#or maybe she realizes this and is waiting for a fairytale knight in shining armor to take her away. idk

[otaku553]

More reluctant king sabo au! I realized recently that this au is an excellent excuse for drawing sabo in pretty outfits that he would be absolutely miserable in :)

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 8

So two things: first, I did write a little interlude between last chapter and this one, and you can find it here.

And second, in the part with Luka's journal, he's in a dark place at that point in his life and there's some suicidal ideation in there. If you'd prefer to skip over it, you can jump over the italicized parts, and as far as I know that's the only time it'll pop up in this story 💖

Read on Ao3 

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“You want to find my family?” Luka asked incredulously as he held a branch aside for her to walk past. 

He was tired, and so was she; they’d been walking all night, but Luka had insisted they needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the tower while they still had the cover of darkness. By the time the sunlight was able to filter down to them through the canopy, she suspected it was closer to mid-afternoon and they’d been up for a full twenty-four hours. He’d been stuck in his mostly-human form for the longest he’d ever had to endure it. Maybe not an ideal time to bring up her plan, but…  

“We’re already running for our lives, we don’t have a home to go back to, at least not for a while, so… While we’re out wandering anyways, I thought…” 

“We’d lead an angry mob straight to my mother and sister?” 

She rolled her eyes at him. Definitely not the best time to bring up her plan. “You’re cranky when you’re tired,” she noted, letting her own irritation slip into her tone. He grunted back, but it was more of a challenge than an assent. 

“Besides,” she pushed on, ignoring the way he bristled, “it might take a while to find them. How long do you think the townspeople will follow us, anyways? My guess is they get to the tower, see it’s empty, and turn around and go home.” 

“I’m not worried about them,” he grumbled. “There’s a certain friend of yours who didn’t seem ready to give up anytime soon.” 

If he had venom, he’d injected it into the word “friend.” She winced at his bitter tone. 

“Okay, so what’s your plan? We wander the wilds aimlessly chasing our tails for the rest of our lives?” 

He faltered and glanced over at her. The way he seemed so unsure made her realize he’d never had a plan. At least not past “stay alive and wait.” This was all new to him; he didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. They’d traveled in as much of a straight line as was possible away from the tower, but other than that… he was lost. 

She drew closer to him and threaded her arm through his as an apology. He laid a hand over hers as he took her meaning and sighed. 

“Where would we even start?” he asked, his voice small in the quiet of the forest around them. 

“There have to be other towns nearby, and I’m sure someone would remember seeing dragons flying around 18 years ago.” 

“More townspeople…” he grumbled again. “Great.” 

She squeezed his arm in sympathy and they walked in silence for a while. She could feel the weight of the plan starting to fall on his shoulders, the idea of asking around, relying on humans, how long it might take. In truth, she hadn’t realized the enormity of the undertaking until she’d proposed it to him and now she could agree that it sounded impossible. 

“Maybe they’ve been waiting for you, too,” she dared to say. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “Ma wouldn’t, her treasure is the open skies and she wouldn’t wait for anyone.” He paused to think, then sighed. “Juleka might, though.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Mhmm. We were close when we were young. Before…” His eyes slid over to her and he let it drop. “She might’ve followed Ma at first, but I’m sure she wasn’t happy with the decision to leave me behind.” 

“What’s she look like?” Marinette asked, her curiosity overtaking her. He’d never talked about it before, but for once he seemed open to the topic. He smiled wistfully as he tried to remember. 

“A lot like me, I guess. Except, you know…not...” He gestured to himself, to his human form. “Unless she made the same mistake, but I doubt Ma would’ve let that happen again. And she’s taller than me, or at least she was when we were little. Maybe it’s changed a bit, but she was always kind of a lanky thing. Ma’s pride and joy, though, if I’m honest. It’s her fire. Most dragons have some variant of red; it’s rare enough to get blue fire, but Jules…” He shook his head, that wistful smile growing as he remembered. “Jules had violet fire. Unheard of, really. You’ll see when you meet her, she’s—” He caught himself then as he realized what he’d said. “If, I guess,” he amended quietly. 

She squeezed his arm again and smiled over at him. “When,” she agreed. “When I meet her.” 

He half-shrugged, but his smile warmed when he looked over at her. Before she could stop it, she yawned loudly and he laughed as one took him over, too. 

“First things first,” he said when it subsided, looking around at their surroundings. “We need to find a place to camp.” 

***

Later that evening they found a cave. 

Marinette had laughed a little at the prospect. Dragons, caves, towers, curses. Her life was sounding more and more like a fairytale turned inside out. Wasn’t there supposed to be a shining knight that rescued the damsel in distress from the terrible, fire-breathing dragon? 

But she didn’t feel very “in distress” as Luka joined hands with her to remove his stone and sighed with relief when his transformation took hold. She didn’t feel very in distress as he blew a small ring of fire into the floor of the cave, patting it down as he went to create a smooth, warm, bowl-shaped indent for them to curl up in together. And the only distress she felt as she tucked herself into his coils was her racing heart and trembling hands as the kiss they'd shared came back to her. He blinked up at her, sensing her hesitation, and uncurled a bit as if he intended to stand. 

She shook her head and laid her hand on his back, reassuring him, then took a moment to run her fingers over his scales, admiring them in their full splendor. Even though they were pitch black, they caught the bare light of the cave and glinted back at her like he was wearing a solid coat of jewels. They turned softer towards his belly, finer, more like the scales of a snake that she was used to as opposed to the armor he wore on top. 

As she continued to touch him, he let out that noise again, a small satisfied hum, and laid his head over his claws as he closed his eyes. 

His wings fascinated her. There was a solid joint of muscle on each side where they met his shoulders, as thick as both her fists put together, but the wings themselves seemed so fragile—she could see her hand through the delicate skin stretched thin between the bones. And yet they were able to hold not only his weight but hers, too. 

She felt it when she hit that sensitive spot that had made him ticklish before. Something like a chuckle rumbled through him and his wing flinched away from her reflexively, but he didn’t pull it out of her hands. That spot was along the side of the bone she’d been tracing, the longer one that nestled into his side when they were furled. She did it again out of curiosity and a shiver ran through him. 

She tried to remember what she’d read about dragon anatomy. But instead she was imagining how it must feel to him. Maybe something like if she were tracing the ridge of his shoulder blade when he was human. 

When she looked back at him, his eyes were still closed, like he was pretending to be asleep. She knew better, though; his breathing was uneven. As much as he was trying to hide it, he was hyper focused on her every move. 

She let her hand trail down his arm until she found one of his huge, rough hands. She picked it up despite his small grumble as his head shifted, and marveled at the largeness of it. The pad of what would be his palm was as big as her face, and the curved ebony claws reminded her so much of the hawks she’d seen in her life that she knew they were deadly. But his were each as long as her entire hand. 

As she set his hand back down, he opened an eye to look at her. She watched the slit of his pupil as it dilated to capture as much light as it could in the gloom of the cave. And the fiery blue that surrounded it was the same as the tuft of hair along his neck and at the tip of his tail. 

She should be frightened. Luka in this form was danger personified. Everything about him should have made her adrenaline spike. Should have made her want to run away or try to fight for her life. 

But as he blinked at her again, probably trying to understand what she was thinking, all she saw was… Luka. The same soul who had promised her mother he would take care of her, who had offered his life to her, who had saved her when she was too small to even know to be afraid. 

No wonder she’d still had dreams of sleeping curled up next to him. When she looked at him, at all of him, all she saw was safety and home. And as he tucked his wing around her like a blanket, she couldn’t imagine a safer place than right next to him. 

***

She grumbled awake when the light hit her eyes the next morning. She’d have to talk to him about getting curtains or something to cover that damn opening while they slept. She curled away from it, trying to press her face into Luka’s scales, but her nose was hitting something warm, and breathing, and...smoother than she expected. 

Her eyes flew open as she realized her lips had touched skin. 

It was later than normal and they’d already switched. Luka was human beside her. His arm was draped around her waist, she was curled up against his chest, and she had just nuzzled into his neck and brushed her lips against the hollow of his throat. She froze, but he was still solidly out, snoring lightly every so often, his arm a heavy weight around her. 

The night before rushed back to her. Fleeing the tower, their long walk, the cave they’d settled into for the night… and Luka. His dark hair was falling over his eyes, and those dark circles had returned after only one night of missed sleep. His lips were parted slightly as he breathed and he looked so peaceful she almost wanted to reach out and touch him if only to make sure he was real.

But she didn’t want to wake him. So as carefully as she could she extracted herself from his embrace and stood to stretch, realizing that all their walking from the past few days had caught up to her. Before she did anything else, she retrieved his stone from where he’d left it and slipped it around his neck so her flames didn’t attract any attention. Or worse, set anything in their temporary shelter aflame. 

They’d need to find food and water, but exploring their new area would have to wait until Luka woke up. For now she settled on taking inventory of what they’d brought with them, munching on a piece of bread from her parents’ bakery as she did. She froze when his lyre fell out, making an awful twang against the cave floor, but Luka only muttered in his sleep and rolled over. 

When she continued searching through the bags, her fingers caught on the leather of his journal. Another glance at Luka proved that he wouldn’t be awake for a while yet; losing sleep as they traveled had hit him harder than her. She walked as close to the entrance of their cave as she dared and sat in the light to read. 

The first few pages were mostly unintelligible. Scribbles and squiggles as Luka struggled with the quill and ink. Then came pages of the alphabet, unsteady at first, and traced over what must’ve been Jagged’s handwriting. The letters got stronger, more confident, and then on the next page, his first written word. Just his name, but she could almost see the pride he must’ve felt in accomplishing that one word. It stood alone on the page. She imagined a young Luka running out to show Jagged his hard work, beaming with the joy of learning a new skill. 

Then other words started to fill the pages. Jagged Stone, fire, bond, wings, rabbit, trap, tower. Naming things around him, sometimes with little drawings that accompanied the word. 

But then she saw the word “bakery.” Her breath caught. That wasn’t a word that Luka would be familiar with unless… 

Underneath that was a sentence. “My bonded lives in a bakery.” 

And as the pages went, she found more little tidbits about her life interspersed between Luka’s practicing. “My bonded has blue eyes.” “My bonded has black hair.” “My bonded likes the color pink.” “My bonded likes flowers.” 

It seemed he’d tried to learn as much about her as he could, but either Jagged never told him her name or Luka never asked because every one of them started with “my bonded.” She wondered if he did it on purpose. It seemed like something he would do. Waiting not only to meet her but to hear her name. 

He’d filled the next page, and it looked like a letter. Addressed to her. She glanced back at him, but he was turned away from her and she couldn’t see his face. She remembered how he’d stiffened when she asked if she could read it before he’d brushed it off as nothing. But he did say she could read it… 

So she did. 

***

To My Bonded,

You probably won’t ever get the chance to read this. I’m not sure why I’m even writing it other than I guess if the worst happens maybe there will be a small piece left of me that I can hope you would come to know.

From what I know of you, I think you might be someone who would listen.

Firstly, I don’t blame you if you’re angry with me. It probably hasn’t been easy on your end and I don’t know how much you’ve been told about our situation. Which is the worse curse, I wonder, knowing everything and waiting to see how it unfolds or knowing nothing and having to make a decision. Either way, I guess it’s really my fault anyways.

As for the second thing. I don’t know that I’ll have the chance to show you so I want you to know. I do care for you. Deeply. Sometimes that scares me because I don’t even know your name. The only thing I remember is seeing your eyes that day I rescued you. When they opened, when I knew you were okay, I was so relieved that I hardly even noticed your eyes were blue until Jagged reminded me years later. But they are, aren’t they? I wonder if they were like that before, or if maybe that’s another part of me that stayed with you.

I’m both dreading and hoping for the day I get to see those eyes again. Maybe when that day comes I can explain myself and apologize and tell you all this in person. Until then.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I didn’t think I’d write to you again. But Jagged told me today you had a ‘crush’ on someone in your village. A taylers boy, although I don’t know what that means. He told me about the fire too. He didn’t really have to. I felt it. I felt how your heart hurt and I wanted to go to you. Maybe I should have. I was afraid. 

Jagged said you were fine, that you would be fine. But next time I feel that, I’m coming to you. Scared or not.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I am sick of this place. I’m sick of this tower and sick of the waiting and sick of feeling like I’ll be stuck like this forever. I thought you’d come for me. Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you know by now what’s happening, why I’m still here, that I’m waiting for you? Or maybe you’re staying away because you know. Maybe you want it to be this way, maybe this is your choice.

I don’t mean that. If you knew I’m sure you’d be here already. I guess I wish I knew how much longer it’s going to be like this. How much longer I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours, Luka

---

Dear Bonded,

I keep writing to you for some strange reason. It’s a sort of comfort, knowing that you’ll probably kill me before you get to read any of this. I’m sure that’s your answer now because your village has started sending men to kill me instead. They come up from your village anyway.

It’s okay. I get it. You’re probably scared of me. The rest of them have been so I can only assume you think the same. I haven’t let them win yet. For now there’s still a small part of me that hopes you don’t know anything about this. That it has nothing to do with you. For now anyways.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I hate the taste of blood.

Yours, Luka

---

Dearest Bonded,

This is my last letter to you. I can’t keep doing this. The men keep coming. I’ve tried everything to get them to leave me alone, but nothing seems to work. And I’m tired. I know you’re probably not coming. You won’t come. Even if you did, you’d be here to kill me. And I had every intention of giving you that choice, but I’ve made my decision. The next time those men come I’m not fighting anymore.

If you do find this. If you do come for me. I’m sorry. I’ve loved you with every breath.

Yours, Luka 

---

Dearest Bonded,

I’m a coward. Or a fool in love. Either way, I’m still here. I have to have faith in you.

Yours, Luka

***

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder. Luka laughed as he sat down behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist to press his chest against her back and lay his head on top of hers.

“Dramatic, wasn’t I?” he asked, still chuckling. As much as she could she swatted at his hand with the journal. 

“You scared me! You shouldn’t come up behind someone like that!” 

“We’re the only ones here, who else did you think it was?” 

Damn him, she could hear his satisfied smirk in his voice. She swatted him again for good measure, even as he pressed a kiss to her hair, but his last two letters were still sharp in her mind. 

“Why’d you stop writing?” she asked, flipping through the many blank pages that were left. She felt him shrug behind her. 

“I didn’t see much point to it, really. Either you’d come and we’d live happily ever after and I could tell you everything myself or… not. And it wasn’t like I ever expected you to want to read it if things went badly.” 

“How long after this…” she started, but she lost her voice halfway through. She had to swallow hard past the lump that was forming to find it again. “How much longer did you have to wait for me?”

He was quiet for a moment and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, probably trying to soften the blow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. 

“It does to me. Luka, if I’d known any of this—why didn’t you let Jagged tell me?” 

He let out another of those soft laughs behind her and his breath ghosted across her neck. “He wanted to. We fought about it a lot. But I figured that would only make you feel… obligated.” 

She thought about that while she stared at his last entry. Of course it was impossible to think what she might’ve done, or how she might’ve felt because she only knew what had happened. The series of events that led her to him. The nightmares and the flames and thinking she was a curse to her family and her village. And up at the tower Luka was dealing with his own nightmare. He’d almost given up hope and when she did come to the tower she’d almost proved him right. 

His arms tightened around her as if he could sense where her thoughts had gone. As if to prove he was okay and it turned out alright. She pressed back against him and could feel his heartbeat thudding steadily through her own chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were together now. That’s what she’d told him. To stop blaming himself for what happened. She didn't blame him for anything and at the very least he'd already forgiven her, too. 

She turned in his arms and slid her hand behind his neck to pull his face down to hers. As she pressed her lips to his, it felt like a promise. A promise that he’d never have to be apart from her like that again, bond or not. 

He melted against her and for a moment they were both lost in each other, in the knowledge that in this moment they were safe and together and that was all that mattered. 

[brywrites]

Flight Risk VI

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part VI: In which things are lost and found and borrowed.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous  |  Next )

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The case is of a vengeful Cinderella is closed, but as they prepare to head to the airport, Kate isn’t feeling so well. Rossi offers to drive with her to a pharmacy to pick up some saltines and Dramamine, and the rest of the team heads to the airport to wait. Reid spots Y/N chatting outside the plane with Dobson, and he instinctively starts towards her. She must see him out of the corner of her eye because she turns to greet him, but before either of them can say anything a strong hand finds his shoulder, holding him back.

“Hold there, Pretty Boy. I wanna hear the details of your Prince Charming moment back there,” Morgan says.

Y/N raises her eyebrows and he can feel his face flush. “There’s um, not much to say,” he stammers.

“Spence, come on, you were totally prince-like,” JJ laughs. “Kneeling down on one knee with a glass slipper and everything?”

“A glass slipper?” Y/N asks. JJ describes, in detail, how he played the part of the knight in shining armor at the cemetery to get Claire Dunbar to leave with them. He’s embarrassed through the whole tale, but by the time JJ gets down on one knee to kiss Morgan’s hand as he did the unsub’s, he’s sure his face is scarlet. Y/N is laughing along the entire time at his fellow agents’ melodramatic reenactment.

“Anyways, it was all very romantic. He totally swept her of her feet. The poor girl fell for him in a heartbeat,” JJ says. For a moment, Reid tries to discern what Y/N is thinking. Her face is unreadable other than a bemused smile. Her body language tells him nothing. But he can’t help but wonder – hearing about his heroics in the field, would she be jealous? Hearing how he played Prince Charming for Claire and kissed her hand. Then he wonders if he wants her to be. Is he curious because there’s a part of him that wants her to want him? Is he secretly hoping that she’d feel slighted by any hint of romance towards someone else? And if he is hoping for that, what does that mean?

But Y/N just says, “I sure would have liked to see that.”

“Next time we’ll get it on camera,” Morgan teases, ruffling Reid’s hair. He swats his friend’s hand away.

“You know, I love a good fairytale,” Y/N says, turning to him.

“Well this one was more Grimm than Disney,” he admits, trying to push the memories of the men Claire killed out of his mind. The story is over now. No more dragons to slay. Kate and Rossi return seconds later and it’s time to go.

Y/N follows Captain Dobson up the steps of the jet, and he follows close behind her. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly loses his balance at the top of the stairs. Y/N immediately reaches a hand out to steady him. Her hand is soft around his. He holds tight, both to maintain his balance and to keep a connection to her. All his life he’s been uncoordinated, but he’s willing to fall over his own feet a million times if it means having the chance to finally hold her hand. With her help, he ascends to the top step, finally making it onto the jet. It strikes him, this sudden reversal of roles. Only a few hours ago he was offering his hand to a distressed damsel to lead her away, using his words to woo her. But now Y/N is the one coming to his rescue. She is steady. Confident. She doesn’t need anyone to save her. If she did, he’d be there in a heartbeat. But she’s saving him. Little by little. Maybe they’re saving each other. One thing is for sure – she sweeps him of his feet without even trying. Knocks him out with a single smile. Quite literally puts his head in the clouds. And that’s better than any fairytale.

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She’s turning the pages of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, so taken by the story that she jumps when he calls her name. She turns to see him standing there, offering an awkward half-wave. Y/N can’t help but smile at the sight of him. His cardigans and ties are becoming familiar. He always looks more like a librarian or a professor than a special agent. Not that she minds one bit. The clothes suit him well, though at this point she’s convinced he’d look good in just about anything.”

“Is it good?” he asks, nodding at the book.

“Extremely. The prose is incredible and the narration is really unique. It manages to make a story so painful sound so beautiful. You can borrow it when I’m done if you’d like. I’m sure you’d finish it in a single flight.”

“It’s quite likely,” he laughs.

“So I hear we’re off to New Mexico,” she says. The flight is long enough that she could easily lend him the book now, but she knows the trip there will be spent reviewing case files and preparing for the work to come.

“Yeah, there’s five women dead already.” Spencer sits beside her on the bench. “The unsub seems quite advanced. It’s not looking pretty.”

“We’ve got to find you at least one pretty thing to see on these cases,” she says. It doesn’t seem right for him to travel across the country and return with nothing but memories of police stations and a handful of nightmares. She still hates the idea of ferrying him and his team to and from monsters. To and from danger.

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Like that coffee shop you found for us last weekend?”

She laughs at his pointed accusation. When they made plans she had insisted on visiting a new pop-up that Yeeqin had shown her on Instagram. The drinks were dreamlike pieces of art with cotton candy fluff, impeccable latte art, ombre iced teas, and donuts carefully placed over the rims of mugs. The line to order had been long, and the shop was crowded with people taking photos in front of the murals and installations throughout the shop. When they finally got their drinks, they were both disappointed to find they were more watery than the sad coffee found in police stations and tiny airports. The coffee didn’t taste nearly as good as it looked, especially for the pretty penny it had cost.

“Okay, okay,” she giggles. “You have a point. I will refrain from taking food recommendations from social media influencers in the future. But I’m sure I can find a nice bookstore or a garden or something worth paying a quick visit to in Santa Fe.” She pulls out her phone for a quick search. “Oh, like this bookstore! It’s called Collected Works and it’s lovely.” Suddenly she can smell coffee and the sharp spice of aftershave. Spencer is leaning over to look at her screen. She turns her head towards him and he shifts his gaze from the phone to her and she realizes how incredibly close he is. There’s only inches between them and when his hazel eyes find hers any words she had die on her lips. Lovely, is all she can think.

After mere seconds that seem to slip into eternity, she quickly breaks eye contact and looks down at her hands, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. “Um, but, uh, maybe there’s somewhere else…” she says.

“Oh my god, Reid, you are not going to believe what I saw this morning!” A cheerful voice calls out from across the hanger and Spencer practically leaps up from the bench. The voice is familiar somehow. A brightly-dressed woman is heading towards them surprisingly fast considering the height of her stilettos. Her shockingly orange dress matches the bright hue of her lipstick and the flowers in her hair. When she reaches them, her eyes widen, and a neon grin spreads across her face as she regards Y/N. “Oh! You have to be Y/N! You look just like Morgan described!”

Y/N’s eyes flicker to Spencer who gestures towards the newcomer. “Y/N, this is Penelope Garcia. Our technical analyst.”

Garcia holds out a well-manicured hand. “Technical analyst, internet goddess, and oracle of all knowledge. But tomato, tomahto.” Y/N stands to shake her hand. “JJ was right, you’re totally cute.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Spencer turn tomato red. She chooses not to question it and instead asks, “Why haven’t I met you before?”

“Well, usually when these crimefighters are flying all over to world to do their crimefighting thing, I stay hunkered down in my Quantico batcave ready to scour the interwebs for their every demand. But our creep of the week is particularly creepy – he’s hacking into his victims computers to stalk them and erasing almost any trace he was there. So I’m coming along for the ride to try and pull any data I can from their devices.” She grimaces. “Believe me I would much rather be staying put and calling them from my office.”

That explains why her voice is so familiar, she’s heard it in the background a million times as the team prepares for a case in the cabin.

“Well Captain Dobson and I will do our best to make the trip a little more comfortable. We restocked the galley and deep cleaned this weekend, so Geff should be in perfect form.”

“Oh my gosh I still love that our jet has a name. Geff is so cute. I’m never calling it the jet again.”

Y/N smiles. “Right? I feel like planes have a personality all their own. They deserve a name, too!”

“I feel the same way! I name all the things in my life, but none quite compares to Esther. She’s an orange 1975 Cadillac Eldorado and the one true love of my life.”

“An Eldorado? She must be gorgeous.”

“She absolutely is, and she drives like a dream. You should totally come take her for a spin sometime! If you can handle Geff you can totally handle Esther.”

“Hey!” Spencer protests. “You wouldn’t let me drive your car!”

Garcia rolls her eyes in mock annoyance. “See, calling her a car is exactly why I don’t let you drive her! Besides, you drove us to Comic-Con and your maneuverability did not exactly inspire confidence.”

“Well if you ever need a co-pilot for a convention, let me know,” Y/N offers.

“You’re into the con crowd?” Garcia asks.

“Please, I’m a total geek,” she laughs. “If it’s got a flying craft of any kind I’m in. Firefly, LOST, Doctor Who, Star Wars – you name it.”

“I totally love you,” Garcia declares, linking her arm through Y/N’s. “I love her!” she tells Spencer.

“Well I hope you have a little love left for me, Baby Girl,” Morgan teases, walking up behind them.

“Always, sugar,” Garcia throws back. She let’s go of Y/N’s arm but says, “We have to talk later.”

“Of course,” Y/N assures her, and she hurries over to catch up with Morgan.

“I didn’t realize you liked all those things,” Spencer says.

“Of course,” she laughs. “I guess it just never came up in conversation. We were too busy with books and stories. But I’m guessing you’re also a fan?”

He nods. “Although I’ve never seen LOST. Is it good?”

“Is it good?” she asks, incredulous. “It’s incredible. It revolutionized television. And it’s right up your alley. Mystery, psychology, recurrent numbers . When this case is over we are absolutely watching it together.” She only realizes after she says it that she’s practically inviting him over to her place. Or inviting herself over to his. Is that too much? They’ve been spending more and more time together, and she has yet to stop enjoying his company. If she’s being honest, she’s always looking for excuses to see him again.

“I would love to,” he says immediately. Relief washes over her. So it is okay. It’s okay that she wants more of these moments with him, that she’s trying to commit of these little conversations to memory for fear they’ll slip away and she’ll forget the butterflies she feels when he looks at her. And when Arthur calls her away to ready Geff for takeoff, the smell of coffee and aftershave lingers in her in mind long after she walks away from him.

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

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub is in custody. The victim is in the hospital with their family, where she will hopefully make a full recovery with time and with therapy. The Santa Fe sun is sweltering though. The team sits inside a small room at the little airport. The air conditioner is on full blast and everyone is sipping on water to stay cool. All of them are exhausted, and Reid wants nothing more than to take a long nap on the plane. Even Garcia is quiet. It’s a relief when Captain Dobson appears to inform them that the jet is ready for takeoff. They board Geff and settle down into chairs and couches, ready for well-deserved rest.

As soon as he does so, Reid realizes he’s left his book in the air-conditioned room. He quickly hurries back down the stairs and inside, grabbing the paperback that sits on the table where he left it. As he walks back out, he spots Y/N, standing at a locker in the hangar. She waves at him a with a smile.

“How was the case?” she asks.

“It ended as well as it could have,” he says. “But it was long. I think we’re all pretty tired.”

“I’m sure this heat isn’t helping. It’s worn me out. I’ve been putting off getting in uniform as long as I could.” She wears black pants and a short-sleeved white button-down, but the rest of her uniform is still in the locker. “So the missing woman is okay?”

Reid explains that she is, but he’s hardly aware of the words he’s saying. His focus is on her fingers as she buttons the top of her collar and ties her black tie with a careful and practiced knot. It’s looks far nicer than any of his slapdash crooked knots. She slips her blazer over her shoulders and adjusts the cuffs. He’s seen her in these clothes so many times before but he’s never realized before how good she looks in uniform. Or at least, he’s never let himself think it. It fits her well, tailored perfectly to her body. Reid is absolutely entranced as she buttons the front of her blazer, the little gold pair of wings shining above her pocket. He can’t explain why he suddenly finds this incredibly attractive, but when she puts her cap on and turns to smile at him, he completely loses track of any thoughts in his head.

It’s only when she closes the locker and says, “Let’s get out of here,” that he regains his ability to form coherent sentences.

“Wait,” he says. She does. Her cap is ever so slightly off-kilter. He reaches out to straighten it for her. As he does so, it catches a strand of her hair, and he brushes it out of the way. The gesture feels so intimate, and she stares at him the entire time. “There,” he says. “Perfect.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” The smile she gives him is different from the one she wore seconds ago. It’s softer somehow, and if he were to melt right now it wouldn’t be the result of the Santa Fe sun. They climb back into the plane. Y/N disappears into the cockpit. He puts his book back into his bag and then walks to the jet galley to grab another cup of water. Garcia joins him. As she pours herself a cup of coffee she says, “I had no idea you liked a girl in uniform.”

Reid nearly chokes on his water. “I – wait – what?”

“Oh come on, I saw you staring at Y/N.  The way you were looking at her? Ooh you are in deep, loverboy.”

“It’s – it’s not like that,” he sputters. “Not at all. We’re just – she – she’s my friend. That’s it.” Garcia quirks an unconvinced eyebrow. Reid sighs. “Look, even if I liked her, it would never work out. She’s…” There aren’t enough words to follow that adequately describe her. “Her. And I’m me. And besides, I’m pretty sure there are rules. Even if I felt that way…” He couldn’t. He can’t.

Garcia’s mischievous grin fades. “Reid, do you really think that-”

“Please, Garcia.”

She bites her lip and grabs her coffee. “Hey,” she says quietly. “No one else was paying attention. They didn’t see. And I’m not going to say anything.” She takes a step past him. “I just wish–” But she doesn’t finish the sentence. Evidently deciding against voicing her wish, Garcia returns to her seat. Reid prepares to do the same, only to notice the book sitting beside the coffee maker. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. With a little note that says, you can give it back when I see you for LOST.

In spite of himself, in spite of all the things he can’t and shouldn’t do, he smiles. He can have this. Sharing words and stories with her, and wondering which ones resonated with her when she read them. He picks up the book and sits back down just as Dobson’s voice comes through the speaker  to ask them to ask them to fasten their seatbelts and secure all loose items. Reid opens the book. That nap can wait until he gets home.

[bellesque]

idk if your requests are open still but royal loki concept with a midgardian reader— yeah? maybe? take it wherever you want from there and be creative because your other fics are and just amAZING! i might be late but anywayy— happy birthday, even though it was yesterday!

Midnight’s Mischief (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

You only wanted to feel like a princess for a night.

You didn’t expect to meet an actual prince.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Royal Loki, some Cinderella Elements

A/N: Listen you can’t give me so much freedom like this because I feel in my bones this is going to turn into a multichaptered fic and I have a million other wips side-eyeing me rn

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids @rorybutnotgilmore @myraiswack @green-valkyrie (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

BEING IN A whimsical, fairytale ball has always been high on your list of escapism fantasies.

You wondered if princess parties (like the ones in movies) were actually real when royalty was still a thing. If they got to attend extravagant, lavish balls in venues that seemed to reach the high heavens, with castle corridors illuminated by candlelight and crystal chandeliers. Whether fact or fiction, you’ve never been more excited for a night than you are now.

Just for tonight, you allow the indulgence of looking—and feeling—like royalty.

Your heels clack against the marbled tiles of the venue as you and your friend Leigh navigate your way to the Regency Ballroom. Careful not to trip over your ball gown, you glance at Leigh. Beside you she shimmies, adjusting the top of her gown to fit her boobs better.

“I feel twelve,” she mutters, brazenly cupping her breasts.

“Oh, please. As if you’ve never wanted to be a princess for a night.”

“I mean, yeah, when I was twelve. And I’m saying this with love, but the fact that you’ve got on a fucking crown isn’t exactly helping me feel like an adult here.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” you say, a little defensive. “And by the way, it’s a tiara.”

Leigh smirks at you, perfectly painted lips curling at the edges. “Twenty bucks?”

“Fifteen.”

“Bo-ring.”

“Fine.”

She claps her hands, looping her arm with yours. The Regency Ballroom is right ahead. “I hope you know that I agreed to this because you said there’d be some yummy men. Potential knights in shining armor, all that jazz.”

“And I value your honesty,” you say, nodding a thank you to the servers who open the large doors as you approach. “But, for the record—”

“Whoa, the organizers of this thing were not playing.”

It’s true: the place is more than what you imagined from the email invite you received prior. Aside from the grandeur of the venue itself, the entire ambience transports you into what feels like another world entirely. Soft, regal music swells from the mini orchestra that plays on the raised platform, and everyone’s dressed in gowns of all colors and periods and styles.

It makes you a little giddy to see everyone commit to the event to such an extent. You wish this becomes a regular occasion.

“You don’t mind if I ditch you, right? If I, hypothetically, find someone cute?” Leigh grabs a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Because I saw this guy in a tailcoat on the way inside, and he was kinda giving me looks already, so…”

Leigh is neither best friend nor fair weather friend. She’s in town for a few days, and having been partners in a high school class once, she somehow felt the need to ring you up, pleading for you to take her anywhere because she was dying of boredom.

You mentioned that you had an extra ticket, and she said yes before you could even finish your sentence and tell her it was to a costume ball.

“Hey, no worries,” you beam, plucking the wine glass from her fingers and taking a dainty sip, “by all means, mingle! Meet someone! Get swept off your feet! It’s a party. It’s what I was going to do whether or not you came anyway, so don’t be too guilty.”

“Okay, great!” She kisses you on the cheek. “Because he’s kind of already waiting.” Leigh jerks her head to the buffet table across the room, where a broad-shouldered man stands tentatively, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’s clearly waiting for someone—that someone specifically being Leigh, if the not so surreptitious glances your way are any indication.

Before she can leave, a lady with a hoop skirt that’s draped more than the large windows of the ballroom comes into your peripheral, something glittering atop her bouffant hair.

You lift your chin at Leigh triumphantly. “Pay up first, baby, you saw that tiara.”

“Fifteen.”

“You said twenty!”

“I changed my mind!” she calls as she lifts the hem of her gown off the floor, retreating. Laughing, Leigh waves and you bring up a hand as the man places a meaty hand on her shoulder blade.

Well. You knew you’d lose her for the night. Just not this quickly.

Still, what you said is true. Leigh’s absence doesn’t dampen your mood. You’re happy standing by the tables at the side, observing people and their different gowns, with a glass of rosé in hand. Couples trickle into and out of the ballroom dance floor; others mingle by the tables like you, occasionally nibbling on the fanciest finger food you could ever imagine. The light reflecting from the gorgeous, majestic chandelier dances over the partygoers, and you revel in the moment, wanting to commit this to memory. Simply existing in it. The minuet transitions into a waltz, and more people and their partners taking to the dance floor with excited grins on their faces.

You would like to take your dress out for a twirl at some point before the night ends. If only a gentleman were to ask.

“That’s a lovely color on you, my lady.”

Speak of the—you turn around, glad you didn’t startle so much to the point of spilling perfectly good wine, to face whoever spoke to you. A subtle smirk plays on the face of a lithe man dressed in what looks to be costume straight out of a period film. Or fantasy period film. It doesn’t really make sense, but somehow he makes it work.

You glance down at your gown: a rich forest green with silver detailing cinched around your waist. “Oh, uh… thanks.” You smile politely.

Only it falters after a couple seconds, because he pins you with an expectant look. “My… lord…?” you try, uncertain.

Satisfaction spreads across his face, confusing you mildly. Did he really wait to be addressed…?

“Would you care to dance?” he asks, taking a step towards you and bending forward. A bow, you realize, as he holds the posture while awaiting your answer.

“O-okay, sure.”

You slip your hand in his outstretched one, his slender fingers clasping around you and leading you gently to the middle of the dance floor. His back is as straight as a board as he guides you towards him, and when you’re a pace away he pulls you closer. His hand settles on the small of your back, yours on his shoulder.

And then you’re waltzing; slowly, tentatively, shyly. Though he takes the lead you can’t follow as well as you should, your bafflement blocking you from waltzing like you do in your daydreams. And as weird as it sounds, he’s distracting you from dancing—even if you’re dancing with him.

He’s good-looking. Strong, cutting features with a regal gait. He stands much taller than you are, his head angled down towards you so his green eyes pierce you with the intensity of the sun at high noon.

He doesn’t break eye contact with you. As much as you try to look away, fixate your attention instead on the couples that sway around you, your gaze always finds his. And he probably hasn’t looked away from you once. There’s no malice in it though—he regards you with somewhat of a silent, amused curiosity.

If it’s awkward to be dancing with a good-looking stranger who seemingly can’t take his eyes off you, it doesn’t help that you’re both painfully silent. You expect him to make polite small talk as he guides your steps—only aside from the lovely orchestra playing and the faint chatter of the attendees around you, all that’s heard is the sound of your breathing.

The music winds down, violins sustaining their last note, and your expectations are shattered once again when instead of this mystery man guiding you into a twirling finish, he spins you into the next dance.

Another waltz.

“Do I scare you, princess?” he asks, raising his chin slightly.

You jump a little at his sudden question. “Um. Maybe a little?”

The man sighs, giving a short chuckle as he shakes his head minutely. The hand on your back releases you as you circle around him, one of your arms outstretched as gracefully as you can manage, before you come back in front of him and rest your hand back on his shoulder.

“Perhaps my reputation does precede me,” he mutters.

You blink, even more confused now. “Sorry?”

“Do you…” He narrows his eyes in near disbelief. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I think I’d remember if you told me your name,” you say with a sheepish laugh. Of course you’d remember. With a face like his and the rich voice to match, meeting him on a night like tonight? You’d remember it forever.

“Ah. Then—forgive me, my lady.” He pulls away from you to bow cordially. “Prince Loki, of Asgard.”

Stunned doesn’t seem to cover the emotion racing through you. No one else seems to mind that you’ve both stopped smack dab in the center for him to bow to you with a flourish of his cape. He looks up at you, expectant, yet again, and so you hastily curtsy and mumble your name.

He rises, taking you once again in his arms and picking up where you left off in perfect rhythm to the music. It’s a little disorienting. Your mind struggles to catch up: so far he’s bowed to you twice, is leading you through a perfect waltz, and is, apparently, a prince.

“And your kingdom, my lady?”

“What?”

“Am I to believe you’re a princess with no people to rule over?” he smirks.

And then somehow, realization dawns on you: he’s an actor. Trying to get you into some kind of fantasy, medieval, whatever character to really sell the idea to yourself that you have actually been whisked away, into a story akin to fiction.

“Okay,” you snort, “since we’re doing this whole made up thing, fine, I’ll humor you. Uh”—you rack your brains, glancing at the chandelier overhead—“Genovia.”

“Genovia,” Prince Loki repeats, as though testing the name on his tongue. It comes out melodic and velvety, making you shiver involuntarily. “Sounds… quaint. Not as dreadful or painfully dull as some of the other kingdoms I’ve heard of tonight. What in the Nine is New Jersey?”

You laugh this time, an actual belly laugh, your head tipping back in mirth at his delivery. You sober up sooner than you’d like when you see he’s still absolutely mystified.

“Well, that’s what it is,” you add helpfully. “Genovia… it… yeah.”

“What are your people famous for?”

Damn. He’s really making you think. “Gosh, um…” You blow out a raspberry. “Horses? Apples? Archery? Oh! Mattress surfing.”

Prince Loki hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Either he’s an exceptionally good actor, or he really hasn’t seen The Princess Diaries. Or, a part of you begins to argue, he could actually be who he says he is—

But that wouldn’t make sense.

Could it?

“Well, what about you?” you say quickly, seizing the opportunity to deflect. “What’s uh, what’s Asgard famous for?”

“The Realm Eternal,” Loki says, completely serious. “Warriors of strength, leaders of justice.” He pauses at your lost expression. “Have you not heard of it?”

You have a feeling he has more to say, so you shake your head. Prince Loki spins you around once, before continuing.

“Asgardians are the peacekeepers of the Nine Realms, endowed with strength of all facets to keep the realms from falling. Thwart the possible dangers it can be to itself before it starts, or finish disputes where they arise. We protect. Asgard plays a vital role, if not the most vital of all the realms.”

“And you’re their prince.”

The corners of Loki’s lips curl upwards. “One of them.”

“So you have a brother.”

You’re not sure why you’re still entertaining him at this point. The waltz’s cadence does nothing to separate you from each other, and neither does the lively first note of the polka. Instead Loki’s leading you into a quicker step, bouncing in the most poised manner you’ve ever seen a man dance in.

“Aye,” he says. “Most prefer him to myself.”

“I prefer you,” you blurt out mindlessly, immediately feeling regret in the form of heat crawling up your neck.

Prince Loki’s piercing green eyes light up in surprise. “Not many would,” he murmurs.

“Well, I mean—” you backpedal, “—I don’t—I haven’t met—”

The entrance to the ballroom rattles in its hinges, followed by a booming thud. Heads swivel to the source of the commotion and even the orchestra falters. You are no exception, craning your neck to look behind Loki and at the doors.

He is the only one who seems completely unfazed.

“Perhaps that is for the best. Ready for our big finish, princess?”

Bang! The doors swing open, and strange men in very detailed costumes—metal armor, odd-shaped helmets—charge in, long spears in hand. Your mouth falls open. You’ve never seen anything like them. The attendees gasp collectively, some dancers pulling away from their partners to retreat to the sides of the room.

But Loki places his hands on your hips, lifting you off your feet and into the air, and instructs, “Eyes on me, princess.”

“Wh—” He spins you around, the world around you blurring, and you fix your attention on him so as not to get dizzy. “Prince Loki, I think we should get ou—”

He sets your feet on the ground, a mad intensity in his eyes—and Loki wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

Well. You’ve had multiple daydreams about how tonight would go. This is definitely not one of them.

His arms tighten around your waist, and swarms of butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. Your feet are on the ground, but with your fingers and toes tingling with every soft movement of his lips against yours, it feels like you’re floating. He’s kissing you. You’re kissing him.

The clanging of armor jolts you apart, but Loki keeps you within arm’s reach. Your heart pounds against your sternum.

“I like it when you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Prince Loki!” one of the strange men shouts. The prince in front of you flinches slightly, and then huffs in amusement.

“Don’t like it when they do.”

“I—what?”

Loki sighs. “I’m afraid I have to bid you good night. And farewell.”

“Wait, who are they?” Question after question presents itself, your mind a jumbled mess and your knees still shaking from that damn kiss. “What do they want?”

“The Einherjar. Ah. Well.” He brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. “What’s life without a little mischief?”

“Your Highness!”

“Where is he?”

He pulls you by the elbows, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, and whispers in a voice that could melt butter, “Something to remember me by.”

And then he takes off, a cheeky grin splitting his face as he keeps his eyes trained on his pursuers, slinking through the crowd and towards a nondescript door. An exit.

The strange men sift through the partygoers. Some shake their heads in fear, cowering; others shrug. You simply hope they do not approach you. And by some mad stroke of luck, when they’re a few feet away from you—they ignore you entirely.

Loki catches your eye by the small archway, and with a mischievous wink and a heartstopping smile, he disappears with a flash of his green cape.

You exhale, a little shakily, as one armored man shouts instructions and points to the door. They bolt after him, each footfall thunderous. A few seconds tick past, and once the clatter disappears completely the orchestra warms up again.

Back to normal. Just a little. But you—you’re still reeling from what just happened.

Leigh sidles up to you, poking your side.

“So,” she says, “who was the knight in shining armor, and what’d they want with him?”

His kiss, the feel of his mouth against yours, still tingles at your lips, lingering like the warmth of a fire. You stare at the open door, still trying to make sense of what on Earth just happened.

“I… I think I just met a prince.”

[capesandshapes]

The Last Resort: Chapter 8 (Adrienette)

Summary: After an akuma attack goes wrong, Adrien finally learns Ladybug’s secret identity and finds himself falling even deeper in love with his friend. He thinks he’s finally gotten lucky when she declares to him that she’s currently in the business of falling love with anyone but her previous crush… until that crush turns out to be him. Now Adrien has to somehow convince the girl of his dreams to fall back in love with him, while keeping his own identity a secret from her. Well, if there was one thing his father taught him, it was how to multitask. Chapter Summary:

Alya is Akumatized, Chat Noir and Marinette have to team up, and turtles, unfortunately, do not have fingers.

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

A few things went through Adrien’s mind at that moment, the first being that, very concerningly, there was a sword planted in the ground beside him. The second was that he’d never seen a technologically advanced knight before, especially one with a phone secured to the inner handle of their shield. Still, he had to hand it to Alya; her akumatizations were always creative. Of course, the third was that as nice as it was having Marinette sitting on top of him, she was not transformed and therefore in a great deal of trouble. Not that the girl acknowledged it, however.

“Alya, I get it. You’re upset, you feel like I don’t appreciate your efforts, and I know that you want me to be happy,” Marinette began, obviously not understanding the critical component of their situation. Adrien’s eyes widened as the sword beside him turned to pixels, a far off siren screaming in his head. “But I think that part of me being happy is that I have to start making my own mistakes and facing facts; I didn’t do that today when I asked you to sit in the wings and watch me go out with Luka. I roped you in, and then I didn’t even consider your opinion on things.” The Akuma was not calming down, oh god, the Akuma was not calming down, Marinette was just making it twice as sure of its mission. “I know that you think I should be with Adrien, and I know that last night I probably made a huge mistake with him. But you forcing us into these situations, forcing us together, that’s not going to fix things--”

Crap. As soon as he looked up, he saw it, Alya drawing the string back on a bow-- He did not want to figure out what those arrows did. In a heartbeat, he rolled over on top of her, grimacing. The girl’s eyes widened beneath him, her body stiffening as she realized that her talk wasn’t working. 

Still, with tears growing in the corner of her eyes, she would not relent, “Chat, please, I need to talk to Alya.”

Evidently, this plan of action was far worse than the one before. “Get off of her,” Alya roared, drawing back her bow, “you’re not a part of this happily ever after! She’s meant to be with Adrien, she needs to be with Adrien! It’s the only way she’ll be happy!”

Adrien bolted up to his knees, narrowly missing the arrow as it went soaring past his head. He had no idea what it did, and he really didn’t want to find out either. “Are you sure the princess can’t have a cat instead?” He half-joked, grimacing as the girl readied another arrow. “Right, maybe that’s a little too nontraditional for you.” He was slowly becoming more sure that this would have been a great time to be Adrien instead.

“Chat,” Marinette hissed, shoving him off him as another arrow went flying by. His eyes widened as he realized that the area it hit turned to lush green, confirming his fears that Alya was planning to slowly hack the world into her fairytale plan. However, he had barely the time to process this victory before Marinette grabbed his arm, yanking him upwards. “Not exactly the time to sit and contemplate, Kitty.”

“You know, now would be a good time for my lady to show up,” he countered, eyeing at the knight who was more concerned with scrolling through her phone for something at the moment, the bow and arrows having vanished. He did not have a great feeling about things.

“I’m sure that when she can find an opening, she’ll show up,” Marinette retorted, running to the side as Alya selected her weapon, a large lance, and began to charge. “Until then, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, I just so happen to have a knight in shining armor trying to save me from my mundane life.”

“My name is Chevaliere!” Alya screamed, narrowly missing Marinette to collide with a tree, the tip of her lance breaking as she did so. Quickly, the Akuma whipped out her shield, cycling through the list once more.

“A distraction would be nice,” Adrien called.

“I’m thinking!” Marinette growled. “This would be a great time for anyone else to show up!”

“And I’m sure that if the miraculous weren’t being kept in a box, Princess ,” he winced as Alya went whirring by him, thankfully hitting another tree, “we’d have some help.”

“Well, I’m sorry that Ladybug didn’t think to pack her whole room!” Marinette proclaimed, her hands on her hips in a warning position as Alya struggled to get her lance disengaged from the tree. “Might I remind you, Chat, that I was on a date!”

“Oh, trust me,” Adrien said with a grimace, “I know .”

“Okay, plan c,” She said, not bothering to elaborate as to what plan a or b was. Likely they were far more preferable things, such as showing up already transformed as Ladybug or getting away and becoming ladybug. Since the Akuma wouldn’t let her leave her eyesight, however. Both Marinette and Adrien shot a glance at the Akuma, noting how she was only momentarily distracted by getting her lance out of the tree. Thankfully, she was too distracted to change weapons.

Still, Adrien didn’t fully understand.

He could see her fight back a groan, the girl gesturing to her earrings with a motion that indicated she needed his help. But how exactly? She couldn’t just pop them off, Akuma distracted or not; eventually the girl was going to look at them.

Oh.

There are things that you learn while fighting in a superhero team for years on end. Hopefully, over time one of those things would be how to read your partner’s body language. The only problem was, he could only just barely hope to read it correctly. Marinette was, in many ways, a puzzle that Adrien could only just barely hope to solve. It took him years to even find out what he stuttering meant--

The Akuma withdrew her weapon, the splintering of wood hitting the air. Efficiently, she pulled out her phone once more, cycling through options as she began to walk meaningly towards them, a grin painted upon her features. Internally, they began to count, all they had to do was wait for her to move first.

She didn’t disappoint.

Another round of arrows, the perfect excuse to tackle Marinette. Adrien shoved her down to the ground and out of the way, very much looking as if it was an unplanned action. His hands flew to her earrings as the Akuma shrieked, snatching one off of her head with a motion that appeared to cradle her head.

They rolled again, Marinette giving a performative yelp as she ended up on top of him, the back of her other earring pressing into his palm. He couldn’t help but grin as the next arrow flew, jerking Marinette’s head out of the way and grabbing the last piece of the puzzle while the Akuma screamed, cycling weapons once more to account for her closer distance, her head tucked down to look at her phone.

“I could make a joke, but,” he caught Marinette’s warning look as they scattered to their feet, desperately dashing for the nearest tree. “It’d probably bug you.”

She groaned. 

The two of them disappeared behind it, a green light shining moments later.

When Cheavlierre looked up, the playing field was a bit different. No longer was there Chat Noir, but rather Marinette all alone. She smiled innocently, her back against a tree. Had she given up?

“You’re right,” Marinette began as the Akuma cautiously approached, on high alert for anything strange to happen. Secretly, Alya felt a bit of relief, finally Marinette was making things easy. “It’s Adrien, it was always Adrien. I was stupid to think otherwise.”

Victory.

“I love Adrien,” Marinette declared with a tranquil smile, her arms outstretched, “and he loves me. So pick me up and take me to him, my dear knight. I’m ready for my happily ever after to begin.”

That’s the thing about Akumas, isn’t it? Even when Hawkmoth is screaming in their ears to do otherwise, they want to fulfill their personal goal more than anything. Even if that means stepping forward into an obvious trap, reaching out to their friend, and getting dangerously close to a tree when they don’t know what’s on the other side. Akumas are ruled by emotion, not logic.

The yoyo zipped around the tree, smashing Alya’s body into Marinette’s. Panicked, the Akuma struggled, hand wrapped desperately around her phone as Marinette dug at her fingers, the two girls wrapped so tightly that Alya’s cheek pressed against the other girl’s lips.

Finally, the phone left Alya’s grip, thrown on the ground with the slightest flick of the wrist as the girl screamed in fury. A large red foot stomped downward, shattering the screen and releasing a white butterfly.

*****

“Ugh,” Alya complained yet again, laying her head down in Marinette’s lap as she pouted, her face turning to Nino, “I can’t believe I missed getting footage of Mister Bug yet again. You just had to get turned into a Disney-Esq turtle, didn’t you, Nino?”

“You’re the one who turned me!”

“And you couldn’t even attempt to hold a phone?”

“Turtles don’t have fingers, dude!”

Their argument continued, Alya still lamenting over her lack of footage despite the hours that had passed. Luka had already left, staying long enough to see that Marinette was okay and pose the question of where she went. He wasn’t angry when she couldn’t answer, but, she could see the disappointment on his face. Still, he was somehow the furthest from the front of her mind.

We should talk, declared Adrien’s text message, just another drop in the pool of Marinette’s concerns.

As her hands worked through the waves atop Alya’s head, her mind flew back to another place and time.

Her eyes shut, her body pressed against Chat Noir as the transformation dropped, his clothes underneath her hands for mere seconds as he whispered her transformation sequence. Sewing had ruined her; she could recognize fabrics by feel. Every composition, every weave, and every weight had a different texture. Finely woven silk, cotton, and not a hint of polyester anywhere. Just the slightest hint of sugarcane, an element newly introduced to the Gabriel label’s denim due to the unique fade it created.

She was one step closer to Chat Noir’s identity, and though she had told him that she didn’t wish to know, she couldn’t deny the heavy thumping in her chest.

[vampire-writes]

Prince Darius

Darius and the Nnjid Dreamer’s shenanigans

Word Count: 722

“Wait! Slow down!”

He twisted his head so fast you’d think that he was an owl, instead of a young boy with blood dripping down his leg. It’s unusual to have Darius actually do something you request, but maybe your voice came out more frantic than you’d meant for it to. You had been playing tag, then Darius had fallen down and sliced his knee open. By the time you had caught up to him, he’d already been up and running away.

“Darius! Time out.”

His head cocked, and he looked you up and down, trying to figure out why’d you had called off the game if you were winning.

“Afraid of losing already, Dreamer?” he smirked, and you can see a gap in his smile from a lost baby tooth.

He’s, well he’s what your maman would call, and pardon the crudeness, a smartass, if she had met him while you were out in the city. That's what she calls the butcher, and Darius has the same smart mouth and know-it-all attitude as them. Only difference you can see is that Darius is a lot nicer than the butcher when he wants to be. You stay silent, as it seems the best approach when dealing with anything involving Darius and his words. You sit on the dry grass, and pat the space next to you. Confused, but ever curious, Darius plops down next to you, stretching out as a way of mocking your much smaller self. You bite down the memory of the argument that sprouted due to him holding things above your head, which is absolutely infuriating, especially when you didn’t have a chance in reaching it. You remind yourself that this is not the time. You point at his leg, and motioned for him to bring it closer to you. 

“Oh, of course.” he has seemed to realize what has caused the game to be paused, which is gr-

… he splays the wrong leg across your lap. You give him a droll stare.

“Other one.”

“A please would be nice.”

“Good thing I'm not nice.”

He snickers, and puts the right leg on your lap. You pull off the bag a family friend had given you, telling you to “take it on adventures”. Your mother, knowing how clumsy you are, promptly put in a small medical kit for any scraps and scratches you were sure to get eventually. Finally, her worry has paid off, you think, as you pull out a piece of cotton and press it on his still bleeding wound. His tail flicks against the ground next to you. As you sit, applying pressure, hes silent for only but a moment more.

“... That wasn't necessary.”

You look up at him, glaring. He backs down some, and turns his face away.

“... But thank you, I guess.”

You smile triumphantly, releasing a proud huff. 

“Of course. Best friends always have each other’s backs.”

He looks back at you, eyes shining with mischief.

“Oh, my hero.”

You puff out your chest, striking a heroic pose.

“But of course, your majesty.” you say, in the mostly knightley voice you can muster.

He grins, remembering the fairytale you had read together, out of a stolen book from your mother’s bookshelf.

“O, my sweet knight, how could I ever repay you?”

You smile sweetly.

“By holding still while I patch you up.”

He huffs, giving you a fake pouty face, while you get back to work. After your done, you pat his leg twice to get him off of you.

“There you go, Prince, as good as new.”

He retracts his leg  slowly, taking his time, as always. Hmpf. You stand first, then help him up.

“Why thank you, my oh-so strong knight in shining armor.”

You bow deeply.

“Of course, your highness, I’m here to help.”

He smiles as you straighten up.

“Then perhaps I should help you home, as a thank you.”

You look around, realizing that the sun has unfortunately settled, and the world was cast in darkness once again. You throw the back of your hand to your forehead, looking at Darius helplessly.

“Oh thank you, your majesty.”

“You’re welcome. Just don't expect it to be a regular thing. After all, I am a prince, aren’t I?”

You giggle.

“I would suppose, Prince Darius.”

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Once Upon A Time

Written for @jonsansasource's JonSansa Week Day 4 - Songs or Family or Romance

Jon is Rickon's Kindergarten teacher and Sansa has to pick her little brother up to go to the doctor. But teacher Jon is reading a fairytale to his class and Sansa wants to know how it ends.

Modern AU

“Once Upon A Time, in a kingdom far far away…”

Sansa leaned to the wall while her lips curled up into a smile. She knew she should clear her throat or cough. She knew Rickon had a doctor’s appointment in half an hour and they wouldn’t make it if she would linger here any longer. She knew that Jon Snow was her brother’s teacher and they weren’t in a fancy bar where she could just flirt with him and offer him to buy him a beer or two. But still…

“There lived a young princess, locked up in her ivory tower, looking out over the endless dessert.” Jon continued reading, his eyes on the kids at his feet, all looking up at him as if he was some kind of young God.

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest and she stared at the young God too. Whenever she read a new book or story and fell in love with a fictional character, she secretly always pictured them as Jon. It was something she simply couldn’t help.

When her mother had asked her, months ago, to bring Rickon to school on his first day, Sansa had complained about it. She had hated waking up an hour earlier to make the detour. She had hated having to rush her breakfast and skip her long hot bath. She had begged all her siblings if they couldn’t do it instead.

But once she had met Jon Snow, the kindhearted teacher with a constant frown on his forehead, bringing Rickon to school had quickly become her favorite time of the day.

Not that she and Jon had really spoken much yet. Their exchanges were usually brief and consisted of a hi and a bye, of a how are you doing and see what Rickon has made yesterday. They spoke about the weather, about the new word Rickon would be learning that day. And they shared a lot of glances and smiles, without any conversation at all.

“Her parents had told her that one day a knight in shining armor would come to her rescues. And when that knight would come to beat the dragon who guarded her and to climb the tower all the way to the top only to carry her down over his shoulders, she would know that he was the prince she should marry.”

She had to interrupt his story. She had to get Rickon and put his jacket on. She couldn’t risk being late and missing their appointment. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to make her presence known. Not yet. Just a few seconds longer, she promised herself.

“But days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. The princess in the tower grew tired of waiting. The frustration drove her that mad that she broke the bed into a million different pieces.”

Sansa had never heard the story before, even though she had read quite some books and knew quite some fairytales. And just like all the children on the floor at Jon’s feet, staring at him with their jaws dropped and their eyes wide open, Sansa was mesmerized by his voice.

When she had been younger there had not been that many male teachers, especially not in Kindergarten. And if there had been, they had certainly not been this handsome and charming and galant.

“The princess noticed that one of the wooden pieces had a sharp point at one end and was much thicker at the other end. It maybe wasn’t a real sword, but it was better than nothing. The princess reached for the wooden sword and with a piece of her clothing she tied the sword around her waist. If a prince could climb up and down the tower, so could the princess, she thought. And the princess stepped out of the window, her hands and feet looking for the right stones to carry her down.”

Once in a while Jon turned the page of his book, but somehow Sansa was not entirely sure if the story he was reading was actually in there. Sometimes he turned the page after a few words already. Sometimes he waited three full sentences. Maybe she should ask him about it later. Or now. Actually she had to ask him about it now. But she wanted to hear how the story ended. She needed to hear how it ended.

“Her hands were bleeding and her knees were scratched when she fell into the dusty sand at the bottom of the tower. A shiver rolled down a spine when she heard the roar of the dragon, rushing towards her to prevent her from escaping. But the princess had her sword ready and determination burned brightly in her eyes.”

Sansa held her breath. She didn’t dare to move anymore. She didn’t even want to blink, afraid that even the slightest tremble could interrupt Jon, could remind him that she was here to pick Rickon up and get him to the hospital, could keep her from hearing the happily ever after at the very end.

“But the princess didn’t kill the dragon. The dragon couldn’t help it that he was forced to guard her tower and challenge anyone who would come and rescue her. Instead of fighting the monster, the princess told the monster about the rest of the world, about the other dragons, forced to guard towers when they could be doing anything they wanted wherever they wanted it.”

The kids leaned towards their teacher and Sansa realized she was doing the same.

“And the dragon allowed the princess to climb on his back. They didn’t wait for knights in shining armor to come. The dragon brought the princess to wherever she wanted to be and then the dragon flew off to wherever he wanted to be. And they both live happily ever after, because dragons aren’t always monsters and princesses don’t need princes to save them.”

Sansa stepped forward. “Some of them do like to marry one one day, though.” She kept her glance locked with Jon's. “I’d say there’s nothing wrong with that.” She shrugged. “As long as it’s a prince who deserves a princess, because he knows they don’t need saving.”

Jon stared at her, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.

“I'm here to pick Rickon up.” Sansa stared at the clock on the wall that had not stood still. “He’s gonna be ten minutes late for his hospital appointment already.”

Jon curled his lips up into a smile when he realized why. “So…” He scratched the back of his neck. “What about the princess one day running into her prince, at a random place, when she doesn’t expect it?”

Sansa smiled back at him. “And what about the prince taking her out for dinner, picking her up at 7?”

Jon paused for a moment and then he nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a good possible ending.”

“Not an ending.” Sansa shook her head. “A beginning. The beginning of a new story.” She reached for Rickon’s hand and pulled him up from the floor. “And so the princess waits for her prince once more. But this time not locked up in a tower with a dragon to guard her.”

“This time willingly.” Jon finished her sentence. “Because it’s her choice.”

Sansa pulled Rickon with her to the hallway. “The princess already looks forward to tonight.”

“And so does the prince.”

[incorrectdeceptionquotes]

A Bundle of Secrets Chapter 24

Chapter 24

A few days later...

“Berossi! You have a visitor.” A guard called.

Cornelia Berossi, formerly known as the mystery woman made her way over to the telephone station, wondering who would be visiting her, she had no family and her team had abandoned her. She was surprised to see Jonathan waiting for her by the phone. She sat down behind the glass and picked up the phone. “Hello Cornelia. That’s a lovely colour on you.” He smirked.

Cornelia rolled her pale blue eyes, “What do you want Jonathan?”

“Well, I have always wanted to see what it’s like being on the other side of this place.” His smirk turned to a frown, “And I came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“You see, you were such an obsession for my life at one point that, it didn’t seem right to leave without a proper happy ending.”

Cornelia scoffed, “Happy ending?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Of course, this is me and my family’s happy ending. I’m done with you. You, behind bars with no legs left to stand on and... the odds of you getting out... are near impossible. Even if you did, you’d have a real tough time readjusting to society.”

She raised an eyebrow, “How are you so sure?”

“Oh, because you see,” He held up a newspaper with not only a picture of him and Cam having been reunited but a very clear picture of Cornelia’s mug shot in the corner, “The whole world knows who you are now.” Cornelia’s eyes widened as she looked at the newspaper, “There’s no more hiding for you. Time to face the spotlight.”

“Why did you do this?” She whispered as her nostrils flared.

“Oh, I didn’t do anything” Jonathan said putting the paper down, “I mean, with one of the Blancs having been taken to jail for murder of a civilian, the kidnapping and attempted murder of an FBI agent and that’s just naming a few, the article practically wrote itself.”

Cornelia sighed, “I wish you understood.”

“If you wanna be mad at someone, be mad at yourself.” The former mystery woman gave Jonathan a confused look and Johnny could help but... feel sorry for her, her life wasn’t easy and she clearly had problems that went beyond her hatred of his father but she had made her choices, “Look, you’re smart. Probably one of the smartest people I’ve ever met but you made one fatal mistake. You messed with my family. Now you have to answer for everything you’ve ever done.”

“You don’t understand, my mother made me who I am, I had to do things that no child should have to do.”

“So did I, so did Cam, so did a lot of other people in this world but they don’t all turn into psychopath killers who toy with people’s emotions and purposely ruin lives in the name of the greater good. Along the way, you start making your own choices.”

“People like our parents treated us like they could bend us to their will and never let us choose who we wanted to be.” She took a deep breath, “And when I finally found you again, I realized that it was our turn to win.”

“But you became a villain.” He chuckled grimly, “Because that’s what people like you do, your happiness has to come at the expense of others and that’s why you could never be happy.”

“But we understood each other.”

“You don’t know me. You never did. You thought you did but you didn’t. You didn’t know it was me you were looking for.” Jonathan stated bluntly, “You had thought you were looking for Cameron, that’s why you framed me for murder.”

“Jonathan-”

“But you know what, I’m glad it was me because if you had done that to Cam... let’s just say that it’s a good thing I knew Kay would get him out soon enough after what I did.”

“But you still left him there. You left your brother in your place, how does that make you any better than me?”

“Well, I can of one thing that makes me... at the very least, one percent better than you.” He leaned in to the window, “I. Am. Not. A. Killer.” Her expression didn’t change but Jonathan could see the anger build in her eyes, “Don’t get me wrong. I know what it feels like to be tempted to be the bad guy especially when it seems like that’s who the whole world wants you to be but... it isn’t something to strive for...” He raised an eyebrow, “It’s something to pity.”

Cornelia scoffed, “You pity me?”

“Yes. I pity you.” He gave her a genuine sympathetic look, “Because you don’t have anyone waiting for you to come home.” His light demeanor vanished. Jonathan’s eyes went dark and his nostrils flared, “But you deserve to be here.” He had to tell her why he truly hated her now, “You... are the reason I never got to see my little sister again. You are the reason she and her husband are dead. You are the reason my baby niece has to grow up without her parents who loved her so damn much!” He spat, “And the only reason, I haven’t done anything to you is because I need to be there for her now. I want to be there for her... and you’re not going to stop me. You took over a year of my life away from me but unlike you... I have something to live for now.” Cornelia didn’t say anything. Jonathan sighed, “Well, I said all I came to say.”

“Where are you going?” She asked softly, almost uncharacteristically as she looked at him again.

“My brother and I have a funeral to plan.” He gave her one last look. For a moment, he didn’t see the beautiful psychopath who ruined his life, he saw the innocent young girl who he met in Reykjavik, he shook his head slightly, she wasn’t that girl he had been friends with back then... not anymore. She made her choices and this is where those choices brought her and she had no one to blame but herself, “Goodbye Cornelia. I do hope... you can understand what you’ve done and maybe... you can redeem yourself.” It was foolish to think she could but he knew taking away someone’s hope was just cruel. He put the phone back in its holder, got up and left.

“Goodbye Jonathan...” Cornelia whispered into her own phone knowing that he was no longer on the line to hear her. She was alone... and she could only blame herself.

When he got back to the archive, he saw everyone combing through Fiona and Shawn’s personal belongings, trying to just organize it all. Cameron was the first to notice his brother’s return, “Hey,” He greeted, “How’d it go?”

Jonathan shook his head, “It was not what I expected...” Jonathan smiled, “But it... it really is over. We can actually move on.” He walked over to his brother and gave him a hug, “She’s out of our lives.”

Cameron hugged his brother tightly, “Welcome home.”

They pulled away from their hug, “Where’s Farrah?”

“Little girly’s helping Jordan with his music.” Gunter said with a smirk as he walked by, going out the door to get some takeout for dinner, “If I’m not back in an hour, it mean that they’ve screwed up our order and I’ve had to teach a lesson.”

Jonathan called out, “Jordan-”

“This is a Disney playlist I’m making for her Johnny, no swearing to be found here!” Jordan called from the other room. Jordan rolled his eyes, “Uncle Johnny’s being kind of the buzzkill now huh?” Farrah giggled as she kicked her legs to the music.

“I heard that Jordan!” Jonathan called back, “The kid learns any curse words before she’s ten, I’m blaming you!”

Kay walked into the room from the kitchen holding an apple in her left hand, it still in the sling, “So I finally found something that wasn’t pudding, candy, coffee or expired.” She looked up and saw Jonathan, she smiled, “Hey, how’d it go?”

Johnny shrugged but smiled, “It’s over. I can actually move on with my life... I can actually have a life.” He headed for the kitchen, “Now what’s this I hear about pudding? Do we have vanilla?”

“I saw chocolate pudding.”

“Even better.”

Kay walked over to Cameron, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a little overwhelming. You know if you had told me two weeks ago that all thing would happen... I genuinely would have said that it was impossible.”

“Cameron Black thinking something is impossible?” Kay joked. She noticed how he was just kind of combing through the things, almost as if he didn’t want to finish cleaning it up, “Need some help?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine, besides, your arm-”

“I still have the other one.” She said as she started to organize the books on the table.

Jonathan walked back in with a pudding cup in hand, “How’s the organizing going?”

“Pretty good. We’ve managed to sort out most of the photos and Dina’s gone to get plastic covers for them.” Cameron said.

“What’s with all the notebooks?” Johnny asked motioning to the pile of books that Kay was looking through.

“Sketchbooks, actually. They’re all Fiona’s. She was good...” Her hand fell to a black sketchbook with a silver spiral binding. Something about it seemed familiar so she opened it; she smiled as she flipped through the pages, seeing drawings of fairies, royalty and knights in shining armor, “She seemed to love fairytales.”

Jonathan had put the empty plastic cup aside and started looking through the books, “Here’s a page of where she was just writing down baby names. Man, she had a ton of names in mind for Farrah. Soraya, Regina, Ella, and Alice which is just naming a few... but it’s clear she liked the name Farrah the best.” Kay smiled as she continued flipping through the sketchbook until she flipped a page and pressed between the last page and the current one were two unmarked envelopes. Kay’s eyes widened as it finally clicked in her mind as to why the sketchbook seemed familiar.

Cameron smirked, “How are you so sure?”

Johnny flipped the book around for Cameron and Kay, who wasn’t paying attention, to see, “Well, given the fact that the name is underlined three times, circled twice in red and got little gold stars and pink hearts drawn around it, that’s kind of what tipped me off.”

Cameron chuckled, “Well, the name Farrah does suit her.”

Just then, Kay’s grip the apple she was holding loosened unconsciously and it fell to the floor when she opened up one of the envelopes and saw the words, To Cameron Black written inside the flap. Cameron and Jonathan both turned their heads to Kay who looked shell-shocked, Cameron gave her a concerned look as he picked the apple off the floor, “Kay? What’s wrong?” She didn’t respond for a moment and Cameron gently placed hand on her left shoulder, snapping her out of it, “Kay? Are you okay?”

She looked at Cameron with a look of disbelief in her eyes, “C-Cameron... did I... how long did I flat line when I was in the hospital?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Jonathan asked.

“I-I genuinely forgot to.” Cameron replied, “Just for a few minutes according to the doctor. Kay, why do you ask?”

“These... these letters...” She took a deep breath, still not believing it herself, “Fiona wrote these letters for the both of you but... she was too scared to send them...”

Jonathan furrowed his brows, “Wait, how do you know that?”

Kay let out a breathy chuckle, the look of disbelief still on her face, “She told me.”

...So Kay finally remembers what happened when she was unconscious! The mystery woman or... Cornelia is locked away and the Deception family can finally move on with their lives... or can they? I’m sorry I keep doing that, I’ll stop... eventually. :D

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I actually enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would!

[youaremynewdream]

Whatever our Souls are Made of

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” ― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

The moment you turn ten years old, the first words you will hear from your soulmate appears as a permanent marking upon your left forearm.

When Shannon Hawke receives a less-than-ideal phrase as her bond mark, she must learn what fate truly has in store for her.

Read on AO3 here!

***

As a child, Shannon Hawke always thought that the idea of soulmates was so romantic. Every night before falling asleep she would beg her mother to tell her stories about her and her father's first meeting. Smiling, Leandra would tuck the giggling child into bed and recite the story the same way she had a thousand times before.

"When I turned ten I knew that my soulmate would be someone special.  My bond mark said 'I'll protect you.' so I always knew that my love would be kindhearted, someone who wanted me to be safe.  Of course, my parents were worried for me.  My mark meant that I would be in danger, and in the world of nobility they always hoped for 'safe' bond marks such as 'Hello' or 'Nice to meet you'. " At this point Leandra would always lean in to the small child, as if telling her the most naughty secret, "But I didn't care.  I would dream at night of dashing rogues, daring warriors, or valiant knights vanquishing foes just to sweep me off my feet."  She tickled Hawke's nose and she laughed, pulling her blanket up underneath her eyes.

"And so, growing up I became increasingly disappointed by my fancy, safe noble life.  Every party I attended after my 10th year was so dull.  Parents would introduce their children to each other, hoping for a match to be found within a house of good fortune.  I tried my best to be a good daughter for my parents, but the more people I met, the more I realized that my soulmate was never going to be a child of nobility. So, I became... more daring. I wanted to travel, to reach out to far spread worlds. Maybe my soulmate wasn't in Kirkwall, but in Rivain, Orlais, or Antiva!"

Leandra laughed, cuddling in close with her small daughter. "Well, I did start to travel. At least, as far as I could go without my parents having a heart attack.  I would go further and further each time, making up excuses of study and suchlike.  But then one day, I was traveling the coast with a few of my family's guards when a group of bandits appeared from nowhere!  My guards were completely taken by surprise. One of them was instantly killed by an arrow to the back of his head, falling into the sand, and all I could do was stand there in shock! They began taking down each one of my guards, and one by one they fell, the poor souls.  The bandits were too cunning, and once the guards were out of the way they turned their eyes, and weapons, to me.   Suddenly I felt the fears of my parents rushing back into me.  Here I was about to be killed, and all of it for nothing! But right when I felt the sharp, cold blade of the bandit's dagger, I finally heard the words I'd been waiting for."

Hawke poked her head back out from under the blanket, smiling, "I'll protect you!" Leandra rubbed her little head, smoothing her dark hair behind freckled ears. "Yes my darling girl. The bandits were blown back in an instant, dagger flying into the ocean! I felt a powerful presence beside me, and then those fated words: ‘I will protect you’.  In that instant, I knew. I was speechless! This dashing mage was defending me, casting spells left and right to vanquish my enemies just as I had dreamed.  And he seemed to have come out from nowhere! He managed to take down the bandits fairly easily, and when he turned to me I finally got to see my love's face.  He was so beautiful." Leandra sighed for a moment, "He still is.  All I could muster out was, 'You saved my life' and I could see the realization hit his face.  He reached out to me with his left hand, and I accepted.  When we brought our arms together we sealed the bond and the marks grew hot until they burned away into thin air, charmed by the old magic as they are.  We were finally together, and it never felt more right.  And that, my dear, is how I met your father."

Hawke smiled wider, and took her arm out from under her blanket.  "Do you think I'll ever have a story like that, mama?"  Leandra tucked her daughter back under the covers.  "Of course, my sweet girl.  You'll get your bond mark in a few years time, and one day you'll have a story all your own."  She kissed her forehead lightly, quietly saying, "And when I'm old, you'll tuck me in every night and I'll beg you for the story every single time.  Sounds good to you?"

Hawke giggled, "Yes mama."

Sounds wonderful.

***

On Hawke's tenth birthday, she waited with anxious anticipation as the black letters started to form on her forearm.  It wasn't painful, but was odd to watch the script write itself, an ancient magic that was so different from that which her or her father practiced.

Bethany ran in, looked at Hawke and instantly ran back outside yelling, "Mama! Shannon's arm is changing! The marks are appearing!"

Leandra came back in, abandoning the laundry she had been working on.  "Oh my darling, let me see!"

Hawke was staring at her arm, worried.  What would it say? Who would her soulmate be? She's wanted this moment for so long but now that it was happening she was suddenly terrified.

"Your... men... a... are..."  What an odd phrase to start with, but she waited as it continued. But after the next word, the fear increased twofold.  "Your men are dead..."

Hawke remained silent as the mark continued to grow into more words.  She looked away from her arm.  Why would her soulmate say this? Was it to her? Was her soulmate going to kill someone she was with? Her mother lightly held her arm, studying it.

"It's done sweetheart, if you wish to look at the rest."  She spoke gently, trying to reassure Hawke but when she looked it only made her feel worse.  "Your men are dead and your trap has failed." Hawke bit her lip, and blinking back tears she looked up at her mother.  "Mama... Mama, what does this mean?"

Leandra rubbed Hawke's arm gently, trying to remain as calm as she possibly could.  After all, she always promised herself she wouldn't fret over the mark as her parents did, but this was... unusual. She sat down next to her daughter.

"It means exactly what it always does, these are the words your love will say when you meet them for the first time."  Hawke jerked her arm away, the tears beginning to escape from her eyes.

"But this isn't a fairytale phrase! It talks of death and traps and what if they are a bad person! Mama make it go away." The tears flowed readily from her eyes now.  Leandra hugged her daughter and clung tightly to her small frame.

"You can never know the context my dear, you don't know how this will happen or who they are.  The Maker has a plan, and it's not always easy to tell what it is."  She held her daughter's face and looked into her eyes. "Have faith, my girl. Everything will be alright, you'll see."

All she could do was hope that her mother was right.

***

Of course the blighted blight shitty blight blight thing was destroying Thedas.  Just what she needed right now.

Hawke was a strong enough mage that by now she could cut a path through as many darkspawn that came her way, but it didn't make the task any less exhausting.  Her mana was running low and panic started prickling at the back of her mind. If only father were here...

But he wasn't.  Hawke gritted her teeth and kept moving forward, if not for herself but for her mother, her family.  They needed her and she sure as dicks wasn't going to let them down, not now.

They met a woman named Aveline and her bondmate Wesley along the way, a templar no less.  Hawke rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on her staff, but at least they were a reasonable sort.

However, just as she thought they might have a fighting chance, their luck fell out from under them.

Bethany.

For a moment all Hawke could feel was anger towards her sister.  She knew Bethany shouldn't be the target of her fury, but she couldn't stop screaming childish insults in her mind

But she didn't mean it, not at Bethany.

She knew she truly blamed it on herself.

Leandra cried.  Her baby girl was gone in an instant, the echo of her life still etched on her arm.  Her soulmate apparently would have said "I'm sorry."

Fitting.

All they could do now was continue to move forward.

***

Kirkwall was a fucking mess.

Hawke tightened the wrappings on her left arm.  She had worn them for years, but it had become more of a necessary in this shit hole of a city. Ever since first receiving her bond mark, her mother suggested the wrappings.  It kept her focused on her life without the constant reminder of the manner in which she might meet her soulmate.

It helped.  But every time she had to change the wrappings it only stung her more as a child.  By now, at least she was used to it, she didn't have the fantasies of meeting some gallant knight in shining armor like she did when she was young.

At this point she just wanted to keep her friends and family alive, and apparently throwing herself into the deep roads was going to be the best way to accomplish this.

Fantastic.

Varric might not have been a knight in shining armor, but at least he had a sense of humor.   Traveling around Kirkwall doing odd jobs and cleaning up the streets for coin was no walk in the park but Hawke was used to it by this point.  It's how you got by here.

So when she met a random dwarf named Anso, she hadn't expected anything different. Fight some people, grab the goods, get the coin.  It was routine by now.

Except of course this mission would go wrong.  After fighting a dozen or so guards, Anso's  goods were nowhere to be found, chest empty.  Hawke sighed. "Well. So much for that."

And of course, when they returned to the streets, a few dozen more armed men came for them.  "Oh so it's a party!"  Varric laughed as him and Carver took one side of the street and Aveline and Hawke took the other.

They cut through them pretty easily, only minor injuries.  "Be wary, there might be more up ahead."  Aveline was always cautious.

A man walked towards them full of pride and command.  "I don't know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here." He glared at them menacingly.

Hawke tightened her grip on her staff, ready to gut the bastard.  He cried out, "Lieutenant I want everyone in the clearing, now!"  He smiled like he had already beaten them, but the sound of a man stumbling, bleeding to death behind him dampened that thought.   He fell down with a word, "Captain!"  Poor soul. Hawke shook her head, whoever had messed this guy up was good.

And then she heard it.  The words she'd cringed at for years, wrapping cloth around them to hide from the world.

A dark, handsome elf with strange markings walked toward them, and addressing the Captain, "Your men are dead and your trap has failed."  Hawke's heart fluttered immediately.  Could it be? Here? And he wasn't addressing her? But surely she's never seen this elf anywhere before, so this is their first meeting...

The elf continued, "I suggest running back to your master while you can."  He was beautiful.  His hair was a silvery white, and clashing with his skin. Hawke's heart seemed to beat a bit too loudly, could it really be him?

The captain suddenly grabbed him, "You're going nowhere slave!"  And that's when the elf turned blue, and with one swift motion reached in, and pulled out the captain's heart.

"I am not a slave." He crushed the heart and threw it on the ground. Hawke stared at it for a moment.  "Holy shit."  It was all that she could mutter.

It took a few seconds for her to realize, that if this really was her soulmate, the poor man had to have "holy shit" written on his arm.

Typical.

***

Hawke got through the encounter with her bond mate, now known to her as Fenris, without much more incident than a few sideways glances from her brother and Aveline and a promise of another meeting to search for a slaver.

And if Fenris noticed anything regarding their bond mark, he sure didn't make any indication of it to Hawke.

They managed to make it back to Varric's room at the Hanged Man before anyone touched upon the topic.

Aveline closed the door behind them and once it clicked shut, "Alright. Talk."

Hawke faked ignorance, "Whatever do you mean?"  Aveline sighed and walked over to her. "You know exactly what I mean, Hawke.  I may have only known you for a year or so, but I know what your bond mark says, and that was it."

Hawke sighed.  "Who knows, you hear the phrase 'Your men are dead' all the time nowadays. It must be a Tuesday..."

Carver looked at her from across the table.  "Sister... you have to talk to him.  You know it's him, just do it."

Hawke stood up and walked over to the wall.  Why was she so nervous about this? "I will, I promise.  But please just... let me do this on my own time alright? I just met him and... I don't know something doesn't feel right."  She sighed and turned to leave. "I'll handle things, but it's my mark, my decision.  I'll do what I like with it."

***

He hated mages.

That was it, that was the zinger she could feel when they met.  Of course he hated mages, he was tortured by them for as long as he could remember.  She tried not to show that she was hurt, but it did.  She wanted to tell him, but what would he do? To learn that your soulmate was someone who you despise?  No no... she couldn't do that to him.  Maybe it was best to just leave him be.  Why should a mark tell people what to do anyway?

The others left her alone.  Varric had a similar issue with his so he didn't even need to say anything to confirm it.

But Carver? Of course he was going to be a pain in the arse.

"You going to tell mother you're ignoring your bond?"

"No, and leave me alone."

"Oh come on, you've wanted this your entire life and when he's finally here, you just ignore him?"

"He HATES MAGES Carver! He's said so! He puts up with me but how could he love one? This must be a mistake, maybe his mark doesn't say what I said, this could just be a mistake.  One I'm not going to make a fuss over."

Of course, she did.

***

It was a couple months before she mustered up the courage to talk to him.  He was beautiful, kind, and even though he had his thing with mages, he seemed able to change.

So she took a leap.

She had visited him in his mansion a few times before, just to talk or hang out, but when she saw him this time she couldn't help but be nervous.

"Fenris?"

Fenris nodded from the chair where he was pouring himself a glass of wine. "Hawke."

She watched him for a moment, thankful Fenris wasn't afraid of silences.  She could feel her heart in her chest, though she desperately wished it would shut up. He grabbed another glass and hesitated before pouring, looking up momentarily to lock eyes with her.

She nodded in agreement and sat down across from him as he poured her a glass.  "It's a good thing I'm fond of wine, Danarious sure did leave plenty behind.  I'll gladly drink it all if it puts him out of anything," Fenris said bitterly.  

Hawke raised her glass, "Sounds like a good cause, sign me up."

They clinked glasses and drank in silence for a while, Hawke kept turning over how she would bring up her bond mark, but she had no idea what to say.

After the first round of drinks were finished and Hawke had eagerly accepted the second glass, Fenris finally broke the silence. "As much as a pleasure it is to share wine with a beautiful woman, I'm sure you didn't come here simply to stare at the bottom of your glass." Hawke rubbed the stem of her wine glass anxiously, "Ah yes, of course."

She took a breath as he waited patiently.  "I er, was curious, Fenris." She set her glass down so she could writhe her fingers under the table.  "Do you have bond marks in Tevinter?

Fenris furrowed his brow for a moment in confusion.  "Bond marks...? "  

Hawke tried to explain, "They appear on your left forearm, and says the first words of your-"

"Ah! yes. We call them Tusvatin, or soul writing I suppose in your language. Why do you ask?"  Fenris tilted his head.

Hawke looked down at the table and mustered up what courage she could. "Well, I had just wondered because you always wear gauntlets, so I never saw if you had one or not, have you found your... person or...?"

Fenris chuckled for a moment.  "You actually think they teach slaves to read? They purposefully keep our marks a secret from us so we focus on our lives under our master.  My lyrium markings even run over my Tsuvatin, though I'm not sure what it says. I've never even asked anyone what it was honestly."

Hawke looked up at him then.  "You never were even curious? Not even now?"

Fenris stood up and paced.  "And why should I be? Perhaps I was before I received these markings, however that's besides the point.  Living under Danarius, the thought of it barely crossed my mind.  How could it?  My life had one purpose: to serve.  To exist. So I did. If it wasn't for the others running around gossiping about their Tusvatin then it probably would have escaped my mind entirely."

He stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames as if searching for something. "I suppose I was curious on occasion.  It's hard to not think of... the possibility of enjoying another's company.  But when you're a slave you learn to push those thoughts out of your mind."

Hawke stood up and walked slowly to the other side of the fireplace, afraid to get too close. Leaning against the banister, she said softly, "But you've escaped years ago, you aren't a slave anymore.  Have you not been curious since that time?"

Fenris was quiet, continuing to stare into the fire.  "I suppose so.  Being away from Tevinter has given me... options.  More than I ever thought I would have.  But still..." He looked up at Hawke. "Even if I were to know, or find whoever my Tusvatin matched, why would they ever want to be with me?  I'm an escaped slave with these horrible markings and hatred etched into my skin.  Who would want to be with that?" He turned away from Hawke. She reached out to comfort him, but his markings flared and he shrugged away.

Seeing the pained expression on Hawke's face, he softened and shook his head, sinking down onto the bench.

"I apologize, I'm just not used to people... being close to me... I've never really had a friend before.  Not that I can remember anyway."

Hawke sat down beside him.  "If you like, I could tell you what your mark says, just so you know.  Only if you want me to of course."

Fenris looked at his arm, and sighed.  "Alright.  I might as well know."  He placed his forearm in her lap as she undid the fastenings.

His lyrium markings covered up most of the words, but she was able to make it out.

Her heart skipped a few beats.  "Holy shit..." she whispered.

Fenris looked at the mark, waiting for a moment before asking, "Well, what does it say?"  

Hawke breathed a small laugh. "I said it actually, it reads 'Holy shit'."

Fenris chuckled. "Is it so? Well that could be anyone looking at me for the first time honestly.  I'm quite the terror to behold."

Hawke didn't know what to say... she bit her lip.  Thankfully Fenris spoke again.

"And since you are all about curiosity, may I ask you what your Tusvatin says?  We've only spoken about me, but I see you wrap your arm up as well."

Hawke let go of his arm and hesitated.  "Of course.... I suppose I owe you that much after hounding you with personal questions anyway."  She unwrapped her arm bandages and looked at her bond mark again, reading it just to make sure those words that appeared so many years ago were truly still there.

But there they were indeed.  Shining the same way they did many years ago when they first appeared. But now... maybe it was okay.  It felt right.

Fenris reached out and touched her arm.  "Yours is much longer than mine, I see why you wrap it so. What does it say?"

Hawke chuckled, then sighed as she repeated the words she'd seen so many times. "Your men are dead and your trap has failed." She paused, waiting to see if realization would hit Fenris.  He was frozen, thinking intensely. Finally he spoke.

"I... that sounds familiar..."

Hawke rubbed the mark with her other hand, avoiding his eyes.  "I... you said them.  When we first met."

Fenris stiffened. He opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, "And then... then you said..."  Hawke stayed silent, fearful of... of what she wondered? Rejection? or acceptance?

But to her surprise, he chuckled again.  "Holy shit indeed."  Fenris reached for her right hand.  She allowed him to hold hers, but she still couldn't look him in the eye.

"Hawke... Shannon.  Look at me."  She finally lifted her head to match his forest green eyes. "Why didn't you say something before?"

Hawke shook her head. "I... You said you hated mages, and after everything they have done to you I thought you never would even want... me.. or I don't know. I was a coward.  I just didn't want to be another mage that hurt you."

Tears welled up in her eyes. Fenris's free hand cupped her cheek. "It... it is hard for me. But... you are different Shannon.  I don't know how... true these markings are but... I'm willing to give it a chance if you are."

Hawke chuckled as she looked into his eyes again.  Reaching out for his left hand with hers, she held on and lifted his hand up.

"I am."

They placed their forearms together, initiating the bond as the magic whirled around them.

Kissing Hawke's hand, Fenris whispered, "Then I am yours."

[jordanwinchesterimagines]

Ten Years In Waiting Epilogue Part Two

AN: Well guys, it’s been a wild ride, but it has come to an end. This is the last installment of Ten Years In Waiting. It has been one of my favorite things to write since I started this blog, and I’m pleased with how everything turned out. I want to thank @dean-the-smol-bean for reading over parts and giving me feedback as I wrote the last two parts. You have been a gift! Thank you to all of you that reblogged, and liked this story. It means the whole world. If you have not had a chance to read the previous parts, I will link them below. Love you all, as always. 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Epilogue Part 1 

You took a nervous breath, pinning the last piece of your curled hair in place. You looked at yourself in the mirror, checking for any imperfections in your makeup and hair before inspecting your dress. Normally you would not have even tried it on, but your sister and Emily had begged and begged when you were shopping. The second you had zipped it up you knew that you wanted to walk down the aisle in this dress. It contoured perfectly to your body, falling gracefully onto the floor, its train whisping behind you. The integrate lace sleeves started a bit off your shoulder, its pattern decorating your arms, with the neckline showing just the right amount of skin. You brought your hand up, touching the single strand of pearls around your neck and smiled softly. They had been your mother’s, a gift from your father on their wedding day. She had always promised that you would wear them on your big day, and when your sister showed up last week and presented them, you had been speechless. You blinked in an attempt to prevent your tears from ruining your mascara.

“You look beautiful.” You turned to find Sam standing in the doorway holding David in his arms. You laughed as David pulled on his little bow tie, obviously growing frustrated with the fancy clothes the grown ups were forcing him to wear.

“Thank you, Sam.” He bent over and set the toddler on the floor, allowing him to stretch his legs for a bit. He made his way across the room to wrap you in a tight hug. Over the last few years you and Sam had formed a bond of your own, one of friendship and trust, often at Dean’s expense. Honestly you thought of him as your own brother, which was fitting seeing as you were about to be in-laws. He released you, before reaching over and removing the bouquet out of David’s hands, much to the little one’s dismay.

“You might need these” he joked, handing them to you. You shook your head.

“Yeah, maybe.. So how’s Dean doing?” you asked, already guessing his answer.

“Oh he is doing great!” you raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “Okay, He’s a bit nervous…. There’s a lot of sweat across the hall.” You sighed. You had prepared yourself for Dean’s nerves, after all… it was Dean you were talking about. Sensing your mood, Sam placed a hand on your arm. “It’s a good nervous. He loves you (Y/N).” You smiled.

“I know.”

“I’ve never seen him more happy in my entire life. Thank you for that.” He said, seriously. Just then your sister poked her head in the door, before sending Emily in.

“They are ready to start!” You beamed, looking at your daughter.

“You look so beautiful, baby.” You said, hugging her tightly.

“Mom…” she whined, her teenage embarrassment shining through, although a small smile did spread on her lips.

“Okay! Let’s get this show on the road.” Your sister urged, picking up her own bouquet and ushering Emily and David out to their places. You took hold of Sam’s arm, taking a deep breath and followed them downstairs. Sam’s girlfriend Eileen was waiting for you at the bottom, giving you a friendly smile. Sam bent slightly to give her a peck on the lips before pulling back and signing to her. Even though you were learning to sign, you didn’t catch everything, but whatever Sam said caused a blush to rise across her cheeks. She smacked him on the arm playfully before getting in position behind your sister. The backyard of your home had been decorated for the event, simple white chairs helping to form the aisle from the backdoor to the small arch that was constructed for the ceremony. It was just before dusk, the sky just beginning to show shades of purple and pink. The backyard was lit by twinkling lights along the chairs and weaved into the flowers around the altar, casting a fairytale like glow over the evening. 

Dean stood with next to Garth, who you had meet a few weeks earlier and who had insisted on officiating. You watched as Dean chuckled at your children making their way forward to the music, David not quite cooperating. The toddler sat down in the middle of the aisle, causing Emily to become red in the face. Eventually, after several moments of chasing down her brother she sighed and picked him, and the pillow containing the rings, up and carrying them the rest of the way. Your sister followed next, helping Emily when she reached the end by taking hold of a struggling David, then Eileen who was quickly becoming an important part of your little family.   

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking down at you.

“More than ready.” You replied, unable to take your eyes off of the man waiting for you. When the music changed, you placed one foot in front of the other, trusting Sam to lead you and set the pace. You could feel him restraining you a bit, sensing your eagerness. You were thankful for it, because if he hadn’t been there you would have been at a dead sprint, falling over your dress and face planting in front of everyone. When you finally, what felt like a lifetime, arrived Sam kissed you on the check, untangling your arm from his and putting your hand in Dean’s. Dean gave him a brotherly nod before he took his place by Castiel. You turned and handed your flowers to Emily who was smiling behind you.

“You look beautiful.” He breathed, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek. You smiled.

“You don’t look half-bad yourself, Winchester.” He laughed, pulling back and taking in the sight of you. The two of you walked a few steps to a small table that was placed to the side and picked up the tall candle in the center. One by one you lit a candle for each of your parents, along with an extra one for Bobby, in remembrance and as a silent ‘thank you’ to the people who were responsible for making you who you were. Returning your places, Garth nodded before beginning.

“Now, Dean-o here has told me to ‘not blabber’ and to ‘get to the good stuff’ “ he stated, using air quotes “which I can only assume means he wants to go straight to the vows. BUT I want to say something first, if you don’t mind?” Dean rolled his eyes at Garth, but nodded. You knew Dean better than most people and you knew that it was all an act to appear tough. He loved his friend, which is why he had allowed him to do this in the first place. “ Now, I only met (Y/N) and the kids a couple of weeks ago… Big Guy over here keeping em’ all to himself.” he joked, nudging Dean and causing the small crowd of friends and family to laugh. Dean shook his head but smiled at you, the small crinkles around his eyes showing. “But I see the way that Dean looks at her.. Just like I look at my sweet, Bess.” He winked at his wife who was sitting a few rows back, who blushed and covered her face. “I’m just glad that he finally found somebody who turned him into a big ole’ softie… It’s about time.” Again, another round of laughter at Dean’s expense passed through the backyard.

“Alright, alright…” Dean mumbled, shifting anxiously on his feet.  

“All I’m saying is that I’m happy for you, man.” he replied, hands raised in surrender. “Now, you two have written your own vows. (Y/N), would you like to go first?” You nodded and took a deep breath in an attempt to control your emotions.  

“Dean, the night that we met you were my knight in shining armor, but I would be lying if I said it was love at first sight. You were this big tough guy, who never let his guard down, but I can remember the exact moment that I realized I wanted to be with you.. It was our fourth date, I called and canceled because I was sick. An hour later you showed up at my sister’s house with chicken noodle soup and The Three Stooges on DVD. Even though we started out rough, you have become someone that I trust with my life, someone that I admire, and someone that I respect. You are the most caring, most loyal person I have ever met in my entire life. Since that first night you have been saving me, Dean. Every single day, and every way imaginable you push me to be my best self. You’re a wonderful father to our children, and someone that I am proud to call my partner. I love you very much, and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you.” Leaning over, you pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek and touched a hand to his chest, directly over his heart.

“Well, that’s going to be a tough one to follow. Dean, would you like to say your vows to (Y/N)?” Garth sputtered out as he wiped at his cheeks. The entire gathering of people seemed to be blowing their noses or blotting at their eyes with tissues.

“Um yeah..” he said, giving you a smirk before clearing his throat. “Here goes nothing…. We both know that I’ve seen a lot of bad crap in my life. Hell, I’ve seen enough for a hundred lifetimes. I never thought that I would be able to have anything good, never thought that I could have a life that didn’t revolve around the job. But somehow.. We found it. I never pictured myself a dad either..” As if on cue, David struggled his way out of his sister’s grasp and made a mad dash past Dean, only to be intercepted by Castiel who swooped him up easily. “but I guess we know how that turned out.” The two of you chuckled as Castiel whispered something into David’s ear, and were surprised when the two year old stilled and watched you both intently. With the toddler controlled, Dean continued. “I can’t promise that I will be the easiest to live with, or even tolerate. But I’ll will do right by you and the kids. I love you, (Y/N). You have given me everything, a home, a family. I guess what I’m trying to say is.. Thank you.”  

“That was beautiful, Dean.” Garth said, slapping him on his back. “Let’s move forward shall we?” he asked, nodding to Emily. She stepped forward, producing the wedding rings and placing them in his hand. He gave one to each of you before continuing. “Do you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), take Dean winchester to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this moment forward?”

“I do.” you said, smiling excitedly and sliding the golden band on his ring finger.

“Do you, Dean Winchester take..”

“Yeah, Garth.. I do.” Dean interrupted, his eagerness making your heart beat wildly inside of your chest. He slowly slipped the ring onto your finger, both of you taking a moment to admire how it looked alongside your engagement ring.

“Well by the power invested in me, thanks to the internet, I now pronounce you two kids husband and wife! Well go on, KISS HER!” Dean raised an eyebrow at Garth’s encouragement, giving you a devilish smirk before reaching forward and pulling you into him. The crowd erupted with applause but nothing else mattered to you as soon as his lips touched yours. You let yourself get lost, pouring everything you had into the kiss. You heard the distinct sound of Sam whistling when Dean dipped you back, deepening the kiss and allowing you the opportunity to wrap your hands around the back of his neck. Smiling, he pulled back and gave you a wink before returning you upright. Emily ran forward, wrapping her arms around your waist while Dean turned around to retrieve David from Castiel. With your children wrapped around you and your husband whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with emotion. When it was just you and Emily, you had been happy. But there had always been something that was missing from your lives. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine being a part of this family and having so much love in your heart.

You weren’t sure what the future held for you, but you were certain of one thing. The ten years in waiting? They were worth it.

[russellthornton]

White Knight Syndrome: Get Off Your Horse and Save Yourself First

Everyone assumes the knight saves the day. But, what if he is just playing the white knight syndrome and getting as much out of it as the damsel?

What does every good fairytale have? A white knight, of course. The white knight is the man who shows up at the end to save the day, makes the hurt go away, and whisks the damsel in distress away from the horrible situation she finds herself in. It is no wonder every girl grows up dreaming that somewhere out there is her version of the white knight. But what happens when a guy plays the white knight syndrome?

As time goes on, what women realize is that there is no such thing as a white knight. Some guys protect you more than others, but they are all human and fallible. Sometimes, when you need them most, they can be found in a bar trying to drink you away….

Happily ever after?

There are some guys who grew up with the same ideation of what a relationship entails and consider themselves to be the white knight put on earth to save a woman from the darkness she finds herself in.

Although the end of the fairytale story concludes with the damsel and white knight riding off together, that is never the end of the story. The “happily ever after” isn’t the ride away, it is what happens after you ride away. And, that ending, well, is never in a Disney film, is it? [Read: 15 subtle things that completely change after marriage]

11 things driving your white knight syndrome

If you are a guy who thinks it your duty, no wait, your obligation, to save a woman from either the bad situation she finds herself in, or, possibly even, from herself, it might be time to look at what you get out of it.

There is often a presumption on the part of the white knight that their actions are purely altruistic, but that isn’t necessarily true. For the white knight, if he wasn’t gaining something in the mix, why would he continue to put himself in harm’s way?

Love is a pretty powerful tool. It isn’t always the only thing that drives a white knight to come to the rescue, even at his own, or the damsel’s, demise.

Before you think you are sacrificing yourself and doing someone else a favor, figure out what is driving you to be the knight in shining armor, selflessness or selfishness?

#1 You want her loyalty forever. The white knight knows that if he slays the dragon and saves the princess, she will be forever grateful and “owes” him her life forever.

You might have the white knight syndrome if you try to gain unconditional love through your acts of valor instead of through true love. Saving her is awesome. Doing it so she will be indebted to you forever, isn’t so awesome. [Read: 15 ways true love sets itself apart]

#2 You need to have the upper hand. A white knight knows that once he shows his dominance, the damsel forever sees him as her protector. But, sometimes he wants more. Sometimes the white knight is looking for more power over her.

If you save her from something horrible, then you show her how “powerful” you can be, and put her in a submissive position.

#3 You want to be seen as “the good guy.” Sometimes the white knight sacrifices it all, not for the love of the damsel, but to show the townspeople how amazing he is. It isn’t about the love he feels for the woman he saves. It is more about the recognition and adoration he gets from everyone around him.

Being the guy who sweeps in and saves someone elevates you to a pretty big stature in a community, whether you do it intentionally or not. Adoration is pretty powerful. [Read: The 20 qualities in a guy that makes him a really good man]

#4 You are just as dependent on her as she is on you. There are times when the white knight saves the damsel because, without her, he would be lost forever. Fairytale romances rely on two characters, not just the damsel but the knight too.

There are times when men try to save unsalvageable women because they need them just as much as the damsel is needed. Co-dependent relationships aren’t about saving anyone; they are about dragging both down.

If you see she needs saving, and you just hang on because you can’t be without her, then you aren’t a knight. You are a co-conspirator of her bad behaviors. If you aid her in ways that you think help but are really only fostering her and keeping her stuck *i.e., cleaning up her mess*, that isn’t saving, that is helping to drown.

#5 You enjoy the sympathy. Some people live off the sympathy of others because it negates them from any responsibility. If you stick by a woman in a bad situation who continually puts herself there, then you aren’t there to save her, you are there to cry “poor me.”

If you tried to bring her out of it and aren’t able, but just run around trying to elicit sympathy by telling everyone how much you care and tried, consider the possibility that it doesn’t really have anything to do with her at all. It might be all about you needing attention and people to feel sorry for you. [Read: 16 signs you may have an attention whore in you]

#6 You are all about self-sabotaging. Self-sabotaging is a way we make choices knowing we fail and then saying, “See I knew it was going to fail.” If you have the white knight syndrome and this isn’t your first rodeo or chance at saving someone, then you might want to think about whether you enjoy sabotaging yourself for some reason.

We sabotage our own happiness for many reasons. What is it that you gain by setting yourself up in a situation where failure is the only result available?

#7 You couldn’t save someone in your past, so this is your second chance. Sometimes we grow up in families where we watch people we love destroy themselves, and we aren’t able to save them. That sets many adults on a path to right the wrongs of their childhood.

If you had an alcoholic mother or a drug addicted father, you might be trying to save someone to undo the past and the lack of control you had before. But you can’t ever save someone who doesn’t’ want to be saved. Not when you are a child and not when you are an adult. Saving someone isn’t your duty, it is their job. [Read: The nice guy syndrome – 16 real reasons why girls find you boring]

#8 You grew up watching a co-dependent relationship. If you grew up with parents who had a similar relationship where one always saved the other, then that is probably all you know.

Sometimes we are addicted to drama and co-dependent relationships because it is all that we know. So we seek out destructive relationships because we can’t handle normal and stable ones. If you grew up in a dysfunctional family *which almost everyone did*, try to change your future by leaving the damsel to work her own way out and save yourself for once. [Read: 17 relationship red flags most people ignore]

#9 You are a narcissist who thinks it is your duty to make things “right.” Sometimes a man has the white knight syndrome because he believes it his duty to morally protect and guide everyone because he is perfect.

If you save her just because you think you are the only one in the world who can, you’re that perfect, then maybe consider she doesn’t want to be saved. It isn’t your duty.

#10 You want her to be dependent on you. If you are the one who saved her, then she owes you her life forever. And, you are the only one capable of not only saving her, but keeping her safe. If you think if you save her once, she will forever be dependent on you, you’d better think about whether that is the type of relationship you want with someone.

Do you want her to love you because she loves you, or do you want her to love you because she must out of fear of being lost again? If you truly love someone, then you should want them to choose you because they want to, not because they fear the consequences of not staying. [Read: 20 glaring signs you have a control freak in you]

#11 You can’t save yourself so why not save someone else? There are many people so messed up inside that they focus on those outside themselves. Figuring they can’t save who they are or get themselves together, they might as well cure someone else.

Instead of always looking for someone to save to take the onus off of trying to change you, you might just want to take some time to figure your own shit out and let her figure her’s out. Once you have both gotten yourself together, it makes for a much better relationship.

[Read: How to woo a woman right: 17 secrets to sweep her off her feet]

Before you storm the castle, yet again, take the time to think about why you are always in the same white knight syndrome, what you get out of it, and, if it might be time to step back and instead save yourself.

The post White Knight Syndrome: Get Off Your Horse and Save Yourself First is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

[iswimmingthroughlife-blog]

Magic

I love it when girls smile. They look so naïve and stupid. Sitting there across from me at a table, laughing at the sarcastic jokes I so casually throw in their direction, commenting on how their salad (they never eat real food) is so delicious, and this place, Connor, wow I just love it; it’s so pretty here in the city.

I love it when I catch them looking at me with those eyes that glisten with optimism. They still believe in the fairytales Disney so carelessly branded on the inside of their heads. Happily-ever-afters filled with knights in shining armor and a fairy godmother who can’t wait to turn a pumpkin into a carriage. It’s a beautiful sight, really. It may not be the magic they envision, but there is something so dazzling about watching a girl get her heart broken. The deer-in-headlights eyes that turn puffy trying to shield the tears from falling. The crack in her voice when she tries to ask why. And the overwhelming sob when I hit her with everything that I know makes her feel insecure. They try to pretend like they know everything, but they don’t. I can kill a girl with words, and if that’s not magic I don’t know what is.

Of course, some girls are smart. Some girls are almost as smart as me. Some girls aren’t blinded by sappy love stories with unrealistic endings, because they have ulterior motives. They snake their way into a man’s life and make him fall head over heels. Then one day he realizes he’s absolutely in love. They get engaged, then married, then they happen to get a surprise in the form of a baby boy. But some girls aren’t too fond of being a mother, or a boring wife, so they wait until the boy is six years old, and then they disappear with some guy from their work, and never speak to their son again.

If a girl is looking for someone to blame for getting her heart broken, she shouldn’t blame me. Even if I do get a kick out of it.

The girl in front of me now, Caroline… or maybe Courtney… no, wait, Christine, yeah, that girl, has the same wide-eyed grin they all do. I brought her to a chain restaurant hugging the outskirts of our boring suburban town. It’s where they serve the microwaveable version of a fancy Italian dinner, complemented with frozen breadsticks and a Pepsi. We talk throughout the dinner. It’s just small talk, though. I don’t let any of the girls like her actually get to know me. It’s too risky, plus, I don’t keep them around for longer than a few weeks. Or at least that’s how it is for most of them. Some I keep around for longer. I play with them for a few months. I get their hopes up. I make them tell me they love me.

Then I tell them, “I just don’t think it’s working anymore.”

She starts to talk about her new job at some accounting firm, but I’m only half paying attention. A hot waitress in a tight denim skirt is serving the table next to us, and I become preoccupied. Christine notices. I can see it happen out of the corner of my eye, as her voice trails off and her eyes follow my gaze to the waitress’s hips. I find it hilarious. She tries to act like it doesn’t bother her. They all do. They scratch their nose and blink fast and change the subject quickly. They fight for my attention because they think it’s worth something. They have no idea the only thing I want is a notch in my bedpost. For Christine, and Susan after her, and Rebecca after her - all they’ll get from me is a couple of dates, a few headaches, and a quick kick to the curb once I get my fill.

The waitress brings us our tab. Christine keeps talking about God-knows-what while I pay the bill. I’m not usually able to distinguish one girl from the next, but I’ll remember this one for the sole reason that she never shut up. I won’t keep her around much longer. I smile at the thought of her face falling and her eyes starting to water. I wonder if this makes me a sadist. We grab our coats and head to the parking lot after the waitress brings me back the receipt. When we get outside of the restaurant, I recognize a friend of mine, Thomas, walking to the door with a girl I don’t recognize. I start to wave to him, but before I do, Christine grabs my hand from behind, spins me around and kisses me. Hard. It’s pretty hot, I’m not going to lie. But it takes me by surprise and I push her off. She has a weird look on her face. The naïve stare is gone, and it’s replaced by a solid smirk. She doesn’t say anything afterward, but she glances over towards Thomas when I push her back. Then she walks to her car on the other side of the parking lot, leaving me confused for the first time in years. I’m usually in complete control of everything that happens from beginning to end.

What just happened?

  I swear that dinner was the most unbearable thing I’ve ever had to sit through. Connor is such a dick. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Every story I’ve heard about him was true. He can’t even pretend he has a conscience. But that only made it easier to use him.

I knew the only way to get back at Thomas for cheating on me was to hook up with his best friend. And as disgusting as the thought made me feel even just a week ago, I’ve found that it has been surprisingly easy to take full advantage of him, and get back at Thomas.

Men are such pigs anyway, they deserve it.

So, I sat through the dinner. I talked about anything I could think of, just to stall until Thomas got to the restaurant. I laughed at his jokes. I smiled and flirted and pretended to be one of the dime store tramps he loves to play. And he believed me. I knew he did by the way he would smirk in my direction or let his eyes wander to that waitress in the skirt. He thought he controlled every aspect of the night.

He didn’t know that I was five steps ahead of him. He didn’t know that Thomas was coming to the restaurant tonight. He didn’t know that I was the one using him to piss Thomas off. He didn’t know that I faked it last night. He didn’t know that, when I turned him around and kissed him, I was locked in a staring contest with Thomas, who, by the look on his face, was appalled and hurt and caught completely off guard.

He thought he knew what was going on. He’s never been on the other side of his torture and he thought I was going to be just another notch on his bedpost.

I walked to my car without turning around to look back. And when Connor called me the next morning, asking if I wanted to hang out again sometime soon, I never called him back.