#gather ye rosebuds tag

[hardly-an-escape]

A Close Shave | Dream/Hob | 2150 words | Rated G

tags: retired!Dream, shaving, unmitigated yearning and longing, the pining is probably mutual but you only get Hob's POV

“Been meaning to ask," Hob says. "How are you feeling about... this?"

He gestures to his chin, the stubble there, and across the table, Dream slowly puts down his spoon. Even more slowly, he raises one hand to his own chin and runs the backs of his fingers along the newly-grown layer of hair there.

It’s been a little over a month, and by now Hob is used to the speed – or rather, lack thereof – with which Dream finds it necessary to live his freshly-human life. A month, since Dream had chosen to live, and chosen to live with Hob, taking over the spare room and filling it with books and soft cardigans and snacks as he learned his own likes and dislikes as Dream-the-human.

It still feels to Hob as though there’s a minor miracle sitting across the breakfast table, now thoughtfully fondling the brand-new beard on his chin.

“Ah,” Dream says eventually. “You mean this. The hair on my face. Yes, I have noticed it.”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before,” Hob says neutrally.

“I suppose I never felt the need to manifest one when I visited the Waking World,” Dream says. He returns most of his attention to his oatmeal. It still requires some concentration, to hold the spoon steady; to make sure it reaches his mouth without spilling. Hob watches for a moment, impressed all over again with Dream’s willingness to try.

“Does it bother you, having one now?” he asks.

“Why would it bother me? It is a part of my body, is it not?”

Hob, wisely, refrains from mentioning the other body parts and functions – the sunburn, the stubbed toe, the sensations of hunger and dizziness and nausea, the need for sleep and to relieve himself – which have bothered Dream an inordinate amount over the past four weeks.

“But do you like it?” Hob presses gently. “I mean, one of the great things about being human is that it’s pretty easy to change our looks, generally speaking. Maybe not as easy as just… manifesting. But still. You get to choose what you look like, whether it’s a beard or clean-shaven, or, or pink hair. Or anything. Infinite variety.”

Dream puts his spoon down again and brings both hands up to his face. His palms cup either side of his chin and his long, narrow fingers stroke gently, from the downy hairs peppering his cheekbones, down into the hollows of his cheeks (not quite as gaunt as they used to be, Hob notes with a swell of gratitude), and then along the line of his chin to where it ends in a devastating little point.

In the morning light, with his face framed by those artistic fingers and a look of such solemn concentration on his features, he looks like a statue; a religious icon, perhaps, contemplative and blessed. His eyes are closed and his rosebud of a mouth is very pink and very slightly open.

Hob has to dig his fingernails into his own thigh to stop himself from reaching out and running his own fingers down Dream’s cheek, or brushing his thumb along that unfairly soft-looking bottom lip.

“Hm,” Dream says finally. “I do not think I dislike the beard. But equally, I am not sure that I like it. I am not sure that my face… feels like me.”

“Well,” Hob says. “You can shave it off, if you want. See if you feel more like yourself. I can – I can help you. Obviously.”

Obviously. Obviously. He supposes it is obvious – it must be – how desperately he wants to help Dream. How abject his desire to make this fragile, human life a little more bearable, in any small way he can.

“Yes,” says Dream. “I would… like that. Thank you.”

Hob drags a kitchen chair into the bathroom. Digs out his softest hand towel and wets it with hot water before wrapping it carefully around Dream’s face and neck. He chatters idly as he gathers his supplies: random recollections about his favorite Turkish bath in London, which had gone out of business during the Great War, and the Russian steambaths and Finnish saunas he’s seen during his travels.

He doesn’t use his old straight razor much anymore, preferring a good reusable safety razor for himself when he’s going clean shaven, but he’s always found a well-honed, old-fashioned cutthroat to be more comfortable when shaving someone else. And he keeps his razors, like any tool, in good condition whether he’s using it regularly or not; the mother-of-pearl handle is clean and polished, the joint moves smoothly, and the blade gleams.

Dream watches through hooded eyes as Hob strops the razor and mixes up the suds of shaving foam. He loads up the soft bristle brush before removing the towel and making sure Dream is positioned in front of the mirror.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Hob says. “I’m going to start by just doing your neck and cheeks, clean up the edges a bit. You might like it more when it looks like an intentional beard, not just a couple weeks’ worth of shaggy growth. And if you’re still not feeling it, we’ll shave the rest. Sound okay?”

Dream nods, and Hob goes to work.

Touching Dream is – not difficult, not exactly. If anything, it’s too easy. Hob’s fingertips hunger for the soft brush of Dream’s skin, for the fluff of his dark hair, for his stubble and his slender hands and the little creases in the corners of his eyes. In those earliest mad days, when Dream hadn’t even been strong enough to walk on his own, Hob had manhandled him matter-of-factly. He’d helped him walk, and dress, and eat; taught him how the bathtub worked and washed his body, cheerfully ignoring the furious flush on Dream’s face at the indignity of needing to be cared for. They’d gotten through it.

He’s mature enough to admit to himself that he misses it, now that Dream has gained enough strength of body and mind to do it all for himself. There’s something so intimate about that contact with another person: about being needed in that particular intense way. It’s heady. The longing for it almost chokes him, sometimes, with how badly he wants it: to hoist Dream in his arms and cradle him against his chest. To wash his hair and rub him gently dry. To hold a cup of water or warm milk to those perfect lips.

But Hob, for all his faults, is trying so hard not to be an asshole these days. So he doesn’t touch Dream that way, now that it isn’t needed – now that he isn’t needed. No matter how much he might like to.

Until now.

Now, for just a moment, he lets himself indulge. Runs his hungry fingertips along the soft, vulnerable curves of Dream’s throat and the firmer lines of his jaw as he brushes on the shaving foam. Tips his head gently this way and that, revels guiltily in how biddable Dream is as he sits quietly in the chair.

Hob takes his time with the actual shaving, both out of caution (perhaps even a bit of terror, that he might inadvertently mark that precious skin) and out of a desire to linger over the experience for as long as he can get away with. Unfortunately, shaving just a person’s neck doesn’t really take that long, regardless of how carefully one does it. Within just a handful of minutes, he is carefully wiping the last spot of soap from the hollow of Dream’s throat and turning him fully toward the bathroom mirror.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He turns his head from side to side, surveying his reflection. Then he tilts his chin up and runs his fingers down the newly-soft skin of his neck. Hob’s fingertips tingle. He knows the sensation Dream is experiencing, knows it intimately: the smoothness of the hairless skin, the slight tackiness of the moisturizer. Knows it from his own face, and from the faces of lovers over the decades, and even from poor, long-dead Robyn’s face, when he’d taught his son to shave.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Dream meets his eye in the mirror.

“I think I would like to have the rest of it off,” he says. “If you would not mind…?”

“No problem,” says Hob softly.

They go through the whole ritual once more: the hot towel, mixing up the foam. Hob strops the razor again, just to be sure. This time he carefully rubs a little pre-shave oil into Dream’s beard to soften the hairs as much as possible, then covers his face with the thick foam.

“I don’t really know if the oil does much,” he admits, “but the last time I went for a proper shave at a barber’s, the bloke who did it swore by the stuff. I guess I’m a sucker for a good upsell. And it does smell nice.”

It takes much longer this time, of course. He finishes the first pass, wipes Dream’s face, lathers him again and goes for a second pass. He leaves Dream’s sideburns mostly alone, just taking them up enough to blend in with the hair falling shaggy over his ears – if Dream wants a haircut that will have to be another adventure, to a real barber or a salon, because Hob doesn’t trust himself with that kind of artistry, not where Dream is concerned.

He narrates as he goes, describing the best angle to hold the blade, how to gently pull the skin taut to avoid nicks, when to go with the grain of the hair and when to scrape against it. Reminiscing further on his favorite barbers and spas and on a broad history of facial hair and shaving. He is babbling a bit, he knows, but he tells himself it’s for educational purposes; that this kind of general knowledge could potentially serve Dream well as he navigates a new human life.

He’s certainly not talking in order to distract himself from the sensation of Dream’s skin and the soft sounds of Dream’s breath, or to stop himself from saying something much more revealing and embarrassing. Like how he wants to take care of Dream for the rest of time. Or how badly he wants to see if his skin is as soft all the way down as it is in the tender place just behind his ear. Or how fiercely grateful he is that Dream has chosen to live, to try, to be here, to sit in a kitchen chair and eat oatmeal, to sit in this bathroom and let Hob run his fingers down the line of his jaw, over and over, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of skin he’s allowed to touch as he runs the razor over the valleys of Dream’s cheeks.

He will never run out of words to say to Dream – or words he wishes he could say – but eventually he does run out of skin to shave. At his direction, Dream leans over the sink and rinses his face with cold water, then gently pats in aftershave while Hob meticulously dries his razor and clears away the shaving tackle.

Then it’s quiet in the little bathroom for a long, long moment while Dream reexamines his face in the mirror.

“Well?” Hob says eventually, so low it’s almost a whisper. He allows himself one last touch. Drops his hand onto Dream’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dream makes eye contact in the mirror, and Hob is shocked by a swift bolt of recognition. Here, in front of him, is Dream – his Stranger, his centennial mystery – so different, so human, and yet, suddenly, so familiar. It could almost be 1489 again, save the electric lighting; his hair is nearly long enough, and the imperious pout is back on his lips.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Hob, I –” he trails off. Breathes. “I am me.”

Hob squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course you are.”

“No, you misunderstand. I – I recognize myself,” Dream says, unconsciously echoing Hob’s thoughts. “I see a man, and he looks like me.” He meets Hob’s eye in the mirror once again. “I – thank you.”

Dream’s eyes are, unaccountably, welling up with tears, as beautiful and delicate as the rest of him. Hob does the only thing he can think to do, which is to drop his chin to Dream’s shoulder, lay his own hairy cheek alongside Dream’s newly-smooth, freshly-scented face, wrap his arms around Dream’s bony chest, and hold him.

One of Dream’s hands comes up and wraps itself around Hob’s wrist, and they stay that way for a long time: Dream in the kitchen chair, in front of the bathroom mirror, and Hob behind him, holding him, crouched somewhat uncomfortably, but exactly where he wants to be.

---

this has been languishing in my drafts for absolute ages and I wish it hadn't taken me so ding dang long but it is what it is || this two cakes situation is inspired by @watercubebee's art and dedicated to her and @valeriianz 🎂🎂 || art, Kris's ficlet (plus part two)

read on AO3 >>>

[swearphil]

hi renee, do you still read schitts creek fanfic? do you have any recs? :)

anon, I love the timing of getting this ask on monday and then ao3 was down and I thought it would be awhile until I could effectively answer this ask but ao3 is back! yay!!! and then it took me three days to answer this because I couldn't make decisions!

yes, I still read schitt's creek fanfic! when I started compiling a list for this ask, I was going to do 10 fics but I've decided to rec 20: 10 multi-chapter fics and 10 one shots/single chapter fics. this way I get to include more fics and hopefully you find something you'd like to read! I also recommend checking out my sc fic recs tag and I also have this my recs tag where I made recs for the @farm-witches-fic-recs this or that challenge! I also recommend the witches' posts for more recs!

here are 20 fics from 20 authors but please know there are so many incredible authors in this fandom and I love them all and I hate that I can't include all of them!!!

Multi-Chapter Fics

On the Outside Looking Through by @smblmn

A pride & prejudice AU

Red White and Blue Jays by @grapehyasynth

Red White and Royal Blue AU. David Rose, First Son of the United States, hates Patrick Brewer, First Son of Canada. That gets him into some trouble - and then a lot of trouble. (I mean we're about to get the movie sooooooooo)

my heart was broke, my head was sore by @blueink3

The morning after Grad Night goes somewhat differently when Patrick gets a call from home.

Crossing Out the Good Years by @nontoxic-writes

One thing, David didn’t do one thing, and moved them to New York and let their marriage fall apart. But that wasn't supposed to happen. So Fate intervenes. aka the divorce-ish fic

The Rosebud Diamond by @vivianblakesunrisebay

Patrick is a detective. David is his mysterious client. There’s a priceless diamond, a masquerade ball, murder, thievery, blackmail, secrets, betrayal, gangsters, smoking, whiskey, and angst galore. (And a happy ending.) It’s a film noir AU.

you never shined so brightly by @rosedavid

A La La Land AU in which Patrick is the aspiring actor and David is the struggling musician.

Home at Last by @januarium

When Stevie Budd took on the role of Sally Bowles she could never have known how much she would gain from it. From the prompt: An alternate universe where Ted does not choose Alexis at the end of Season Four and Stevie and Alexis get close during Cabaret rehearsals

You Happened by @lilythesilly

David Rose is many things: talented, creative, fashion-forward, well read—the list can go on, but at the very top of that list is Extremely Rich. So he doesn’t understand why his father is making him work at Rose Video—or why Patrick Brewer, a boy he's had virtually no interaction with since they were twelve, is suddenly always around. An enemies-to-coworkers-to-friends-to-lovers high school au.

Pull The Shot. Steam The Milk. Repeat. by @treluna4

Right at the beginning of David’s junior year of college, his dad’s business partner literally took the money and ran, and the Roses were left with nothing...He moved in with his friend Stevie and got a job at the Schitt Family Coffee Roasters south campus location. David was less than thrilled by this job prospect, but no one else was hiring and rent was a thing now, so he gathered what little self-respect he had left and prepared to meet his new manager, Patrick. But as it turned out, David had met him once before. Under very, very different circumstances. Or; the hookup-to-friends-to-lovers college coffee shop AU that no one asked for.

How Easy It Could Be by @maxbegone

A story about sweet caffeine, starting new, and falling in love slowly.

Single Chapter Fics

life ain't passing you by by @dinnfameron

Stevie has breakfast at the cottage before a business trip. David and Patrick have some thoughts regarding her feelings for her new coworker.

like glass from sandy ground by @middyblue

Five times Alexis ran from grief, and one time she didn't.

Pretty Follies by @treepyful

Alexis and Twyla team up to play matchmaker for Stevie and Ruth. Unfortunately, the course of true love never did run smooth.

I INDEX/MATCH You by @sarahlevys

Ruth maintains a lot of spreadsheets. Some of them feature Stevie.

are there still beautiful things? by @mymariahcarey

“Look what I got Stevie!” Twyla calls as she runs through the waist-high grass towards the line of trees where Stevie’s waiting for her. By the time Twyla reaches her, her cheeks pink and her breath labored, her french braids are coming undone and there’s a twig stuck in one of them. Or, Stevie and Twyla were childhood best friends.

falling into place like dominos by @petalwritesx

David and Patrick hold a second housewarming party, this time at their newly-renovated cottage. For old times' sake, they decide to play spin the bottle. Meanwhile, Stevie has been wrestling with her feelings for Alexis since she left for New York... and it never occurred to her that those feelings could flow both ways.

you light me up like starlight by @stereopticons

Patrick and his indie band head back to their hometown to perform for the annual holiday charity concert, and David tags along, even though they are still keeping their relationship a secret.

Live By Love Though The Stars Walk Backwards by @chelle-68

Stevie returns from a work trip to discover an exhausted Patrick who has trouble sleeping without David, who has been in LA visiting his family. Stevie's offer to spend the night to keep Patrick company, hoping it will help him sleep, turns into a night of heartfelt conversation about love, friendship, fate, and taking chances.

One Single Thread of Gold by @swiftlythebest

Patrick has a baseball viewing party, and David has a lot of feelings.

as we dream by the fire by @blackandwhiteandrose

The fire is just the right amount of warm -- enough to keep David toasty but not sweaty -- so he can enjoy lying against his husband’s chest, happy and content in his embrace. Patrick brings a hand up, slipping his fingers through David’s hair. “This is a great way to spend an evening,” he says, his voice soft. “We should do this more often.”

[calebdumes]

“The galaxy was an unforgiving place. Kanan had found that out the hard way. The best way to survive was to keep moving, keep your head down, and only care about yourself. After all, history had proved that giving a damn never led to anything good. But he should have known that when it comes to life and the Force, things rarely go as planned.”

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Rating: T+ 

Word Count: 80k

Read on AO3 || Read on tumblr

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day 21

Prompt: Yandere/Spanking w/ Inoichi

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Yandere, Mutual Pining, Implied Stalking, Mild Dubcon, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Aftercare || Characters: Inoichi Yamanka, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

this fic contains yandere and mild dubcon themes, if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read!

With a content sigh, you unlocked the front door to your apartment, a slight fuzziness blurring your vision and limbs thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your keys were discarded into the cutesy trinket tray, your shoes kicked off into the ever-growing pile nearby. The date was an okay one, nothing extremely exciting but, hey, he was cute and it was a fun time. It may have sounded obnoxious when said out loud, but no men your age interested you. Not like you didn't give a plethora of them chances, and you still made friends with most of them. You just never seemed to form that romantic attachment you craved so desperately. What that said about your mental health wasn't totally lost on you, but not like you could (or wanted) to do a whole lot about it.

The sweater covering your shoulders was thrown onto a chair, your constricting belt quickly following as you made your way to your bedroom. At first, you didn't notice it, didn't notice anything at all. You simply continued walking on past the kitchen and living room, into your bedroom where you stripped your shirt and pants off. Trudging back out to the bathroom in your underwear and bra, your brows furrowed. You didn't remember turning one of the lights on… Chalking it up to the kitchen stove light you always left on, you continued your mission of brushing your teeth and face. When you came back out of the bathroom, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, freezing when you saw a figure sitting in one of your chairs, contently reading a book.

"S-Sir?!" the big kitchen light was on, illuminating the stoic face of one of Konoha's strongest shinobi.

The older blond man placed his book down, seeming annoyed it took you this long to notice him before he started with a huff, "I pay all my employees well, even ones as low down on the ladder as you. One would think that allows for better locks. And it's about time you arrived home, considering you have work tomorrow, no?"

Confusion was about the only emotion you could feel as your boss all but scolded you, besides the dull horny you always felt when it came to the man in front of you, though you suppressed that part for now, "Better wha- What the hell are you doing in my house?!"

Inoichi stood slowly, towering over you and making you regret the harsh tone you used, "Because it seems you forgot whom you belong to, dearest rosebud."

Besides the fact that his reply gave you more questions than answers, you silently gasped at the pet name he used. It was the same pet name your secret admirer had been using for you. You never saw the constant flower bouquets, food deliveries, or expensive gifts as harmful. They were, if anything, an ego boost to you thus far. All delivered to you with the sweetest notes, describing how ethereal you were, and always addressing you as rosebud, albeit also sounding a bit possessive. Additionally, in the six months, you had been receiving gifts, you hadn't been on any dates, instead choosing to focus on your new career supporting the Torture and Interrogation Department. A career that found you moving up the ladder fast, though you were still just doing menial tasks. Briefly, you wondered how much Inoichi had to do with those promotions, but he took a step towards you, cupping your face in his hand, and tore you from your thoughts.

"I think it's about time you come home. To your true home, don't you?"

Your heart thumped loudly in your throat and you nodded against your better judgment, "I do."

The smile you were met with sent a warm tingle through your body, and you returned a smile of your own. Inoichi nodded and picked his book up from the table, his other hand patting the top of your head. The silent praise had your chest swelling with pride for some reason unknown to you. It should have alarmed you how easily you accepted his offer, though you rationalized that you didn't have much choice, fearing that if you rejected him the trained ninja would take you anyways. Better to go willingly than be taken by force, right? Well, that and you were still a bit tipsy.

Before long, you were tucked snugly into the side of the blond man, his arm wrapped protectively around you. The route to his home was longer than it should have been, you suspected he was purposely avoiding the main streets. Being a high ranking shinobi taking a girl home during the early hours of the morning would raise questions. Especially a girl that worked under him. His warm touch was protecting you from the cold and the smell of his expensive cologne was intoxicating. It had you snuggling into his side more, an act which made him smile, he knew his rosebud wouldn't deny him. This definitely proved you deserved a present larger than anything he gifted you previously.

The Yamanaka clan complex was expansive and the main house was nothing to sneeze at either, easily dwarfing your apartment several times over. He led you inside, showing you around and you took notice of how similar his place was to yours. Not in the layout or big furniture pieces, but he had the same type of napkins, your favorite drinks, even your shampoo in his bathroom which you assumed was his daughter's. It didn't dawn on you until he took you on a tour of his room just how deep you were in. In his room, you found clothing that was unmistakably yours, items that had gone missing months ago and some just last week. They ranged from shirts and leggings to underwear and even a pillowcase. You tried not to take note of how some pieces were stained with white spots. Uneasiness began to grow in your gut as you wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into when your phone buzzed with a notification. You pulled it out, only to have Inoichi take it from you and punch in your passcode.

His face soured, "You really think that lowlife deserves a second date? Before you give me even <em>one</em>? Disgusting."

Your date from earlier must have texted back after you replied you wanted to see him again. He was about to slide your phone onto the dresser when it began to ring. If the scowl on his face told you anything, it was, unfortunately, your date calling. The guy did say he preferred talking over text and at the time, you didn't mind, but now, it was really rather annoying.

"Answer it. Reject him. Reject him like you know you want to," the direction was clear and stern, leaving no room for discussion as he thrust the phone in your direction.

Nervously, you took the device from him and answered the call. Rejecting someone, in general, was an anxiety-inducing task, but to have an overbearing admirer glare you down while doing so was all the more nerve-wracking. Your voice wavered slightly as you talked and although Inoichi still frowned, his hands played through your hair, skimming the ends of your locks. The guy on the other end was rightfully confused while you explained you never wanted to see him again because just an hour ago you texted you were looking forward to it. Part of you hoped he would pick up on the odd behavior and come after you, but the realistic part of your brain told you the boy was too daft and a measly coward. The opposite of the man in front of you.

Once the call was complete the smile returned to the blonde's face, "Good flower! I knew you wanted to be with me. But-," his face fell again, a look of complete seriousness that made you swallow hard, "I can't forgive your little indiscretion. Not yet. It seems you need a punishment to truly remind you of whom you belong to, rosebud."

Your face grew cold at the implications, yet still, you allowed Inoichi to lead you towards the bed. He sat on the edge and patted his expansive thighs, hardened with all the training he did. You should be refusing, should be running far, far away from this situation. But, it was too tempting. How many times does the man you fantasize about return your affections so vigorously? Additionally, a spanking from him sounded like time well spent and you did deserve it for trying to date someone else when you were meant for him. You laid yourself across his legs, the pants you haphazardly put on before leaving being tugged down to your knees. His hands caressed your backside, massaging your ass cheeks before giving a playful swat to them.

"Count them. If you lose count we start over. We'll stop when I think you've learned your lesson. Got it?"

You nodded before squeaking out a, "Yes, daddy."

The name seemed to both please and shock the man, as his hand stalled in mid-air before he grinned. Then, he brought his hand down to your cheek, prompting you to call out the number. A second smack was quick to follow onto the other cheek along with a third, his hands only stalling to hear you mutter out the number. Thankfully, he was merciful in his technique, alternating cheeks and making sure to smack the untouched parts of your backside. A couple even landed harshly on your folds, the wetness gathering there only intensifying the pleasure-pain you felt. After spank thirty, it was hard to find an area that wasn't welting up, and so he went over the areas he already smacked. It made it all the more sensitive as your legs jerked slightly and hands clutched at the comforter beneath you. Your ass was raw and bleeding slightly in a few places, yet still, his hands struck you, enjoying each conflicted whine that left your mouth.

At fifty, you prayed he would be finished, but he kept on spanking, making sure to land more smacks over your pussy. He'd make comments that were a mix of degrading praise about how wet you were for him and how well he was going to fuck you. The promise of being railed by the ever-growing hard-on beneath you was the only thing keeping you from begging him to stop. You were determined to be a good girl for your daddy, despite the burning pain you felt on your rear. Somewhere in the midst of the sixties, you actually came on his hand after he smacked your pussy again, earning rumbling praise from the man above you. Finally, at seventy-five, he stopped, most likely because his hands were sore at this point too. Your reprieve was capitalized by him affectionately rubbing and massaging your abused cheeks as if it pained him to hurt you. Without restraint, you whined into his chest as he held you, hips grinding down against his.

He laughed softly and kissed along your jaw, "Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to accept me as your one and only?"

"Yes, I've learned my lesson, daddy. You're the only one I want in my life. Now and always, please never leave me," you held onto his shirt as you locked gazes with him, your best puppy dog eyes on display.

They worked their intended magic, as you could see his expression soften almost immediately, "Good little blossom. I'll never leave your side and you'll never leave mine. Especially not after we become one, petal."

The notion was intoxicating, being loved by someone so much they'd do anything for you. But right now, the love you needed was physical and with the goal dangling right above your head, you were desperate to reach it. Your hands slid under his shirt and peeled it off, your own being removed soon after. Within a flash, you both were naked and kissing each other feverishly. Inoichi laid back on the bed's pillows, admiring the sight of you perched atop him. You didn't mind being on top, taking the advantage to push his cock into you quickly. As you sank down on him, his hands stroked up and down your thighs, giving a testing thrust up into you. You sat on his cock as much as your body would allow and without hesitation, began to bounce yourself on him. He sighed in pleasure as you wrapped around him so perfectly, telling you he expected nothing less from his perfect rosebud. The praise drove you wild, finally getting the recognition you deserved, albeit in the form of compliments on your sex technique.

When your thigh muscles began to clam up from overuse he laid your body down on top of him. His thick arms wrapped around your torso and he wasted little time in thrusting up into you. Hands caressed your shoulders and he locked gazes with you, unable to tear his eyes away from your face. In the midst of your passionate throes, Inoichi couldn't help but get lost in your otherworldly beauty, only the noises you made and the movement of his hips kept him grounded. It felt like your pussy was made for him, wrapping around him so perfect and driving him insane, he had trouble restraining himself from fucking into you harder. His lips met yours fiercely, kissing and holding onto you like you might disappear at any time. You put a hand on his cheek as you kissed him back and snaked a hand down between your bodies to rub at your clit. Though, your hand was soon removed, being replaced by one of Inoichi's, who explained he was determined to be the one who pleased you. As if you'd have any qualms about that.

His surprisingly smooth fingertips rubbed at your clit and with the constant feeling of his cock pounding against your cervix, you quickly came a second time. Yet still, his fingers kept moving, only stopping for a brief moment to let you ride out your high. The look on his face let you know he was close to orgasm himself, the blush covering his cheeks made your own heat up. Seeing the older blond man so lost in ecstasy, lost in your body, was absolutely pussy clenching. He groaned and held onto you tighter, his face burying into your neck as he moaned your name. The number of times you imagined him calling out your name in pleasure had absolutely nothing on the real thing. You whined into his chest and dug your nails into his shoulder, relishing in the way his cock pounded into your hole, hitting the same spot over and over. Every little thing was mind-blowing when added together and when you heard Inoichi announce he was cumming inside of you, you easily spiraled into another orgasm of your own. You clenched around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was giving you.

After you coaxed a second orgasm from Inoichi you let him pull out, both panting hard and nearly passed out. Yet somehow, he managed to get you into the bathtub and cleaned you up, personally washing you as he whispered constant praises in your ear. You nearly fell asleep like that, if it wouldn't have been for the cold surrounding you once the water was drained. Inoichi sat you down in front of the vanity after he dried your body and affectionately brushed your hair while blow-drying it. Again, the attention and repetitive actions almost put you to sleep, your daddy coaxing you awake with kisses to your jaw. He instructed you to pick out something to wear in the closet while he waited for you in the bed. You assumed he meant to pick something of his to wear for the night, but once you entered the expansive walk-in closet, it all became a bit too clear. The wall opposite of what you assumed was Inoichi's was filled with clothes that fit your exact aesthetic. A few flips through and it confirmed, they were all in your size, some items were exact copies of things you had in your closet, others literal things that you had gone missing. The sight should have disgusted you, creeped you out, something. But looking at the wall of clothes and shoes all you could think of was how thoughtful it was of him to so thoroughly prepare for you moving in.

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

[mel-street]

*slides into your inbox* Sooooo, I saw that in the tags thing you reblogged about enemies to lovers and this isn't exactly "we're literally trying to murder each other" styles, but have you ever read "gather ye rosebuds" by stardustshleb on AO3? It's Kanera, enemies to lovers, and gets updated pretty regularly!

omg wait that sounds amazing I will definitely be reading that

[three--rings]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

1. “The sunlight had tinted to orange, its rays reaching sideways through the doorway through which Xie Lian swept the accumulated dirt from Puji Shrine, when he heard a soft but very familiar metallic jingling sound. “

(from to be of service (TGCF, hualian)

2. “The slide of Wen Kexing’s skin against his own makes him open his eyes.”

(from gather ye rosebuds (Word of Honor, wenzhou)

3. “Wen Kexing takes deep lungfuls of night air.  He swipes a hand across his eyes, but not fast enough to prevent one tear from falling, streaking its way down his face. “

(from a little night music (WOH, wenzhou) 

4. ““What you said today…”

Zhou Zishu looked up from his wine bottle to Wen Kexing.”

(from to hold your heart in arms (WOH, wenzhou)

5.  “Zhou Zishu looks at the line of Wen Kexing’s back where he stands in the doorway to the next room. “

(from relief is just a swallow away (WOH, wenzhou)

6. “The rabbits taste almost as terrible as the fish. This time they take out the organs, but it still comes out burnt on the outside and raw inside. Plus, with no seasoning, even the cooked parts taste bad.”

(from So Close, So Far Away (WOH, wenzhou)

7. “The first chill winds of autumn had begun to shake the trees of the Cloud Recesses when, one day, Lan Wangji spotted his father finally returning home from several months of journeying.”  (I have a hate/more hate relationship with this line I swear.)

(from What Resembles The Grave (MDZS, wangxian)

8. “The figure walks into view of the camera, and Lan Wangji sucks in a breath.”

(from Temptation’s Mask (MDZS, wangxian)

9. “Nie Mingjue steeled himself before entering Jinlin Tai.  He was there because Lan Xichen requested it, because he couldn’t tell his sworn brother no.”

(from washing away the rise and fall (MDZS, 3zun) 

10. “After the way Fenris acted when they found Hadriana, Hawke had thought, perhaps, that something important had been fractured between them, but then Fenris showed up at his house to apologize, to explain.”

(from Love Not Given Lightly (Dragon Age II, FenHawke)

11. “Wei Wuxian watched Lan Wangji walk away from him and felt tired suddenly. He looked to the path before him, leading into a future containing nothing but possibilities and he, all at once, felt too exhausted to take a step.”

(from my joy, my fate, my destiny (MDZS, wangxian)

12. “Nie Mingjue turned towards his quarters, having completed his business with the field commanders.  He was looking forward to unwinding with Lan Xichen after a day of meetings at Heijian, anticipating what the evening might hold.  However, when he opened the door to his room, where he expected to find his friend waiting for him, he froze in shock.”

(from where our bonds deepen (MDZS, 3zun)

13. “Meng Yao could hear the yelling from two rooms away and he winced.”

(from Beyond Control (MDZS, nieyao)

14. “Meng Yao swung his sword in the most graceful arcs he could manage, trying to replicate the illustrations in the latest pamphlet his mother had bought for him.”

(from Everything From the Start (is wrong) (MDZS, xiyao)

15. “ “I’m afraid you’re going into heat, Wei-gongzi,” said Lan Xichen, his face apologetic.”

(from my soul brought to life by you (MDZS, wangxian)

16. “ “Lan Zhan?” mused Wei Wuxian, fingers toying with the Lan Sect ribbon in his hands. “

(from Fair Play (MDZS, wangxian)

17. “Lan Xichen shivered, the first noticeable symptom of his pre-heat.”

(from Come to Me (MDZS, nielan)

18. “Certainly Yuuri had heard of him.  The infamous demimondaine Viktor Nikiforov, the Russian master alpha, they called him.” 

(from Emboîté (YOI, Victuuri)

19. “Hanguang-Jun, the Chief Cultivator, called a discussion conference at the Cloud Recesses.”

(from Unharmed in the Flames (MDZS, xicheng)

20. “Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji returned from days of dusty travel to the Cloud Recesses and immediately sought out the relief of the baths.”

(from Gentle Indulgence (MDZS, wangxian)

If there’s a common theme it’s “desperately trying to establish where we are in canon so I can get to the good stuff without a lot of backstory.”  As for my favorite, it’s either 15 or 18.  Least favorite is 7 because of how much I wanted to get rid of it and how badly I failed at doing so.

I’m tagging...no one as usual.  But writers, this is definitely fun so consider yourselves tagged if desired.

[nyxi-styx]

No Air

Fandom: Sanders Sides Ship: M/M, Prinxiety, AKA: Virgil/Roman Words: 2,300 Rating: E for everyone Warnings: hanahaki, body horror? maybe?, blood, difficulty breathing, angst but like... softly. Gently. Tags: unrequited love, but not really, fluff, happy ending, very Princely Roman but also like insecure Roman, Logan and Patton are fatherly and heckin’ concerned Characters: Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, and very briefly, Thomas Sanders A/N: This is my first ever (and maybe only but idk) Sanders Sides fanfic. I hope you all enjoy it. I usually don’t like the hanahaki trope but thanks to a fic by @xpouii, I had an idea that I just needed to get out. So it goes without saying that this was entirely new territory to me both in the hanahaki aspect and the Sanders Sides aspect. Please enjoy! :)

The moment they’d sunk back into the mindscape after discussing the hidden dark sides of Disney films with Thomas, Virgil’s chest felt tight. This wasn’t the typical fearful, anxious tightness he was accustomed to. No, now he was wheezing. Like he couldn’t take in enough air. He sat down on his bed and took a few slow, calculated breaths. It helped some, but it didn’t go away entirely. What was wrong with him? The odd condition seemed to continue to plague Virgil with increasing intensity over the next several months. Each time Thomas summoned him, he kept his words few and his answers brief to avoid gasping in front of him and alerting him to his condition. It wasn’t possible for him to develop severe asthma… right? No. And it wasn’t some standard respiratory illness. Thomas was fine. He felt like he was going crazy. Maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain. It seemed that every time Virgil interacted with Roman directly it became harder to breathe. Figures. Of course that pompous idiot is going to be the death of me. The next time Thomas had gathered the four of them for a video, Roman had actually complimented him in front of everyone. Virgil coughed violently and felt something in his mouth. His eyes widened as he closed his lips firmly. It wasn’t bile. It wasn’t saliva. What was it? It filled his mouth and throat, drying both out entirely. Unfortunately, he’d drawn the attention of the other four. “Virge? You okay, buddy,” Thomas asked gently. Virgil nodded and gave a thumbs up gesture before turning his back to the group. He spit whatever was in his mouth into his hand, seeing for the first time that it was a cluster of vibrant red flower petals. He gave a panicked wheeze and immediately sank back into the mindscape away from everyone else. What the hell?! I have to be going crazy. This doesn’t just happen! Flower petals?! 

Out of concern, Patton had followed Virgil into the mindscape. “You sure you’re okay there, kiddo?” The father figure reached out and touched Virgil’s shoulder, causing the other to abruptly jerk away from him. It took a moment for Virgil to be able to form the words, the illness making his mouth dry. “Yes,” he snapped at last. “I… I said I’m fine!” Startled, but no less concerned, Patton relented and backed off, returning to Thomas and the others where he was still needed. The flower petals dissolved in Virgil’s hand and he curled up on his bed, pulling his hoodie up as a comfort measure as he continued to struggle to breathe. __

Roman complimented him again and, as if the coughing and flower petals weren’t bad enough, there came a sharp pain. Like hundreds of little needles poking his lungs from the inside out. Virgil was convinced he was going to die. And this was a miserable way to go. How could he even die? He was part of Thomas. Thomas was alive and well… and so were the others. But here he was… miserable every day. The pain and discomfort he was undergoing was clearly visible to everyone else despite his best efforts to hide it. They never pushed his boundaries, however, allowing him space to approach them if he desired.

“Logan, I’m concerned about Virgil,” Patton confided, catching up with the other in the mindscape when neither Roman nor Virgil could hear them. 

“Of course you are,” Logan confirmed. “We all are. There is clearly something troubling at hand and either due to his nature or whatever the issue is, he’s hiding his discomfort away from the rest of us. The problem is that without him being willing to open up- unless we are able to see the symptoms for ourselves- we have no way of knowing what it is or how to help him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Patton fretted, wringing his hands. “I don’t like it. Can we go check on him? Please. I… I know it may be a long shot. But. He needs our help.” Together, they phased through into Virgil’s room, both expecting to hear a snarky and sharp-tongued “Don’t either of you know how to knock?” but instead they heard more aggressive coughing and arrived just in time to watch Virgil stare in horror at the blood-soaked flower petals in his cupped hands. 

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Patton exclaimed, causing Virgil to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Oh, kiddo,” he tutted sadly. “I think you’ve got yourself a love sickness. Unrequited love sickness.”

“Wh-what?”

“Specifically, Hanahaki disease,” Logan explained. “It’s a disease caused by unrequited love and pining. Typically, it begins when the patient realizes their affections for another and believes it to be unrequited or one-sided. As it goes unaddressed and untreated, it naturally progresses and worsens. Luckily, you’re not in the final stages yet, though you are in a dire situation. There is hope. The color and/or type of petal can be an indicator of the object of your affections: either their favorite flower or their favorite color. May I?” He approached Virgil tentatively and picked up one of the flower petals, wiping away the blood to confirm that the petal itself was red and not merely stained that way from the blood. “Given that there is blood, I’d guess your lungs and heart may be filled with thorns. These are definitely rose petals, though I think the color alone tells us everything we need to know. I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Roman about this at all?”

Virgil ignored Patton’s soft, wistful gasp and aggressively shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No and please… don’t…” He paused to cough. “...don’t tell him. I… I think it’s a… mistake.” He coughed again, letting petals fall to the floor, rosebuds tumbling after them. “We.... don’t get along. It’s… it can’t be.” “You know sometimes when we like someone, we don’t know how to express that. So… we cover up our emotions by… calling them nicknames or… teasing them. It’s not the nicest or healthiest way to express fondness, but it’s very normal,” Patton explained calmly. “So what your… well, anxiety… might be telling you is the two of you not getting along and Roman not liking you, might really just be a normal case of… playground pigtail-pulling.”

“Apt, Patton. Thank you,” Logan complimented. “We can’t force you to do anything, Virgil, and we certainly don’t want to make you emotionally uncomfortable on top of your physical pain and discomfort, but I do believe you should think it over before it’s too late. If Roman returns your feelings, you can be cured. The other options are to die- you can’t- or suffer for the rest of time. And Thomas will notice something is wrong. You can’t perform your basic function and protect him if you’re entirely incapacitated. We will leave you with that and allow you your privacy.” “You know where we are if you need us, Virgil,” Patton assured him. “And… well, we care about you, darn it! So please… do what’s best for yourself.”

No. No, it just couldn’t be the truth. They had to be mistaken. He didn’t love Roman. And even if he did, Roman most certainly didn’t love him back. There would be no cure for this. He would just have to get used to the feeling of sharp thorns digging into his heart and pressing against the insides of his lungs. He curled up and turned The Nightmare Before Christmas on his TV. It was always a comfort. He pulled his hood up, wheezing as he stifled another cough and tried to just focus on the movie. As always, the movie was comforting… until Sally was wandering the town and the lyrics ‘and does he notice/my feelings for him/when will he see/how much he means to me/I think it’s not to be’ caused poor Virgil’s heart to thump painfully against the vine of thorns in his chest. He wheezed again in panic and coughed up more rosebuds, petals and blood. He’d heard this song scores of times. Why now did it seem so significant? 

‘And will we ever/end up together/no I think not/it’s never to become/for I am not the one…’ Virgil’s chest tightened again and he couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his cheeks, carrying black eye shadow with them. Fuck. They were right. Of course, they’re right. He really was in love with Roman. Against his better judgement, against the odds of everything they’d been through together… his heart belonged to the over-the-top, dramatic, pompous… wonderful, bright, creative, uncertain, dazzling… prince.

Virgil drew his legs up to his chest and put his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall freely. He felt hopeless. He was going to be stuck this way forever. Once again, he coughed violently. This time, however, he had to manually remove the large obstruction protruding from his mouth. A full rose blossom. This must have been what Logan said was ‘the final stages’. His breaths became shallower. He constantly felt like he was suffocating, breathing through layers of fabric. And mostly, that was true, thought there was nothing over his face. His own feelings were suffocating him, manifesting in painful roses.

Moving became agony within another day, so Virgil elected to lie down and suffer in relative peace. Each breath was labor and the carpet quickly became littered with discarded rose blossoms and buds that he plucked from his mouth with shaking hands and allowed to tumble to the floor. Eventually, he gave up pulling them away. Another always replaced it within moments.

Patton had been stewing ever since they left Virgil after finding out about his condition. He could no longer sit idly by while someone he cared about was suffering. Virgil could be upset all he wanted, but it was the right thing to do. He had to tell Roman. He was certain the prince returned Virgil’s affections anyway. Determined, he set off to tell Roman, taking a very reluctant Logan along with him to explain. “Roman! You need to save Virgil. He’s got the honey-hockey disease and you’re the only one who can cure him!” “Um, that’s Hanahaki, Patton,” Logan corrected gently, only to be met with a confused look from Roman. He sighed, cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and explained yet again. 

“So, what you’re saying is that our grumpy, frumpy little rain cloud is cursed and can only be saved by the kiss of true love from a prince?!” Roman’s face lit up exuberantly at the idea. He was made for this. “A worthy quest. It will be done!”

“Well, not- not really,” Logan de-escalated while Patton shouted, “Exactly!” Logan sighed again, adjusting his glasses with a light air of annoyance. “Your overall idea is not incorrect, Roman, however, it has to be true and genuine romantic love. Unfortunately, friendship is not enough to save him.”

“Worry not,” Roman assured them. “I will save him! With true love’s first kiss!” Valiantly, he strode away from Patton and Logan to go and rescue Virgil; however, as soon as they were out of sight, his knightly facade faded and his insecurity had a vice grip around his stomach. Why? He knew already that Virgil loved him. That much was obvious from the illness Logan and Patton told him of. What if he rejects me anyway? What if he would rather suffer? What if he doesn’t believe me?! He took a moment to himself. He had to put all of that aside. It wasn’t about him. This was bigger than him. Virgil needed his help, consequences be damned. 

Roman took a deep breath and pushed on, entering Virgil’s room to find him lying on his back, a large rose blossom grotesquely blooming from his forced open mouth. What a pitiful state to find him in: barely breathing at all, cheeks streaked black from tears redistributing his makeup. The prince approached carefully, reaching deep to find his nerve again. “Virgil,” he called quietly before crouching beside him. As soon as Virgil opened his eyes and made eye contact with Roman, he looked away again, clearly embarrassed at his current state and the fact that Patton had obviously told Roman what was happening. 

Undeterred, Roman took Virgil’s hand gently between both of his own. “Oh… my darling raindrop. Such a silly thing to go and get ill over. Of course… of course, I love you too. You are charming in your own strange way. You bring a smile to my face more often than you believe and we make a harmonious and powerful team when needed.” Virgil looked at Roman again, his eyes full of unspoken emotion. Roman smiled at him and softly sang, “For it is plain/as anyone can see... We’re simply meant to be.” He held out the notes on the last two words with a flourish- he couldn’t help himself- and reached up with his free hand, delicately pulling the rose from Virgil’s mouth. He tossed it to the floor and used his thumb to wipe away a trail of blood on the other’s chin. He leaned in and caught Virgil’s lips with his own, softly but earnestly. He kissed him with all of the longing and hidden affection of months past, feeling like he had a lot to make up for. It was his own fault, clearly, that Virgil ended up in such a poorly state to begin with.

The moment Roman pulled away, smiling bright as the sun, Virgil could breathe openly and clearly for the first time in months. The pain of the thorns vanished, no more petals, no more flowers. Only love.

[ao3feed-tododeku]

Gather Ye Rosebuds

Gather Ye Rosebuds by CasanovaCanSoar

Inspired by @IZUMIDORIYA on twitter, who said that "tddk as neil and todd from dps is something i think about a lot."

Words: 2355, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Class 1-A, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Additional Tags: Dead Poets Society AU, Not Beta Read, First Meetings, Boarding School, Yamada Hizashi is Mr Keating

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410405

[ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz]

Gather your rosebuds while you may

by NaroMoreau

For the longest time, Aziraphale has helped Crowley with the tasks the demon deems more uncomfortable, all under the Agreement. When Aziraphale finally says no, he finds that he quite doesn't like the outcome.

------- Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.

Words: 3762, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Other

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Human Character - Character

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Victorian, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Torture, Mutual Pining, Pining, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Femme Crowley (Good Omens), POV Alternating

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368751

[rhetoricalrogue]

Another addition to the AU @alittlestarling and I are working on.

Also, picture Rolfe with his hair slicked down due to the rain and internally hating every second he’s in the Storm Coast. It’s wrecking his hairdo something fierce.

“First snow, now rain.” Varric shook the sleeves of his coat to try and shed collected rainwater, but to no avail. “I can’t wait for the hail to start.”

“Come now, Varric,” Rolfe said, his voice overly cheerful. “At least we’re not freezing.”

“I’m still cold and miserable,” he groused. “Except now I’m cold, miserable, and wet.”

Roz rolled her eyes at her traveling companions and scanned the shoreline from the camp’s vantage point. Thunder rumbled overhead, the sound echoing against her ribs. The torrential rain that they had walked through in order to get to this beachfront campsite had lessened into a constant drizzle. It wasn’t enough to hamper their movements, but it was enough to make her wish that she was safe inside, a crackling fire nearby and a huge mug of tea at hand.

As if sensing her thoughts, Rolfe winked at her. “Where’s a tavern when you need one, am I right? A nice, warm spot out of the elements, a hearty stew bubbling away in the kitchen, and a tasty ale at your fingertips.”

“Obviously you never made it into the Hanged Man, Charmer. If you had, you wouldn’t be singing praises about the stew.”

Roz wrung out the scarf she wore, more to give her hands something to do while she took in the view in front of her. “Charmer?”

Rolfe grinned. “Apparently Varric gives everyone fitting nicknames.” He leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially. “I think he thinks I resort to flattery far too often.”

“He’s right,” Blackwall commented from their right. Like the rest of them, whatever his gambeson didn’t protect from the elements was soaked to the bone. “Though I’m with you when it comes to a warm spot and a nice pint. Anything to get out of this shit weather.”

Roz took a breath as her eyes caught movement down below. “Remind me to skip over all three of you the next time I go out in the field if this is the thanks I get.” The smile softened her words, her tone holding a bit of exasperated laughter.

“And deprive you of our company? Three big, strapping men of varying attractiveness? Rosalind, you wound me.”

Her smile widened. “Need I remind you, I never learned how to fish, so go take your attempts at landing a compliment elsewhere.”

Rolfe mirrored her smile. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me that you were playing hard to get just to see how madly in love with you I could become.”

The smile faltered as she felt her face burst into a bright shade of red. “And why would I think you would be madly in love with me?”

He winked, and blast that man, it made butterflies dance around her insides. “I’m full of surprises, Herald.” He tipped his chin towards the small figures being obscured by the misty rain. “Now, shall we go meet these so-called Chargers? I’ve heard some stories about them, but I’ve never seen them in action myself.”

“Five silvers says they’re a rag-tag group of misfits,” Varric mused.

Blackwall grunted. “I’ll take that bet, and add in five more that says they’ll be good for some hired muscle.”

Rolfe stroked his chin and stared at the largest of the figures. “Ten additional silvers that the main one is a spy. I don’t know for who just yet, but an organization offering their help out of the blue doesn’t happen out of the goodness of their heart.”

Varric whistled through his teeth. “Mighty big accusation to hurl around, Charmer.”

“Part educated guess, part gut feeling. I mean, I wouldn’t put my own people in danger unless I was getting some secrets or intel out of it.”

Roz frowned. “You have people?”

“Not Chantry-affiliated, but yes, I have a team. Good men and women I trust with my life, the lot of them. I haven’t brought them in because I haven’t felt a need to just yet.” He looked at her and shrugged. “You knew I’d been sent to investigate the Inquisition; I’ve been up front with you on all my motives, Roz. Let’s just hope these people are as well.”

Roz watched as Rolfe took the lead down the rocky incline, Blackwall with him. “Full of surprises, isn’t he, Rosebud?”

Roz took a breath, the scent of the sea filtering in through the smell of rain. “I don’t like surprises.”

Varric snorted, but followed after her. “Ah, but they’re what make things interesting.”

She tensed when she watched Rolfe and Blackwall reach for their weapons. It was strange: one moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. He had boasted at being skilled in stealth, but it was something else to witness it in person. Seconds later, he practically materialized out of thin air behind a person attacking the man who had introduced himself to her in Haven and had extended the invitation to meet with the Chargers.

“And sometimes interesting is overrated.” Using the weather to her advantage, Roz called up a focused chain of lightning, the sharp scent of ozone cutting through the briny sea air as the current struck three enemies down.

She kept her eyes glued for any stragglers as the fight quickly wound down. Straightening her shoulders and taking a bolstering breath to gather herself, she made her way to the Chargers’ leader.

Here’s hoping for things going smoothly for a change, she thought, noticing that Rolfe had taken up a position behind her and to her left. I’ve had my fill of surprises for the day.

[calebdumes]

gather ye rosebuds - epilogue

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

word count: 2.5k

rating: T

summary: Six months later...

author’s note: well my friends, here we are, we have reached the end. I would like to thank each and every one of you that have taken time out of your day to give these words that I threw together a read. I am immensely grateful for you and I hope rosebuds was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write.

I would also like to take the time to thank my friend and beta, @eleni-syndulla for all of her hard work. I know it wasn't easy slogging through this beast of a fic but I am so glad that you did. I know I've said this before but rosebuds would not be what it is today if not for you. you are a light and a treasure and I thank you so much for your help!

any and all likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated and don’t forget to…

Read on AO3

|| CHAPTER ONE || CHAPTER TWO || CHAPTER THREE || CHAPTER FOUR || CHAPTER FIVE || CHAPTER SIX || CHAPTER SEVEN || CHAPTER EIGHT || CHAPTER NINE || CHAPTER TEN || CHAPTER 11 ||

~

Kanan Jarrus lived his life by two simple rules: do what Hera says, and trust in the Force.

The galaxy was an unforgiving place. He had found the best way to survive was to heed his Captain’s orders, let the Force guide him, and do what he could to help ease the suffering caused by the Empire.

So far, it had served him well.

It was cold so far north, cold enough that his breath was visible with each measured exhale. He watched it swirl and twist in the air before dissipating into nothingness. Before him, the Jedi Temple stood tall and proud against the pale blue sky, an impressive figure of stone and power untouched by time. Master Yoda’s words still rang in his mind as he let the familiarity of the Temple wash over him.

See you, I can. Before, I could not. Changed, something has.

Little did Master Yoda know, it wasn’t just something that had changed, it was everything. In the past six months Kanan’s life had once again been completely turned upside down. He had a purpose again, one that went beyond collecting credits for bodies. He was doing something with his life, something that really mattered.

But most importantly, Kanan no longer shied away from the Force; now, he embraced it. Trying to ignore the Force had been like trying to hold his breath while underwater. He could manage it for a few seconds, minutes at most, but sooner or later he’d have to breach the surface, unable to deny the biological need for air. Kanan had been holding himself back for far too long. He was finally ready to breathe.

He was one with the Force and the Force was with him. It was etched into his bones and written along the lines of his very soul. He was the Force made flesh.

He was a Jedi.

“You okay, Master?” Ezra asked, pulling Kanan’s thoughts back to the present.

He tore his eyes away from the monolith temple to find his apprentice standing beside him, cradling his newly harvested kyber crystal in his palms. Excitement poured from him in droves but some of it had dimmed as he looked at Kanan, an undercurrent of hesitation dimming his light. Kanan offered him a smile and rested a hand on the teen’s shoulder.

Agreeing to train Ezra in the ways of the Force hadn’t been an easy decision to make. Kanan was woefully unprepared for the responsibility and hysterically lacking in ability, but Ezra needed a teacher. His sensitivity to the Force was strong, strong enough that sooner or later, someone was bound to notice. Ezra needed to learn how to control his abilities to keep himself and those around him safe and unless another Jedi had somehow survived the Purge, Ezra was stuck with Kanan. For better or worse.

“I’m fine,” Kanan replied, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

“So…how exactly do I make a lightsaber?”

Kanan scratched his chin, thinking. When he had been a youngling in the Temple, he remembered the padawans going off on their Gathering, constructing their lightsabers with the aid and bountiful knowledge of Master Huyang. His own Gathering had been different during the Clone Wars. Then it had just been him and his master, just like it was now, only Master Billaba had years of experience compared to Kanan’s dismal few months.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, pushing aside his personal uncertainties. He needed to be strong in his convictions, for both of their sakes. Ezra nodded in agreement but there was still an air of doubt surrounding him. Kanan slung his arm around him and began directing him back towards the Ghost, a tiny pinprick on the horizon.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find everything you need on the Ghost.”

“We could always dismantle Chopper.” Ezra snickered.

“I don’t think Hera would take too kindly to that.”

“A boy can dream, can’t he?”

A smile pulled at Kanan’s lips but it wasn’t because of Ezra’s remark. Thoughts of Hera raced through his mind and he was struck with a sudden urge to be with her, to feel her skin and hear her voice against his ear. His step quickened, his boots crunching loudly against the frost covered ground. Beside him, Ezra rolled his eyes. Kanan gave him a gentle shove in response.

The relationship between him and Hera had been quickly improving since he joined her crew, both professional and personal. He credited it to Hera’s natural grace and willingness to forgive those who had wronged her. It was just the type of person she was, kind to the very core of her being – even to those who were less than deserving.

That didn’t mean Kanan wasn’t putting in the effort to make up for his sins. He knew he had hurt her, he could still see the shadows that clung to the corners of her face and the tremble in her hand whenever Kanan messed up. She might have forgiven him but that didn’t mean she trusted him, not completely. Kanan didn’t blame her but he would do whatever it took to win back her trust because she was worth it.

His life had purpose again because of Hera. He trusted in the Force again because of Hera. She was the reason he woke in the morning, the reason air filled his lungs. She was good and kind and selfless. She was a beacon of pure light in a dark, desolate world. She made him want to be the Jedi he was born to be. She made him happy when he didn’t think he’d ever be happy again.

Hera was everything to him.

It was a lengthy walk back to the Ghost but Kanan’s quick pace and Ezra’s excitement to start forging his lightsaber spurred them both forward. Soon they found themselves walking under its shadow, the bright midday sun gleaming off of it’s hull. Kanan had to refrain himself from running up the lowered hatch to find Hera, his want growing with every step. Instead, he took a long breath and followed Ezra up the ramp.

Sabine was in the hold, her white and purple hair hiding her face as she worked on her jumpspeeder. She looked up at the sound of their footsteps.

“Well?” she asked.

“Check this out.” Ezra pulled his kyber crystal out from his pocket and held it up in the light. Sabine stood and walked over to him, with a calculating look on her face.

“Is that what I think it is?” She glanced over at Kanan, her amber eyes wide with realization. It wasn’t so long ago that a crystal just like the one in Ezra’s hand had almost ruined everything. Kanan shifted on his feet so his arm brushed up against hers.

Sabine had kept close to Kanan when he had returned to Lothal, unwilling to be separated from him if she could help it. She, like Hera, had tiptoed around him in that first month with the crew, just waiting for him to leave. But when it became clear that Kanan wasn’t going anywhere, Sabine had begun to relax.

She had flourished with Hera’s crew, coming alive in a way Kanan had never seen before. She had always been impressive as a bounty hunter but with her attention on fighting the Empire, Sabine was astounding. Kanan had felt a pang of guilt for holding her back for so long but there was no point in dwelling on the past. Not when her future was so much brighter now, the Force surrounding her with so much light.

Sabine was growing into her own person and Kanan couldn’t be happier. And if she still came to him for guidance, well, Kanan certainly wasn’t going to turn her away. They were still partners after all.

“If you mean a lightsaber crystal, then yes,” Ezra said smugly. “It’s my lightsaber crystal.”

“You think you’re ready for that, kid?” Sabine asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“More ready than you,” he shot back.

Sabine laughed. “Please, I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are in my blood.”

Ezra scowled and curled his fingers around the crystal.

“So how are you going to make it?” she asked him after a moment.

Ezra looked over at Kanan expectantly. Kanan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, beating away Ezra’s swirling impatience. His padawan was beyond eager to construct his lightsaber but Kanan had other things on his mind. Besides, learning some patience would do the kid well.

“I know the basic parts that you’ll need,” Kanan said. “Just give me a second, okay?”

“Looks like someone is cranky,” Sabine teased, tossing her bangs out of her face.

“I’m not cranky!” Kanan snapped back.

“You sound pretty cranky to me.”

“He misses Hera,” Ezra supplied unhelpfully.

“Oh.” Sabine shot him a knowing smile. “That explains it.”

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Kanan said mostly to himself. He turned away from the teenagers and their cackling and climbed up the ladder leading to the cockpit.

Chopper was the only one in the cockpit when Kanan heaved himself up. The droid gave him a low beep before turning back to whatever he was doing at the tactical station. Kanan continued down the short corridor, past the crew cabins, and into the lounge. Hera was sitting at the acceleration couch with a datapad in one hand and a cup of caf in the other.

There was a light purple headwrap on her head and her familiar flight suit had been replaced by a thick grey sweater that Kanan was pretty sure had stolen from him. She smiled up at him as he entered, her green eyes sparkling. Kanan felt his heart skip a beat, the tension that had been building in his muscles, melting away at the sight of her.

She was beautiful.

“How’d it go?” Hera asked as Kanan sat down beside her, the scent of engine oil and something distinctly Hera filling his nose.

“Good,” he said, reaching for her hand. It fit perfectly in his. Kanan stroked his thumb over her knuckles, her skin was warm and calloused from years of flying. “Ezra got his kyber crystal for a lightsaber.”

“That’s a big step,” she said, letting her head fall onto his shoulder.

“It is.”

Hera tilted her head up to catch his eye. “Are you ready for it?”

“I kind of have to be, don't I?” He smiled tightly at her. Hera’s lips turned downward, her free hand reaching up to touch his cheek. Kanan let his eyes slip closed, Hera’s presence glowing all around him, bright and beautiful.

“I know you have your reservations about teaching him,” she said gently. “But Kanan, whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

Kanan kept his eyes closed. “Yeah, but he deserves a better teacher. Someone who’s done this before.”

“Maybe.” He felt Hera’s head lift from his shoulder as she turned in her seat.

Kanan opened his eyes to find her looking at him with a soft smile on her face, and he fell in love with her all over again.

“But maybe what he really needs is you.”

“You’re really good at this, you know. These pep talks.”

“It’s part of my charm.” Her smile was blinding and Kanan let himself get lost in it. There was only Hera. Then she bit her bottom lip and her brilliant green eyes darkened. “You know what else I’m pretty good at?”

A shiver ran down Kanan’s spine at the low tone of her voice, their bodies moving closer together, pulled by some unseen force.

“I can name a few,” he replied, her lips just inches from his.

“Oh you can, can you?”

“Although, if I’m being honest, I’d rather you show me.”

“Well, if you’re being honest.” She smirked before kissing him, low and sweet. Kanan’s hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing the tops of her cheeks. He could feel her touch at his waist, pulling him impossibly close. She let out a breathy moan as one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of her lek, heating Kanan’s blood.

But before they could take things any further, the doors to the lounge whooshed open and Ezra, Sabine, Zeb and Chopper all filed in.

“Please don’t be doing anything gross,” Ezra said with his eyes firmly shut.

“You think everything is gross,” Sabine replied, looking pointedly at the opposite side of the room.

Hera chuckled, resting her forehead against Kanan’s for a moment before she leaned against his side.

“Well, yeah, everything that they do is gross,” Ezra pointed out, cracking open an eye.

Sabine tossed her hair in a huff, sitting down next to Kanan. “What does he need for his lightsaber? I wanna see you kick his ass at a duel.”

“Heh, that would be pretty satisfying.” Zeb chuckled, taking a seat in the big wooden chair bolted to the floor. Chopper warbled in agreement, his manipulator arms waving around his orange dome.

“Hey!”

“He’s got a long way to go before he can start dueling,” Kanan said, holding up a placating hand.

Ezra flopped dramatically down on a stool, pouting. “But I’ve used your saber before! How hard can it be?” he asked, swinging his hands as if he was holding a lightsaber.

“It’s not a toy, Ezra,” Kanan said firmly. “It’s a weapon that needs to be treated with respect.”

Ezra slouched in his seat. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m not mad,” Kanan said with a frustrated sigh, using Hera’s touch and the flow of the Force to ground him. “I just need you to understand the responsibility that comes with carrying a lightsaber.”

“I understand,” the boy said, still looking dejected.

“Why don’t we go over what he needs?” Hera said lightly. “I’m sure between the six of us, we can come up with all the parts?”

Kanan looked at her, a smile pulling at his lips. She smiled back and Kanan felt his spirit soar.

Next to him, Sabine coughed. “Parts?”

“He’s gonna need a power cell, modulation circuits, and an energy gate.” Kanan began to rattle off with a roll of his eyes. One by one, the crew began to disperse as they heard a component they had stored away on the Ghost. Soon it was just him and Hera, alone again.

“You’re staring,” Hera said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

“I can’t help it,” Kanan replied with a wink. “You’re mesmerizing.”

Hera snorted and tapped his nose with a graceful finger. “And you’re ridiculous.”

Kanan nodded. “But you love me anyway.”

“But I love you anyway,” she agreed, kissing his cheek. “I think I might have an energy gate somewhere in my cabin,” Hera said as she stood. “Care to help me find it?”

He rose to follow her, the Force singing all around them. “Aye, Captain,” he said, linking their hands together.

After all, he lived his life by two simple rules: do as Hera says, and trust in the Force. Kanan was more than happy to oblige.

[still-gathering-roses]

tagged/inspired by @expelliarmus ! :)

my icon: a picture I took in Normandy while visiting France in summer of 2018! started out as a stock image with even mORE yellow flowers but i thought it would be more fun using a photo of my own

my content: even i don’t know tbh there is no consistency here, for context i spent my formative years on pinterest where you could have nice separate categories and even though it’s been years i’m still not used to having everything in one dumping ground. i reblog a LOT it’s a mess i’m sorry

my header: another photo from France! this one was taken on the path leading to the Château de Chenonceau in the Loire Valley

my url: a twist on the Latin phrase “collige virgo rosas,” general interpretation being along the same lines as “stop and smell the flowers”/”gather ye rosebuds while ye may”

my blog title: “heckin’ wow” honestly just the first thing that came to my head when i made this blog, will change it when inspiration finally strikes

[shiningcloset]

Florescence

Designer: Qing Yumo Quality: SSR Style: Elegant Necklace Additional Tags: Cloud, Romantic Set: Dawn of Spring

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Don't wait till there are no flowers, vainly to break branches.”

[lazywriter7]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter (mentioned) Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker, Michelle Jones, Avengers Team (MCU), T'Challa (mentioned), Stephen Strange (mentioned), Carol Danvers (mentioned), Young Avengers (mentioned) Additional Tags: Stony Trumps Hate 2017, Tony Stark-centric, POV Tony Stark, The Avengers (2012) Compliant, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Infinity War (Marvel Comics), Steve and Tony Through The Ages, Growing Old Together, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, BAMF Tony Stark, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending Summary:

It isn’t like that, for many people. For them, love is the point: the axis around which everything else revolves, the destination at the end of a long, tumultuous journey. Realisation, confession, resolution. Happy ending. That’s how it goes. And love was a point in Tony Stark’s journey, except it came towards the beginning, rather than the end. The issue, instead of the solution.

He hasn’t been alone on the trip, of course. Steve’s been there: sometimes three steps behind, sometimes waiting up ahead by the turn of the road. They’ve sprinted and stumbled, sometimes stood still and refused to move on ahead, sometimes thought of turning away altogether.

Steve and Tony’s story began after they fell in love, and this is about how they fell in everything else.

[poca-staks]

His Father’s Tale

           by RoyaltyLaine

Gideon learns how to defeat the Black Fairy and at the time learns what happen to his family.

Rating: Teen and Up Words: 4262 Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends

Read here or on (Ao3)

Loosely based off Chp 33 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, part 2: The Prince's Tale. (or Severus and Lily's tale)

Gideon stood in his mother's library, shielded behind bookshelves, wand in hand, ready to strike the evil Black Fairy down. The words Avada Kedavra spurned his tongue, as he watched the wretched woman gloat alone in victory. Just when he was about to raise his wand and utter those killing words, a hand fell on top of his and lowered his weapon.

"Wait, Gideon." His long time friend Emma whispered. "Someone's coming."

Someone indeed. It was none other than Professor Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, and Gideon considered him just as evil as the Black Fairy.

"Ahhh. Rumplestiltskin, come to celebrate my victory with me?" The woman asked.

"You've chosen a most fitting spot." He replied, walking to stand beside her.

The Fairy chuckled and smiled devilishly at him. "M'yes. The half-blood's library. I thought you would've agreed."

Rumple nodded and sighed. "I've come to ask you a favor."

"You're free to ask anything of me." the Black Fairy said before turning to the man. "You are my son after all."

Gideon and friends were in shock. The all looked at each other in disbelief, but they all heard it, all four of them heard her say the word son, so it must be true.

Rumple walked over to a table that was close to the group of teenagers. It held two glasses and a bottle of champagne. The teens watched their professor pour the drink into both tall champagne flutes before reaching into his sleeve and removing a small vial from it. Rumplestiltskin popped the cork and poured its contents into one of the glasses, picking them both up and walking back to the Black Fairy with the glasses.

Gideon's eyes widened with realization. His Professor was about to kill the evil fairy. But why? After all this time, Gideon and his friends could have sworn that Rumplestiltskin was working with the Black Fairy, not against her.

Rumple handed his mother the glass. "Leave the boy alone. You've won. Storybrooke is yours, and soon all the magical people will be in your control, just not him. Not Gideon."

"Really Rumple. You're still soft. Just like that half-blooded wrench you eloped with." The Black Fairy tilts her head back, downing the drink in one turn and throwing the glass, letting it shatter on the wall.

"Her name's Belle," Rumple said as one of the Black Fairy's hands went to her throat like she was beginning to choke.

"You should remember. After all, you're the one who killed her." He said as the Black Fairy fell to the floor. Gideon watched as his Professor loomed over the evil woman as she struggled to breathe. "And now I can avenge my wife's death, and protect my son."

The Black Fairy stopped moving and lay there dead beneath him. Rumple stepped over her body and walked wearily to the library circulation desk. He put both hands on its counter and stroked the wood softly as water began to well in his eyes.

"We did it Belle," he said, taking shallow breaths, letting his tears fall on the desk. "My love, she's gone. Forever. I'm so sorry my Belle."

A voice clears their throat. When Rumple turned around, he's in shock to see that the Black Fairy was still alive and smiling menacingly at him.

"Sorry for the theatrics son, but I'm not dead." She laughed frantically before holding an invisible hand to his neck. "Did you really think it would be that easy to kill your mother?"

She held him up off the floor. Rumple was kicking the air and struggling to breathe. "And just for that, I plan to kill your precious son Gideon first."

"Now drink up Rumple," She said, using another invisible hand to pour the real champagne that contained the poison into his mouth.

"You're a growing boy." She added before dropping him on the ground in front of the circulation desk. Then she whisked herself away in a cloud of smoke, letting her son succumb to the poison in agony, only leaving behind a fading echo of her evil laughter.

Gideon and his friends rushed out of hiding to aid their fallen teacher. Rumplestiltskin was pale and barely breathing. Gideon took the Dark One by the hand and held it tightly and pressed his forehead against his. This man was his father. Why didn't anyone tell him? Gideon didn't ask for this life. He never wanted to be the chosen one. All he ever wanted was to have his mother and father and make them proud of him by being a good kid. Now one was dead, and the other was dying before his eyes.

"Take them son," Rumplestiltskin rasped, gesturing to the fallen tears on his cheek. "Take them."

Gideon pulled out a spare vial and gathered his father's tears in it before corking the small container tightly.

"Why didn't you tell me Professor?" the teenager sniffed, unable to hold back his tears. "Why didn't you tell me that you were my father?"

Rumple smirked and looked into his son's eyes. "You have your mother's smile."

He was gone. Gideon held his father's hand, letting his tears fall on him. He screamed ferociously until his friends dragged him away from his father's lifeless body.

"Gideon, Gideon snap out of it," Emma said.

"We need to leave Storybrooke. It isn't safe here anymore." Gideon's other friend Regina added.

"I'm not leaving!" He announced.

"Mate, didn't you hear what that evil witch said. She wants to kill you." Robin said, trying to make his friend see reason.

"I don't care. She killed my family." Gideon snapped as he got up from the floor. "I will stop her. I will destroy her like she did my family."

All his friends sighed. It was a suicide mission if they stayed. But they weren't going to let their best friend parish alone. They were in this together.

"I'm staying with you then," Emma revealed taking Gideon by the hand.

"Emma!" Regina exclaimed.

"So am I." Robin joined his hand with Gideon's.

Regina groaned. "Fine. I'm in too." throwing her hand in and completing the circle.

"What's the plan mate?" Robin asked.

Gideon pulled out his father's tears. "Maybe he can help us."

"Okay, we'll go to the roof and place the library in a protection spell until you figure out how to defeat her," Emma said before walking off with Robin towards the elevator.

"This better work," Regina added before following the rest of her friends to the roof of the library.

Once his friends were gone, he pulled up a chair and takes a seat. He looked at the man laying dead next to the desk and closed his eyes. Gideon balled up his fists, releasing all his anger one more time in a mighty shout until his throat felt sore. He hunches over and breathes slowly, trying to settle his nerves.

He was ready. He finally was ready to know everything. Even if it killed him, he wanted to know why this path was chosen for him. He uncorked the bottle and poured his father's tears into his eyes. His vision began to blur, then black out completely. Gideon couldn't make out where he was, all that was there was a small flicker of light. He follows the light until it blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm. When he felt the light's intensity fade, he heard birds chirping and felt a soft breeze against his skin. Gideon lowers his arm and finds himself in a field.

A small child was crying on a swing set. She swung lonely, sniffing and wiping the tears from her blue eyes, long auburn hair blowing softly in the breeze, dragging her feet as they swayed on the ground. Gideon heard a twig break behind him and turned around to see a young, skinny boy with long dark brown hair, step out from the meadow beside him. The boy walks over to the swing set and sits on one of the empty swings beside the girl.

"Why are you crying?" the boy asked. "Do you know how to swing?"

The young girl nodded and continued to rock on the swing. The boy got up from his seat and begins to push the little girl on the swing set until she was at a good pace. Then he jumped on his swing to catch up with her.

"Kick your feet like this." the boy motioned, showing the young girl how to swing.

She looks over at him, her frown finally gone, and begins to kick her feet. Soon they were both swinging high, and playful laughter ensued. After a few minutes, the pair came to a stop.

"My name's Rumple, what's yours?" he said holding out his hand.

"Belle." the little girl said, shaking the boy's hand. "And I know how to swing."

"You do? Then why were you crying?"

"My mom died yesterday," Belle revealed, becoming sad again.

"My mother's gone too," Rumple said. "She left when I was a baby."

"Why did she leave you?" Belle asked.

"I don't know." Rumple shrugged. "My father said she just did."

"I'm sorry," Belle said looking down at her shoes.

"It's okay," Rumple said, before turning to her and trying to cheer her up. "Hey, can you do that trick again?"

"What trick?"

Rumple gets off the swing and picks up a flower bud, then hands it to Belle. "Make it grow."

"How do you know I can do that?" Belle asked curiously.

"I see you do it all the time," Rumple revealed.

"You have?"

"Yes, I watch you a lot in the grove over there," Rumple said pointing to the spot where Gideon was standing.

"My father said I'm not supposed to do that," Belle said rolling the tiny bud around in her hand. "He's said I might hurt someone."

"No, you won't. My dad does magic all the time."

"Your father can do magic?"

"Yes, doesn't yours?" Rumple asked, and Belle shook her head no. The boy shrugged. "Well your father's not here, and you couldn't hurt me, just try."

Belle looked down at the tiny rosebud in her hand and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again a fully bloomed rose was in her hand.

"See, I told you," Rumple said taking the rose and putting it in her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

The scene changed, colors flowed around Gideon until a new vision appeared. Belle and Rumple were older and lay beneath a Maple tree, holding each other hands and watching the red and yellow autumn leaves float down from the tree.

"...And went you turn 12 you get to come with me to Storybrooke."

"Storybook?" Belle repeated. "That sounds fantastic. I love to read."

"Not Storybook. Storybrooke," Rumple emphasized. "You'll learn more about your magical powers."

Rumple rubbed his back on the ground, letting one of the tree's root scratch his itchy shoulders.

"Is it still bothering you?"

"Yeah, it's been itching really bad now," Rumple told her.

"Can I see it again?" Belle asked.

Rumple sits up and takes off his shirt and shows Belle the markings on his back. They were dark brown lines that resembled a spider's web. The lines extended across his back, from shoulder to shoulder, and when Belle touch them, it almost felt as though they buzzed.

"Father said soon they'd be strong enough to fly, and I'll even be able to carry a person."

"It must be nice to be a fairy," Belle said, tracing the lines on his back with her fingers.

"Nah," Rumple said. "I would give anything to be a wizard like you."

A tall older boy approached them with his two friends and pushed Rumple onto the ground, holding him down with his knee.

"Look at this freak guys, he has tattoos, and he's only a kid." The boy taunted.

"Gaston get off him!" Belle said, pushing the brute off of her friend. "Leave him alone."

"Awww my neighbor is taking up for her freaky boyfriend, how cute."

"She's not my girlfriend," Rumple said putting on his shirt.

"Shut up freak. If I wanted your little girlfriend, I could have her."

"I said she's not my girlfriend," Rumple said, balling up his fists as his face redden.

"Rumple its okay. Calm down." Belle said, trying to temper her friend's anger. "You can't do magic, or you will be expelled from Storybrooke."

"Listen to your girlfriend tattoo boy." The bully said, making his friends laugh. "Better yet, since you've told me she's not your girlfriend." Gaston grabbed Gideon's mother by the arm and pulled her with him and his friends. "She can be mine."

Rumple quickly scrambled to his feet and raised his hand, ready to blast the older boy with every ounce of magic he had. But Belle couldn't let him do that. She refused to be the reason why Rumple got expelled from Storybrooke. The 11-year-old cast a spell, throwing the boys to the ground. One even had a bloody nose from falling on a rock. The boys quickly got up and left, crying and calling them both freaks as they ran home while Belle and Rumple watched, holding each other's hands.

The scene shifted once again, and Gideon found himself in Storybrooke. He was right in the middle of the sorting festival for the new students.

"I'm nervous Rumple," Belle said squeezing her friend's hand.

"Don't be Belle. We all had to do it." He explained. "The hat will just decide if you possess dark or light magic."

"And which one do you possess?" Belle asked.

"We'll talk about it after your sorted."

The Head Mistress, Reul Ghorm, called Belle's name next. She puts on the hat, and it shouted Light Magic. Everyone on the light magic side stood and cheered for their new comrade. Belle looked around for Rumple among her new classmates, but he wasn't in the same group as her. He sat smiling at her from the dark magic side. Gideon noticed Rumple held disappointment in his eyes while his father tried to remain happy for Belle's achievement. He supposed his magic took after his father's. Gideon was sorted into the dark magic side too.

The environment switched again, and his parents were a few years older, perhaps even the same age as Gideon was now. They were walking together in the school's corridor, Rumple was carrying her book bag for her, but this time they weren't holding hands, like in the visions before. They looked to be heading toward the mess hall for dinner. Gideon quickly caught up to them and follows closely behind.

"I thought I was your girlfriend Rumple," Belle said, walking with her hands folded across her chest.

"You are, sweetheart."

"Then why don't you walk me to class anymore?" Belle asked, pulling him by the arm so he would slow down and talk to her. "It's almost like you're ashamed of me when you're around your friends."

"Belle don't be silly,"

"I see the way they look at me. That Cora and Hades, they all hate me, just because I'm on the light magic side." Belle shook her head. "If I had any choice I would be on the dark side with you."

"Don't say that Belle, I love you because you're light." He stepped closer Belle and wrapped his arms around her waist. "And I don't care what my friends think about you, or us. They can all kiss each other's asses for all I care."

Belle giggled and stepped up on her tippy toes to give Rumple a kiss. "You promise nothing will change between us?"

"I promise Belle." He told her. "I love you."

Belle smiled. "I love you too."

The chatter in the halls stopped as Reul Ghorm spoke over the school's loudspeaker to deliver some urgent news.

"Students and faculty. There will be no classes today. All students are to return to their dorm rooms immediately. All students must promptly be accounted for after dinner. That is all."

Belle looks up to her boyfriend who looked almost white as a ghost. "What do you think it is Rumple?"

"I'm not sure sweetheart, but let's get you to your room. We can have dinner there."

As Rumple walked Belle to her dorm room, Gideon could tell Rumple knew something was wrong. His father walked closely beside his mother with his arm wrapped around her as terror lurked behind his eyes.

The scene reformed once more, and Gideon stood in a familiar room. It was his dorm room, but in his vision, it housed his father, Rumplestiltskin. Gideon recognized an evil laugh behind him. The Black Fairy passed through him and approached his father's bed.

"Wake up son."

"It's you. The- the Black Fairy." Rumple stammered, jumping from his sleep.

"Now is that any way to speak to your mother." The Black Fairy sneered, sitting down next to her son on his bed. "Call me mom."

"What do you want?" Gideon's father asked.

"I've been watching you Rumplestiltskin." The evil woman cooed, stroking her son's face gently. "Always galavanting with that half-blood girl."

"Her name's Belle."

"Whatever. She'll never truly love you." The evil fairy said. "She's light, and you're dark. Those things don't mix."

"That doesn't matter."

"Perhaps. But what if I told you that I plan to destroy all the half-bloods." She said, squeezing her son's cheeks with her hand in a mocking fashion. " And that I can use your help. After all, you are my son, and that makes you the Dark One."

"The Dark One?" Rumple asked with a look of fascination in his eyes.

"I've piqued your interest." the Black Fairy giggled. "Why yes honey, the Dark one. The most powerful wielder of dark magic. What do you say? Join me, son."

Just when Gideon thought he found the reason why Rumplestiltskin chose to accede to the Black Fairy, his father surprised him.

" No!" Rumple reached under his pillow and took out a dagger and stabs the Black Fairy through the chest, "My father gave me this knife to stop you. Only the Dark One can use it, and only the Dark One can kill you."

Rumple began to say the incantation, but his mother distracts him with an eerie promise.

"This isn't the last you will see of me. I'll take everything you love away from you." She said, poofing away in a cloud of smoke before Rumple could finish the banishing spell.

The vision shifted quickly in a haze. Scenes entered briskly then changed rapidly. Gideon could briefly make out what looked to be his parents graduating from school before it vanished. Next, the vision shifts momentarily to them getting married by the same maple tree of their hometown. Then the scene switched swiftly to his parents getting jobs in Storybrooke. Belle, as its librarian, and his father as the school's Professor of magical artifacts. It was becoming too much for Gideon, and he finally had to close his eyes to stop the bout of dizziness he was experiencing from the flashing locations in time.

When he reopened his eyes, he was in Storybrooke's magical artifact shop with his father and Reul Ghorm. They sounded to be having a heated discussion about the safety of Storybrooke.

"We prophesized her return Rumpelstiltskin, all we need is for you to destroy her this time." the Blue Fairy said.

"I will, just get my family to a secure location, out of Storybrooke and away from harm," Rumple said. "I'll do what needs to be done."

"I'll escort your family myself," The good fairy told him. "But I still need to know where you've hidden the dagger?"

"It's with my wife's favorite things." Rumple sighed, Reul Ghorm was wasting precious time. "Please just get her and my son out of town."

"Thank you, Rumple." The Blue Fairy began to chuckle familiarly. "My son."

The Black Fairy had tricked him by disguising herself as the Blue Fairy and acquired the dagger's location. She immobilized him with squid ink and laughed wickedly at her son's helpless state.

"I should kill you for what you did to your own mother, but I think I'll settle for your family. Perhaps then you will join me." She said poofing out of his shop to find Rumple's half-blooded wife.

Gideon followed the Black Fairy. He had a feeling where she was headed to, his mother's home. Gideon made it just in time to see the evil witch step into his home, although he was too afraid to go in after her. He wouldn't be able to stop his mother's death anyways. This was just a vision, and his mother had long since passed. His father approached the house too late, and they both heard a bone chilling scream. The broken expression on his father's face shattered Gideon's heart. He watched as Rumple waved his hands and summoned his son outside. Gideon as a one-year-old appeared in his arms, crying his tiny brown eyes out as Rumple tried to settle him.

"There There Giddy. Daddy's got you." Rumple told him, then he looks towards his house. "I'm so sorry Belle."

The Black Fairy poofed in front of them, wearing a sinister smile, with her wand in hand, ready to kill baby Gideon in his father's arms.

"Wait," Rumple said. He kissed his son's head and made Gideon vanished from his arms before she could inflict any harm herself. But the Black Fairy was unaware that Rumple merely sent his son to the Maple tree in his hometown, where Rumple's father discovered him and sent him off to live with another family. "He's gone. You win. I'll join you mother."

"I knew you'd see it my way son."

Gideon finally realized that everything Rumplestiltskin did was to protect him. He hid Gideon and pretended not to know his own child just so the Black Fairy wouldn't discover him. Gideon couldn't imagine what his father had to go through. Watching his son grow up with another family and hiding the truth from him and continuing to save Gideon's life.

"Wake up," A friendly voice said. "Gideon please you have to wake up. Now!"

He opened his eyes, and Gideon was back in the library named after his mother for her bravery. Everything was much clearer now, and he knew how to defeat the Black Fairy.

"What did you find out mate?" Robin asked.

"It's here," Gideon said getting up from the chair.

"What's here?" Regina asked, looking around the empty library.

"The weapon that can stop the Black Fairy," Gideon explained. "My father said it was with my mother's favorite things."

"Which is?" Regina still trying to figure out just what in the world he was talking about.

Gideon got up and skedaddled off to the fantasy section of the library and located the book titled, Her Handsome Hero. He opened the book and inside he found the Dark One's dagger.

"The Professor always used to mentioned that this was my mother's favorite book." He said.

"That's the Dark One's dagger," Emma said. "Only the Dark One can use it."

"And after my father died, I became the new Dark One," Gideon tells his friends. "You all need to leave. I need to speak to my grandmother alone."

"Are you sure mate?" Robin asked.

"You may need our help." Emma offered.

"No, I've got it from here guys." He gave his friends a hug. "Thanks for all your help."

The trio left their friend behind and vacated the library. Gideon stood there for a moment looking down at the massive dagger in his hand. He knew what he must do. It was time to put an end to the Black Fairy's life for good. Gideon looks back up and sees a pair of glowing orbs. They grew brighter and almost blinded him. When the light had dissipated, there stood his parents.

"We're proud of you son." His mother said smiling. "We knew you could do it."

"Mom. Dad."

"I'm sorry I had to keep the truth from you," Rumple told his son.

"It's okay dad. I understand why you had to." Gideon said wiping the tears from his eyes. "And I don't blame you for working with the Black Fairy."

"Thank you son." Rumple smiled. "Your forgiveness was all I ever wanted."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"You won't be alone while you are facing the Black Fairy," Belle said placing her hand on her son's shoulder. "We'll be right there with you, okay sweetie?"

"Thank you, mom. Thank you, both."

"Good luck son," Rumple said as they both vanished from the library.

Gideon dried his tears on his sleeve and used the dagger to summon the Black Fairy.

"Well well. If it isn't my grandson." The Evil Fairy sneered. " I thought my son had killed you long ago, but he's always been my biggest disappointment."

"Not mine. My father is my strength, and so is my mother."

The Black Fairy laughed. "Well then, if you love them so much how about you join them."

The evil witch charged Gideon full force. Unknowingly, the teenager purposely lets her attack him with her bare hands so that he was close enough to stab her through the stomach with the dagger.

"No, where did you get that?"

"My parents gave it to me," Gideon said, before reciting the banishment spell.

The Black Fairy solidified into stone. Gideon picked up his wand and delivered the final blow. Avada Kedavra, and the Black Fairy was no more.

xox0xox

[yelverton]

oh also when i was in the dead poets ao3 tag there was one called gather ye rosebuds but it was charlie/todd which... excuse i