warm, and the skin-on-skin soothed Katherine as much as anything could have. “I know. I—I know, Katherine. Just keep breathing for me.”

A sharp retort shot through Katherine’s brain—something about breathing and not being able to now and soon not being able to ever again—but she tamped it down. Anne was trying to help. And she was trying to comfort her, she was holding Katherine and stroking her back, she was here—and that in itself was soothing. Suddenly Katherine couldn’t imagine what she would do when Anne left.

And so Katherine just swallowed, and when her voice came, it was a whisper. “Will you—I mean, can you stay with me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“Until the very end, Katherine.”

“You promise?”

“To the scaffold and to the block, Katherine; and I will see you immediately after. I promise.”

Katherine’s heart lurched, seized: it was suddenly twisted so tight. And it was painful with panic, but it was also painful with the intensity of the love for Anne that was overwhelming her. The love and the panic were inextricable—she didn’t think she could feel such a deep immediate love if it wasn’t triggered by the gratitude she felt for Anne comforting her, bringing her back from the edge of sheer hysteria—and all of it together made a sour cocktail in her heart. Her chest was painful, bitter; but it was bearable, because it was capped with adoration for Anne, and Anne was still here.

But the footsteps were getting louder, and she could hear voices now, and she couldn’t breathe; she could feel her entire body trembling from the oxygen deprivation. And then Anne grabbed her, seized her by the shoulders so their faces were an inch apart, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Katherine. Be brave. You have to be brave. I know how scary it is, I know how afraid you are, and I know there is nothing that will make it even the slightest bit less frightening. But you need to tamp down that fear for half an hour—half an hour, Katherine—and then it will be over and you will be safe and you can cry and I will hold you and you will be with me forever. Shut off the emotion for now. Separate your mind from your body; keep yourself calm. Go through the motions. I will stay by your side, but you have to be brave from within your own self. I know you can. I know you are strong. Show me, Katherine. Show me your courage.”

And then, with hellish timing, the door opened. Anne didn’t let her go, just kept staring at her. Katherine nodded. There were things more important than fear right now—things like honor and dignity—and she could already feel the terror draining from her, replaced with a sense of inevitability. There was no other ending now; she might as well submit with grace.

And so when the door opened, when the guards who stood there just looked at her and beckoned, she got to her feet by herself. Anne slipped off the bed beside her, still clutching Katherine’s hand; the guards looked right through her. Instead they slipped into a circle behind Katherine, not touching; they would grab if she fought, but she wouldn’t, not now. There was no point in fighting; there was no other ending. Better to leave this world with dignity, and enter Anne’s composed.

Anne squeezed her hand slightly as Katherine made her way, surrounded by guards, down the back steps of the Tower, into the courtyard. Katherine swallowed and cast her a glance, and then felt her lips turn slightly upward when she saw how widely Anne was beaming. “You’re doing so well, Katherine,” she whispered. “So well.” And Katherine nodded. The fear was gone; her chest was cold; she felt brave.

And then she saw the scaffold.

It was just there, rickety yet imposing; her ladies were there, and Jane, and—god—the executioner all in black with his axe, and the scaffold’s floor was covered in hay to soak up the blood that would spurt everywhere when it happened—to soak up her blood because there would be so much of it—god, her blood spilling everywhere, her blood, her blood, her—her—her—

“Ten minutes, Katherine,” came the whisper in her ear. “Be brave, my darling. I’m right here.”

Her entire body felt numb; she couldn’t feel her legs. But when Anne guided her to the scaffold and stepped up onto the first step, Katherine felt herself following, chilled to the bone. “Look at my eyes,” Anne whispered, and Katherine did, barely aware of her own body following Anne, step by step, up to the scaffold, until the steps ended on the flat platform.

The man waiting there nodded, then turned to address the crowd. “The Lady Katherine Howard,” he announced dryly, “to be executed for treason, in accordance with the laws of the kingdom of England and by the consent of the Royal Parliament and of His Majesty King Henry VIII.”

She knew what she had to do, and yet her mind had gone strangely blank—empty—paralyzed; and so she just stood there staring numbly until Anne nudged her and whispered, “Your speech, Katherine.”

She gasped; she nodded; she shook herself. She spoke. She was a wretched sinner, she had undermined Henry, a beheading was too merciful for her. Her throat caught on the very last word of her well-rehearsed speech—“death”—and she realized with a morbid chill that it would be her very last word ever.

Anne must have felt her shaking, because she snaked an arm over her shoulder. “Pay the executioner.”

This, too, she had forgotten; it came back in a rush, that she must pull out her own coin purse and make her very last purchase, compensating the axeman for his services. Her fingers were shaking so badly that coins spilled everywhere. Nobody moved to pick them up.

Finally she had pressed the sum into the executioner’s palm—so warm, so sweaty—and Anne squeezed Katherine to her side. “Now, Katherine.”

Anne drew back slightly to let Katherine to kneel in front of the block, and a chill shot through her as her cousin’s form—invisible to everybody else, yet so clear to her, so warm—left her. She had practiced this; she would get it right. Her heart was hammering so loudly, thunderously drowning out everything else, but she did not need anything else. She did not need to think. Her muscles knew what to do; they would never need to know how to do anything else.

Right knee, left knee, flex your feet, tuck your dress under your shoes.

Tilt your head to the side—cheek against the wood—so your neck is exposed.

Anne reappeared in her field of vision, kneeling on the side of the block; she reached out to adjust Katherine’s chin, so very slightly, so that their eyes were locked. “You’re doing so well, Katherine. So very well. Keep looking at my eyes.”

She nodded faintly; nothing in the world could compel her to look anywhere but Anne’s soft eyes, she told herself. Nothing could make her want to look away.

But it was never as easy as what she wanted, and when the executioner’s form, shadowy in her peripheral vision, shifted violently and raised the axe, she could not help but jerk her eyes over to watch him. For the briefest of moments her eyes caught his face, cruel and stoic; and then her gaze was drawn to the axe, the blade, glittering so brightly as it reflected the early morning sun, and that blade would soon be slick and red with her blood and oh god—

“Ah-ah-ah,” Anne chided gently, and her chilled fingers brushed against Katherine’s chin, readjusting her gaze so she had no choice but to stare straight into Anne’s face. “Eyes on me, Katherine. Nowhere else. Look at me. Keep looking.” And she kept her hand there, against Katherine’s face, so that when shadows danced in Katherine’s peripheral vision and figures loomed over her, just out of sight, she had no choice but to fight the urge to care about them and stare instead into Anne’s steady eyes.

And even though her heartbeat was drowning out all other sound, and even though she was choking on terror, her gaze stayed locked on Anne, staring unmoving into her cousin’s face as the world moved around her—until her neck erupted in pain, her vision lurched sickeningly, and the world went black.

***

She was disoriented before she even opened her eyes, like the way she felt whenever the court moved to a new palace—like the way she’d felt the first time she woke up in Henry’s bed. Her whole body was achy, especially around her neck, and her head was tight and throbbing; but more than the pain was a disoriented confusion, one that was made worse by the blackness. And so she forced herself to open her eyes.

And there, right where they’d been when her vision cut out, were two familiar green eyes, just like they’d promised. Katherine hadn’t felt how tense she was until she deflated, relaxed. “Anne.”

“Oh my darling.” Those gorgeous green eyes were wet. “Oh, Katherine, you’ve done so wonderfully well. You’ve been so brave.”

“Anne.” She couldn’t say anything else.

“It’s okay, my lovely, it’s okay. Take your time. You have nothing but time.”

Katherine nodded. Still not trusting herself to speak, she instead let herself look around. The room was shadowy; she was lying on a couch in a warm puddle of candlelight. And just on the edge of the light were other figures, other women.

Some were unfamiliar, but one—she had seen her face in portrait after portrait, still dotting palace corridors, and she was breathless, almost starstruck. “Queen Jane?”

Her thin lips widened and the woman dipped her head. “Queen Katherine.”

She flinched; she wanted to ask for them to please not say that, but she didn’t know how. She was so tired of it, of the title, of being reminded over and over again that she used to be Queen but she was no longer, she was disgraced now, and lost—

Jane must have seen something in her face. “Would you not like to use that name?”

Katherine bit her lip, because how did you explain you didn’t want the title of utmost respect? “I—”

“If it is the word Queen you dislike,” put in another woman—a figure Katherine had only barely noticed, her face half-shadowed—“that is understandable. Anne dislikes it as well.” Her voice was powerful, regal, but heavily accented; Katherine knew at once this woman was Spanish and knew just as immediately who she was.

“I think,” she got out slowly, shaking with the tension of trying to avoid any further humiliation in front of her predecessor, “that would be preferable.”

The woman nodded. “Of course. What would you like to be called, then? Just Katherine? Or you may choose something new entirely—I am a Katherine too, after all—whatever you would like.”

“I—” She stuttered, stumbled, felt her face burn.

“Take your time,” Jane soothed. “No need to answer us right away.”

Katherine nodded. She was comfortable here, safe, but—something was missing, something was odd. She was lying down with the others clustered around her, and she suddenly felt very cold, and very apart, and very alone, and—

“Anne?” It was barely a whisper, and it was almost embarrassing—she would have been embarrassed about such vulnerability in her past life, but she was so far past the point of humiliation now—“Anne, will you sit with me?”

“Of course, darling.” Katherine tucked up her feet to let Anne join her on the couch, then twisted around so she could put her head against Anne’s shoulder; Anne just wrapped her up in a hug.

Anne’s hand strayed to Katherine’s hair and began to stroke; barely a second later she drew back with a surprised laugh. “Your hair is so soft,” she giggled; “I couldn’t feel it quite the same before!”

Abruptly there was another hand on her hair and another soft laugh, and she looked up to see Jane Seymour stroking her hair next to Anne. “So soft,” Jane agreed in a low murmur, and then: “Comme caresser un chaton!”

Anne giggled, and Katherine caught her look straight at Jane, as if sharing an inside joke. Katherine felt her nose wrinkle: did they think she didn’t know what they were saying? “Je peux te comprendre, tu sais,” she told them: I can understand you, you know. I speak French; I understand when you say my hair is so soft that it’s like petting a kitten.

“Ah, un chaton intelligent!” It was playful and it was lighthearted—“ah, a smart little kitten!”—but the ease with which it slipped from Anne’s lips made Katherine wonder if, perhaps, this playfulness was the more real side of Anne, when she did not have to be the comforter to a teenager about to die.

“Un chaton du monde,” Jane added, and it made Katherine tear up, because she had never thought of herself as worldly, as well-traveled; she had never been outside of England, and her French had always felt stilted for it.

“Je me sens plus comme un chaton—piégé,” she told them, and there was an instant outpouring of soft, sympathetic denials from Anne and Jane—no, don’t say that, it’s not true anymore, you’re safe now—and she almost sobbed at the gentleness of their words and the strength of Anne’s squeeze.

And then the other Catherine spoke. “Forgive the intrusion, but would somebody mind informing the non-Francophone what on God’s green earth you all are saying?”

Katherine felt a surprised laugh jolt from her without her permission; she clapped a hand over her mouth (laughing at Catherine of Aragon? How dare she? How could she?) but Catherine just looked amused. Exasperated, yes, undeniably—but lightheartedly so.

And Anne and Jane were grinning too, not remotely frightened, and Anne said, “I was just mentioning how soft her hair is, and Jane said it’s like petting a cat, and—well, then it went a bit odd—but the point is, she said she felt trapped, and—”

“Pardon. Who said this?” Catherine interrupted, eyes bright with what Katherine could only identify as concern. “Who felt trapped?”

“Kitty,” Anne said simply, unthinkingly, and then she recoiled and shook herself. “I mean—Katherine—I—”

But now all of them were laughing, except Catherine, who was staring at them with a look of bewilderment. “‘Kitty’? Where did that come from?”

“I—it just did—but I—I’m sorry, Katherine, I don’t know why that came out. I’m sorry.”

But Kitty was smiling, and her face was softer and more relaxed than it had felt in awhile, and her whole body felt light in a way that it hadn’t since November—maybe since her wedding. “No—no, it’s okay, Anne. I’d like to try—Kitty, maybe? Just for a little, just to see?”

“Of course.” Anne’s arms were warm around her, and Jane Seymour settled on the couch on the other side of her, and Catherine of Aragon came to sit at Kitty’s feet (the rightful Queen of England, sitting on the floor!—it took Kitty’s breath away for just a moment, and she pulled back instinctively, so as not to touch Catherine with her shoes; but Catherine just gently brought Kitty’s feet to rest in her lap, and it was somehow soothing). “Of course, mon chaton, my darling. Oh, lovely, you’ve been so brave today, so very brave. I’m so proud of you.”

And she had heard that before, she had heard people say they were proud of her—Francis Dereham, when she stole Henry Manox’s letter; and her grandmother, when she was sent away to court; and her uncle, when she married the King—but she had always felt bitter when she heard it before, undeserving or uncaring or unwilling to take the praise. Now, for the first time, she relished it, leaned into Anne’s touch; and maybe Anne realized it was a sentiment that had been lacking, because she just burrowed her hands into Kitty’s cat-soft hair and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“You have done so wonderfully well, darling. I am so proud of you—so proud, my Kitty.”

***

Also posted on AO3 here; please comment if you enjoyed. Happiest of deathdays to Lady Howard.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Could Be the One

(Part Two of the Hannah Montana au that nobody asked for but that’s actually really fun to write)

---

Geralt slips into the alleyway behind the venue and clambers his way onto a pile of empty boxes outside the star’s green room. If he can’t take Jaskier to see Dandelion then he can certainly take an exclusive picture of Dandelion to give Jaskier. Hopefully his unrequited crush would be one step closer to, well, requiting things.

When Geralt finally reaches the top of the pile and peeks in through the window, though, that plan goes to shit. He watches with wide, shocked amber eyes as Dandelion removes what is, apparently, a heavily styled blonde wig. Underneath the disguise is a shock of messy, chestnut brown hair.

When Dandelion turns around to face the window again, his makeup removed and his wig clutched in his hand, Geralt gasps in shock and loses his grip on the rough bricks of the windowsill. 

“Fuck!” he cries, falling backwards onto his ass in the alley. The camera he’d rented from the school newspaper goes hurtling off into the darkness, probably broken. 

He knows that face. He knows that soft-looking brown hair.

Dandelion and Jaskier are one in the same.

A moment after he hits the ground, the venue’s back door bursts open and Jaskier glances around, brows furrowed with worry. “Hello? Are you okay out here?”

“Hnnn...” Geralt groans, rubbing the spot on his hip where his body had first connected with the ground. He knows it’s going to bruise; if this is even really happening. It feels like a dream. Like something that only happens on the Disney channel but never in real life (this cannot be real life). If it does bruise well...holy fucking shit, Jaskier is a pop star.

“G-Geralt!?” Jaskier glances between his classmate, still laying sprawled against the dirty asphalt of the alley in a state of apparent catatonia, and the wig still clutched in his hand. “Well shit.”

“You-you’re-” he gawks, pointing up at Jaskier. You know, like an idiot. “You’re Dandelion!”

“Ta da?” Jaskier half-smiles. The slender brunette is clearly exhausted from the show he’s just put on and now he looks anxious on top of it. Seeing just how vulnerable and scared Jaskier seems, Geralt’s heart melts in his chest. It always melts when he sees the cute junior; he’s had a crush on the other boy for months. Ever since he’d transferred into Geralt’s English class. 

The same junior who is, apparently, an internationally recognized pop sensation with a net worth somewhere in the millions. 

“G...Geralt?” Jaskier asks again, waving his hand in front of the older boy’s face. “Hello?”

“You’re uh...” Geralt is trying desperately to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth so he can fucking say something and stop staring like a fool. “Holy shit, you’re Dandelion. That’s why you’re always humming his - your songs between classes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I broke the school’s only camera,” Geralt says, gesturing out into the darkness. “But it was worth it.”

“Want to come sit in my green room and chat? My manager is probably going to want you to sign an NDA or some shit,” Jaskier sighs. “I don’t know. I’ll let him handle it. I’m too tired. That was fun, but I’m exhausted. And hungry.”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s the only thing Geralt can think to say as he stands up and dusts himself off. He hadn’t meant to encroach on such an enormous and personal secret; he’d just wanted a gift for... “I was trying to take a picture of Dandelion to give to this guy at school that I like.”

“Oh yeah?” Jaskier smiles, leading Geralt into the warmth of the green room. The shorter boy takes a seat on a very comfortable looking couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Come sit, I don’t bite.”

The nervous senior lowers himself onto the couch as if he’s afraid it might come alive and eat him. His ass is perched on the very edge; ready to take flight at any moment if necessary. “It was going to be a gift for him. His name is uh, it’s Jaskier.”

“What?”

“I thought you were busy tonight,” Geralt gestures vaguely towards the wig, “Although I didn’t think it would be anything like this. Since you couldn’t be here with me, I was going to take a one-of-a-kind candid picture of Dandelion as a gift for you.” 

“That’s incredibly sweet, Geralt,” the pop-star croons, placing a casual hand on his classmate’s knee. Geralt is very, very close to swooning (which he will never admit out loud). 

“Am I going to be in trouble?”

“No. Probably not. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I’d never do anything to hurt you or break your trust, Jask.”

The young pop icon smiles, ducks his head, and blushes. Geralt has never been happier before in his entire fucking life.

---

Dandelion has a show two towns over the following weekend. Jaskier gives Geralt a free ticket (complete with a backstage pass) and begs him to come along and see some kind of ‘cool surprise’. The senior is flabbergasted, holding the laminated papers in his hands as if they’re the holy grail. 

They might as well be.

---

“So I’ve got a new album coming out,” Dandelion announces towards the end of his set. “And since you’ve been such a wonderful and rowdy crowd, I think you deserve a sneak peek. What do you think?”

The audience’s response is nearly deafening. Geralt’s chest is being crushed against a black metal barrier by a wave of other giddy teens but he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to be as close to the stage as possible; he could wake up from this dream at any moment and he really wants to enjoy it until then.

“This one is for my homecoming date,” Dandelion states. He shoots a quick wink in Geralt’s direction and the senior’s heart stops rather suddenly in his chest. 

Jaskier is waiting for him to answer. To give him the affirmative. To reassure him that his declaration has been met with with agreement. 

Geralt nods subtly and watches the pop star’s beautiful, bright blue eyes light up with joy. “Alright!”

The beat picks up quickly and Dandelion is lost to the music. After every few words he glances surreptitiously in Geralt’s direction and the white-haired high schooler realizes rather suddenly how exciting this really is. A fucking millionaire pop star is masquerading as a regular kid at his high school. The kid he’s had a quiet crush on for quite some time. A kid that likes him back. Dandelion starts to sing and Geralt is jolted out of his thoughts by the pointed lyrics. 

“Smooth-talking. So rocking. He's got everything that a guy's wanting. Guitar cutie, He plays it groovy; And I can't keep myself from doing something stupid...”

---

When the show is over and Geralt is alone with Jaskier/Dandelion backstage, the younger boy steps forward and reaches out tentatively. Geralt takes his hand and twines their fingers together comfortably. Confidently. “So, would you perhaps be interested in being my boyfriend?”

“Which one of you?” Geralt teases.

“Both. You  might be in some tabloids. Gay celebrities are, unfortunately, still kind of a novelty. Especially young ones.”

“This isn’t fair,” Geralt whispers. 

“What’s not fair?” Jaskier replies, sounding panicked. Geralt pulls Jaskier and releases their clasped hands to embrace him tightly.  

“How am I supposed to impress you with a cool prom-posal if you ask me to homecoming like that?” he grumbles, “It’s not fair. I’m not a rich, hot pop star. At best you’re getting a public display of devotion and affection and at worst you’re getting dinner from McDonald’s.”

“You think I’m hot!?” Jaskier giggles, the rest of the context only slightly less important somehow. His fingers grip the front of Geralt’s shirt and the older boy barely resists the urge to shudder. He’s never really been this close to someone before and he really likes it. Especially since it’s Jaskier. Then the younger boy shocks him again by going off on a tangential monologue.“You’re insane if you think I’m the hot one in this potential relationship! You have the softest looking naturally white hair I’ve ever seen. Your shoulders are fucking beautiful and if you murdered me by suffocating me with your pecs then I would die a very happy guy.”

When Jaskier looks up into Geralt’s face he sees that the older boy is blushing furiously and desperately trying to avoid any kind of eye contact. His hand on Jaskier’s waist twitches anxiously. Aw, he’s shy! 

“I can’t wait for homecoming,” Geralt finally mutters. 

“I can’t wait for you to shut up and kiss me.”

“Really?”

Jaskier, the international pop star and millionaire, leans up onto the tips of his bedazzled converse and smiles. “Yeah. I would really like it if you kissed me.”

Geralt, the shy high school senior with an interest in photojournalism, presses their lips together slowly. Jaskier’s hand finds its way into Geralt’s hair and tangles there comfortably. Geralt’s hand squeezes against the younger man’s soft, slender hip. He lets himself feel a touch of velvet-soft skin here and there as Jaskier’s shirt rides up or moves along with them.

They stay wrapped up in each other like that until Dandelion’s manager knocks on the door. He calls through the door. “Well you’re going to have to sign some paperwork if you want to be his boyfriend for real.”

Jaskier bites his lip and looks at Geralt with nervous anticipation written across his face. 

Geralt smiles and pulls Jaskier close again. “Where’s the pen?”

[cicinicole-14]

Hi for the ship thing and headcanons, please do jolex 🥰

Who is a night owl:

dont get me wrong, they both most definitely will stay up late together or both pass out before 9pm on a Friday night, but some days when the depression hits, its jsut different and Jo is definitely more of the night owl. Alex is more of a morning person and Jo would rather sleep like the dead. 

Who is a morning person:

as we’ve discovered, more so Alex esp when they have kiddos. Alex is the one to get up with them early and let Jo sleep, he makes breakfast with the kids’ help and keeps their room quiet for jo to get some extra sleep but will unleash their evil spawns when he deems she’s slept in long enough. 

Are they cuddlers:

some days, yes, mostly. jo definitely loves the affection from someone who genuinely loves and wants her back. but there are days where she literally is like “do not come near me with your (temperature) hot body Alexander Michael Karev, you are a heater and I am already too warm” 

Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon:

Alex is def the big spoon. Jo likes cuddling into him because sh feels safe, he feels like home. but she def has big spooned him too it’s a 50/50 relationship we have equal roles people

What is their favourite sleeping position:

no lie, both spread out like starfish in their bed. 

Who steals all the blankets: 

Jo. Alex is a space heater and doesnt need blankets she freezes and likes being snuggled up and warm

What they wear to bed:

I mean some nights, nothing, but like jo def loves Alex’s old Iowa state shirts or his wrestling shirts from HS that smell like him. an old worn in t-shirt, anything with a pair of booty shorts or his boxers even. and Alex will just wear a t-shirt and boxers or flannels in the winter. 

Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt:

Alex wholeheartedly loves when jo wears his shirts unless its his favorite flannel and she steals it “come on, jo. you know that’s my favorite one. I wear it all the time.” its exactly why she takes it. 

Who falls asleep mid-conversation:

jo, unintentionally. sometimes the insomnia hits and she won’t have slept for a couple days so when life catches back up to her she will fall asleep randomly. even more so while pregnant and right after their daughter is born. she just “night night Josephine” 

Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares:

they both have their fair share of horrid nightmares. Alex’s deal a lot with his trauma of growing up. his mom pulling various knives on his siblings and dad attacking them. even nightmares of jo leaving him like Izzie did and he wakes up without her. 

jo’s are terrifying as well. she dreams that Paul’s death was just an illusion and that hes still out there and he’ll still come and get her. she wakes up drenched in a cold sweat and Alex holds her and they pull up his death certificate on the gsm database to prove it. she also has nightmares about being abandoned again. dreams of herself as a baby, dreams of her mother leaving her at that firestation. horrid nightmares. and Alex just holds her. she also has many nightmares about Alex abandoning her too just like her mother abandoned her but he’s never done that he’s always there when she wakes up and everything is okay again

Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep:

jo is an absolute horrible bed partner. she does NOT sleep still. she will move around so much during sleep its dangerous. yes, Alex did wake up with a bruise across his cheek one night from an elbow to the face...

Who can’t keep their hands to themself:

both of them. theyre notorious horndogs no autocorrect they are not corndogs please stop correcting me when you’re wrong 

and just because, im throwing in the parenting meme one too bc my heart melts

packs the lunches

Alex. he gets up with the kids in the mornings and also we do not trust jo to make their children food. she’d feed them boxed Mac n cheese and take out the entirety of their lives. and while they love that and Alex wouldn’t care if it was jsut them, their kids need real food. he packs them lunchables and uncrustables but at least its a little more of a variety. 

blows raspberries while cuddling

jo, more so. they both do, but jo LOVES a good chunky baby belly she can blow raspberries onto. and yes she leaves maroon lipstick marks on chubby cheeks and bellies. 

is the tickle monster

Alex. and she runs to mommy to save her from daddy! “oh, now you want mommy, huh? as soon as daddy is the tickle monster all you want is mommy? not when I wanted cuddles, or we picked you up from daycare or I dont know, I gave birth to you and wanted snuggles you cry and want daddy but now hes the tickle monster you want me?” and jo scoops her up and tries saving her but ultimately they lose and get attacked in their very large bed by the tickle monster. 

gives life lesson speeches

they both do just depending on the situations. 

when the girls start dating, jo sits them all down separately, and explains to them a bit of her past. letting them know that no man should ever lay hands on them. she teaches them how to defend themselves and Alex ofc shows them in example how women should be treated. Alex makes it clear that if a guy or girl ever should treat his daughters or his son in any other way than he treats jo, that he needs to know and gOD forbiD one of them lay a finger on one of his children there WILL be hell to pay. jo obviously consoles him in front of her children but tells him “u already have a record. if anyone lays hands on our children I will be putting them in the ground not you”

kisses the boo-boos

Alex he is a pushover and 100% makes sure all boo-boos are kissed and even when the kids are way too old for having their boo-boos kissed, he makes sure the bandaids that are no longer avengers or dinosaur or unicorn or princess themed, have been properly kissed. even through protests of “dad, im not five anymore I dont need my bandaids kissed” “how do you expect them to heal, then, CJ? you’re my most clumsy kid, and I have had to kiss all your boo-boos and never once have I not. thats why you’re still in once piece” 

breaks the bad news

jo makes Alex do it most times. she claims she’s the fun parent and tries to stay the fun parent by making Alex break bad news like “we cannot get another dog” she blames it on Alex but then brings home a puppy the following week. 

joins the PTA

listen. LISTEN. when Greyson started big kid school, in kindergarten, they placed her in private school to give her everything they didnt have growing up. jo was determined to make sure she gave her daughter everything made sure she felt loved and was spoiled it was terrible. so jo, of course, sent her to Seattle Elementary academy and was not paying attention when she signed some forms signing up to be in the PTA. she loathed it so much and “Alex im sorry I cant do this. I know we wanted to give Gracie everything we didnt have growing up but I cant take it I cant take the private school. the volunteer hours the strict dress code violations? she is FIVE. I also have to volunteer FORTY HOURS this year alone. no! I am a surgeon, a mother of two and im pregnant! I do not have time for this! all these PTA moms are stay at home moms who have nothing better to do than gossip about their neighbors and drink wine. and I swear to god if I have to hear about Jessica’s fucking essential oils pyramid scheme one more time I will shove those oils so far up her a––” “Jo! Look, Ali, mommy’s here!” Alex interrupts her just in time. he doesnt blame her. those private school moms are quiet the handful. every time, one of them has the nerve to hit on him. “and I swear, if one more of those moms hits on you in front of me, im going to backhand her with my engagement ring on. no hate to most of them, but theyre too much” they end up ending Gracie, and Ali and the rest of the kids to public school just like they had grown up in and did just fine. 

crashes sleepovers with embarrassing stories

oh one hundred and ten percent Alexander Michael Karev. he will find any moment to break out embarrassing stories and photos. hell, even when Zola, Bailey, ellis, Sofia, Harriet, scout, any of the bunch come over he’ll embarrass them too!  

gives the crazy nicknames

not really either of them (that ive figured out in the moment) (the kkc kids do not have crazy nicknames yet) (we jsut have Gracie for Greyson, Ali for Alice, and CJ for Cristina Jo. Alexis goes by Sissy because of Alexis and Alexa and Eli usually goes by bubba seeing as how that’s what the twins have called each other growing up with Izzie and that stuck) 

thank you so much for these! I loved loved loved doing them! even threw in some KKC universe things so if yall have questions about that feel free to ask I will share! tho there is yet to have a fic out about them yet… its been a bit difficult with writers block /: 

[stuckwith-harry]

swear to be overdramatic and true

Snow, is his first thought upon materialising behind the apple trees.

Harry Potter draws his wand and slips into view from his Apparition spot, stepping out into the wintry night. A fluffy white blanket has fallen over everything, the grass and the windowsills and the rooftop: the apple trees are all wearing hats.

Above his head, a square of warm, golden light falls from the window that overlooks the garden into the night. Harry’s heart stirs quietly at the sight.

He leaves no trace in the fresh snow on the ground as he makes his way around the cottage to the front door. Auror boots leave no footprints by design, erasing every step behind themselves immediately: by the time he’s slipped through the front door, no sign outside the cottage’s walls betrays he was ever gone.

Harry exhales.

He is extraordinarily lucky, and he knows it: he’s spent most of this mission waiting for something, anything, to go awry like it usually does, for one of the juniors to make a mistake, for the lot of them to walk into a trap, for him to spend the holidays at St. Mungo’s again. Even now that he’s here, looking around at his quiet home, at the enchanted fairy lights floating around the ceiling: it all seems a little too good to be trusted.

It isn’t even midnight yet. Harry bites back his smile for fear of jinxing it.

He slips out of his Auror gear and leaves it in the downstairs bathroom, memories of the mission quickly fading as he sneaks up the stairs in just his t-shirt and boxers. A stripe of gold glowing under James’ bedroom door disappears at the sound of Harry’s approaching footsteps: his eldest hastily pulls his duvet over his head when he pushes the door open.

“Evenin’”, Harry says softly into the room, and James’ scarlet head reluctantly reappears under the pillow, moonlight illuminating his sheepish face. “Not asleep yet?”

“Dad!”, James whispers, folding back the duvet. “You’re back!”

Harry is well aware that his surprise is – at least in part – feigned, but the sheer elation on his son’s face is real: he notices it with a quiet warmth unfurling in his chest.

“And you’re up past your bedtime, I believe.”

“I wanted to wait for you”, James says quickly.

Harry doesn’t bother reminding him that waiting is pointless: for all they knew, he may not have made it back before Boxing Day.

“Christmas Eve, with a little luck”, he told Ginny, hesitant to even voice it to the children.

He never makes promises for a reason. The let-down is so much more devastating when they get their hopes up.

Harry sighs. “Close your eyes. Father Christmas isn’t going to stop by here until all children are sound asleep.”

James rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I believe in any of that stuff anymore – and Mum took the presents downstairs twenty minutes ago”, he adds, as though that settles the Father-Christmas-matter once and for all.

“Lily still believes it”, Harry reminds him. “Don’t go and ruin it for her, hm?”

“Fine”, James mutters, pulling his duvet back to his chin. “Love you, anyway.”

“Love you, too.”

Harry pulls James’ door shut as quietly as he can and continues down the dark hallway; won’t be able to sleep without this.

Lily is curled up in a mountain of blankets like a kitten, clutching her stuffed Crumple-Horned Snorkack firmly in her little arms. Her night-light is floating by the bed, painting her face in faint red and pink. A string of enchanted fairy lights is wrapped around her bedframe, too, cheerily twinkling in the dark.

Harry lets himself linger, just for a moment: brushes hair out of her slender face and watches her brows furrow slightly in her sleep. Far away in a dream somewhere, he knows. He could parade a real Crumple-Horned Snorkack through her bedroom and she likely wouldn’t wake, but he still tiptoes back to her door and throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Entirely too peaceful to be true, he wants to think, but stops himself.

Peaceful. Peaceful. Peaceful.

Al’s light is on, too: He’s holding his book to his chest with one arm, the other dangling off his bed in mid-air, mouth wide open as he sleeps. Harry carefully loosens the book from his grip, finds the bookmark on the wooden floor, and places it quietly on Al’s nightstand. He gently tucks both his arms back under the cover and runs his fingers lightly through Al’s unruly black hair, so much like his own.

Al shifts and mutters in his sleep. Harry waits until he has stilled, worried to wake him, and quietly backs out of the room only when Al has resumed snoring. Harry grins as he turns to leave, finally arriving at the last door.

A stripe of gold is falling out into the hallway from here, too: he pushes it open to find Ginny curled up in their king-sized bed, already in her pyjamas, but awake, her nose buried in a copy of Witch Weekly. She looks up at the sound of the door, smile ever more radiant in the half-dark and the glow of her bedside lamp.

“I thought I heard someone climb down the chimney”, she says, beaming at him as he climbs on the mattress next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Hi”, she mutters, raking her fingers through his hair and down his shoulder. A tingle travels down Harry’s spine. “I can’t believe you made it.”

He closes his eyes at her touch, tension falling off him: two cold weeks without her are melting quickly in his memory. “Me neither, honestly.”

Harry spots a tower of presents in the armchair by the window. “Want any help with those?”, he asks, despite being far too content, far too comfortable now, to move.

Ginny hums quietly in response.

“In a bit. I think James was eavesdropping.”

“Oh, he was.”

She chuckles, flicking a page. “I thought it was too quiet. Always a bit fishy when they behave, isn’t it?”

And indeed, a peculiar quiet has got hold of the Potter family home: so strange and unprecedented in its completeness Harry cannot help but strain his ears every once in a while, listening intently for tip-toeing in the hallway, heated whispering: all the tell-tale signs his children have slipped out of their beds.

“I know you can’t sleep now”, she mutters after a few minutes of quiet, Harry’s head still on her shoulder. “Do you just want to hang out?”

She knows him too well, he thinks, some strange, wild gladness swelling in his chest.

It’s a part of coming home: letting go of the hyper-alertness that keeps him alive while he’s out there, of being constantly on edge. Sometimes, when he doesn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, he lies awake next to Ginny and can’t bring himself to shut off. He watches daylight creep over the apple trees through the window, waits for everyone else to wake up and ends up dozing off on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, more passing out from exhaustion than real sleep.

Ginny knows that’s part of the deal.

“Reading sounds good, actually”, he says, lifting his head off her shoulder regretfully to go find his book.

Teddy had, in recent months, taken to devouring adventure novels the size of bricks in a mere matter of days and then spending the weekly family dinners at the Burrow talking rapidly about little else. On one such Saturday evening, Harry had politely asked if Teddy would ever let him borrow one: the smile on Teddy’s face was absolutely brilliant, and Harry has been reading along with him ever since, his godson’s sheer enthusiasm, his joy at having someone to talk to after, impossibly infectious.

They flick through their respective pages in comfortable quiet, Ginny’s fingers drawing absent-minded circles on his thigh as she reads. A spark of warmth prickles at the back of his neck at every lazy scratch on her fingernail.

“I’m having an affair with Neville”, Ginny says as though announcing the weather.

Harry looks up from his novel, blinking at her.

“I thought I was having an affair with Neville”, he says, face plain.

“No, that was last week.”

“I see. Who am I sleeping with again?”

“Hermione. Says so right here on page 12.”

“I better give her a call, then”, he says, returning to his book.

The corners of Ginny’s mouth betray her: Harry grins over at her and she snickers into the magazine, her quiet laughter like waves rolling through his body, her cheek leaning against the top of his head. Warm, liquid bliss fills his chest: her small hand resumes caressing his thigh like she’s not even aware she’s doing it, though he doesn’t doubt she is. He draws in a slow, deep breath, too content to move or even focus much on anything except Ginny, least of all his book.

“You alright?”, Ginny asks after a while, not lifting her eyes off of a five-page article about the drummer of some girl band who’d been photographed snogging the bassist.

“Hm?”

“You haven’t turned your page in, like, ten minutes.”

“’M fine”, Harry mutters, forever startled that it’s truthful, and it is. “Wasn’t she dating some Newcomer Harpy?”, he adds, nodding towards the article.

“Hm-hm”, Ginny says. “Nothing interesting about a quiet, amicable breakup, though. That’s why ours are always really dramatic.”

Harry snorts. “Like I’d break up with you in public.”

“It’s adorable how you think I’m the dumpee in this scenario.”

Harry looks up in mock concern, bumping his foot into her leg. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Ginny hums as though deep in thought. “I guess I could loudly ask you for a divorce next time we want to get out of some horrible Ministry party. Might be fun.”

“Wish you’d had that idea last year”, Harry mutters darkly, remembering the lengthy Christmas feast they hadn’t been able to wriggle out of. He’d been shaking lametta out of his hair for hours after. “Alright, I’m down, but I’m taking the kids.”

Ginny pats his leg, unfazed. “Yeah, you wish.”

Harry smiles, slouching into her side – mission forgotten, peaceful, home. Ginny turns to look at him as his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion finally taking over.

All the way from the kitchen, they hear the enchanted garden gnome that lives inside their baby blue cuckoo’s clock – Luna’s moving-in present – announce “twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock!”.

Ginny presses a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Merry Christmas”, Harry mutters. “Love you.”

“You, too.” He feels the pads of Ginny’s fingers draw slow circles on his scalp, her palm brush over his jet-black hair. “Glad you’re back.”

He merely hums in response, too content to speak, not wanting the moment to end, this strange, deep peace that fills him.

They get to stay like that for a small eternity: Harry’s head on her shoulder, Ginny’s arm around him, warm limbs entangled.

Just as Harry is ready to doze off, Ginny gasps beside him.

“Listen”, she whispers, as Harry reluctantly opens his eyes.

And there it is: from outside their bedroom door comes the quiet tap-tap-tap of small feet on the hardwood floor, sneaking towards the stairs.

“I think we’ve got some Christmas elves on the loose”, Ginny whispers.

Harry grins at her, and she grins back, quietly conspiring.

“Wanna go catch them?”

They climb out of bed as quickly and quietly as they can, pressing their ears to the bedroom door. Ginny shakes her head and reaches for the doorknob.

“They’re lucky we love them so much.”

[creepyimagines]

if ya wanna write somethin for my dumb lil idea im totally cool with that but! 's up to you! - Daynon

[[Oooh hell daynon I love you no homo -X]]

Alex Krailie-

Legit I have no idea how you got with this dude, but lemme just say he loves you.

The only person on set he treats well? Perhaps.

If you're one of the actors, he'll be absolutely stoked to practice lines with you or watch you on camera on the last tapes already recorded.

Does get jealous easily but only if you're around Tim at all. He tries not to interfere, knowing you both are in his film and might be discussing business pertaining to his movie, but he keeps an eye on you. It's not that he doesn't trust you! He really does. He just fuckin hates Tim.

If you have a dog...... Please don't bring them to any shoots.

Jk. If you have a dog, Alex will not complain one bit or feel agitated that you brought them. He loves your dog and even if they're indifferent towards Alex, he loves them because they're yours!

If you're behind the camera while another scene is being shot, KISS. HIM. TO. DISTRACT. HIM.

"Say B roll footage one more time, Alexander, I swear to fUCK."

Vibe sessions where you guys discuss the plot and script while he lets you actually voice your thoughts on it and takes most of it into consideration.

Jay Merrick-

You bringing Jay along to shoots and filmings? More likely than you think

Please bring him. He loves to see you on set, even if you're not even doing a scene that day.

In this scenario, you were probably the reason Alex met Jay. You were a friend of Alex's and auditioned for a part in his film. One thing after another, you bring your boyfriend often and he becomes regular around the set.

Even if there aren't any shoots during a certain day, you'll drag Jay out to a spot you guys used a few times and just enjoy the scenery. Jay actually enjoys it and likes to think of those days as mini dates!

Jay is a himbo, I am sorry, he's a goddam himbo. Please be his common sense. While you guys are giving before filming, he might see a mysterious figure in the woods or find a tree that looks perfect to climb even though it's absolutely not. Don't let him go running off.

Will throw hands if Alex gets snippy with you. Don't test him.

Not to get NSFW, but hold his hand and he will melt. He gets embarassed about being out in public holding your hand, especially around the rest of the cast, but soon realizes nobody gives two flying fucks. Soon enough you won't be able to wrench your hand out of his to act in a scene.

He'll be eager and happy to help you memorize and go over your lines if you're having trouble or just want to keep it fresh in your mind.

Tim Wright-

You can thank Day Anon for this because you two? Playing small pranks on Alex and making sly comments about the choppy script and all the plot holes? Never!

You guys co-parent an adopted dog together just to bring to shoots. Don't @ me on this one

Always (jokingly) shouting at each other to "mEmOrIzE yOuR LiNeS!" in weird voices when Alex isn't around.

When you're at shoots with Tim, he's less sour. Sure he's always a salty bitch, but if you're around him, he feels calmer and not exactly in the mood to fight with Alex like he normally is

You try to convince him to stop smoking for his own good but he just says he does it to stay in character. It's a work in progress.

Like Jay, he absolutely will not hesitate bitch. If Alex gets all up in your grill because of a small mistake or a joke he took too far, Tim is right there to back you up. You tell him you can handle yourself but Tim just worries.

If you do tell off Alex enough or get him to shut up and leave you alone for the time being, Tim will have the biggest shit eating grin on his face. "Hell yeah. That's my s/o mother fucker."

You always ask him if you can wear the yellow tie-dyed shirt. He thinks it's ugly as fuck but honestly the day he wore that, he fucking invented fashion and you cannot convince me otherwise.

If your character doesn't have a specific outfit, wear one of Tim's flannels. Just do it. He thinks you look amazing in them and he gets a bit flustered when you wear them while filming.

Brian Thomas-

You and him goofing off or distracting each other during filming or film meetings is a given.

Yes, this man does love to give you his jacket. You will have to tell him that No Brian, it's 80° out and you're not cold but you really do appreciate the gesture.

Consistently messes up his lines because he's paying attention to you behind the camera than his acting.

Is actually super fucking happy if you and Tim get along. Better yet if you're friends with Tim and Alex. He's stoked that his s/o gets along with his friends. Even if Tim and Alex aren't close, he's glad you guys are.

Because Brian is the only one in the production that Alex actually likes, he's the one who has meetings with Alex about the schedule and such. You always get brought along, though Alex doesn't seem to mind too much.

Hold. Him. While. Off. Camera.

Legit if you guys are just vibin, waiting for Alex to wrap up, Brian will love it if you hug him and not let go for a bit. Weather you're sitting on the ground or just standing around, please.

Also he really likes it when you kiss him on the cheek and he kisses your forehead in return it's cute

The ultimate, goofy gentleman. No I will not elaborate further, you know what I'm talking about.

You guys have inside jokes that no one else around you understands. You'll say some obscure word or phrase and Brian will be dying of laughter while everyone else just kinda stares questioningly or pretend it's not happening.

Brian and Seth are pretty good buds in my opinion and you three used to hang a lot but he never wanted to interfere and feel like a third wheel.

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 3: A Most Dangerous Game

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Aerin meets with his mother and the Lords of Whitetower to discuss the war effort while Iliana and Kade go searching for clues about the mysterious attacks.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Aerin Valleros strode through the rose garden, the early morning breeze sliding through his curls like gentle fingers beneath his heavy crown. Dew and hints of frost clung to the serrated leaves of the manicured rose bushes, which were well-tended and enchanted to bloom year-round. The mornings were growing colder and the sun was rising later as the last, lingering dregs of summer faded away into the heart of autumn. 

It was strange, Aerin mused, the passage of time. These last few months felt as if they had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but also as if they had zipped by at record speed. He could not fathom how it was possible that only two months ago, he was held prisoner in the depths of the Khagan’s fortress, hidden in the snow-blasted peaks of the Frostwhisper Mountains of Vishanti. Then, he had been a prince with no crown, hands still stained with his brother’s blood, and haunted by the ghost of his mother.

But now… Now he was the King, with hands that were no less bloody, and he walked with the Queen Mother on his arm.

In another two months, they would be deep into the dead of winter, and it would not be a thin layer of frost that coated the gardens, but snow. Aerin could only speculate how much would change before then. Would his life even be recognizable? Would his kingdom?

Aerin’s mother, Rhiannon, walked beside him with her arm hooked beneath his, her fine-boned hand laid atop his forearm, and a dark veil concealing her face. She was dressed in the rich reds and golds of House Valleros, the perfect complement to Aerin’s midnight blue and silver tunic, which, ironically, were the colors of her family, House Archeron. 

While Baldur had taken after his father in looks, there was no doubt Aerin was his mother’s son. They had the same high cheekbones, straight nose—although Aerin’s now had a faint ridge from all the times it had been broken—and full lips. And thus, the veil that hid her royal visage. had been added to the Dowager Queen’s wardrobe. Without it, there was no way to pass her off as Lady Anielle, a royal advisor whose face was said to have been horribly burned in the explosions that took out the upper half of the palace. As far as the rest of the kingdom was concerned, Rhiannon Valleros was long gone.

Every time he, Captain Ristridin, or Rhiannon herself decided that the King was in need of her counsel, Aerin was faced with the small dilemma of deciding where they should meet. His quarters or his study offered sanctuary from prying eyes, but being alone with his estranged mother in such a small space left Aerin with a creeping feeling of vulnerability, as if allowing her into his quarters allowed her to know more about him than he would ever know about her. Because truthfully, all Aerin had ever known of his mother was nothing.

Aerin thought he had made peace with his mother’s disappearance. After all, he had taken part in orchestrating it. But if that was truly the case, then why did he feel so damned angry whenever she was around? So bitter?

Aerin did not have the answers he sought nor did he have the time to sort out and analyze his own feelings. So he preferred to meet with his mother in the gardens, trailed by attendants and members of the royal guard, even if the veil Rhiannon had to wear in public made him feel like he was part of a funeral procession. Like he was speaking with a ghost. 

If he could, Aerin would simply avoid the meetings altogether, but he could not deny that his mother’s advice about navigating the court was invaluable. 

His memory held true. No one was as skilled at courtly intrigue as Rhiannon, even if she was an outsider.

The Halfling Queen. 

Aerin had so many questions. About his mother, about their heritage, about where she had been all of these years… But unsurprisingly, Rhiannon had been less than forthcoming with her secrets.  All Aerin could get out of her was that yes—she was, in fact, a human descendant of wooly halflings, and yes, that meant he was as well, but no—she was not a true Archeron, at least not by blood. Any questions beyond that, Rhiannon had simply said, Another time, Aerin. We have more important issues to worry about.

Ah, yes. More important issues, like convincing the Lords of Whitetower to go to war. 

“We should be producing supplies, building weapons, and training our soldiers,” Aerin muttered as he and his mother meandered through the hedges beneath the cloudy sky. “Not wasting time convincing the men in charge that this war is real.”

“They say the battle begins long before the troops are even sent to the fields,” his mother mused, her long and graceful steps in sync with his. Even her voice was just as he remembered it—low, rich, and wise, with regalness he could only hope to emulate.

“Half of them don’t even believe the Empire is an imminent threat,” Aerin huffed, irritated. He reached out, plucked a leaf off of a nearby bush, and pressed the pad of his thumb into its frost-covered surface, feeling the small crystals of ice melt against his skin. “They are comforted by the victory at Cragheart and forget how close we were to defeat. And that was just a test. If Iliana hadn’t—”

Aerin cut himself off, his fingers curling around the leaf in his palm as he recalled the crater of destruction she had left on that battlefield. He’d visited Cragheart the day after the battle, once all the pyres had been constructed but before the mass funeral had been held, and was astonished by the ruin Iliana’s magic had left behind. He did not know precisely what the hells had happened to Iliana that day on the fields, only that it had left her changed. Well, he supposed none of his companions were the same people anymore.

“If it hadn’t been for them,” Aerin said vaguely, not trusting himself to speak of his friends without revealing some vulnerable part of himself, “we would have lost that battle.” He shook his head, fuming. “Have they already forgotten how many dead men filled the pyres?”

“I’d wager that they have not,” the Queen Mother replied from beneath her veil, and without looking, Aerin knew her gaze was boring into him. “But this is what happens when men are born into power but given no purpose. They’ve grown complacent, accustomed to peace. These lords grew up on stories of the fiefdom wars, of squashed rebellions. But they do not know how to get their own hands dirty. They would rather ignore the threat and hope it goes away on its own.”

“It won’t go away,” Aerin insisted, although he knew he needn’t try to convince his mother. “Why can’t they see that?”

Through the veil, his mother gave him a pitying look. He despised it.

“They do not want to,” she informed him, gently. Too gently. Aerin found himself wishing she would just be stern with him, like his old tutors were. Not like… not like she was still trying to be his mother. “They are scared, Aerin, and unlike you, they have never confronted the things they fear.”

“So they would let people die instead?” he retorted, his voice sharpening in response to her gentleness.

“Success belongs to everyone involved,” Rhiannon replied sagely, her tone cool and unruffled by Aerin’s bitterness. “But failure rests solely on those in charge.”

“They would let the fault be mine,” Aerin said dryly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“They do not know you yet, Aerin,” she reminded him, and Aerin bit back the urge to snap, Neither do you.

But he ground his teeth, reining in the words before he could come to regret them.

“It remains to be seen what kintd of king you will be,” Rhiannon continued slowly, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her. “That is the case for all new rulers, not just those with your… past. They know not whether you will be a tyrant or a fool, someone who threatens what they have or someone they may take advantage of. Today, you must show them that you are neither.”

“If Father had been in charge—” Aerin’s breath hitched ever so slightly, and he disguised the hoarseness in his voice with a cough. “If Father had been in charge, they would have listened,” he said morosely. “Just as they had when he sent the standing army to Cragheart.”

“I would not be so sure,” the Queen murmured, shaking her head. “The Battle of Ash is an isolated incident, and the order to fight was a decree given in a state of emergency. Had the lords been given time, they would have fought your father until he gave them what they wanted.”

Aerin bristled, his lips thinning with displeasure as he echoed, “What they wanted?”

“The key to convincing them the war is worth their attention is learning what they desire. All men want for something,” she explained, thoughtfully drumming her fingers against his forearm. “If duty is not enough to spur them into action, perhaps a deal might.”

Aerin frowned, nose wrinkling. “We cannot afford to waste resources that should be dedicated to the war effort on convincing a bunch of lords to defend their own people.”

“We won’t have to,” Rhiannon stated confidently and Aerin glanced over at her with a single brow arched. “Some lords are more important to this cause than others,” she informed him. “Strike the tower at its base and the rest of the pieces will follow.”

Aerin pursed his lips pensively, mulling that over. His mother’s advice reminded Aerin of something he had told Iliana once, when they faced down Ristridin and his Thirteen in the poison fields. There’s thirteen of them, but only one leads.

He really was his mother’s son.

“You have… given me much to think about,” Aerin said at last, drawing them to a halt. Behind them, their retinue of attendants and guards paused as well. 

Aerin looked skyward, taking in the dim rays of sunlight that just barely streamed through the dense array of clouds. The time for his meeting was drawing near. He pulled away from his mother, inclining his head in a polite farewell. “I will consider all of this as I prepare to meet with the Council of Lords.”

Through the opaque veil, his mother’s face fell. The hand at her side twitched, as if she had intended to reach for him, then thought better of it. “Aerin, I want to tell you—”

“No need, my lady,” Aerin said swiftly, his stomach twisting in discomfort at the sudden tenderness that crept into her voice. “I have heard all that I need to hear for today.”

For once, Aerin was glad he had an audience. The nearby attendants and guards were perhaps the only thing saving him from whatever it was his mother had suddenly deemed was important enough to share with him. He stepped back, retreating toward the path that led to the palace. “Thank you for your counsel, Lady Anielle.”

His mother stared at him for a few moments, the shifting clouds stealing away the watery light that had allowed Aerin a glimpse at Rhiannon’s countenance. At last, she nodded, dipping into a low curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. I wish you luck with the lords.”

Aerin merely inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode back toward the palace, leaving his mother behind. It was not until Aerin had cleared the rose gardens that he allowed himself to let out the heavy breath of relief he had not even realized he was holding. Some of the tension slackened in his shoulders now that he had put some distance between himself and the Queen Mother.

“You could stand to be kinder to your mother,” Ristridin mumbled beneath his breath as he fell into step beside Aerin, gravel crunching beneath their boots. “I know it must not be exactly easy having her back after all this time, but she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t care.”

Aerin seriously doubted that. He scowled slightly, glancing at Ristridin sidelong. He refused to believe she came simply out of the goodness of her heart or whatever sense of duty she still miraculously possessed toward guiding her only remaining son. There must have been some other reason why she had returned to Whitetower, a place she had despised so vehemently, she abandoned the city and her family. Aerin just had yet to figure out what that reason was.

He tilted his head, regarding Ristridin with an expression of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever contemplated getting married, Captain?”

Ristridin arched a dark brow. “Not recently. Why?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aerin replied as they stepped into the palace proper, nodding to the guards that were stationed by the doorway. “Then you could start a family of your own whose business you can stick your nose into.”

That startled a laugh out of the knight. Aerin glanced over at him once more, a small smile curling his lips as he watched the old man’s brows raise in amusement.

“Aye,” Ristridin chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Aerin back to his chambers. “I will consider it, Majesty. But let it be known that you are trouble enough.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Tagging:  @diamonds-and-decorum, @kelseaaa, @xsweetnspookyx, @tyrils-star, @maeksoo, @tylorswift, @somin-yin, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski, @rainesenator, @desperatetrashwives, @choicesficwriterscreations

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[nymphadoratonks]

free market in the wizarding world

“You’re a wizard, Harry,” Hagrid said. “And you’re coming to Hogwarts.”

“What’s Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“It’s wizard school.”

“It’s not a public school, is it?”

“No, it’s privately run.”

“Good. Then I accept. Children are not the property of the state; everyone who wishes to do so has the right to offer educational goods or services at a fair market rate. Let us leave at once.”

“Malfoy bought the whole team brand-new Nimbus Cleansweeps!” Ron said, like a poor person. “That’s not fair!”

“Everything that is possible is fair,” Harry reminded him gently. “If he is able to purchase better equipment, that is his right as an individual. How is Draco’s superior purchasing ability qualitatively different from my superior Snitch-catching ability?”

“I guess it isn’t,” Ron said crossly.

Harry laughed, cool and remote, like if a mountain were to laugh. “Someday you’ll understand, Ron.”

Professor Snape stood at the front of the room, his beak-like nose protruding over the silent classroom. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess, the predisposition…I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

Harry’s hand shot up.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape asked, irritated.

“What’s the value of these potions on the open market?”

“What?”

“Why are you teaching children how to make these valuable products for ourselves at a schoolteacher’s salary instead of creating products to meet modern demand?”

“You impertinent boy–“

“Conversely, what’s to stop me from selling these potions myself after you teach us how to master them?”

“I–“

“This is really more of a question for the Economics of Potion-Making, I guess. What time are econ lessons here?”

“We have no economics lessons in this school, you ridiculous boy.”

Harry Potter stood up bravely. “We do now. Come with me if you want to learn about market forces!”

The students poured into the hallway after him. They had a leader at last. Dumbledore's army of economic analysts had been founded.

Harry and Ron stood before the Mirror of Erised. “My God,” Ron said. “Harry, it’s your dead parents.”

Harry’s eyes flicked momentarily over to the mirror. “So it is. This information is neither useful nor productive. Let us leave at once, to assist Hagrid in his noble enterprise of raising as many dragon eggs as he sees fit, in spite of our country’s unjust dragon-trading restrictions.”

“But it’s your parents, Harry,” Ron said. Ron never really got it.

Harry sighed. “The fundamental standard for all relationships is the trader principle, Ron.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron said.

“Of course you don’t,” said Harry affectionately. “This principle holds that we should interact with people on the basis of the values we can trade with them – values of all sorts, including common interests in art, sports or music, similar philosophical outlooks, political beliefs, sense of life, and more. Dead people have no value according to the trader principle.”

“But they gave birth to y–“

“I made myself, Ron,” Harry said firmly.

“Give me your wand, boy,” Voldemort hissed.

“I cannot do that. This wand represents my wealth, which is itself a tangible result of my achievements. Wealth is the product of man’s capacity to think,” Harry said bravely.

Voldemort gasped.

“There is a level of cowardice lower than that of the conformist: the fashionable non-conformist.”

Voldemort began to melt. Harry lit a cigarette, because he was the master of fire.

“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities. The minimum wage is a tax on the successful. The market will naturally dictate the minimum wage without the government stepping in to determine arbitrary limits.”

Voldemort howled.

“I’m going to sell copies of my wand at an enormous markup,” Harry said, “and you can buy one like everyone else.”

Voldemort had been defeated.

“He hated us for our freedom,” Ron said.

“No, Ron,” Harry said. “He hated us for our free markets.”

Hermione ached with desire for the both of them to master her, but nobody paid her any attention.

"Girls are a waste of time Ron" explained Harry. "Young men spend time chasing them that they could spend on self improvement instead. At least that's what Jordan Peterson says . And Jordan knows everything. By the time I've read a self improvement book and listened to the Joe Rogan podcast, brief manual stimulation to a selection of pornographic videos is the only intimacy I require."

"But Harry... I'm so lonely.. all of the time.. and I think it's driving me mad.."

"Life is mad Ron. True sanity can only be found in the pursuit of nature. And whilst primitively mankind's biological needs are to reproduce and survive, mankind has evolved. Poverty is our only predator, wealth our one sanctity from the forlorn rags of growing old."

"I dunno Harry.. I think I'd feel a lot better about life if I was shagging Hermione"

"Trust me, Ron, when your expansive knowledge of financial markets lands you a top internship at Gringotts the girls will be forming a queue. Forget Hermione, forget all of the girls at this school. As apex predators we will be able to mate with partners of our choosing. "

They stood in silence now on the top of the astronomy tower. A soft breeze rustled the autumn leaves on the ground below and scattered them silently over the Great Lake. The giant squid swam near the shore, intermittently breaking the surface of the water with a strong crash before returning to the depths below. Ron looked out over the long, long skies of Hogwarts and dreamt of love and romance and the soft touch of woman. He had learned that a man can only be an economist for so long before he longs to be a man again and for music and dancing and girls. Harry began to explain how using game theory he had decided that the Patel twins would make the optimal dates to the Yule Ball and Ron sighed silently. But Harry needed him. His parents were both dead and he'd be all on his own otherwise. And so, in the gryffindor boys dormitory, when the sun goes down at Hogwarts and the immense castle becomes black and silent except for a flicker of a candle and a shadow on a wall, Ron Weasley dreams of Hermione Grainger.

source - durfess, facebook