#actually shout-out to my whole branch playlist<3

[sarilolla]

Shout-out to the song “Brother” by Kodaline for being Branch and BroZone coded <3

Might use it in the Hanahaki Branch au, who knows? (I know) (It will be used)

Song link under the cut

[greenygreenland]

If I Were You Pt. 3: Fives x Reader

 ‘-Uhmmm yes and thank you for the request??? -Of kriffing COURSE I’ll do a pt 3! -I love asks, they make my day so thank you so much!! -the beginning is inspired by something that actually happened to me today (but it’s greatly exaggerated in this. promise.)

PREVIOUS PART

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH, ABUSE, HOSPITALIZATION.

The first thing that hits your nose is a sharp scent, like toast that’s been overcooked. You frown to yourself, dropping your pencil on the dining table as Fives follows your gaze. “What’s that smell?” you inquire. He shoots up from the couch, darting into the kitchen with a low hiss. “Maker!” 

You frown. That can’t be good. “Fives, did you put something in the toaster?” You don’t get an answer straight away, and maybe it’s better that way. When it’s silent for too long, you get up from your seat, ignoring the screeching of your chair against the wooden floorboards. “Fives, don’t tell me you--”

Everything you assumed you’d see would have been so much better. Burnt toast. Water boiling over the sides of a pot. Overcooked ramen that’s too soggy to swallow. The bright flames licking at your stove and overflowing to the L-shaped counters is so much worse. How did this happen?, you wonder to yourself. Just what had Fives been up to while you were studying for an exam? 

He’s suddenly shouting at you to do something as he fans the fire. It grows in size and he’s screaming, but it’s hard to hear him over pounding in your head. That’s when you hear the smoke detector. That familiar beep beep beep beep sound that always went off unconventionally. You never guessed it could have been right, not until now. 

The words finally fall from your mouth: “Call 911!” 

“What’s the number?!” Fives cries. You speed past him, whipping out your phone and turning on the sink. The numbers displayed on the screen flash before your eyes, and as Fives dumps water over the hot flames, you calmly speak into your phone. It’s as if you’ve been trained for this, for a life-or-death situation that would most definitely break you in the long run. 

You were already broke as it was, paying for bills on your own and the college debt that left you waist-deep in nothing. After your mum had been hospitalised due to her condition, you’ve been on your own, with only Fives as that little bit of domestic support. He couldn’t work, not when he didn’t have a passport, proof of his citizenship, or really of his existence as a whole. 

After all, he was technically still a ‘fictional character’.

When the fire department arrive, you and Fives already have the fire out. It was a miracle that the fire hadn’t spread to the rest of your home, but still a complete loss for your poor stove and toaster. 

“I’m sorry...” 

You turn to Fives and cup his cheek. His eyes are downcast as you run your fingers against his smooth skin. He feels guilty, that much you can tell, but you can’t blame him. You simply don’t have the strength to when you are oh so tired. “I bet it was a malfunction in the machinery.” you quietly answer. “It’s not your fault, love.” 

He meets your gaze with doe-like eyes that remind you just how young he is on the inside. “But I--”

You shut him down with a peck on the lips and link your hands in his. When the firemen are done inspecting the house for any possible flames you might’ve missed, you walk back inside and give your mum a ring. She doesn’t care much about the house. It’s all you and Fives that matters, just as any parent should think. You’re grateful she isn’t angry, and more so that she tells you insurance will cover everything just fine. 

The next week go smoothly. You pass your test with flying colours, your mum’s health is as stable as ever, and the house recovers with the help of insurance. The only issue you have left is the aching pain in your chest. 

Whenever you pass that stupid TV, all broken with the cracks and dark memories, it hurts. You know it shouldn’t when your father is locked away in jail, but it does, for what could have been. If your father weren’t such a jerk, then maybe you could have what you see on TV. The family where the father comes home with the mother after work, and they greet their children with smiles and hugs and kisses and ‘I love you’s that you’ll never be able to hear. 

Fives isn’t blind to the pain you carry. He sees it as clear as day, yet it’s almost impossible for him to make it go away. The most he can ever do is ease it, no matter how hard he tries. 

Today you’re wrapped in his arms on the couch with a Spotify playlist in the background blaring through a small speaker. It’s quiet, save for the faint melody of a song you never cared to learn the name of. 

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly say. Fives perks up at the solemn tone in your voice and brings you closer to his chest. “What are you sorry for?” You glance at the broken TV, then the empty house with a long sigh. “This.” You say it as if ‘this’ explains everything. It doesn’t, and Fives knits his brows together. 

“If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.” he says. “I can’t work, I don’t have an education. It’s not like I can join the military either when I’m not even supposed to exist here.” He rests his head on top of yours and your shoulders slump. “I wish I could help you more.” By ‘more’ you know he means ‘soothe the pain in your heart’. You don’t say anything though, and that’s because you’re still tired. 

You lean against his chest and close your eyes. His heartbeat is your bacta today. It helps to ease your mind knowing that he’s here every step of the way. He won’t leave you. Never.

Beep! Beep!

Your eyes snap open and you sit up. Fives hands you your vibrating phone, his secure arm still around your shoulders. You tap on the screen and place the speaker to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this (Y/f/n)?”

“Yes.”

“You were the only contact on the list, so I thought it would be fitting to call. I’m really sorry, but (M/f/n) has passed at eleven fifty-two P.M. I’m sorry for your--” 

The phone slips out of your hands. You can’t bear to hear the rest because it hurts too much. After being on your own with the bills, the money, college--everything, it’s like a smack to the face, the final breaking point that sends you over the edge. 

Fives doesn’t need to hear your voice to know what happened. He’s seen that face too many times to count that it’s ingrained in his mind like the very tattoo on his forehead. Your eyes well and you practically throw your arms around him. “Fives...Fives...” 

“It’s okay.” he gently says. “I’m still here.” He is all you have left with your parents gone. You’ve been thrown into this wayside world, where nothing is perfect and nothing goes right, but Fives is here. He’s still here. 

You don’t remember closing your eyes, or falling asleep against Fives’s chest, but when you open your eyes, all that sticks is fear. The staple screeches of blaster fire and charges blare in your ears as you rake yourself off the dark ground. You aren’t wearing your PJs, but a nice pair of Jedi robes you were sure you hadn’t ever seen in your life. 

The bodies at your feet make you feel sick, and not because the lifeless corpses aren’t moving, but because you can practically feel the absence of warmth they were supposed to exude. 

“GET DOWN!”

Arms are around you again, and as dirt and grass and branches of odd plants fly past by, you tumble to the ground in a heap. It’s hard to see through the dark haze the planet provided, but you know it's Fives who saved you. That much you can tell by the pressure of his grip and the shake of his breath. He hauls you somewhere off to the side, a little further away from the front lines as his brothers barrel past him. 

“(Y/n).” He grips your shoulders. Hard. You stare up at his frantic eyes, bewildered, and frankly, scared. You could have died, or worse, ended up a mangled mess as you died a slow, painful death. “Where--what--we were just--?”

“I don’t know.” he says. “But I guess you’re a Jedi.” His gaze falls on the lightsaber swinging from your belt. “Can you...?” You unclip the cool metal that feels so right in your hands. It’s not too light, and not too heavy, as if it were tailored for you and only you. 

The mesmerising (colour) light of your saber shines upon your face as you thumb it on. Fives sends you a reassuring nod as he throws on his bucket and whips out a blaster. “You’re a fast learner, you can do this Cyar’ika." You take one glance at the explosions to your left and nearly freeze. You’re a fast learner? You can do this cyar’ika? What kind of nonsense was Fives spewing? 

Learning how to cook was different from fighting for your kriffing life. 

Fives doesn’t give you much time to think as you swing around you lightsaber. You’re running on pure muscle memory now, from all the times you had to run in gym, all the times you played around with your plastic lightsaber. Who knew any of that would come in handy? 

It’s a miracle you’re even able to block the incoming blaster bolts, as if you had done this for years and not five seconds. 

“(Y/n)!” 

Your shoulders tense. That wasn’t Fives, it was Anakin Skywalker. He blocks a few blaster bolts and motions for you to come to him. You do, slicing a droid down its middle like it were warm butter. “(Y/n),” Anakin says again, “where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past fifteen minutes!”

“Uh...I...”

Anakin glances at the confused look on your face and you feel like you’ve just disappointed him. A frown bursts onto his face like he’s just seen the galaxy’s worst disappointment: you. “What’s wrong? Did you hit your head?” He doesn’t give you time to answer. He already knows you have no idea what’s going on, as if an invisible tie connected your thoughts to his. 

But of course he knew, he was a Jedi. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen. He nearly drops his lightsaber as he tackles you to the ground, panting, silently begging for time to be on his side. At first, you can’t feel anything, but as soon as your arm twitches, it’s there: a burn and sharp pain like you’ve never felt before. Anakin’s lips move, but you can’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth. 

You want to cry, to gasp out in pain, but it’s too much, and you black out. 

Pain. That’s the first thing you feel as you sit up with a low hiss. “Glad you’re awake Commander.” Your eyes are wide as you meet Kix’s comforting smile. Although you sense a flicker of joy, there’s a heavy weight on his shoulders you understand. He’s stressed, but not just about your condition, but his brothers’ and everyone else his heart could reach. He was a healer, just as you were supposed to be. 

“You took a nasty hit there, but you’ll be good as new.” he said. “Give it a few weeks or so.” You ripped your gaze from his and took in the sights of the hazy planet. After being thrust into the mayhem, you finally realise just where in the galaxy you were. “Kix, this is Umbara, right?” you inquire. He knits his brows together and you just know he’s beyond concerned for your health. 

“Yeah,” he slowly replies, “why?” You shrug, but he clearly doesn’t want to let you off the hook. Not when you’re needed on the battlefield for a campaign you know will go south. “No reason.” 

“I swear if you have amnesia...” He trails off and meets your eyes, as if searching for a sign to reassure him that he wouldn’t have another thing thrown on his plate. “Commander, if I may ask, do you remember what our mission is?” 

“To...capture the Umbaran base not too far from here?” 

Kix frowns. He’s disturbed, as if you told a gory horror story. For a second, you wonder why, but then it hits you like a rock in the face. Anakin saved you, and the orders you relayed just now hadn’t been announced until after his departure, when Krell arrived right after. “Wait, no--I mean--Kix, I can explain. Fives and I, we’re--” You try to sit up, but he forces you to sit back against a tree trunk. 

“I think you should sit down for a little.” he said. “Just...give it a minute Commander. Maybe you’re in shock.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Fives?” Your open-ness with Kix surprises you, but you blame it on how many times you’ve re-watched the Clone Wars on Disney Plus as a distraction from your piling college debt. He frowns again just like before. “Fives? I haven’t seen him since--”

“(Y/n)!” 

Oh that voice. You could spot that even among his own brothers. “Fives!” you exclaim. He’s already at your side, staring at the bandage covering the wound on your shoulder. “How is it?” he inquires. You shrug. “I thought it would be worse, but it’s okay.” You’re fighting hard to keep from wincing and Fives can see it. “Kix did an outstanding job.” You nod towards the medic, who remains in his spot wide-eyed. 

Kix knows something is wrong. Since when were you and Fives so close? Let alone so...touchy? 

“Cyar’ika, you’re really bad at hiding that you’re in pain. I can see it.”

Kix’s jaw goes slack. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He doesn’t say anything as Fives grasps your hand in his because he’s still processing everything. When had you both been in a relationship? When had this even happened? What did he have for breakfast this morning? His memory is all hazy and he knows something isn’t right. 

“Fives,” he slowly begins, “when...” Kix can’t bear to finish the sentence. If anyone found out, he could be court-martialled or even wiped of his memory or executed. He couldn’t let that happen to his brother. Not after Echo. Not after all the suffering he endured. 

Fives suddenly releases your hand. His expression goes blank as he meets Kix’s gaze. “Please, you can’t tell anyone.” There’s a graveness in his voice that matches the solemn tone of the planet, as if he’s expecting a lurking enemy around the bend. Kix wants to say more. He wants to lecture Fives and his Commander about how dangerous this predicament was, but he can’t. 

Not when they were looking at him like that. Like their lives depended on it.

“Alright.” he finally says. “I promise.” 

When Kix gives the ‘okay’ sign for (Y/n) to get up, she follows Fives out from behind the cover of the trees. Kix eyes the closeness of their hands, the way their shoulders seem to brush every now and then, and the whispers lost to the wind. 

“I can’t believe this...” he mumbles to himself. He rips his gaze away from his friends and walks over to check on the wounded.

You aren’t sure what to do as you pass a few members of the 501st. Some salute you while others continue their tasks. Everything you thought you knew about this arc suddenly goes down the drain. What was going on? Did Anakin already leave? Who were you to these men? To this world? 

“(Y/n)!” 

Anakin jogs over to your side, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder comfortingly. He furrows his brows as you knit your own as a subtle sign of confusion. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says. “Kix told me you’d be fine. He said it was just a graze.” Anakin pauses for a moment and frowns. “What’s wrong? I sense your confusion.” 

Wonderful. He senses your confusion. 

“I...” You glance at Fives, but he’s just as clueless as you. Anakin’s hand leaves your shoulder and wraps around a lightsaber on his belt. He hands the beautiful hilt to you, that frown still plastered on his lips. “You know, if anything is wrong, you can always tell me. I’m your master, I’m supposed to help you.”

Wait, what? 

“It’s kind of my job.” 

You almost have the urge to smile, but that last bit about him being your master just hits you in the wrong way. Did that mean you stole Ahsoka’s role? It’s suddenly hard to look Anakin in the eye. Even though he was trying to make you feel better, it only made you feel worse. 

Anakin’s lips twitch upward into a reassuring smile and he breaks from your side. “By the way, we move out in the next fifteen minutes.” 

The next hour is a complete hell of blaster fire, grenades, and death. You’ve never fought one day in your life, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t. What you know will haunt you forever are the screams of those who fight a war they never had a say in. 

After a group of Y-wing bombers swoop in as assistance, Krell comes planetside. He’s taller in real life and much more intimidating than the screen could ever capture. A lingering coldness seems to sink in your bones as he waltzes out of the gunship. You glance at Anakin, but he’s already greeting Krell with a grateful look on his face you just want to slap away. 

“Master Krell,” he says. “Thanks for the air support.” Krell inclines his head respectfully. “Indeed General. The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.” Something inside you tells you to stay alert. It might have been the Force, but you can’t tell. Krell’s very presence seemed to cloud your mind and you could only assume this was the power of the Dark Side. 

It was so much worse than described in the books or movies and shows. The sensation left you feeling cold and overwhelmed with fear you’ve never felt before. It seemed today, you were learning more than your puny brain could handle.

Anakin raises a brow at Krell. “But that’s not the reason for your visit.” Krell shakes his head. “No. The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.” Anakin’s brows shoot upward. You can feel the surprise and blatant worry without having to see his face. “What?” he exclaims. “Wh-why?”

Krell crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid a request has been made by the Supreme Chancellor and the council obliged. That is all they would tell me.” You purse your lips together and glance at Anakin, who in turn glances at you. “Well I can’t just leave my men and my padawan.”

“I’ll be taking over in the interim.” answers Krell. His tone comes out rather pushy, like he’s practically itching to take charge and put the 501st to death. The mere thought of what would happen after Anakin’s leave makes you shrink back. It’s a silent plea to your master not to go, but as everyone around here knows, orders are orders, even if they’re questionable. 

Rex glances at you and then Anakin’s troubled expression. “Don’t worry about a thing, Sir.” he dutifully says. “We’ll have the city under Republic control by the time you’re back.” Anakin takes it upon himself to introduce the Captain to Krell, who in turn gives a simple ‘good to hear that’ and wishes Skywalker well. 

Anakin turns to you and offers a comforting smile. For a moment, it makes the cold recede into warmth and love and light. “I know you’ll do fine.” He pats your shoulder in a silent telling to relax. “Master Krell, know that my padawan is more than capable both on and off the battlefield.”

“Of course.” You can’t tell if he’s sneering or not. His face is practically glued in a never ending scowl. “I will keep that in mind.” Anakin gives you one last nod and marches off to the gunship. You watch as it soars away, further and further until it’s hidden beneath the thick fog of the planet. 

Rex makes his way over to Krell’s side. He says something, but you aren’t paying attention--well, until Krell speaks. 

“I find it very interesting, Captain,” he begins, “that you are able to recognise the value of honour for a clone.” Your eyes widen. Oh the nerve. 

“Stand at attention when I address you.” Krell adds. Rex’s shoulders stiffen and it takes all your willpower not to scream. You glance at the other boys silently watching the exchange with bated breath. They followed Rex’s display, keeping their shoulders back and heads tilted at a perfect ninety-degree angle. You frown to yourself as Krell looks down upon your men. “With all due respect Master Krell--” 

He glances at you like you’re nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet. “No respect is due when you are interrupting me, Padawan (L/n). It would do you well to know where your place stands.” You open your mouth to say something, but Krell is already talking again. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.” He marches somewhere far from your sights and you really don’t care where in the galaxy he’s going as long as it’s away from you. “That is all.”

Fives sends you a look that you can’t even begin to explain. You sigh and it takes all your willpower not to say something snarky. Krell’s appearance was expected along with his terrible display of violence, but it wouldn’t have ever occurred to either of you that you’d be here to see it.

“He’s more of a jerk than I thought...” you whisper to yourself. Rex knits how brows together. He looks like he wants to chime in, but the swift flash of conflict in his heart tells him otherwise. It just wasn’t what a soldier was supposed to do. You were no soldier though, much less a Jedi Padawan at that. 

Why should that matter? If you were here, on Umbara where all the wrongs could never be fixed by the rights, then you couldn’t think about not knowing what to do. Here, you were someone, not a nobody struggling through college or scraping by with whatever dollars you could spare. Here, you had people who relied on you to lead them to victory. To another day. 

These men, these boys--they were bound to suffer a fate they had no say in because of the chips, because of Palpatine, because of all the corruption you saw on screen. Now, all this was more than a show. You were in it with living, breathing people. You wouldn’t let them down. 

“Rex.” You turn to face him and lower your voice. Even if you’ve never spoke to him, interacted with him, or even looked him in the eyes like you do now, you speak to him like a friend, as if you’ve known him for all the years the war raged on. 

“I don’t trust Master Krell.” you quietly begin. “I know you’ve heard good things about his...accomplishments, but that doesn’t mean we can follow him blindly into battle. If something’s up with his tactics, I won’t hesitate to change them. I’m not very good at that though, so I’m relying on you to help me.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate to nod. “Yes, Sir. You have my word.” His trust and loyalty to you outranks the amount he’d give to Krell on every single level possible. It’s something you thought you’d never see--devotion to a single cause, a single person, in the face of battle. The only other person you had seen such loyalty in is Fives, but now, you’re beginning to understand the pattern, or rather, culture. 

You heave in a deep breath and break from his intense gaze. “Thank you Rex, I really...I really appreciate it.” He seems to understand your unease and puts it upon himself to round up the platoons. “Alright boys!” he shouts. “You heard the Commander! Come on, let’s get a move on!”

Good man, that Rex.

--- 

Marching. That is what you’ve been doing for the past five hours, and if you remember correctly, you’ll be at it for another ten. It was a miracle you weren’t as worn as you could have been, but you guessed it was because of Fives’s energy. It kept you in step, in line with the rest of your men.

“So I say to her, baby you--”

Cue a long line of sighs and groans. “What is with you vod?” inquires Jesse. “You’re not charming Hardcase.” Kix bumps shoulders with Jesse. “Neither are you. Your cheesy jokes scare people away.” Hardcase sends Kix a funny look. “Not like you’re any better Mr. Pretty Boy, you don’t even carry lotion on you.” 

Hardcase, Jesse and Fives burst into a tough fit of giggles. Kix goes silent for a moment, heaving in a sharp breath before actually laughing. You gape at him. It’s impossible to even begin imagining the stress he’s under after seeing so many of his brothers die in his arms. He’s a medic, but with that comes a responsibility greater than holding up the sky. 

“You’re right about that.” Kix admits with another chuckle. “But at least I can read five textbooks in my spare time without getting bored.” Fives rolls his eyes and you almost smile. “Like that’s anything to brag about. Our Commander here can probably read ten.” You glance at Fives, who you can just tell is grinning madly under that bucket. “No I can’t.”

“Uh, yeah you can.” he sassily replies. “Throw a few reports on top of it and a due date, too. She’s amazing.” You glance at Kix, sensing his curiosity that seems to bloom as soon as your eyes meet his. Hardcase and Jesse are quick to catch on, glancing between you and Fives like it were a tennis match. 

“Hmm... Something’s not right here.” Jesse comments, peering at Fives. You want to glare at your boyfriend, but how can you stay mad at him? He’s absolutely right about you and you know it. 

Kix sends you both a look that clearly says, ‘are you gonna tell them?’. Now you glance at Fives, who then glances at you, which finally makes you turn to Kix and then the two curious boys. Jesse suddenly stumbles over a rock, not because he’s clumsy, but because he’s shocked. 

Oh no.

“Not to be intrusive, but are you...?” Jesse tapped the air, as if connecting the dots. “No way. No way. Does anyone, you know, know?” Everyone eyes Rex, who’s only a couple meters up front. As if written in a book, Rex turns to look over his shoulder, his gaze so happening to zero on you and Fives. 

“Why are you such a loud mouth Jesse?!” Fives whisper-screamed. You face-palm. “That wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we had, I don’t know, whispered?”

“How was I supposed to know? I didn’t think I was actually--”

“Quiet back there.” Rex’s steady voice orders. He slows his pace to match your own, tilting his line of view towards the group of rigid boys. “If you keep that up, you’ll find out a lot faster that not everyone is good at keeping secrets.” And with that, he nods your way, picking up the pace to settle back in his old spot.

Hardcase looks between his brothers and you. “I still don’t get it.” 

You smile at him weakly. It’s all you can muster. Fives’s hand brushes yours; a silent sign of comfort. You look up at him, and even with that bucket, you know he’s smiling like you put all the stars up in the sky. All you know in that moment is if you were him, and he were you, neither of you would survive. 

The galaxy is big, but the universe is wide.

DON’T FORGET TO REBLOG (so this can reach more people!) TIP JAR

[queen-busybee]

Christmas Together

Hello @ilydowa​ ! I’m your Secret Santa! You mentioned some Dupain-Cheng and Adrinette in your requests, as well as some Family Bonding, so here is your gift! Happy Holidays and I hope you have a great rest of the year <3

Sabine pursed her lips and watched as the children gathered around in her living room. There was a raucous laughter rising between them as they pulled ornaments and tinsel out of the boxes usually kept in the attic when it wasn’t the holidays. Marinette tossed a handful of crumbled newspaper at Alya, who was holding up a baby photo ornament that celebrated the girl's first Christmas. Nino threw his head back and laughed as Adrien chuckled softly behind his hand. Then there was Chloe, who plucked the photo from Alya's hand and started laughing. Marinette pouted and held out her hand for it, which Chloe handed over to her, saying something.

"Darling," Tom whispered, coming behind Sabine and leaning down towards her. "If you keep looking at them like that, your face will get stuck."

She blushed a little and turned away from the living room, reaching for more dishes she had soaking in her sink. "I just don't get it," she murmured back to him. "Marinette and Chloe have been at each other's throats for over four years--and now we have her over for Christmas." Sabine sighed and rinsed a plate under warm water. "I should be happy, shouldn't I? That my daughter is making friends and that they clearly get along. I just... don't understand."

"Maybe you're not meant to," Tom told her, laying a reassuring hand on the small of her back. "I think Marinette is a very good judge of character, if not overly critical sometimes. Don't you think that if she has decided to be friends with Chloe, to forgive her for the past few years, that it's something we should trust and support her with?"

Sabine pursed her lips again and grabbed the towel laying on the counter, drying the plate. "I suppose," she sighed, glancing over to where Chloe was tossing a string of tinsel around Adrien's neck. "I think that we should get an explanation, though, don't you? After all the times we've had Marinette come home crying or yelling in anger. I think we've suffered from their fights as well."

Tom chuckled and the side of her head, turning around and grabbing a pan from the oven and setting it on the stove top. "Chloe seems much better than all the stories we were told," he commented, pulling his oven mitts off. "She brought us a bottle of wine as a thank you for having her. I think she knows that we're not the biggest fans of her. Did you see the look on her face when Marinette took Alya up to her room and the boys ran downstairs for some cookies?" He grinned at Sabine and reached out, brushing her hair out of her face. "Just try giving her another chance. For Marinette and Adrien."

She sighed and turned her head, kissing Tom's fingers as they slid past. "For Marinette and Adrien," she relented, looking past her husband to see Adrien leaning against Chloe as they laughed at something. Sabine knew that they were childhood friends, before Adrien was allowed to go to public school and before he started dating Marinette; Chloe was his oldest and, at some points, only friend. Adrien was sweet and gentle and Sabine supposed he should know what kind of person Chloe was the best, and if he has been friends with her for so long, then maybe she should trust his judgement as well.

Marinette popped her head up from where she was laying on the couch. "Oh! Are the cookies ready, Papa?" she asked excitedly, hopping to her feet and rushing into the kitchen. At the mention of fresh cookies, the laughter and talking died from the other teens and they watched intently as Marinette started plucking hot cookies from the baking sheet and onto a freshly washed plate.

"Be careful," Tom scolded her, laughing as she let out a hiss and waved her hand in the air. Marinette smiled sheepishly at him and then grabbed a spatula that Sabine held out to her.

"Marinette is a little sugar bug," Adrien called out, entering the kitchen and sidling up next to her, grabbing a cookie from the plate. "She's always so impatient when it comes to sweets." He grinned cheekily when she gave him a droll stare and he slid the whole cookie into his mouth. "Mm, hot," he whined, mouth full, and headed back to the couch.

"Literally the biggest dork," Chloe said, rolling her eyes, crossing her arms. "Marinette just burned her fingers. You two are completely made for each other." Adrien laughed as he walked up to her, kissing her cheek.

Marinette walked back to the living room, setting the cookies on the table. "Alright, be careful because they're hot," she said, wiggling her red finger tips at them. "Don't be like--"

Outside there was a loud rumble, and the lights flickered in the house. The smiles on the teens' faces died and became solemn frowns as Alya's phone lit up and chimed. "An akuma," Alya told them, grabbing it and typing away on the screen. "Downtown, near the hotel--powers unknown, but they're saying it's big."

Marinette grabbed the plate of cookies. "Oh hey, guys, I forgot something upstairs, let's go, come on." She grabbed Adrien by the arm and all of the teens started rushing towards the stairs. Sabine and Tom watched, curious and confused, when Marinette stopped Alya from entering. They spoke in hushed voices that they couldn't hear and then Alya slowly made her way back down the stairs and towards the half decorated tree again.

Tom and Sabine shared a look. "You're not going up with them?" he asked Alya. She looked up from her phone, which was playing a video, the sound of loud crashing and some screaming distant and quiet; Sabine assumed she was watching some live footage from her Ladyblog.

"Ah, yeah," the girl said distractedly, sitting on the couch. Her brows drew together in concern when she heard someone shout out that Ladybug had arrived. "I'm on distraction duty." Tom and Sabine looked at each other again as Alya jerked her head up from the phone. "I-I mean I was sent to keep working on the tree! They don't want the decorating to fall behind because they're busy, you know?" She laughed nervously and set the phone on the coffee table, grabbing some tinsel and starting to lay it on the tree.

Tom chuckled and headed over to help her, steadying her as she wobbled on her tiptoes and grabbing the tinsel to drape over the top of the tree. "Thanks, Mr. Dupain," Alya said with a laugh before turning to her phone and frowning.

Sabine turned off the running water and walked over into the living room to join them. "I know you usually run off and record for the blog, but I just don't feel comfortable knowing something bad could happen and you could get hurt," Sabine told her, handing her a couple ornaments to hang on the tree. "I wouldn't know what to tell your parents."

Alya shrugged. "It's fine, really," she said, hanging the red ball and fabric bread on the fir branches. "I can see what's going on with the blog. I don't actually do most of the live-blogging anymore. I have a bunch of people who applied to be reporters since the other heroes joined the mix--it's really hard to keep a tab on all five of them, so I needed to expand. It's a great volunteer opportunity to add to a resume and I had kids my age to university students sending in applications and sample videos. Marinette helped me pick out around six of them."

There was a sudden noise from Marinette's bedroom and Alya winced. Nino popped his head out from the door and gave a sheepish grin when everyone turned to look at him. "Uh, hey Mr. and Mrs. D-C. Hey, uh, Alya, can you come up here, babe?"

Alya rushed up the stairs and the two spoke to each other quietly before she slid into the room and he came down towards them. On the coffee table, Alya's phone lay forgotten, voices coming through, talking about how Carapace was missing now, but there were reports about Rena Rogue headed their way.

Sabine and Tom looked at each other in surprise as Nino grabbed some ornaments. "Sent to trade places with Alya?" Tom asked. "For--what was it she said--distraction duty?"

Nino tripped and caught himself on the arm of the couch, eyes wide. Sabine gasped until she realized he was fine, then giggled behind her hand as she gave Tom a fond look. She really did love her daughter's friends. Nino was the quietest of all of them, but he was sweet. "Uh what? Distraction duty?" he laughed nervously. "Why would we--" He paled a little and swallowed. "Ah-ha. Yeah; you got us. We're wrapping presents for you guys upstairs." His tense smile was little to be believed, but Tom just laughed.

"We're teasing you. It's fine," he assured the boy, clasping his shoulder. "You kids have your secrets, and that's okay." He shared a look with Sabine. "We know we aren't always in on the know, no matter how cool of parents we might be."

Nino laughed a little again, looking down at the phone still playing live footage of the akuma battle happening as they spoke. His brows drew up a little in concern. Sabine and Tom frowned at each other and Sabine handed him an ornament. "Marinette has told me that you made a holiday playlist--will you play it for us when the kids return from... wrapping presents?"

Nino looked up and shrugged. "I don't know if it's ready yet," he said quietly, hanging up a green bow.

Tom gave him a gentle smile. "I get that," he said, reaching up to hang some ornaments near the top of the tree. "I feel that way whenever I try making a new recipe too. I'm sure Mari feels like that whenever she designs too." The man looked fondly at the baby ornament of Marinette. "There comes a time where there's nothing more that you can change or fix--because it's not wrong anymore, even if it doesn't feel perfect. It may never look like how it did in your head, but I have found that people will see the perfection you tried to do, instead of all the mistakes you're seeing."

Nino paused and looked at the tree thoughtfully before smiling a little. "Thanks Mr. D-C. You're the best," he grinned. He went to grab for more ornaments when there was a another loud noise from upstairs.

A breathless, red-faced Marinette popped out from her door. "Nino!" she called, panting a little, her pigtails messy and some dirt streaked along her cheek. "A little help, yeah?" He nodded and rushed upstairs. With their hushed voices too quiet to hear, the only thing audible was the cries from people asking where Ladybug had gone through the Ladyblog live stream.

Then Marinette came down to join them. "Hi Maman, hi Papa," she said, leaning over and kissing their cheeks. "The tree looks beautiful. Will we wait until it's dark to put on the star?"

Sabine walked over and rubbed at the dirt on her cheek. "I think we should wait for you friends," she told her daughter, "and Chloe."

Marinette pouted a little at that. "Maman," she whined, rubbing at her cheek more vigorously. "I know it's weird having Chloe over, but she's a good. We're fine now. I promise. She's a really good friend."

Her mother hesitated and pulled her into a hug. "I know. I'm sorry," she murmured. "You can't blame me for being worried. After everything."

"After everything, we're friends," Marinette said. "I think that should mean something."

Tom smiled at her and rested a hand on her head. "Of course it does, dear," he told her. "You know your mother worries a lot. Chloe has been very sweet--that was an expensive bottle of wine she brought us."

Marinette laughed and grabbed a couple ornaments. "I told her she didn't have to bring anything, but she insisted." Her eyes wandered over to the phone on the table and she paused, biting her lip nervously. "It looks like a really tough akuma," she whispered, eyes wide and her fingers holding onto small reindeer tightly.

Sabine followed her gaze and she saw Chat Noir get slammed against the wall of a building and Marinette whimpered a little. "I'm sure they'll be okay," she offered in reassurance as Chat pushed himself to his feet and ran off to join Rena Rogue and Queen B behind Carapace's shield. "Sometimes I get really worried about them--they're a bunch of kids around your age, but I think they do a very good job of keeping each other safe, especially since the others have joined." They stayed close together, clearly talking, before Chat and Rena Rogue withdrew, the high noise of a flute filling the air before a smokey haze covered the street and obscured the vision from the camera.

"It was hard at first," Marinette said, voice far-off and her attention fixed on the screen despite the fact there was nothing to see. "I don't think the public took very well to the idea of having new superheroes--not that I really blame them. It always seems like when a new one pops up, they end up getting akumatized, so I understand everyone's hesitations."

Tom hummed thoughtfully and started closing up the empty boxes. "It was hard to trust other people after we've been relying on two for all this time--but I think the kids have more than proved themselves, don't you?"

"Yes," Marinette agreed firmly.

She looked up to where her stairs were when once again a faint thump echoed through the house. Marinette rushed over the the stairs when the door opened to reveal a winded Adrien. They spoke heatedly, even in hushed tones, then Marinette disappeared into her room again and Adrien joined them downstairs.

"Still working on those presents?" Sabine asked, laughing softly. Adrien grinned sheepishly and sat heavily onto the couch.

"We're almost done," he promised.

"You've all taken turns being with us tonight," Tom laughed. "Will Chloe be next on distraction duty?" Sabine gave a worried look and Adrien frowned, making a sad noise in the back of his throat.

"Look," Adrien said softly, not looking at them. In the background, there was the faint cry from the live stream of Ladybug calling for her Miraculous Ladybug. "I know you guys aren't totally comfortable with Chloe being around." He paused and looked at them, frowning a little. "I know Chloe isn't perfect--I've known for a long time. But she's trying now. She's trying hard and she's changing in a lot of ways and sometimes it's slow and rocky and still not exactly good, but she's trying and I am really proud of her for that. It's not easy for her and I know some people will never forgive her, but we have. And I hope that you guys do too."

Adrien fell quiet when there were a series of bumps from Marinette's room, and then a line of the kids came down the stairs, talking and laughing. Marinette walked up to Adrien and gave him a kiss on the cheek, hugging him before walking to the kitchen to place the plate from the cookies into the sink.

Everyone took a seat on the couch and the neighboring chairs to watch Tom hang the light on the tree and plug it in. The room filled with a soft, warm, gentle yellow glow from the lights wrapped around the branches and from the star itself. With the tree finished, Sabine went back to the kitchen to work on making some dinner. She paused when she heard the kids start laughing again, and she saw just how at ease Chloe was and how much she looked like she belonged with them.

"Chloe," Sabine called out. The girl looked up from the where she sat on the couch, face hesitant. "I've told all the rest of Marinette's friends, but I'd like to tell you that you are always welcome here," she told her softly, and Sabine smiled gently when Chloe's face split into a grin. "Any time. Just leave us a note if you had to come in during the middle of the night. We want to know who is here and if you guys are safe and all that."

She turned to look at her friends, Nino giving her a thumbs up and Alya smiling and Marinette and Adrien looking proud and it made her smile sweeter. "Thank you, Madame Cheng." Chloe bowed her head in thanks and turned back to the rest of the kids.

Tom grinned at Sabine and cleared his throat as he sat on the chair next to the couch. "So did you guys figure out what kind of akuma it was today?"

"Angry shopper," Adrien told him. "Upset because they had run out of a certain toy he had wanted to get his son for Christmas."

"I don't know why people don't just order online," Chloe said, rolling her eyes and looking at her nails. "I shop exclusively online during this time of the year--going to those crowded stores, ugh, I'll probably end up with people shoving me and pulling on my coat." They laughed and she rolled her eyes again, shaking her head slightly.

Sabine walked over to the sink to wash the dirty plate Marinette had brought down from her room. "It seemed like a longer fight than normal and those Ladyblog streamers kept mentioning that the heroes were leaving. I'm just glad everything was okay in the end."

"Of course it was okay," Chloe said, leaning back in her chair and looking over at her. "They're superheroes, Madame Cheng. They're fabulous and will always kick major butt."

Turning on the water, Sabine chuckled a little. "A hero fan, are you?" she asked Chloe, who nodded enthusiastically.

Chloe took out her phone and gestured to the hero-themed case on it. "All the heroes are extremely fashionable and smart--but especially Queen B." The kids at the table shook their heads and laughed affectionately at her.

"Ah, a Queen B fan?" Tom asked, and Chloe smirked, flicking her honeycomb earrings. "I think Sabine and I are more Ladybug fans." Chloe's smirk fell a little and she pouted as the others laughed, Marinette looking a tad smug. "After all, she's our daughter."

The room fell silent as Tom stood and walked over to Sabine, offering her a dry towel for the plate she was watching.

"Ah, what did you say, Papa?" Marinette asked nervously.

He looked back at the table of kids, whose faces were tight with worry. "Hm. Oh," he said, "That Ladybug is like our daughter--black hair, blue eyes, beautiful, kind--we think she's an amazing role model for you!" There was an audible whoosh from the sigh of relief that swept through the kids at the table and they laughed nervously. Tom looked down at Sabine and winked. She just turned back towards the sink and giggled to herself.

@mlsecretsanta Main blog: leoqueen082

[ineffablecolors]

You Plugged in the Lights (a NWIH story)

So this is a warm little Christmas-y piece which you can totally just read without much ado.

It is also an epilogue to a two-year-old fic named No Way In Hell which I promise gets kinda good around the 5th chapter and which still has my heart and which I might start reposting on AO3 soon.

It is also and most importantly a present for the absolutely wonderful and incredibly thoughtful and generous @shady-swan-jones who remembers stuff I’ve written ages ago (see: No Way In Hell) and seems to still hold love for them - I’m so sorry this wasn’t ready for Christmas but hey, managing before New Year’s earns me some points, right?

You Plugged in the Lights (a No Way In Hell story);  ~ 3, 000 words; FF.NET || (hopefully) soon on AO3

All her life Emma’s Christmases have been marked by one defining characteristic – noise.

Christmases in group homes were loud with the screams of a multitude of kids, the yells, the trampling feet, the fights over the few good toys that people had dropped off – more often to make themselves feel good rather than the children.

Christmases in foster homes were loud with the shouting of foster parents, the never-ending arguments, the pointed hints about how grateful one should be there – an indebtedness that made the hardest of cookies even harder to swallow.

Christmases in bars were loud with the merriment of other people, the clanking of forks on plates, the jokes and conversations that you were decidedly not a part of – the very invisibility of those that were there to be pretty, to bring plates and take them away, to get up on stage and entertain, to welcome, to clean up after – never to be part of it all.

Christmases at LA wanna-be parties were loud with the laughter of people you didn’t know, the compliments of people whose opinion you didn’t care about, the seizing glances and occasional glares of people who didn’t care for you – the fakeness of it all.

Christmases at Hollywood supposedly-made-it parties were loud with the expectations of glamour and glitter, the necessary witticisms, the inescapable over-the-top flattery, the eventual scheming for the awards season – the anonymity of the dazzling crowd.

 But her first Christmas with Killian is quiet.

David takes Mary-Margaret to visit his mother without his usual apprehension that Emma will be spending the holiday with a bottle of wine and some store-bought slices of turkey. It is the first time since he became her agent that he doesn’t try to convince her to make an appearance at one of the multitude of parties she has been invited to.

It’s been a little over half a year since Killian’s accident and neither of them has shown much interest in rejoining the world of flashing lights and black-tie celebrations.

It is the first time she realizes exactly how much tact David actually has sometimes, definitely not the first she sees how much he always looks out for her – for the both of them now.

Ruby is a bit harder to shake. But her obvious desire to take Belle somewhere high in the mountains with plenty of reasons for them to snuggle together under warm blankets and warmer caresses is… well, obvious.

And Gold’s secretary that came forth with all her knowledge and unexpected bravery and solidified their case while winning the heart of the plaintiff’s sister is a whole other story-

And Emma can’t help but be glad. She knows that Killian loves Ruby with all his heart but sometimes… sometimes she can tell how hard he tries around his sister, how desperately he fights to go back to someone he was before he lost his hand and then even further back – before he knew loss at all.

And much as Emma knows how special a family Christmas can be for all of them, she also knows there will be time.

A happily ever after worth of it.

There will be time for huge trees and lavish dinners and tons of presents under said trees and the whole patchwork family around the table. In a year or two.

But for this year, maybe they are still too fragile, maybe they are still sweeping their broken pieces together, maybe they are still trying to fit them with each other’s. Maybe Emma just wants what she has never had – a quiet Christmas. And she doesn’t think Killian minds one bit.

 They think about staying at home at first.

Yes, ‘home’ is now one and the same thing no matter which of them is talking and that’s still new and exhilarating and scary and just…

Or rather, they don’t think about it so much as for the first two weeks of December they just wake up as usual – with the sunlight shining on Killian’s back as Emma stubbornly hides her face in his chest, with her lips eventually reaching his ribs and waking him with little kisses and nibbles, until she feels his hand looking blindly for the waistband of her pjs and his stump brushing away her hair so he can lavish the same kind of attention on her neck.

For the first two weeks of December Emma resolutely starts her days with her morning run, while Killian fluctuates between joining her – mostly so that he can join her in the shower as well afterwards – or staying behind so he can greet her with breakfast – an endeavor whose success rate also fluctuates – from a welcome of aromatic coffee and perfectly golden pancakes and syrupy kisses to a flour-littered floor and a smashed plate and a frustrated Killian with nailmarks on his left bicep.

For the first two weeks of December Emma works on her script and Killian works on her pirate vocabulary, she familiarizes herself with the production side of motion pictures and he goes to physiotherapy and fixes things around their new place that Emma thinks they can simply call someone for just to prove that he can.

He can. 6 out of 7. Not that she ever doubted him.

For the first two weeks of December they just fall asleep as usual – with Emma’s nose buried between Killian’s shoulder blades, hand stroking through his hair or over the valleys of scars on his forearm, or with cooled mugs and a laptop glowing in the dark while they try to fit all their limbs on the small couch that they keep meaning to replace.

For the first two weeks of December they don’t plan on doing much of anything with the last two weeks of December. At some point Emma buys some plain white Christmas lights and presents them to her boyfriend with a shy smile because lights and a boyfriend happen to be two things she has never had before on Christmas – let alone together. And Killian smiles at her and kisses her forehead and her nose and does his best not to get frustrated at the process of untangling strings upon strings of little bulbs one-handed, until Emma herself says fuck it and decides that huge balls of bunched up lights are a good enough decoration for the time being.

Almost all those damn lights are properly spread out and illuminating the windows by the time – well into the third week of December – Killian suggests they follow little sis’s example and go somewhere with an actual chance of a white Christmas. Somewhere less populated and sports-orientated than the resort Ruby and Belle had chosen. Somewhere warm and cozy.

“A little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Big fireplace, small bed we have to share. What do you think, Swan?”

What could she think about anything that makes his eyes sparkle like that?

 He pulls some strings to get that perfect place that she is pretty sure he had his eye on even before mentioning it to her and Emma packs for the both of them with the kind of confidence and ease that makes her stop half-way through to go find Killian typing away on his laptop and throw her arms around him.

She drives and he presents her with a roadtrip playlist made to be sang to. She drives through Nevada belting Mr Brightside so hard Killian’s ears must ring all the way to Utah but he grins at her as if she just discovered a new note and makes her pull over just so he can mess up her ponytail and kiss her until she cannot remember the lyrics to any song she has ever heard besides the one her heart is beating out against his chest.

They drive through the night with only stops for coffee and hot chocolate and Snickers bars and somehow manage to eat all the sandwiches Emma rolled her eyes at the day before while Killian just shook his head and spread butter with the patience of a man who has never used margarine.

What are we, a football team of teenagers?

Well, you can certainly eat like one, love.

His shoulder is probably still slightly purple from that one.

 It’s the winter wonderland they promised themselves. Plus cheek-cutting gusts of wind and precariously swaying icicles and three feet worth of snow that they have to trudge through with their bags slung over their shoulders after taking the car as far as it could possibly go.

The wind convinces Emma’s scarf to whip her in the face four times before she unwounds the bastard and then has to chase it in a direction that is most certainly not the direction they are going in. Killian finds her dropping her bag to run after her errant piece of clothing as some sort of an invitation for a snowball fight. Once her indignation has blown away with her scarf and she actually takes aim at him, he realizes exactly how long it takes him to make a proper snowball with one hand and seems to think tackling her into the snow an appropriate change of tactic.

Her scarf ends up on a branch that she fruitlessly jumps at for a solid five minutes before Killian lifts her onto his shoulders.

Without satisfactory warning or preparation, mind you-

And Emma takes great pleasure in pulling hard on the branch and watching the snow come down on his head even as she faces a similar fate.

It's the cozy little getaway they were aiming for. Plus a boiler that takes a couple of hours to heat up enough water for one person (Killian thinks it the perfect excuse for joined showers but Emma knows their joined ‘showers’ last three times as long as her regular ones), an intimidating fireplace with a much less intimidating pile of firewood beside it and a Christmas tree that somehow found itself in the living room but avoided the weight of a single ornament.

Killian ‘teaches’ her how to chop firewood for a solid hour before she discovers that he has never held an axe, even a prop one. She ‘learns’ how to chip off splinters from a log for another half hour before they discover the little closet-like space filled to the brim with firewood. She lets Killian carry all of it inside just because she can still see the tense set of his shoulders from when she got one of those splinters in her palm and watching her act the lumberjack stopped being a source of amusement and endless innuendoes. He arranges the logs inside the frankly outrageous fireplace and she strikes the match and settles in his lap to kiss his red nose and each corner of his mouth and brush away the cobwebs in his hair that he seems to have gathered along with the wood.

They make tree ornaments out of the dozen pinecones they manage to dig out of the snow and the tinfoil left from their sandwiches and check two boxes of Christmas lights to end up with barely three short strings of working ones.

They are drinking cocoa made with hot water, buried in enough blankets for ten people, in the feeble glow of those three strings and the roaring fire and she can still see the way his fingers rub nervously at the cup handle.

“A little cabin in the middle of nowhere, big fireplace… we might not even make it to the bed,” she whispers in his ear and buts her head under his chin until he chuckles helplessly and slings his left arm around her shoulders to draw her that last breath closer.

“You are awfully bad at keeping your hands off me, darling.”

She scoffs and puffs and grumbles but there’s nothing quite as telling as the way her fingers have slipped under his sweater to play along his collarbone.

“Do you foresee that changing anytime soon?”

It takes her a moment to process the question and another to detect the slight change in tone. She pulls back to give him her most incredulous look but his gaze is firmly focused on their scanty lights as his jaw ticks away with the seconds and the crackling of the fire. So instead she turns around and takes the cup from his hand to set it on the floor and straddles him with little preamble.

Her lips find his Adam’s apple and the scruffy line of his jaw, his cheekbone and the light arch of his eyebrow. Her hands drift down both his shoulders to cup his left wrist and intertwine with the fingers on his right hand and she waits for him to look straight at her, takes a moment to appreciate the soft yellow-red light reflected in his blue eyes and shakes her head for a good ten seconds before finally replying.

“No.”

He waits a beat, looking at her, into her, reading the soul she has bared to him long before they made it to a cozy fire and a pile of blankets in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve. Then he nods, lips quirking up in almost-melancholy, almost-joy, almost-certainty.

“Thought as much.”

She looks at him as he looks down at their hands and plays with her fingers in movements reminiscent of the way he was fidgeting with his coffee mug mere minutes ago. She looks at him as he looks up and the tears in his eyes make every organ inside her body seize up as her fingers clamp harder around him.

“It’s…” he swallows and his gaze slips back to the little lights. “It’s not terribly different from the way you check each bulb in a string to make sure they lights up. Except…”

He wets his lips and squeezes her hand and Emma desperately needs him to get where he is headed with all this so she can breathe again.

“Except they were all out. All the lights. Each one would… flash up for a moment… and then go out. And then there was you.”

His eyes find hers again and she almost startles as she feels a tear make its way down her cheek instead of his.

Killian’s left wrist twitches in her hand for a second, another has him furrowing his brow, head tilted as he slowly, consciously and so very slowly reaches up and brushes the teardrop away with his stump.

“You were the only light that kept on shining, glowing in the dark so steadfastly that soon the dark was just shadows and even those often… scared away by the sheer luminance of… of you.”

“Killian-“

“I don’t… I didn’t think… I couldn’t come up with a metaphor that didn’t make me the darkness to your light.”

She shakes her head, violently and desperately and-

“But then I thought… maybe I could be the tree you wrap around. Maybe-“

She drops her forehead to his and it earns her the breath she needs to tell him.

“No.”

“No?”

She shakes her head and feels a strand of hair stick where his own face is not dry any longer.

“No. You-“ another shake and a choked laugh. “You are the one that dug me out and finally plugged me in.”

Her head tilts with his as he seems to consider her metaphor submission.

“You are the one that lit me up.”

He is about to say something. He reconsiders and kisses her instead – firm and thorough and putting the fire at her back to shame.

“It might very well be selfishness and self-service rearing their ugly heads,” he says when he pulls away and she hurries to blink away the fog of his mouth to follow what is coming from it now. “But I feel like I have done what I could to assure you that you can do much better than this one-handed ex-HanSolo-wanna-be.”

She growls at him and digs her fingers into his ribs in admonishment.

“Ah-ah, Swan. I said I feel I’ve done what’s within my power – I have probably broken a full set of your pretty daffodil plates by now-“

She doesn’t give a flying fuck about the daffodil plates, they can eat off the counter for all she cares-

“and I have inflicted multiple shopping trips with Ruby on you. And yet…”

His hand runs down her hair and twirls the strand it ends up with and his lips go up again – almost-wistfulness, almost-delight, almost-certainty.

“And yet here you are. Shining… Supposedly because I plugged you in,” he tackles on with a face that tells her exactly how much her metaphor is ruining his pretty speech and yet.

His eyes are amusement and fondness and so much love and almost-almost-certainty.

“And… and I want nothing more than to be in your light, to… hopefully, possibly… reflect some back to you… for the rest of our lives.”

He lets go of her hand for what feels like the first time in hours and she almost has a chance to miss him before he digs the ring out of his pocket.

“Emma Swan, light of my life… do you think you can possibly find your happily ever after… as my wife?”

She doesn’t watch the light play in the diamond, she watches it play in his eyes and she reaches up to cup his face so she can feel his smile when she says it.

“I don’t think I can find it any other way.”

He smiles and she kisses him – light and warmth and love and certainty.

[droewyn]

Give Me a Reason (5/9)

<Part 1>    <Part 2>    <Part 3>    <Part 4>

“He’s not really my friend, you know,” Yuuri informed the Uber driver.  He had no idea how long they had been on the road, or how much longer they’d be on the road, and the silence had finally gotten to him.  “This is actually a kidnapping.  Did you not notice the blindfold?”  It was actually a sleep mask, but the effect was the same.  Yuuri couldn’t see a thing.

“Lies!” Phichit gasped, swatting Yuuri on the shoulder.  “I am your best friend.  Best possible friend.  There are no better friends than me in the entire world and you know it.”

“Did you see that?” he demanded.  “Now he’s using physical violence to subdue me.”

There was a dry laugh from the front seat.  “Yeah, dude.  I can tell you’re terrified.”

“I’m resigned to my fate,” Yuuri corrected primly.  “You notice he’s not even denying the kidnapping part.”

“I’m kidnapping you out of love, Yuuri.  It’s a love abduction.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what serial killers say right before they—”  The car turned abruptly, and Yuuri fumbled for the oh-shit handle to keep himself upright.  Pavement gave way to gravel, and a moment later he felt the engine quiet as they slowed to a stop.

“We’re here!”

Having been forbidden to remove the blindfold until Phichit gave him permission to do so, Yuuri unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door, but stayed where he was.  “I forgive you for not saving me,” he told the driver as Phichit paid for their ride.  “Please don’t blame yourself for my impending demise.”  Then there were hands on his, pulling him to his feet.

“Good luck with your… whatever,” the voice laughed, and the car started to pull away.

“My unquiet spirit totally won’t haunt you for eternity or anything, so don’t worry about it!” Yuuri shouted after the retreating vehicle.  Gripping Phichit’s hand tightly, he allowed himself to be led off the gravel and onto grass.  The sun was warm on his face, and the air was heady with spring flowers.

“You’re in a better mood today,” Phichit observed as they walked.

Yuuri shrugged.  “I guess,” he said.  “I mean, I’m still incredibly homesick, Victor Nikiforov still doesn’t know that I exist, I’m still going to have to take at least an extra semester of classes thanks to Professor Just-Because-You’re-An-Olympian-Doesn’t-Mean-You’re-Exempt-From-My-Attendance-Policy-You-Entitled-Millennial Goddamn Flint, and King probably still hates me.  But I had the spoons for basic hygiene this morning, so go me?”

The floral scent was getting stronger now.  Much stronger.  “You bantered with Uber Mike.  Having non-essential spoons to spend is good, right?”  Yuuri made a noncommittal noise, and Phichit sighed.  “Look, you were eighth at Worlds this year and tenth in the Olympics so the Victor thing is in progress, you’re going to camp out in front of the dean’s office until she agrees to review Flint’s bullshit decision, which she will since she isn’t an ageist old goat, and King absolutely does not hate you.  In fact, he’s been PMing me so much that I can’t keep up with his messages, and coming from me you know that’s saying something.  He’s worried, and more than a little afraid that you hate him.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by a finger on his lips.  “Later,” Phichit’s tone brooked no argument.  “First things first.”  Without further warning, the sleep mask was yanked from his face, and Yuuri found himself blinking against sudden brightness.

The world was a green and purple blur.  One of the blankets from their apartment was spread out on the grass, and on top of it sat a red and white plastic cooler.  Phichit handed him his glasses, and as he slid them into place, the fuzzy shapes around them resolved into an intimate little grove of lilac bushes.  The plants were in full bloom, branches nearly bowing under the weight of the flowers.  Yuuri gasped.  “Phichit.”  His voice was an awed murmur.  “Is this...” he trailed off.

“It’s Michigan hanami!”  Phichit was beaming at Yuuri, delighted by his reaction.  “I couldn’t find any cherry blossoms, except for some little ornamental trees in people’s yards, but lilacs are basically everywhere.  Mackinac Island even has a lilac festival, but the hotels have been booked up for months and they’re really expensive and anyway, I didn’t think I could get you to put up with the blindfold for that long.”

“No, this is perfect.”   And it was.  If sakura blossoms were Japan – subtly sweet and graceful, with beauty in their very uniformity – then surely the bold lilac, with its powerful fragrance and infinite variations in size and color, had to be America.

And best of all, they were completely alone.  Even in a small town like Hasetsu, hanami would have them fighting for space, everyone’s blankets nearly overlapping in the struggle to fit everyone in for the sakura viewing.  It was fun, but loud and stressful as well.  Here, there was nothing to distract from the flowers, just the rustling of trees in the breeze interrupted by occasional birdsong.

No sooner had they slipped their shoes off and made themselves comfortable on the blanket than Phichit had the cooler open, pulling out treat after treat.  Mochi, onigiri, milk pudding, dango; each colored a delicate purple instead of the traditional cherry blossom pink.  “So this is what you’ve been doing with Ketty all week after practice.”  Yuuri admired a butter cookie and its decoration of sugared lilac blooms before taking a bite.  “It’s good,” he grinned.  “Different, but really good!”

“It was her idea to adapt the traditional recipes,” Phichit admitted.  “But we had to make sure I wasn’t going to poison us first.  Gods bless the internet.”

“I’ll drink to that.” The violet stuff in the clear plastic carafe turned out to be lemonade.  The lilac flavor worked oddly well against the sour citrus.

They made quick work of the festival sweets, and Phichit produced his Dominion cards with a flourish.  Yuuri pulled up his favorite “quiet time” playlist on his phone, and they listened to soft music as they played.  The two roommates were evenly matched and knew each other’s preferred strategies intimately, but managed to keep themselves from getting too competitive.  By the time the sun had turned golden and was starting to hang lower in the sky, Yuuri found himself lying on his back with his head in his friend’s lap, idly watching the clouds.

“Feeling better?”  Phichit was running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

He considered the question.  “Yeah,” he sighed finally.  “I think this is exactly what I needed.  Thanks, Phich.”

“Pay me back by helping me drill my triple axel.”

“I’d do that anyway.”  Yuuri was warm and comfortable.  He was pleasantly full of wonderful food, he’d won their little Dominion tournament by a single match – and now didn’t have to do the dishes for three weeks – and Phichit’s fingernails on his scalp were halfway to lulling him to sleep.  There was only one thing keeping the day from being utterly perfect.

“Do you mind if I text King?”  Then he winced.  Way to go, Katsuki.  Phichit plans an entire afternoon to cheer you up, and all you can think about is someone else.

But Phichit only nodded.  “I was hoping you would,” he said.  “Guilt/avoidance spirals aren’t a good look on anyone.”

*            *            *

Three days ago.

Deltatangofoxtrot: then she dragged us out to applebee’s

StandardDeviation: Ew.

Deltatangofoxtrot: ikr?  we’re in nola where like three different cuisines were fuckin invented and she wants to eat some crappy chain food we can get back home

KingElsa: That’s a crime against travel.  What’s the point in going places if you’re not going to sample the local specialties?

Deltatangofoxtrot: i mean i still proposed

lukewarm_mess: wait, what

Deltatangofoxtrot: we were already there and all

Deltatangofoxtrot: i figure i have our entire lives to teach her the right way to food and also tourist

KingElsa: !!!

StandardDeviation: Woah, grats man

lukewarm_mess: congratulations!

KingElsa:   ♡ ＼ ( ￣ ▽ ￣ ) ／ ♡

Deltatangofoxtrot: ty ty XD

KingElsa:  ( ﾉ ´ ヮ `) ﾉ *: ･ﾟ

KingElsa: °˖ ✧◝ (^ ♡ ^) ◜✧ ˖°

lukewarm_mess: have you set a date yet?

Deltatangofoxtrot: nothing firm but we’re hoping for autumn

Deltatangofoxtrot: we met on halloween

StandardDeviation: You want to get on that right away then

lukewarm_mess: yeah definitely, reserve your venue at the very least

Deltatangofoxtrot: …

lukewarm_mess: my family is in the hospitality business and even in a small town we have scheduling conflicts

lukewarm_mess: because people wait til the last minute

Deltatangofoxtrot: is it too late to elope

lukewarm_mess: waiting drives the price of food and stuff up too because they have to make the suppliers scramble

StandardDeviation: It’s never too late to elope but

KingElsa: GASP

StandardDeviation: That has to be what you both want

KingElsa: NO ELOPING!!!

StandardDeviation: My wedding was just a courthouse thing with four people there

StandardDeviation: Then we went out to lunch at a nice cafe

StandardDeviation: It was what we wanted and it was the best day of my life

KingElsa: There should be dancing and cake and laughter

KingElsa And champagne!  And wonderful food

StandardDeviation: But not everyone is okay with that

KingElsa: And everyone should be there to celebrate.  EVERYONE!

StandardDeviation: *cough* Exhibit A *cough*

Deltatangofoxtrot: i don’t mind having a big thing, i just have no idea how to plan one

KingElsa: And my groom had better ransom me properly!

lukewarm_mess: whose wedding is this anyway  ( ￢ _ ￢ )

StandardDeviation: Nobody does fox, if the gods wanted us to know how to plan weddings they wouldn’t have given us the internet

Deltatangofoxtrot: i spent like two minutes googling and then had to eat a whole pint of cherry garcia

KingElsa: !  Is that a proposal, Mess???

StandardDeviation: My cousin just had a big event-style wedding, do you want me to ask her for links

Deltatangofoxtrot: omg i will be your best friend

Deltatangofoxtrot: i will fight ninjas for you

Deltatangofoxtrot: and nazis

Deltatangofoxtrot: and spiders

lukewarm_mess: not if you’re going to be all groomzilla at me, king

Deltatangofoxtrot: i will name my firstborn after you

StandardDeviation: Stan?  >.>

lukewarm_mess: what if I want something small

Deltatangofoxtrot: or devi if its a girl

StandardDeviation: Devi is pretty.  Okay, I approve

lukewarm_mess: family only, maybe on the beach

KingElsa: A hundred people?

StandardDeviation: I’ll PM you when she gets back to me

lukewarm_mess: twenty.  MAYBE.

Deltatangofoxtrot: srsly you are my hero

KingElsa: …Per side?

lukewarm_mess: in total

KingElsa: ( ｡ •́ ︿ •̀ ｡ )

KingElsa: You’re breaking my heart.

Deltatangofoxtrot: STICK TO YOUR GUNS MESS

KingElsa: Stay out of this, you… you elopement advocate!  My tender soul lies in pieces at Mess’ feet.  I can’t go on.

StandardDeviation: Oh lord

KingElsa: Bury me in silk and seed pearls!

KingElsa: Scatter rose petals and string quartets on my grave!

StandardDeviation: *facepalms at the sheer extra*

lukewarm_mess: we can have our dogs be ring bearers though

KingElsa: G A S P

KingElsa: *clasps hands together*

KingElsa: You do love me!

Deltatangofoxtrot: those two deserve eachother

lukewarm_mess: (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ω ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

StandardDeviation: *nod nod*

lukewarm_mess: anyway, back to the travel food thing…

lukewarm_mess: does anyone have any suggestions for good places to eat in chicago?

StandardDeviation: Summer trip?  Nice

lukewarm_mess: autumn trip, actually.  peach and i are making plans to drive out for a weekend

Deltatangofoxtrot: superdawg for hot dogs

Deltatangofoxtrot: giordanos or pequods for pizza

StandardDeviation: I’ve never been, sorry

KingElsa: I always make it a point to go to Alinea.

Deltatangofoxtrot: O.o

KingElsa: The chef there is a mad genius.

Deltatangofoxtrot: damn king how much do you think a poor college student can afford

lukewarm_mess: oh, is it pricey?

Deltatangofoxtrot: does the pope shit in the woods?

lukewarm_mess: ?????

StandardDeviation: He means yes, mess

lukewarm_mess: um.  ok?

Deltatangofoxtrot: like really yes

KingElsa: Maybe a bit.  It’s worth every penny, though.

lukewarm_mess: wait

lukewarm_mess: does that mean he does though?

KingElsa: I… also don’t understand that phrase.

lukewarm_mess: i mean why would he go outside when he lives in a palace or something

lukewarm_mess: doesn’t make any sense

StandardDeviation: It’s just a stupid saying, guys

StandardDeviation: A mixup of two other stupid sayings.  It was in a movie

KingElsa: English is weird.

lukewarm_mess: *nods* ESL SOLIDARITY

iamworthy: Excuse you, AMERICAN English is weird.  PROPER English is normal

iamworthy: *goes back to lurking*

KingElsa: *fistbumps Mess*

lukewarm_mess: AESL SOLIDARITY?

iamworthy: Also cheers, fox

Deltatangofoxtrot: ty ^^

KingElsa: Actually, I’ll be in Illinois myself in October.  I need to make reservations before they get booked up – thanks for reminding me!

Yuuri blinked at the chat window.  What were the chances that he’d be in the same state as King, at the same time?  Not that his Skate America schedule would leave much room for socializing, but… maybe?  If the timing worked out?  If they were close enough to drive?  If he and Phichit left a day or so early, or stayed a bit late?

He tapped out a private message before he could second-guess himself.

/msg KingElsa what dates, if you don’t mind me asking

*KingElsa>> 20-27 Oct.  Why?

He sucked in a breath.  The competition was scheduled for the weekend of the twenty-fifth.  Their visits would absolutely overlap.  And if KingElsa was talking about making reservations at a Chicago restaurant, he must surely be staying in the general area of the city, right?

/msg KingElsa that’s when we’re planning on being there

Do you want to meet up somewhere, Yuuri didn’t type.  Wow what a crazy coincidence, was keyed and deleted.  Do you like me, because I think I might like you and Phichit even agrees because he stopped giving me a hard time about you and he only stops teasing when he doesn’t want to scare me off of something… yeah, no.  All the no.  Nope, even.  Hell nope.

Yuuri realized that he had been staring into space for over a minute.  It was too long a pause.  Whatever he said was going to be weird and awkward now.  Just like Yuuri was weird and awkward.  The little blinking cursor was mocking him.  King hadn’t replied yet, either.  He must be waiting for Yuuri to finish his thought.  Which was a problem because Yuuri was waiting for Yuuri to finish his thought.  His ears were burning, his breaths starting to come shallow and quick.  Say something! he commanded himself in desperation.  Anything!

Yuuri closed his eyes, held his breath, and keyboard mashed.

/msg KingElsa do you think you want ot meet for coffe emaybe

And he waited.

KingElsa didn’t reply.

Of course he doesn’t want to see you in real life, the cruel little voice of his anxiety whispered.  He’s rich and successful, the top of his field he said.  The restaurants he goes to have actual chefs and menus with no prices listed.  He even manages his depression without help.  And who are you?  You’re just a mediocre skater with three prescriptions and a therapist, whose college professor who is flunking you for missing too much class.  You’re too jittery, too awkward, too shy, too boring, too everything.  Too Yuuri.

His hands were shaking as he typed, his vision starting to blur around the edges as he hit the enter key, but he wasn’t so far into his head yet that he didn’t notice the two new lines displayed on the screen.

*KingElsa>> I’m sorry but I really don’t think I’ll be able to

*lukewarm_mess>> KingElsa:  you know hwat never mind so rry it was a dumb idea im sorry i’pp just go now

Well.  There was really nothing more to be said, was there?

Yuuri slammed the laptop lid closed just as the panic crashed over him like a wave.

*            *            *

“Don’t look,” Yuuri cautioned Phichit before taking a deep breath and opening his SMS app.  There were a lot of messages from KingElsa.  He’d known that King was texting him; it was why he had shut off his notifications.

“Of course not,” Phichit huffed in mock offense.  He had already stuffed his earbuds into his ears and pulled up something to watch on YouTube, but he continued his slow petting of Yuuri’s hair.  He really was the best friend ever.

Yuuri deliberately didn’t read the flood of texts that he’d received over the last few days.  At best they’d be super nice and he’d feel even worse about ignoring them.  At worst…

Even Yuuri’s broken brain had a hard time believing that KingElsa needed seventy six individual text messages just to tell him to go fuck himself.

But what to write?  Sorry I’m a human trash fire but you knew that when you met me, unless you didn’t actually believe me at the time, in which case: surprise!?  No.  That sounded like he was fishing for reassurance, and Yuuri wanted things with King to go back to what they had been before, not force the man to be kind to him out of obligation.  It was best to just keep things short and honest.

(a/n: Apparently I can’t right-justify in tumblr?  so quick and dirty hack: Mess’ texts are in italics.  King’s are in bold.  Sorry, going away now)

hi

I know it’s super late in Europe so you’re probably asleep

but I wanted to say I’m sorry for freaking out at you

It was odd how tapping out three little sentences could make him feel so much better.  Yuuri had built the situation up in his head until it was a towering monster of guilt and fear and then he hid from it, even though he knew from long experience that running away could only feed that particular type of beast and make it stronger.  It wasn’t slain yet – wouldn’t be until after King saw his messages and they were able to talk, probably tomorrow – but just facing it was the hard part.

“It’s getting late,” he told Phichit, raising his voice slightly to be heard over whatever his friend was watching.  “We should probably call Uber Mike to come get us, maybe get some dinner?”

“Dinner with Uber Mike?” Phichit was back to teasing him, and all was right with the world.  “I didn’t realize you two had hit it off so well!”

“Funny.  You know what I—”  A new word bubble appeared on the screen.

Mess!!

<3 <3 <3

I missed you!

Phichit rolled his eyes fondly at Yuuri’s expression and went back to his video.

I’m so sorry

I missed you too

You don’t need to apologize.

I just got really nervous

about asking you to meet irl

it’s totally okay if you don’t want to

I did!

I mean, I do.

It’s just… complicated?

I understand complicated

My time is pretty booked while I’m in the US

Even when I’m free I’m already going out with a bunch of people

and I know you don’t do crowds.

well I feel dumb

If/when we do meet I want you to feel comfortable!

Don’t feel dumb.

I just can’t help thinking that there’s no way someone like you could be interested

in someone like me

You are many things, but you have never been dumb!

many things like…

a mess?

The lukewarmest of messes! <3

I had to look that word up when we met, you know.

Your English is better than mine.

And I never went to university at all, much less had a double major!

So you’re super smart and hardworking.

And you can dance better than me.

you’ve never seen me dance

Whose fault is that, I wonder.

it’s embarrassing

I don’t want you to think badly of me

Solnyshko.  That is NEVER going to happen.

I know. I do

I just

wait what does that word mean

It means sunshine.  Because that’s what you are.

if you say so

I do say so!

But…

but?

Ah, and there it was.  The ‘but’.  The pet name was so sweet – and Yuuri had never been given a nickname before – but King was just using it to cushion a blow.  He had always been so kind and thoughtful that way.

The dreaded ellipsis kept appearing and disappearing below Yuuri’s last comment.  King must be struggling for words.

To tell the honest truth, I’m also kind of scared to meet face-to-face.

Yuuri let out the breath he’d been holding.  Was that all?

that makes total sense

I could be an axe murderer

No!  I trust you.

I trust you and I do want to meet you one day.

And see you dance!

I just…

More ellipses.  A longer pause.

I don’t want things to change between us.

And I’m terrified that they will.

Even if you don’t see me any differently other people will want a piece of you

And I’m selfish, Mess

I want to keep you to myself for as long as I can

Yuuri blinked.  Who was this man?

Are you an idol?

A movie star?

Haha no, nothing like that

But I do model, among other things

It’s a rather public lifestyle

I understand

Of course he did.  Even a dime-a-dozen skater had to deal with publicity when competing on the international stage.  Public interviews and sponsorships were all part of the package.  Yuuri had even featured in a few magazine ads of his own, including one very embarrassing Calvin Klein ad in which he’d worn a pair of jeans so tight they might as well have been painted on.  Nothing else; just jeans and a smile.  The thought of what King – or anyone! – might think of him if that was their reference…

He shuddered in sympathy.

let’s make a deal then

you be king and I’ll be mess

no expectations

no judgment

just us

No dance videos??

no

well

:/

maybe someday

Nobody’s ever asked me to just be me before, you know

I’ll probably be awful at it

you seem to be doing just fine to me

^^

“Whoops, our ride’s here!”  Phichit was apologetic, but Yuuri smiled at him as he rolled off the blanket so that it could be folded and stowed in the now-empty cooler.

I have to go, uber is here.  ttyl?

Of course.  I’m always around!

Sparing a last fond glance at his phone, Yuuri blacked the screen with his thumb and slid the device into his pocket.  He and Phichit kept a companionable silence as they walked back through the empty park to go meet their driver – Uber Christina this time – and head home.

If Yuuri had remembered to turn his notifications back on, he would have seen King’s final two texts well before dinner, before Mario Kart, before toothpaste and pajamas and goodnight hugs.  It was just as well.  The sharp intake of breath, the hands covering his mouth, the tears prickling his eyes; these were private things, and not to be shared with strangers or even beloved friends.

You’re one of my reasons, you know.

Good night, solnyshko.

<Part 6>