#terrible bacon man[affectionate]

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 9 - A bubbly experience 🫧

Summary: Katsuki acts like a good fucking husband. That’s the summary.

Warnings: swear words, Reader and Katsuki are sharing a bath naked, mentions of being aroused but no smut at all. They only kiss. Pinky promise.

16+ but let’s make it 18+ for safety.

First Chapter Master List

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Ahh. The sun is up already. You really fucking hate existing right now. Being in this condition is already bad enough, but the mornings are the worst of it all; waking up feels like coming back from hell after going through 300 different kinds of torture.

“Just end my suffering.” You mumble to yourself, completely forgetting that you are not alone.

“It’s five fucking AM, shut the fuck up.” Comes the sweet answer from your side; Katsuki’s hair tickles the back of your neck as he snuggles into you as much as he can, probably trying to cancel out the light and the noise at the same time. His arms tighten around your middle possessively, pulling you as close as humanly possible, absolutely ignoring the fact that there are some parts of him that you weren’t completely ready to feel at “five fucking AM” in the morning as Katsuki would say. “You need somethin’? Water? Toilet? Anythin’?” He mumbles after his mind caught up with the situation. People can say whatever they want about Katsuki being a terrible boyfriend material, but those people don’t fucking see him all soft and mushy and caring and affectionate….

“Nah, I have everything I need right here.” You stroke his hands sitting on your belly with a lovesick smile on your face.

“That was so fucking cheesy.” Katsuki GIGGLES and takes a deep breath, his nose deep in your hair. “You smell like shit.” He snorts, but you can feel that he’s still smiling.

“Stop smelling me then, weirdo.”

“Nah, I love it.” Katsuki grins. Your heart skips a beat.

Honestly. This man is something else. You kinda want to go on a gossip site and leave an anonymous message about Dynamight’s soft side. The fan girls would eat that shit up for sure.

“You will be the death of me.” You mumble into your sheets with a red face.

“I’m literally keeping you alive right now.” Katsuki retorts proudly. “Now shut up and sleep, I’m not ready for this shit.”

“What shit?” You ask, confused.

“Living.”

Fair deal.

Early morning conversations with Katsuki are certainly your new favorite things in the whole world.

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“Wake up, you lazy shit.” Katsuki grumbles, clearly annoyed. The lovely scent of freshly brewed coffee hits your nose and that’s enough for you to have the energy to open your eyes and lean towards the lovely scent; you kinda resemble those dogs smelling bacon while they sleep in those funny videos on YouTube but you can’t be bothered to be ashamed of yourself right now; being in this condition is already enough of an embarrassment anyway. “I brought your breakfast in today but I hate when people eat in bed so this is the last time, got it?”

“Yes, boss!” You take the coffee from Katsuki’s hands automatically, but he takes it away with a disappointed look on his face.

“Did you really forget why I’m bringing you breakfast to bed?”

“Because you love me?” You answer self-deprecatingly.

Katsuki only sighs.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles. Well, that’s a really stupid question to ask right now, but okay; you reach towards the nightstand to check your phone. Surprisingly, the device stays in your hand for quite a long time before your arms give in and the phone falls into your lap.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that for a second.”

You are such an idiot sometimes, honestly. Being in love really makes you stupid.

“How are you feelin’?” Katsuki mumbles as he slowly sits down next to you with the tray of food. It looks phenomenal, just like everything Katsuki makes.

“You worry too much, Kats.” You smile at the hero but he only rolls his eyes at that.

“I ain’t worried, you would even survive the fucking plague. I just don’t want a coffee stain on my mattress, that’s all.”

“Sure.” You giggle to yourself while Katsuki slowly feeds you the pancakes even thought you are quite sure your arms work just enough to take the fork and feed yourself, even if it would be a bit slow.

For some weird reason, Katsuki looks content. He cuts the pancake into small pieces, prolonging the whole thing like he wants to enjoy this for longer than it’s needed, he tilts the coffee mug gently and slowly as he lets you drink the super sweet caramel coffee he made just for you and when the food is gone he makes sure there isn’t a single stain on your face by wiping your lips with a napkin but the touch feels so gentle, it feels like a caress; Katsuki acts the opposite of his usual self but somehow, it feels more genuine than his angry grumbles. After breakfast, Katsuki asks you to stay in bed while cleans up the mess; he comes back a few minutes later, his face determined; whatever he’s about to say the only acceptable answer is YES.

To be fair, that’s fine. It’s not like there is anything you wouldn’t do for this man…

“Your smelly ass is gonna have a bath and I’ll help.”

… Nevermind. Scratch that.

“Fuck no.”

Wait, wait, wait. You haven’t even seen each other naked yet. You haven’t even… well… you haven’t done the deed or anything like that, the most intimate thing between you two was when you touched the hem of his boxers at his parent’s house and he absolutely hated it. You are still not completely over the fact that he hated it, by the way. You understand why, but it still hurts like a bitch! There is no way you can get naked in front of him and…

“Fuck yes.” Katsuki retorts. “The bath is ready and it’s super bubbly, so I won’t see shit. Come on.”

The blonde acts like a stubborn dad, his arms already under your armpits to pull you up.

“Katsuki, put me down, I need a moment.” You yelp as he puts you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, barely listening to your anxious retorts.

“The more you think about it the worst it’s gonna be. Let’s get over with this. You trust me, don’t you?”

That was a fucking low-blow. Emotional manipulation, that is. Fuck’s sake.

You know you are freaking out over nothing; you are both adults and both heroes, full of scars that will never fade. He knows how you look like under all the oversized clothing; fuck, Katsuki have kissed most of your scars in his room right before you two made your way to meet Katsuki’s parents. It’s just…

This is not how you wanted him to see you for the first time. You are not a romantic person and you definitely had a hunch Katsuki isn’t either so you kinda imagined your first time to happen out of the blue, hands wondering a bit too far, unable to stop and then things just happen… you thought the first time he sees you naked will be the time you two decide to take the next step; when you are too busy and too excited to really take in the sight. Somehow, this whole situation makes you feel so fragile and insecure, it actually clouds your mind enough you almost make the blonde stumble as you reach out for the door frame to make him stop.

Coming here was a mistake. A big fucking one at that.

Katsuki sighs but he doesn’t let go yet; he strokes your back soothingly, silent for a moment then slowly takes a step forward until your arms give in and hands falls, your whole body giving in to the fatigue. A sweet scent fills your lungs when you take a deep breath; cinnamon, caramelized sugar with a citrusy undertone; it smells like Katsuki but not really; the scent is more fresh than Katsuki’s usual scent and it’s much stronger.

“If you really don’t want to, I’ll put you back to bed.” Katsuki’s confidence clearly wavers as he puts you down on the toilet seat. He hands you your toothbrush, not even trying to force you to do anything anymore; the guy looks heartbroken to be honest, and you absolutely hate seeing him like this and you hate the fact that YOU made him feel like this even more. You quickly wash your teeth while Katsuki stands by the door, clearly in his own little world, probably deciding between leaving or staying. He takes one step forward and one step back, just how he did yesterday when he wasn’t sure if sleeping together was okay or not.

For you, it was so obvious that it’s okay yet he still managed to waver and overthink the whole situation; Bakugou Katsuki might look like an over-confident asshole but deep inside he’s just as uncertain as you are.

You spit out the toothpaste and Katsuki appears by your side right away; he takes the toothbrush from you, cleans your mess up without a single retort and he’s just about to leave the room when your mind finally clears out enough to see how stupid you are being right now.

“Can you stay? I want you to stay.” You mumble into the awkward silence; your cheeks feel burning hot so you are quite sure your whole face is as red as a tomato, but it doesn’t really matter right now. “I want to try and get in alone. I feel like I’m not as weak as I thought I’ll be, which is a good sign but I want to be sure. Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Of course, you idiot.” Katsuki mumbles but he doesn’t roll his eyes this time. He turns away and closes his eyes, probably listening to his surroundings so he can catch you without even looking; his face is determined like he’s about to fight the final boss blind and seeing him like this makes you feel so many things at once; adoration, gratitude, pure love and trust towards the person who’s willing to do all of this for his girlfriend of a few weeks without a single nasty retort. Bakugou Katsuki is not a person who wills to shape himself to fit anyone’s expectations, not even All Might’s, yet here he is, soft and pliant, only an arms length away, listening, understating and trying his best to do what makes you feel the most comfortable in this fucked up situation. You are sure this is not how he wanted this to go either; he also had to have his own daydreams about the day you two tear down another wall between you, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word, just goes with the flow and let’s you take over, even if it kills him inside.

If you didn’t know Katsuki’s words were true before, you definitely know the truth now; he wouldn’t do any of this if he wouldn’t love you as much as you love him. The realization hits you like a truck and butterflies erupt in your chest as you slowly take your shirt off, then your pajama pants until you shakily stand, completely naked, right next to the bath tub. You sit down on the rim, take in the sight of the thick layer of bubbles, one of your hands playing around with them while the other hides your breasts. You take another deep breath and move your leg into the tub, followed by the other; the bath is a little too hot but at least it burns away the remaining of your anxiety.

“Fuck, I made it in. Alone. On the first day.” You mumble excitedly while you try to make a little wall in front you with the bubbles in the bath. “This is huge, Katsuki. I might be able to be a hero again.” You don’t even realize you started crying in the middle of your sentence until Katsuki mumbles “fuck” under his nose and makes his way to sit on the side of the bathtub with you. He leans in to put your foreheads together and takes a deep breath; the action makes you blush like a teenage schoolgirl, way too aware of the fact that you are laying in a massive bathtub, naked.

“I told you, you are a fucking tank. You’ll kick your weakness in the ass and come back twice as strong. I fucking knew it. Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

There are butterflies everywhere now; in your chest, in your tummy, in your heart, right in the middle; Katsuki’s natural scent fits so perfectly with the scent of the bubble bath, sweet but spicy; you are rendered utterly speechless when Katsuki moves away just so he can look into your eyes, his gaze deep and so-so fond it makes your stomach squirm. You swear your heart explodes under the pressure and puts itself back together at the same time when Katsuki leans back in to leave an agonizingly slow and deep kiss on your lips while he pushes his shirt up and pulls it through his head in one swift move, not even giving you enough time to understand the situation before he barges back in for another one. He still fiddles with something but you are too content to let your mind wander about what the heck is happening; in the next few seconds, something heavy plops into the bath tub, right next to you. You open your eyes and your breath hitches; Katsuki is in his underwear, his legs already in the water, slowly moving towards your other side until he sits down right next to you, skin touching skin when he snakes his arms around your middle. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a few chaste kisses there, his body tense and anxious but he doesn’t give in to the tension; he takes a deep breath and tries to relax, but he’s clearly not as chill about this as he tries to make it look like.

“I heard that having a bath together helps people who struggle with the whole intimacy thing. I thought I might try it. Should have asked first though.” He mutters into your neck apologetically.

“You don’t need to ask.” You answer with a heavy blush. “Can I put my arm behind you? Is that okay?”

Katsuki squirms for a second but he takes another deep breath to relax himself.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.” He says and you can’t help but giggle at that.

“Katsuki, you make it sound like I’m asking you to let me pinch your nipples! You are doing okay. You are okay. You can also say no. It’s fine.”

Katsuki’s face contorts into a frown and you start to get a bit anxious about his behavior; maybe this was a bit too much for him, maybe you should just ask him to leave and have a breather… he’s done so well already there is no reason to push himself.

“Can I.. clean you up instead? I want to wash your back. I think.” He mutters shyly. Bakugou Katsuki is being shy. Oh damn, what did you do to deserve this shit?! You nod silently, not wanting to ruin the intimate mood; Katsuki takes a brand new bottle of shower gel in his hand which has his own logo on the front and pours some into a shower puff. “I made this deal with this cool natural cosmetic shop from England. They wanted to do a collab with the top 10 heroes. This is the first prototype.” He mutters under his nose and slowly leans forward with the puff in his hands. “Deku made a bath bomb and the shower gel, they smell like pine and something sweet. It’s quite weird but whatever. Todoroki couldn’t decide what scent to go for so he has two shower gels, one peppermint and one spicy one. The spicy one is really nice.”

You are not sure if you are supposed to say anything or not; it seems like Katsuki is mostly muttering to himself, probably trying to calm down by filling the silence with random words so the situation doesn’t feel that intimate. Katsuki is struggling but the more he moves the puff around, the more content he gets. He stops abruptly when he gets to your breasts; he stops right where the skin starts to bounce and stays there, frozen. Instead of words, you decide to give him consent with an action; your hand comes up to cover his, slowly moving his hands around your chest while you leave tiny kisses on his shoulders to reassure him.

“I… well… My shower gel…” Katsuki stutters, his eyes big as saucers. If this wouldn’t be so hard for him you would definitely make a virgin joke. “Do you remember when you said you like the smell of my pillow?” Katsuki’s hand moves down to your belly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, trying your best not to get too excited from his touches. It’s not going well.

“I told them I want my shower gel to smell like my sweat. It sounds disgusting now that I said it out loud but I wanted to make it… for you… but whatever. It’s not important. Just… fuck off, don’t look at me like that!” Katsuki moves away with a grumpy pout on his face.

Needless to say, you are five seconds away from crying.

“When… when did you start working on this?” You ask, voice wavering. You won’t cry. You will fucking push through this without a single tear drop. You can do this.

“Six… months ago.” Katsuki’s face is the color of Midoriya’s sneakers and so are his ears. You make a tiny little squeaky noise. “Yes, months before we actually… became a thing, shut the fuck up now and gimme your legs.”

“Fucking marry me, Katsuki. Right now.”

Katsuki can make explosions under water. In case you wondered. They also die right away for obvious reasons and something bubbles up to the surface, so it ends up looking like he just farted underwater. It’s quite hilarious.

“We need to live together for at least a few months before we marry to make sure we can share a space without killing each each other.” Katsuki says like he’s reading it from the news paper. He grabs your leg under the water and yanks it up aggressively; you yelp and laugh at the same time when he rubs your skin with the same aggression; finally, Katsuki feels more like himself.

“Did you Google that before?” You giggle as he swaps your legs over. Katsuki only grunts, his cute little ears on fire.

“Fuck off. You look really nice from this point of view by the way.” Katsuki gives you the biggest shit eating grin when his words finally sink in; he clearly enjoys your misery as his grin grows bigger and bigger as he crawls over you, his hands on the rim of the bath tub.

This might be a really inappropriate thought when you can’t even move your arms properly but Bakugou Katsuki is the definition of sexiness as the water drips down on his abs, the droplets cold on your shoulders when they plop on your skin. Hell, you wouldn’t even think twice about pushing him back into the water and crawl all l over him if you wouldn’t be in this condition.

Hm, maybe this water needs to be cooled down a bit. It’s way too hot in here.

You do your best to move your arm and touch his sides at least; you crave the feeling of him, you crave it so much it actually hurts but maybe that’s just the fatigue; your hand finds the hem of his underwear at his back and you decide to try your luck; you slowly pull down the fabric, making sure you don’t touch anything too inappropriate and keep an eye contact the whole time. Katsuki’s eyes darken for a moment, his chest rigid and unmoving as though he forgot how to breathe; he bites his lips and takes another deep breath, his body slowly moving away from you to sit back to his original place. Okay, that was too much. Roger that. Let’s take a deep breath; you definitely need it.

If you thought Katsuki can’t surprise you any more, well… you were wrong; he removes his underwear under the water in one swift move, and throws it on the floor.

“You happy now?” He moves towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the lips, then another, and another.

“Are you?” You retort, genuinely confused by the sudden change in Katsuki’s behavior. Is he really okay with this? Are you okay with this?! Why does it feel so natural? Alright, it definitely does not feel natural as your heart is about to explode and run away to Narnia through Katsuki’s bathroom cupboard but…

“I think I like sharing a bath with you. I want to do this every fucking day.” Katsuki grins. He looks so happy and content in this position, cuddling into you from the side… you feel the urge to tangle your legs together but you try your best not to act on that urge; there is no way you can avoid touching his private parts in that position.

Not like you would mind…

Oh damn.

You need to take another deep breath then drink a lot of water when you get out. You seem to be a bit thirsty.

“Okay, let me wash myself and let’s get out before I combust.” Katsuki grumbles as he pours a bunch of shower gel on the puff again.

“Can I not help?” You pout at the blonde.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He WINKS and finishes as quick as it’s humanly possible while you gawk at him with mouth half open.

Yes. This man will certainly be the death of you.

… next chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Sorry for the long wait, I swear I’m trying 😭 My new work schedule is kicking me in the ass. Hopefully, I’ll get used to it eventually, I’m already making some progress!

- I hope you liked this chapter, I had this idea in my head for ages and I couldn’t wait to finally write it down! I love this version of Katsuki so much.

Likes, comments and reblogs are more than appreciated! Send me your thoughts about the chapter in the comments 💜💥

TL:

@sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs

[pathetichimbos]

hey… I just wanted to say that I think you’re wrong about Tommy having no ass. If you’ve ever seen The Program (1993) you would know that man has two giant ass cheeks the likes of which is rare to behold.

That's not Thomas though. That's his actor, sure, but that's not him.

And logically, it makes sense for Thomas to have no ass.

See, there's a good few exercises that you have to do in order to actually get an ass when you aren't naturally blessed with one. Squats, hip thrusts (he gets NO bitches /affectionate), glute bridges, etc, etc. Stair master over treadmill, lift weights, all things that can happen pretty naturally in regular day to day life, but given Thomas' lifestyle, I doubt he legitimately has an ass.

Working on a farm is it's own natural workout, that would give someone an ass if their form was on point. And Thomas isn't exactly the kind of person to respect the lift with your legs rule.

For one, he hunches his shoulders a lot, and slouches. He's ashamed of himself, and the way he looks, and people who are taller, that don't want to be tall (people have treated him like a dangerous monster ever since he got big, and he hates that) tend to hunch their shoulders and have terrible posture in an attempt to make themselves look smaller (and in his case, less threatening). This happens a lot before he gets his new face. So, we know he has terrible posture.

And as we can see here, when he lifts and pulls the biker girl out of the car, he bends his back, leans down, and picks her up. He doesn't do a proper squat, he doesn't lift with his legs, etc. We can easily assume that he does this every time he picks something up because let's be honest, most of us don't do the proper lifting posture.

So, due to living on a farm, and working at the slaughterhouse, it's very very easy to assume that he lifts a lot, just like that. This is how he got his strong arms. And, given the time frame, and the fact that he was able to come back to the slaughterhouse without anyone realizing, we can also assume he walks back and forth a lot. And walking alone will not give you an ass. It's quad dominant, not glute dominant. All of that muscle will go to his legs- his thigh and calves. That's why he has thick legs, but no ass.

And let's not forget about diet, because that matters a lot in ass gaining as well.

Southern food is filling. It's mostly carbs and proteins, with little to no vegetables. And even those are most likely smothered in some kind of bacon grease or butter and a shit ton of seasoning. Eating home-cooked southern meals are one of the easiest ways to put on weight. That's why he has such a big tummy.

Now, if you were to eat mostly carbs and proteins with a steady workout, you'd easily get an ass, but we've already established he doesn't work out or properly lift things or any of that. So, no, I don't believe Thomas Hewitt has an ass.

Maybe he could start to pick one up after he starts wearing his new face, but honestly, that's a big maybe.

We know his posture improves due to his confidence increase after he starts wearing the mask, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop picking things up the wrong way. Hell, he might not even know there is a proper way. Who knows for sure.

But, yea, if he started doing the exercises (hip thrusts wink wink), he could get an ass pretty easily, but until then, he's a got flat ass pancake cheeks.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk! <3

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Feeding The Flames: Breakfast of Champions

Summary- 1.9k Johnny Storm x You. Johnny opts to sleep in this morning instead of getting up early. You snooze, you lose Storm. But he knows how to compensate for the missed meal. 

This is written for @imanuglywombat​‘s “Is That Even A Sex Position” Weekly Challenge NSFW, 18+ Sexual Content

Masterlist 

“Where's Flame Boy?” Ben questioned while entering the kitchen, his heavier footsteps giving him away before hand, so you were expecting him to come up behind you. Flipping the pancake, you shook your head with a roll of your eyes. 

“In bed still… can you believe that he said he would rather sleep in then help me this morning?” You chuckled while plating food before starting another. Susan wasn't far behind, with Richard trailing her with a newspaper tucked under his arm. 

“Johnny was never an early riser.” She shrugged as she started gathering dishes to set the table, Richard unfolding the paper with a sigh. 

“The best time to get anything done is in the morning, but I never could drill that into him.” The man shook his head and Susan passed him while giving him a kiss on top of his head. 

You hid a smile while fussing with the bacon sizzling on the back of the stove. They were terribly wrong about Johnny being an early riser. Why he had risen at like four am just that morning and was a man set on a goal. Kisses to your neck and traveling till he was pressing his face heatedly between your breasts, pressing a knee between your thighs to spread them, his cock heavy between the two of you. 

“Johnny, it's too early.” You had whined but he persisted, warm fingers stroking between your folds while sucking on a nipple. 

“I will be quick.” 

“Liar” you threw your hand down to brush over his buzz cut, grasping the back of his head even though you were protesting.

You got lost in your thoughts, biting your lip as you felt an excited tingle spiral in your lower belly.

Ben though was quick to cut the memories short. “Anything I can do to help Y/N?” he asked while you drifted back to the here and now, scooping out the bacon before it got to crispy. Clicking off the burner, you wink at Ben. 

“Sure do.” You pull open the fridge door and pull out a bag of oranges. “Would you juice the oranges? You are a hell of a lot faster than I am.”

He grabbed a bowl from above your head and took the oranges. “Have it done lickity split Y/N.” 

You gave him an affectionate hug. “And that's why I can always count on your Ben.” 

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Johnny gave a groan as he stirred alone in bed, lifting his head to grab for his phone and check the time. A reasonable hour, ten am, blinked back at him. Johnny reached his hand over to your side of the bed, but already knew it would be cold and empty. You weren't one to just stay in bed often and that was a shame, because he would have made it worth your while. Instead he heard you talking in the adjacent room from the bedroom, sounded like his sister, and Johnny gave in that he probably wasn't going to be able to distract you into coming back to bed now. With a groan, he pushed up to wander into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

Once he showered and dressed, Johnny followed his nose to the delectable scent of fried bacon and eggs. His hand settled on his stomach which was growling while he went into the kitchen to find you sitting at the table, your college textbooks spread around and wagging a pen in the air while you concentrated on the chapter you were reading, once in a while pausing to write a note down on your pad of paper. 

“Breakfast smells good Y/N.” Johnny started searching the counters and stove top. 

You chuckled while turning a page, nodding. “Mmmhh it was, too bad you missed it.” 

Johnny peeked in the microwave in the last ditch attempt to find himself some of your cooking, which he snapped it shut. “All of it? All gone? Every last bit of it?” He groaned and you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. Johnny couldn't help but admire the way your sleep tank stretched over your chest, making him smirk to himself. 

“Every last bit of it. You got some cornflakes up in the cupboard.” 

Johnny snorted at that idea. He was hungry and cereal wasn't going to curb that craving. No, he had something better in mind. Even better then what you had cooked up earlier while he was sleeping. “Fuck cereal.” 

You half ignored Johnny as you started packing some of your books up considering you had to get to class in another hour. “Make some toast then Johnny, I don't know what to tell you. You snooze, you lose Mister.” 

Johnny smirked as he rounded the counter, tilting his head to look at your heart shaped ass as you leaned down to zip up your bag, and his hands clasped against your cheeks, making you squeak while he dug his fingers in a bit. “I can think of something a lot better to have then cereal, toast or anything else in this kitchen today.” He spun you around, hands falling to your hips to perch you on the table, some of your books falling off the edge of the table. Your legs circled around Johnny's hip while your hands rubbed up his tee and you shook your head at him. 

“You sure know how to compliment a girl. Best thing in the kitchen huh?” You wiggled your brows and bit your lip while running a foot up the back of his thigh. 

“Nothing but facts Baby.” he tilted in to claim your lips, starting with a peck of a kiss. “Where is everyone?” 

“Mmhh, Richard and Susan had a lecture at the university and I'm assuming Ben is in his room?” You shrugged and Johnny seemed to calculate the chances of getting caught. 

“Fuck it” He sputtered and surged forward to now place a messy kiss on your lips, forcing you to lay back against the table, clutching at his shoulders. Some of your books were digging into your back, and when he pulled away to drag fingers through the waistband of your shorts. Dragging them down, you kicked your feet. To deny that the idea of being caught was a bit exciting. A hell of a lot exciting. 

“Johnny what if we get caught?” You raised yourself to your elbow to look down your body to where Johnny was kissing the top of your thighs and pulling up a chair underneath him. Palms dragged the back of your thighs to grasp the back of your knees, his mouth hot against the top of your mound. 

“Keep quiet and we won't.” His hands tightened and dragged one leg over his shoulder, running his nose through the tight curls and down to the slit where you could already feel your core tighten just seeing your boyfriend looking up at you like he was ready to feast. “You can do that, right Minx?” A pink tongue escaped from between his lips to tease your outer folds, making your toes curl at the sensation. 

You give a nod, and tilt your head back towards the doorway to make sure no one was coming this way when Johnny flicked his tongue harder to slick between your tempting folds to really taste your juicy cunt. A gasp escaped at the sensation and you could feel Johnny giving a smirk against your thigh where he bit lightly, lifting that one to go over his other shoulder. “Mmh, delicious.” He said teasing as his hands folded around the plump globes of your cheeks and arched you up, your elbows bracing you and the books you had been laid over digging into your back. 

His tongue took sharp laps to collect your juices with a hum of satisfaction, every glance he took up your body showed your tensing at each taste he took, every time his tongue circled around your weeping entrance, giving teasing pokes before sliding up to suck your clit between his lips. The bud swelled, each twirl of the tip of his tongue circled patterns that made your hips rotate to follow, your little mewls just rewarding above him. 

“Fuck, oh fuck Johnny.” You wriggled your hips and he clutched them harder to keep you still. Your feet braced against the back of the chair to arch up higher, which he allowed. Burying his face into your cunt, he kept teasing back and forth, till you felt him spit against your rim, his finger circling your tight entrance. 

“Shit Johnny-” 

His teeth sunk into your ass cheek a moment, making you bite on your bottom lip to quiet yourself. “Gotta keep quiet, remember.” His thumb pushed past the tight rim to the first knuckle as his tongue lapped your entrance, fast hard licks making you clench till he started to fuck you with his tongue, easily stroking your fluttering walls. 

You leaned onto an elbow to loosen your other arm, muffling the cry that was falling from your lips as your hips bucked, Johnny harshly digging his fingers into your globes in an attempt to keep you still. 

Between him teasing your ass, tongue fucking you so efficiently you wanted to cum right then, it was all overwhelming when he sucked on your clit again, this time pulling the swollen bud to lift his head up to look down at you while you were digging your fingers into your cheeks with one hand and trying to clutch at the wooden table underneath you. 

“Flood my face Baby…” He encouraged, his tongue swiping along his shiny pink bottom lip as if he was collecting some decadent cream. His chin, jawline, all glistened from your arousal and you could feel your thighs drenched. His hands arched you just a bit more while you gave him a pleading gaze, high pitched whine confirming that you were ready to cum. 

He dove back in, now a man on a mission, and you resisted the build up for just a few moments, sounds escaping between clenched fingers over your lips, your hand slapping against the table when you finally snapped. 

Much to Johnny's delight, you drenched him just as he wanted. His tongue worked faster as you rocked into his face through your orgasm. Groaning satisfied at how well you coated his tongue, swallowing what he could until you sank back down, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.  

Behind you were heavy echoing footsteps, which made you push up to a sit suddenly. “Oh shit-” Johnny pushed up to a stand, lifting you off the table to grasp your lowered sleep shorts and quickly pulled them up and gave a quick kiss, his eyes sparkling brightly in excitement. 

“Oh look whose ass is finally up.” Ben grunted and Johnny was quick to lift his shirt up to wipe at his lips and chin to hide the evidence of earlier, you turned to finish picking up the books on the table. 

“Ahh, well I woke up to smelling breakfast and guess what, I heard it's all gone.” Johnny leaned down to pick up the books that fell down. “Lucky me though I got a girl that gave me a Special Breakfast, since I missed out earlier.” Johnny grinned widely as Ben rolled his eyes, grabbing some water bottles from the fridge. 

You squeaked a bit, trying to hide your face as you cleared your throat. “I gotta go get dressed for class.” You excused while making your escape, hearing the parting words shared between the two. 

“She spoils you Johnny, I hope you know that.” 

“Fuck Ben, feel free to pulverize me if I ever disagree with that statement.” 

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

I feel like Harry doesn’t get enough love and attention in the fandom 🥲 and since it is The Summer of Harry, could we get a small fic or headcanons about being best friends with Harry and getting into shenanigans with him?

xoxo

Omg yesss I love Harry, I agree he does not get enough love!!!

Here’s my unsolicited preamble: I truly adore him. In all honesty he’s the character I relate to most, personality wise. SO I had to do both a few headcanon’s and then a short lil fic that played those out. Not sure if this was exactly what you had in mind but this is what I picture being besties with Welsh would be like :) (p.s. sorry for any typos, I didn't do a lot of re-reading and I'm dyslexic sooo free pass)

- I feel like Welsh would be a very affectionate and physical love kind of friend because he seems really sure in his body language and physical space.

- He would be the kind of bestie you could cuddle with without any sort of apprehension over it being anything more than friendship.

- Welsh is the kind of friend that will lead you straight into trouble but charm your guys’ way right out of it.

- Welsh is the kind of friend to give really good advice but never the kind to pressure you or judge you if you don’t take his advice.

- At the same time he’s a bit of a hot mess himself but in such a confident, surly way that keeps him from becoming a basket case. Which means he’s not an exhausting friend to have. He gives energy to his friends.

There was a good chance that those who didn’t know you and Harry well would assume you had a flirtationship. Everyone knew about Kitty, especially after three months of having Harry as an Easy Company officer. So a judgmental look from an onlooking stranger wasn’t uncommon. But those who knew you well knew things could not be more platonic between you two. You and Harry had bonded from the beginning; like long-lost twins. You filled in each other’s gaps. You met each other note for note in every situation, from teasing Winters to sobering conversations about core values. Most dangerously, you fed off of each other’s mischief (much to Winters’ chagrin). That night wasn’t much different from the many you shared with Harry. The difference was that it was preceded by a particularly terrible day.

You were exhausted by the day's work. You had had the privilege of being singled out by Sobel who had berated you at length without real cause. You had very little energy to do anything except take a shower and go to bed. But it was a Friday, and Harry wasn’t about to let you get away with that.

“Good evening!” Harry skipped through the doorway of your barrack. He was cleaned up and dressed neatly in his khaki uniform.

“Hi Harry,” you said unenthusiastically from where you were stretched out.

“What’s up, cookie?” he kicked the side of your cot, trying to elicit a jolt of action from you.

“Crappy day.”

“Well come out and we’ll at least make sure it ends well.”

“Not in the mood.”

“Aw come on,” Harry whined, “I want to go have fun.”

“I’m in a bad mood, Harry,” you protested.

“Who put the bee in your bonnet?” he sat down beside you.

You wriggled slightly out of the way to make room for him. “Sobel.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “the guy’s a yuck, don’t let him ruin your night.

“Too late.” You knew you were just being a brat at this point. But Harry knew he was going to win you over.

“Come on, you’re getting up and we’re gonna have a great night. Dick’s coming out for an hour or so, you can’t miss that.”

“Is he drinking?” you sat up in shock.

Harry huffed, “pff, no, of course not. Still, it’ll be good to chat with him. Come on, get up.”

The pub was full of soldiers from all of the Airborne companies. Harry was leading you to the bar when you spotted him, Sobel.

“The hell is he doing here?” You asked.

Harry followed your eye line. “Gross,” he muttered, “come on.” He pushed forward.

“Harry,” you said reluctantly.

“Trust me,” he grinned mischievously. You recognised that glint in his eye and you couldn’t help but smile in excitement.

“Captain,” Harry addressed Sobel formally as he approached. The haughty officer barely acknowledged them with a nod but Harry began to spin his web.

“So rowdy in here,” he leaned on the bar conspiratorially, “so much reckless drinking.” He paused to make sure you were in on the conversation. “We were just discussing how drinking should only be done in fine taste, with quality liquor.” Sobel seemed to be listening despite his silence.

“We were,” you jumped in, “the ability to appreciate quality is a mark of superiority.” You matched Harry’s buttery tone, careful not to appear too direct with Sobel.

“That’s why Colonel Sink has all those beautifully decanted scotches in his office! Have you seen those?” Harry directed to you, across Sobel.

“Beautiful!” you enthused.

You two let those words hang there. Sobel had obviously taken in your words, you wanted them to settle.

“Anyways,” Harry said cheerfully, “can I buy you a drink, Captain?”

“Oh uh-,” Sobel stumbled, “I uh-,”

“I’m gonna get your strongest scotch, neat please,” Harry grinned charmingly at the bartender. Then he turned to Sobel, “should I make that two?” There was a challenging look in your friend's eye. You suppressed a grin but relished in the situation.

“Sure,” Sobel said curtly, then as an afterthought he turned to you, “are you getting one?” Had it been anyone else it would’ve considered him thoughtful.

“Oh no,” you said you said nonchalantly, “can’t stand the stuff. It’s wicked strong.” You swelled with sadistic delight as you watched Sobel’s eyes widen in fear.

“Cheers!” Harry handed the officer the dark brown drink with a mischievous smile.

To Sobel’s credit, he did take a generous sip of the liquor with only the slightest of flinches.

The two of you posted up at a table with Winters, Nixon, and a few of the other officers who had distanced themselves from the enlisted men. You sat chatting and drinking and generally having a good time. After a drink or two, you spotted Joe Liebgott in the crowd. He smiled over his drink at you and you couldn’t help but smile coyly back. He always seemed to catch your eye on nights out. Though nothing ever came from it you enjoyed the attention from the handsome man.

Welsh caught the exchange between you and Joe. “That boy is trouble.”

“What? I thought you liked Joe!”

“I do, great soldier.”

“But trouble?” you asked jokingly.

“Yeah, part of why I like him. Why don’t you go for someone sweet?” Harry scanned the crowd, “like Carwood?”

“Lipton’s married, Harry.”

“Oh right, Shifty then!”

You sighed, “you know I adore Shifty but..”

“You’re right, he’s too sweet for you. Better stick with, Joe.”

You and Harry stared at each other until you both broke into laughs.

“Thanks for the romantic advice,” you teased.

“Anytime,” Harry laughed into his drink.

The night progressed. Winters left early and eventually, Nixon retired as well. Soon enough, you and Harry were left alone at a table playing tiddlywinks with coins. Between the alcohol and the company, you were feeling good. The pains of the day had melted away.

Smokey Gordon, with the assistance of George Luz, began to lead the crowd of soldiers in song. It was a darkly humoured Irish ballad that Harry seemed to know well. From beside you at your table he belted out the words off-pitch, a cigarette burning away between his fingers, momentarily forgotten.

“You’re shit!” you laughed over the music, “you’re a terrible singer!”

Harry paused quickly to say, “shut up, I’m singing,” before launching his voice back into the chorus.

You laughed as the Easy Company men wrapped up their song in cheers. You smiled to yourself, grateful to be a part of such a great group of men.

You were feeling intoxicated late into the evening but nowhere near as intoxicated as Harry. He had had a fair amount to drink but luckily he held his alcohol well. He wasn’t a sloppy, sick or angry drunk. The alcohol only exacerbated his most questionable traits; characteristics you had grown to appreciate.

“You hungry?” you asked him as he polished off another beer.

“I can always eat,” he responded.

“Do you think they’ll serve us something here?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, “I bet they’ve closed the kitchen. Probably hours ago!”

You eyed the bar. Things had died down slightly. Many people had gone home and the patrons who hadn’t were losing their energy. Conversational groups furnished with half drunk pints peppered the pub. “I bet we can make them serve us something. Surely something!” you said.

Harry looked deep in thought before saying, “you know, you’re right.”

“What’s the harm in asking?” you said with an alcohol-induced sense of confidence.

“You’re right! Let’s go!” Harry pulled you up from the table and the two of you made for the bar.

Harry leaned across the wood counter. “Can we get anything to eat? One of those pies maybe?” he asked the bartender.

“Ooh or eggs and bacon!” You interject. The thought of breakfast made your stomach rumble.

“Oh yeah, that sounds really good! Good call,” Harry turned his attention back to the exasperated bartender, “can we can some eggs and bacon please?”

“You think I got bacon?” The bartender asked dryly. “It’s midnight…during a war,” he explained like he was talking to idiots, which he kind of was.

“Mm good point,” you were quickly defeated in your inebriated state.

“Ah come on, Fred,” Harry said, “I know you have food! Please, for one of your most loyal patrons.”

It was true, Harry was a loyal customer. He had quickly become a regular at this pub. You had dragged him off a barstool more than a few times when he was meant to be elsewhere.

The bartender Fred eyed the grinning, gap-toothed man. “Fine, but you gotta eat it in the back. I don’t want everyone seeing I’m serving food or they’ll all want some.”

“Ah thank you Fred!” You thanked him exuberantly. He shot you both a stern look as you scrambled around the bar.

You two of you waited patiently perched upon apple crates in the back kitchen as Fred fried you up a couple of eggs and slices of ham. It wasn’t exactly bacon but it hit the spot. You had never tasted anything so good in your life.

“I could eat this for the rest of my life,” Harry said through a mouthful of food.

“Mm s’good,” you responded with equal impropriety. You swallowed, “thanks for forcing me out Harry.”

“Aw,” Harry wrapped an arm around your neck and gave you a sloppy kiss on the forehead, “anytime, cookie.”

[donteattheappleshook]

Stone Hearts Chapter 7

Here’s an extra long chapter this week! And a little bit of smut to help with the pain.  

Summary:

Emma should have known. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them.

Cannon Divergent after 5x21 Last Rites. No Hyde. No serum. No Evil Queen split. No prophecy. No season 6.

Read from the beginning on Ao3 or FFn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Rated E

Chapter 7

“Oh, Emma, I’m so happy for you,” Snow sighs. “For both of you,” she says asking to see her left hand for the fourth time this morning. “How did he ask you? Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee? I want to know everything.” 

Emma gives her mom a patient smile, glancing at where Killian and David are standing in the kitchen, sliding pancakes and bacon onto plates. Killian catches her eye and she can tell by his expression that he’s getting a similar line of questioning from her dad - though maybe a little less detail-oriented. She sees David smile and clap her fiance on the shoulder and it makes her heart flutter a little bit. Killian looks flustered and bashful but she knows how much her father’s approval means to him, especially after everything they’ve been through. 

“It was very romantic,” Emma answers. 

“That’s it?” Snow insists. “That’s all you’re going to tell me? Emma, I am your mother. This only happens once. I want details.”  

“Yeah, did my advice work?” David asks as he and Killian make their way over to join the women at the table, setting their breakfasts in front of them. Emma thanks her fiance - she’s still not used to that, but she likes it - with a kiss on the cheek. 

They exchange a secret little smile before Killian answers. “Oh, yeah, mate. Absolutely. Great advice.” David looks very proud of himself and so Emma doesn’t bother to tell him the truth. She understands, her parents’ version of romance is very different from her own.

“What’s with the ring?” David asks somewhat tactlessly. Snow immediately snaps ‘David!’ He gives a slightly abashed look. “I just mean it’s different,” he explains. “Unique,” he corrects himself when Snow frowns at him. 

“Killian chose it,” she tells them, smiling affectionately at the man in question. “It was his mother’s.” 

Snow practically melts into the floor at that, swooning over how sentimental and romantic it is. “You know, your father proposed to me with his mother’s ring too,” she tells her, taking a moment to admire the stone on her own finger, a wistful little smile blooming on her face. David’s fingers absentmindedly twist his wedding band as he shares a smile with his wife.

“I know,” Emma smiles, remembering her parents’ love story fondly. “I guess we just have a couple of romantics on our hands,” she says. The boys roll their eyes good-naturedly but Emma sees David slyly give Killian a thumbs up when he thinks they aren’t looking. 

“So, have you started planning the wedding at all?” 

“Mom, we got engaged last night,” Emma groans.

“Aye, we were far too busy celebrating,” Killian adds cheekily and David makes an exaggerated show of disgust and outrage at the idea of his daughter doing anything. Ever. With any man. 

“I’m just saying,” Snow continues. “Venues book up really early and you have a limited choice here in Storybrooke. Unless you were thinking of having it somewhere else! Oh a destination wedding can be so lovely - but difficult to coordinate and -”

“Sweetheart,” David interveens and Emma shoots him a thankful look. “Why don’t we just let them enjoy the moment for now. They can start planning later.”

“Oh, but -” Snow begins, looking terribly disheartened. 

“But I’m sure Emma and Killian wouldn’t object to us throwing them an engagement party,” he adds, in an attempt to placate her. He raises an eyebrow meaningfully at Emma. “Right?” 

“Right,” Emma agrees. 

Oh, boy. This is gonna get interesting. She knows her mom means well, really she does. Snow just has a habit of getting overly enthusiastic about anything involving Emma. And when that happens, she often loses track of why she’s doing it, getting too caught up in the details and the excitement and forgetting exactly who her daughter is and what she does and doesn’t like. 

But she understands. Her mom missed out on twenty-eight years with her. Twenty-eight years of birthdays and holidays and first dates and boyfriends and countless balls and whatever other royal events there were. She can give her this. Emma can handle an engagement party. And she trusts David to keep his wife in check when it comes to the wedding. Besides, Emma never got to have a mother, never got to have anyone dote on her and be excited about any aspect of her life. And it’s nice. It’s nice to be loved that much.

 “Besides,” David adds, breaking her out of her reverie. “I’m sure they’re not in any great rush. There’s no urgent reason for them to have to get married soon. Is there?”

The last question is quite pointedly directed at Killian. David gives him a stern, overly-protectice-father frown. Emma can see the mischievous expression creeping onto Killian’s face and she interjects before he can say anything to really rile her dad up.

“Jesus, Dad,” she groans. “This isn’t a shotgun wedding,” she nearly glares at him for the implication. 

“I didn’t say it was!” he insists, playing innocent and Emma raises an eyebrow at him.

“We could make it one,” Killian suggests, snaking an arm around her waist and sending David an exageratedly salacious eyebrow lift. David looks like he’s going to punch Killian for that one but Emma can’t quite bring herself to be mad. Snow is failing to hide a giggle behind her hand and David looks at her, betrayed.

“You asked for it,” she tells him with a shrug and he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering under his breath about ‘my daughter and my own wife’. 

Later, when they’re finishing their meal, David, who has now cooled down, asks if they’ve told Henry yet. 

“No,” Emma says. “He’s still at his friend’s for another two days. And if you guys don’t mind not saying anything until we get a chance to that would be great.” She looks directly at her mother. “To anyone,” she specifies and Snow looks almost offended at the idea that she can’t keep a secret. “We just don’t want him finding out from someone else before we get a chance to tell him.”

Snow looks ready to protest but then sighs. “Mum’s the word,” she promises, miming locking her lips with a key. She rises, beginning to gather up their dishes and Killian immediately gets up to help. Emma moves to join them but is stopped by David’s hand on her arm. She sits back down. He takes a moment before he speaks.

“I’m really happy for you, you know,” he says and Emma smiles. 

“I know, Dad. Thank you.” He looks like he wants to say more, his face swelling with emotion he is trying and failing to suppress. She gives him a minute to compose himself.

“I’m just… I’m so proud of you, Emma.” A feeling swells in her chest, warmth blooming from the centre and spreading out. 

“Dad…”

“No, really,” he continues. “I want you to know this.” He places his hand over her own and squeezes it gently, looking her in the eye. “When you first got here, you were so closed off, so scared of letting anyone in, of letting anyone mean anything to you. And part of that is my fault.” She tries to protest but he holds up a hand to stop her. “No, it is. You grew up without anyone taking care of you, without anyone loving you, and you should have. The world was cruel to you and you learned how to protect yourself. But, Emma, you’ve come so far. You’ve grown into someone so strong and so brave - so open - and I’m just… I’m really proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as brave,” she says, a little embarrassed.

“You are brave. Letting someone love you is brave. Letting yourself love someone is even braver.” His fingers begin to toy with his wedding band again, spinning it around as he focuses on it. “And I know I give Hook a rough time. But he loves you, and you love him. You know, he told me once he’d go to the end of the world or time for you and I don’t doubt for a second that he meant it. He’s a good man,” David says casting a glance at Killian who is helping Snow load the dishwasher.  “I’m happy he’s the one you chose to let in.”

He looks her in the eye and for a moment she forgets that he’s not much older than her. She forgets that they’ve only known each other for four years. Suddenly, she feels like a little girl, sitting there with her father. It’s not something she really ever got to experience before and… it’s a lot. But the good kind of a lot. David has been there for her since the moment he knew she was his daughter. Not once has he faltered in his role. He’s been supportive and kind and understanding and Emma wishes she’d had a chance to grow up with him - overprotectiveness and all. 

“I guess I take after my mother when it comes to my taste in men,” she tells him and David looks about ready to cry. He clears his throat, coughing to hide the way he’s choking up. 

She glances up at Killian who is watching them now, watching David play with his ring and try not to cry. An expression crosses his face that she doesn’t quite understand but then Snow says something and he snaps back into the smile he wore a moment ago. 

On the car ride home, Emma can tell that something is off. She keeps looking at Killian, trying to make conversation, but his answers are short, distracted, and his attention seems to be completely focused on his hook. After ten minutes of tense silence Emma pulls the bug over. 

“Okay, what's up with you?” she demands. 

“What?” he answers, still not fully noticing that she’s speaking, she doesn’t even think he realized she stopped the car. She waits and finally he looks up at her. “Sorry, Love,” he says, finally seeming to have tuned into the conversation. “I was distracted.”

“By?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Uh-uh,” Emma shakes her head. “Something is clearly bothering you. You’ve been weird since you were in the kitchen with my mom. Did she say something? I know she can be a bit much but -”

“It wasn’t you mother, Swan,” he tells her. 

“Well then what?” she pushes. She doesn’t like not being able to read him and it unsettles her. Killian takes a long moment, looking down at his hook again before finally sighing, shoulders hunching forward a bit as he makes his confession. 

“It was just… I hadn’t realised until now that I won’t be able to wear a wedding ring.” His answer throws her for a moment. She doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. Of course he can wear a ring. She frowns at him, trying to figure out what he’s saying and he sighs again, holding up his hook and it dawns on her. 

She takes hold of his hook. “Killian, you’ll just wear it on your right hand. It doesn’t matter to me. You know it’s never mattered right?” He has to know. Even when they first met, back when she was pretending she didn’t like him, the hook never bothered her. It’s a part of him, a part of his story, a piece of who he’s become, like the scars on his body. 

“I know,” he tells her but she can see it’s still bothering him. She waits, giving him time to tell her what he’s feeling when he’s ready. “It's only that a ring on your right hand is just a ring,” he starts. “A ring on your left hand.... It shows the world a commitment. And I want to show the world my commitment to you, I want everyone to know that I’m yours and your mine and… and I can’t. I can’t show you.” 

Emma feels gutted by his words. It breaks her heart to think that this is eating away at him so much. She doesn’t care, at all. Killian shows her his commitment every single day. Nobody has ever fought for her the way that he did. Nobody else has been so steady and strong and constant in her life. Only him. She doesn’t need a ring to show her that he’s in this for the long haul. She brings his hook up to her heart and he meets her eyes and she tells him so. 

He gives her a smile but it’s a little half-hearted. “Thank you, Love. I suppose you’re right.” She can tell he’s still not quite convinced but she can also tell that he’s done talking about it for now so she starts the car and they continue down main street. As she drives, she keeps casting little glances at him and each time it breaks her heart a little bit. Killian should never feel less-than.

They pass a side street she recognizes and suddenly Emma has an idea. She pulls off and Killian looks up as the car jerks. He asks where they’re going but she only smiles. After a short ride, she pulls the bug over again and shuts off the engine. He gives her a questioning look. She turns in her seat. 

“You want a commitment the world can see?” she asks. “Come with me.” She hops out of the car and waits for him to follow. He still looks confused but eventually, he recognizes the building they’re standing in front of. A tattoo shop. He smiles at her and it’s the first real smile he’s given her since this started, raised eyebrow and all. 

“We’re not getting rings,” she tells him, then reconsiders. “Okay, yes, we’re getting rings because I do not want to deal with explaining that to my mom. But we’re not just getting rings. We’ve never been a traditional couple. Why start now.”

“Swan,” he says, amusement in his voice and she’s thrilled to hear it. “Are you telling me that we’re getting husband and wife tattoos?” 

She nods. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” 

He considers it for a moment and then gestures for her to take the lead. “After you.”

They settle on a compass. It was the first thing that brought them together - literally. They met because of it, they went on their first adventure because of it and, as he’s told her before, he’s known since the beanstalk that they would end up here. It’s fitting really. The compass was supposed to bring them home, and it did. It brought them to each other. They get them over their hearts, him on his chest and her on her back.

Killian gets his first and Emma can’t help smiling back as he grins through the whole thing, apparently oblivious to the pain. She likes the fact that this is only his second tattoo - that clearly the permanence of it means something to him. She goes next. She grimaces through the whole thing but he holds her hand and lets her squeeze it too tightly. When it’s done, they stand in front of the full length mirror in the shop. Killian is staring at the ink just by her shoulder blade. He wraps her in his arms, pressing her to his chest and leans down to kiss her forehead. 

“Thank you, Emma,” he says, eyes fixed on the artwork. She looks up at him, arms trapped between them, enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her. She kisses the spot where his tattoo is bandaged under his shirt.

“You’re my home,” she answers. “Now I’ve just got the proof… for the world to see,” she adds. 

He smiles, takes her face in his hands. “And you’re mine,” he promises before placing a kiss to her lips. 

***

The next morning, Emma wakes to sunlight streaming through the windows, filling the room with streaks of golden light and she watches the bits of fluff and dust dance around in them. She can feel Killian’s fingers stroking through her hair, fanning it out across the skin of her back. When her new tattoo is revealed to him he begins to trace the delicate lines, fingers gentle on still-tender flesh. She’s not sure, but she thinks he might be humming. It’s a song she doesn’t recognize. She turns her head so that she can look at him without disrupting the motion of his hand.

“Good morning, Love,” he beams when he sees her peeking up at him from under her hair, face still half pressed into the pillow. He leans down and presses his lips to her shoulder blade, over her heart. She smiles, a sleepy but content smile. She can’t help herself. Emma’s never been a morning person, but waking up like this, in a room bathed in sunlight, to the gentle caress of the man she’s going to marry… she doesn’t care how early it is. It’s worth it. 

She hums. “‘Morning. How long have you been up?” Her voice is still groggy from sleep.

“Not long,” he says and Emma knows he’s lying. Killian is always up with the grey of the dawn but ever since her panic attack nearly five months ago he’s stayed true to his promise and stayed in bed until she wakes up. And she really, really likes waking up next to him. She looks at him now, his hair still a little wild from sleep, the skin of his shoulders and chest almost golden in the glow of the sun. He looks like some kind of greek god, like he was made to be sculpted, painted, his beauty a thing to be preserved and admired. 

He’s smiling gently at her, his fingers still tracing the new brush strokes on her body, tangling in the ends of her hair, and she snuggles a little closer so that she can press herself against the warmth of his skin. “What?” she asks as he continues to look at her admiringly, happily. 

“Nothing,” he says, voice soft and almost distant. “It’s only that you look exceptionally beautiful bathed in the morning light.” 

Emma wants to roll her eyes - her natural reaction to compliments - but she doesn’t. She likes it. She likes compliments when they come from him. Even his most flowery, poetic speeches sound sincere when he speaks them, and it fills her heart to know how much he loves her. So, instead, she snuggles even closer to him, curling herself around him and laying her head on his chest. Killian welcomes her eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. 

“You should see yourself,” she tells him and a slightly smug smirk pulls at his lips.

“Oh?” he prods, but she doesn’t take the bait. She’s not going to tease him. She wants him to know that she’s as impossibly in love with and in awe of him as he is with her. It surprises her briefly, it still does sometimes, how easily she accepts that he loves her. The doubts that had plagued her her entire life seem to have dissapeared when Killian decided to love her - when she decided to let him love her. 

“Mhm,” she hums, bringing a hand up to caress the lines of his face, tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “You know, I think I could get used to waking up next to you every morning.”

Killian chuckles, catching her hand and taking a moment to admire the ring that rests on her finger. A reverent smile blooms on his face and he turns his head to look her in the eye. “That’s the idea, Love.” He brings her hand to his lips and then lowers it to rest on the compass over his heart. 

Emma smiles at the reminder of the commitment they made yesterday. She knows most will see it just as a new tattoo, some even will tell her it’s bad luck, but she doesn’t care. Killian promised to love her forever and yesterday he proved it by branding the promise permanently on his skin. It still doesn’t feel real. She feels like she’s in a dream, the most wonderful, fantastic dream of her life and she never wants to wake up. She can’t stop smiling. She looks at the ring on her finger, their hands still intertwined.

“What is it?” he asks and she shrugs a little.

“I just never thought this would happen for me, you know?” she tells him. “I just can’t believe this is real.” 

He smiles affectionately at her, understanding in his expression. “It’s real, Swan,” he promises, placing a kiss to her palm. “Very real,” he assures her before leaning down to kiss her gently, his hand coming up to cradle her face as his lips move slowly and intentionally over her own. She lifts her face to meet his, happy for the feel of his mouth on hers, the reminder that he’s here and that he’s real and that she gets to have this - forever.

It’s not long before their kiss turns passionate, Emma pressing herself closer to him, desperate for the feel of him against her skin. Her arm snakes up under his shoulder as she pulls him closer. She wants to wrap herself around him and feel him wrapped around her, feel the love and the trust and the realness of it all engulf her. Killian tightens his hold until there’s no space left between them at all and she curls her foot around his calf. He lets out a small groan before rolling her over onto her back, his mouth not leaving her own. She feels a slight burn as her sensitive skin hits the mattress but she doesn’t mind - it’s a pleasant reminder, a brand. 

They kiss for a long while, neither in any hurry as the warmth and the desire builds slowly between them. She lets her hands wander the expanse of his back, feeling the raised scars that criss cross it. It’s a map she knows by heart now, one she could trace with her eyes closed, a roadmap of his life written on his skin. His hand is everywhere, tracing her face, her neck, her shoulders, her chest, every touch featherlight, just soft enough to make her want more and she lets him know with a slow small grind of her hips against his. 

She feels his smile before his lips leave hers to trail down her neck. He’s in no hurry, the kisses he traces on her skin are slow and deep and deliberate, each press of his lips and brush of his tongue stoking the flames of the fire that is smoldering inside of her, teasing it into what she knows - what he knows - can quickly become a raging inferno.

It’s ages before he reaches her chest but even still he takes his time. He places a deep kiss to the bottom of her throat moving slowly down across her sternum. She can feel his tongue moving under her breast, licking at it, and a sound between a sigh and a whine leaves her as he slowly trails it up her skin to her nipple. He flattens his tongue and drags it over the bud once, twice, slowly and purposefully before taking it into his mouth and lavishing it with attention. 

Emma’s hand comes up to fist in his hair of it’s own free will as she desperately tries to hold him to her, to keep him there. His name leaves her lips in a breath and she feels him smile against her skin before he turns to pay her other breast the same attention. He feels amazing, what he does to her, the way he knows how to wind her up while keeping her from going insane. It’s lazy and slow and yet his passion is always there, his love and need for her coming out in the way his lips start to trail slowly down her stomach, his hand and wrist sliding along her sides as they come to rest on her hips, opening her up to him. 

His first kiss against her centre is long and deep, Killian taking his time to kiss her properly, thoroughly, his mouth working over her as expertly as he does everything. He’s meticulous in all aspects of his life and Emma couldn’t be happier for it than right now. She feels his tongue slide slowly through her folds, the tip flicking gently against her clit when he reaches to the top of her. 

She sighs a little desperately and he flattens his tongue against it, soothing the ache but still not enough. Bastard knows it too, she thinks. But he seems intent on taking his time and Emma is forced to wait, the heat inside of her growing nearly unbearable as he works her slowly towards her peek. Her hands grip the sheets on either side of her, fisting them between her fingers as Killian slowly swirls his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves in the way he knows she likes.

A part of her wants to beg him to go faster, to end the blissful agony that is this slow climb. But there’s something so erotic and so intimate about his unhurried pace. She can feel every soft flick of his tongue as he drags it up her slit, can feel the shape of his lips around her clit as he sucks it into his mouth and she cries out. And she can hear every moan and low growl that emanates from him as he pleasures her, can fill them reverberating through her skin, only making her want more. 

She loves how much he loves this. His mouth on her is like heaven but knowing that he enjoys it nearly as much, hearing and feeling the greedy way that he licks into her, is the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. She knows that he’s likely already hard and desperate for her, the way her hips rock slowly against his face as arousing for him as his ministrations are for her. 

She lets out a breathy moan, almost a gasp as he pushes two fingers into her of her, dragging them slowly in and out as his tongue continues to lavish attention against her clit. She can feel it building now, her climax close as he keeps his movements steady, fingers thrusting, tongue circling. He lets out small, appreciative moans every time her hips buck up. The climb is slow but no less intense as he continues to work her gently, bringing her to the edge but not quite letting her fall over it. 

He keeps her there for ages, just on the cusp, the pleasure building and building until she feels that it can’t possibly grow anymore. The feeling is overwhelming, completely encompassing, taking over all of her senses until there’s nothing else but him and her and the high that’s just out of reach. Tears brim in her eyes, gasps and cries spilling from her lips at the sheer bliss of it until finally she begs him to let her fall.

He does, and she feels it in every inch of her body, a bliss and a warmth filling her from her centre outwards as her back bends and her mouth hangs open in a silent cry. It goes on forever, wave after wave of pleasure lapping through her, making her shiver with every pass. She feels him slide up her body, slide into her while she’s still riding the high of her climax. He moves inside her and with every thrust she feels more sparks igniting in her belly, shooting through her limbs, prolonging her peak rather than building a new one. She wraps her arms around him, holding him close and whispering his name each time he pushes into her. 

He doesn’t last long. Between the pleasure he took in using his mouth on her and the way her walls are contracting around him now, it’s not long until he’s murmuring words in her ear, words of praise, of want, barely coherent, lost in his own desire. She urges him on through her hazy fog, bringing her lips and her teeth to his ear and scraping her nails down his back. 

He comes with a desperate, agonized cry, burying his face in her neck, breathing heavily. She can feel him trembling slightly in her arms and runs her fingers though the hair at the nape of his neck. They lay there for a moment, simply basking in the heavy, sated feeling that always comes after their lovemaking. When the final shocks have finally left her body, Emma speaks. 

“If this is what married life is gonna be like, sign me up.” 

She can feel him laughing against her throat before he rolls over and off of her, pulling her back into his arms so she can curl up against his side. After a moment, Killian speaks.

“What’s troubling you, Love?” he asks. He knows her so damn well it’s frustrating sometimes. 

“It’s just - I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

He pulls back so that he can look at her better, turns on his side so that they’re facing one another. “What do you mean?”

She hates that this nagging feeling won’t go away, no matter how many speeches she gives Henry. “I guess I’m still waiting for you to be taken away again. For something to happen.”

He smiles at her understandingly. “I know.” They’ve had this conversation before. “But that’s not our lives anymore,” he assures her. “I’m here to stay.” 

She gives him a bit of a watery smile. “I know you are. But what if you can’t help it?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, certainty in his voice. “I’ve found you before and I will again. Or you’ll find me.” She nods but can’t keep the worry from her face. “Give me your hand,” he says sitting up. She follows suit and holds out her hand. He takes it, places it on his chest, right over the new ink. “I know we’re not married yet, Swan, but this is a vow.” His face is serious, love pouring from every word. She knows. It means more to her than any piece of paper ever could. “And this is another.” He looks her in the eye.  “I promise that no matter where life takes us, I’ll always find my way back to you.” He releases her hand but she continues to trace the intricate lines under it. “I have a compass to guide me.”

***

Emma was ready. The door to her cell was closed and the last of the daylight had finally faded from her window. The room was dark, bathed only in the hints of moonlight that reached this far down into the basement. She could do this. It was time. They were getting out. She made sure she had everything, felt for the spell pages in her back pocket and her phone. Okay. It was time. 

She took a minute to fluff her hair, she didn’t even really know why she did it. It was an old habit she assumed, from years of setting honey traps. She let it fall around her shoulders before hesitating for a moment. She shrugged off her jacket. It couldn’t hurt. 

She ignored the anxiety in her chest, the one that wouldn’t stop flaring up, like it was trying to tell her something. She knew what it was trying to tell her. What if you’re wrong? She couldn’t take that risk. This was her only chance, Henry’s only chance. There was no other way out of here. She had to do it. It’s not him. She repeated over and over again. It’s not him. 

She rose from her cot, took a breath, and then stepped forward, halting when she reached the door. She let her forehead fall gently against the stone next to it, knowing that he was right on the other side of the wall. Close enough to touch but so far away. As if that wasn’t a damned metaphor for the last week of her life. Squashing down the last little bit of hope and belief that tried to change her mind, Emma turned and sat with her back to the wall.

“You know,” she started. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been cursed. Far from it actually.” She gave a little laugh. “I’ve lost track of how many times, to be honest. Some weren’t that bad, missing weeks, magic-stealing lips, even one that made everyone turn on each other. Not like this though.” Emma felt a heaviness in her chest, remembering when they thought the curse of shattered sight was the worst thing that could happen to them. If only they’d known. At least she’d gotten to say goodbye to him that time. She shook her head. She needed to concentrate. 

“This one time… This one time Henry and I were cursed. We were sent far away with no memory of anyone that mattered to us, no memory of anyone we loved. And everyone else… well they were sent to a different far away place. You -” she stopped herself, corrected herself. “Killian was sent far away.” She could almost hear him listening to her. Something about the silence, the weight of it maybe, changed when he was focused on what she was saying, when he was focused on her. She waited, holding her breath as her heart raced. Come on… 

The door creaked open slowly and Emma didn't dare move. She sat there with her knees drawn up, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind. After a moment, a long, strained moment that felt like ages, he slid down onto the floor with her, resting his back against the doorframe just as he’d done last night. Their arms were inches away from each other. If she’d shifted slightly she could have pressed her left shoulder to his right. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he sat and waited for her to continue. 

She tilted her head back, letting it rest against the stone behind her. “He found me though. Somehow, he defied all the odds to get to me. But that’s just who he was. He never gave up on anyone.” She laughed a little to make up for the tears that were threatening to stream down her face. “He found a way to break the curse. After that… Well it doesn’t really matter what happened after that. What matters is I got my heart broken. All over again. Just one more guy who ruined a little piece of me and didn’t seem to suffer at all for it.” 

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to not let her hands shake as she slowly slipped her palm across the cold, hard floor. Hesitantly, she let her little finger brush his own, barely touching. She waited for his reaction. He didn’t pull back, his hand didn't move at all. But she saw his head tilt down a little, and saw his eyes zero in on where they were touching. She continued. 

“And so here was this damn pirate. This man who had followed me, crossed realms to get to me - and I knew why. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but I knew.” She shifted slowly again, her finger laying over his own now. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened while I was away, but I could tell he’d suffered - probably as much as I was suffering then. Probably more.” Braver now, she let her fingers trace the back of his hand. He still didn’t move but she saw that little twitch in his jaw again and it encouraged her. 

“I just… saw myself in his heartbreak. Saw that he needed someone as much as I did.” She caught her breath, heart racing as his hand slowly turned over under her own. “He needed me,” she corrected. “And I needed him.” Her fingers were drawing soft patterns across his palm, his gaze fixed on her every movement. “So, I let him kiss me.” Her pulse pounded against her ribcage as his hand moved, fingers hesitantly tracing against her own palm, brushing her wrist. 

Moment of truth, she thought. “I knew it wasn’t just a kiss back then, it was always more than that.” She carefully took hold of his wrist, he did the same. She watched him, watched as he followed, only the slightest hesitation in his movements as she rose and gently pulled him up along with her, led him into the room. He followed her steps blindly, like he was on autopilot, eyes not leaving where they were touching. They stood facing each other now, hands still held between them. She brought her free hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. His breathing changed ever so slightly as he freed his fingers and started to trace them up along her forearm to her elbow. “I let him touch me,” she told him as his hand continued on to her shoulder, his fingers following the line of her collar bone, touch feather light.

It was just like it was in the showers. The air heavy between them and his breath matching it. For a second she could swear she felt his heartbeat pick up under her palm but she ignored it. It didn’t matter. It was just muscle memory. His body still craved her the way hers craved him. It was like an addiction, like muscle memory. There was nothing emotional about it. 

“And just for a little while,” she breathed, finally giving up and letting a few tears roll down her cheeks as she remembered the man that she’d lost, the one who had found his way back to her so many times. “We got to forget everything else. Forget everything we’d lost, everything that hurt.” His forehead fell against hers and he took a deep, shaky inhale through his nose, like he was trying to breathe her in. 

Her own voice was unsteady now, choked with emotion and grief. “And in that moment, we were the only thing that existed.” Her hand cautiously slid down along his side as his own slid up to cup her face. His eyes were closed now and she did her best to look at him from so closely, to take him in, pretend that it was Killian and that it was real. She needed to remember him one last time.

She lifted the cuff out from his pocket and in a flash she’d slipped it on her wrist. Heart pounding and adrenaline racing through her veins, Emma turned them and jumped back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her before he’d even opened his eyes. When he did, she was bolting the lock into place. He looked at her, no anger, no betrayal, no panic… nothing. He only blinked at her, his eyes meeting her own through the bars on the window. “And then I ran,” she said, finishing her story. 

What are you doing? A voice screamed inside of her. Get out of here. Get Henry and run. But another voice screamed just as loudly. What are you doing? It’s Kilian. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence both voices. It wasn’t Killian. She couldn’t risk believing that he was in there. It was too dangerous. She needed to run and get what was left of her family safe. She knew that was what she had to do. It was the logical thing to do. But then why does it hurt so damn much? 

She opened her eyes again, meeting his. He hadn’t moved, he just continued to look on. “I’m sorry,” she said, not believing that she’d found herself here again, that they’d ended up right back at the beginning. “I just can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.” 

She ran off down the hall, following the path she knew off by heart now. She wasn’t far from Henry’s cell. Her heart raced, adrenaline fueling her as she weaved her way through the corridors. She came across one guard, a townsperson she didn’t recognize, but managed to duck into a doorway. He walked right past her. When he was far enough away she took off again, finally reaching the corner next to her son’s room. Archie was there, standing guard, stoic and empty like all the others. Needing a distraction, she tossed her phone across the hall and waited. She could hear his footsteps as he followed the sound. She waited until he was just rounding the corner and then hit him with as much force as she could on the side of the head. He went down in one blow and Emma stood over him, shaking her sore hand. “Sorry,” she said, wincing. Even in this form it felt wrong to punch Jiminy Cricket. 

She approached the door and knocked softly twice. “Kid, you ready?” she asked, lifting the deadbolt. 

“Who's there?” he demanded and she smiled despite herself. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. I’m here to rescue the princess.” 

She opened the door and Henry stood there smirking at her. “I’m not a princess. I’m James Bond,” he sassed and she laughed a little. 

“Come on, we have to hurry,” she said and suddenly his face was serious. He picked up his slingshot, ‘just in case,’ and followed her out of the room. 

“We need to get to the emergency room,” he said as they hurried down the halls, careful to try keep their feet quiet and their voices low. “Ruby has a way in and out from there.” Emma nodded, familiar enough with the ER from her frequent visits since arriving in Storybrooke. 

They reached it without any issues and that put Emma on edge. Surely someone must have noticed their guards by now, or heard something or even just have happened to be patrolling one of the hallways they turned down. It was too easy. Emma didn’t trust easy. Nothing was ever easy, especially not in Storybrooke. They heard a shuffling in the back corner of one of the waiting rooms and Emma swirled around, pushing Henry behind her. She watched as one of the large tiles rattled and then slowly slid across the floor. From the hole beneath it, a wolf’s head emerged. 

She let out a sigh of relief. “Ruby!” she nearly cried, so happy to see her friend here and safe. They approached the hole in the floor and as Ruby climbed out Emma saw that it wasn’t just a hole, it was a tunnel. She turned to the wolf, practically laughing she was so impressed. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. “You fucking Shawshanked your way in here?”

She knew if Ruby could have smirked right now she would’ve. But suddenly, she let out a low growl, turning to the door behind them. It took Emma a second longer to hear it with human ears but when she did, her blood ran cold. Footsteps. Lots of them and all running towards them. Shit. They found them. She knew it couldn’t be that easy.

Suddenly, the room was invaded by imposters. Faces they knew, faces that belonged to people they cared about but that looked at them and felt nothing. There were ten of them. They didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t have time to think. They wouldn’t have time to get the cuff off her and magic them out of here before the creatures were on them. It’s me they want. She could get the others away. She could be bait. 

She darted across the room and just as she’d expected - hoped - the things followed her. Guess they got the order, she thought. Don’t let the Savior out. “Ruby!” she shouted. “Get him out of here!” 

Ruby reacted immediately, grabbing a protesting Henry by the arm and dragging him down the tunnel. He would hate her for that. She knew he would. But she had to know he was safe. It didn’t matter if she didn’t get out, so long as he did.

Emma scanned the small space around her, desperately seeking anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted an IV drip and figured that was the best she was going to find. She’d only just managed to rip it out of it’s base when the first one was on her. Emma knew her, she was one of Henry’s coaches. She whacked her over the head with the metal bar. The woman fell hard, blood seeping from the wound on her temple. Jefferson approached her next and she jabbed him in the stomach, he doubled over and the end came out bloody. 

They were closing in on her now and Emma swung the bar in front of her, desperately trying to keep them back. They dodged skillfully but she managed to get one more - Aurora - across the shoulder. She fell, but was back up quickly. Emma screamed, a raw, angry sound from inside of her as she lunged at them. This was it. She knew she couldn’t beat them. But she would take as many of them as she could down with her. 

She swung again but this time someone caught it. She looked up to see - David. She was startled for a moment. Love made her hesitate for a second and that was all it took for her to drop her guard. David’s elbow collided with the side of her head and she felt the world go silent for a second, her head was swimming as her vision blurred briefly. But she didn’t fall. With as much strength as she could manage she swung her fist at his face, making contact with his nose and sending him reeling back. He collapsed on the floor and didn’t get up. That was the last blow she got in.

Everything was a blur after that. Someone caught her arm as when she tried to fight him off another landed a blow to her stomach. She felt her breath leave her as she wheezed. There was another blow to her back that sent her to the ground, falling onto one knee before a foot kicked her down onto both. Everything hurt. She couldn’t move, her head was still ringing and she was out numbered. This was it. It was over. 

A pair of hands grabbed her by the front of her shirt and heaved her onto her feet. She felt her back hit the wall as the hands closed over her throat. She struggled, hitting and clawing at the hands but it was no use. She looked at the face in front of her. She didn’t know it. Good, she thought. If she was going to die now she didn’t want it to be done using the hands of someone she’d liked. And she was pretty sure she would die now. Henry was gone. They had lost their leverage. She was better off dead to them now. They could still try and get her heart that way. She focused on the stranger’s face, on the blank expression staring back at her.

She was vaguely aware of sounds going on around her, small flickers of movement she couldn’t make out. The blood was rushing in her ears now, pressure building in her head. Everything was muffled. The world was slowly fading away. She was growing numb. 

Then, just as her vision was starting to go black around the edges, the hands were ripped away from her throat. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath and coughing as she desperately tried to fill her lungs. It was a while before she could, but when she finally managed to inhale more than once and the blurriness cleared from her eyes, she looked up. And that was when she saw him.

Killian stood with his back to her, his body between her and those that had attacked her. Emma couldn’t quite make sense of it at first. What was he doing here and why had they stopped? That was when she noticed the bodies strewn about, lying limp on the floor in front of him. She looked at him again and saw the cuts and scrapes on his knuckles. There was blood dripping from his hook. He’d… He’d saved her? 

Emma felt panic and hope swelling up inside of her, blending into one overwhelming emotion that had her breathing heavily, hands shaking. What the hell was happening? If he’d saved her then that must have meant that he - she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Did he care? Did he care about her? He’d protected her. Risked his life for her. You didn’t do that unless… Had he felt something? Oh, god please let him have felt something. If he felt something then that could mean… 

“Killian?” Her voice was still raspy and her fear of hope, of being disappointed again, made her sound weak and desperate. He raised his hook and looked at the blood that stained the end. He looked down at the bodies at his feet and then whirled around to look at her. There was fear in his eyes. 

Her heart stopped for a moment. Fear. He was scared. Right now he looked scared and confused and Emma didn’t know what it meant but she knew it was an emotion. He felt something. He was feeling something. She looked between him and the people at his feet, one or two of whom were starting to stir and she stood on shaky legs. She rushed towards him, taking his face in her hands, dragging his gaze away from what he’d done and trying to make him focus on her. His eyes were blown wide and his brow pulled up in a scared frown. 

“Hey, look at me,” she told him. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She was lying. She didn’t know if anything would be okay. All she knew was that right now, somehow, something had come to life inside of him. It might have been small but it was there and it was real and it was human. And if there was even the smallest, tiniest chance that it meant Killian was in there… then she had to find him. 

“Just breathe,” she said. When he looked away again she slid her hand down to his chest and he bowed his head, watching it. “Breathe.” He hesitated and then took a slow, shaky breath in. He looked up at her again, the panic in his eyes twisting with more confusion, like he didn’t understand what was happening to him, like it was physically hurting him to feel. 

“I can get us out of here,” she rushed. He continued to look at her with fear and pain. He didn’t trust her. “Look, I - I’m sorry for what I did… I didn’t know… it doesn’t matter. I can get us out and get us safe but I need you to take this off.” She raised her arm between them so he could see the cuff and he looked at it, his frown pulling down further, the pain twisting his face even more. He looked at her desperately and she wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. All she could do was get them somewhere safe. She could hear more people coming, they were getting close. She didn’t know if this would last. Didn’t know if this was a blip or the start of something. She needed it to last, needed it to mean something. “Please,” she pleaded. “Just trust me.” 

A long moment passed between them and Emma started to lose hope. There were tears stinging her eyes and she could feel the heavy weight settling slowly on her heart, snuffing out the light. “Please,” she repeated. The footsteps were close now. He looked at her for a moment longer, and then pulled off the cuff. 

Emma didn’t think. She didn’t think about what she was doing or the risk she was taking. All she thought about was Killian. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and hung on tight as a cloud of white smoke enveloped them. 

[letterfromtrenwith]

Family Christmas

Rosina hosts a very important Christmas lunch

(Modern AU; Sam/Rosina, Drake/Morwenna, Romelza)

"Is the table set?"

"Yes, love. Same as when you asked five minutes ago." Sam gave Rosina an affectionate if slightly exasperated look. He just did not understand the importance of all this - despite how much time she'd spent trying to explain it to him.

"And the sprouts - "

"The sprouts are fine. Both sets. Everything else is either ready, or will be...on time!" Morwenna cut off Rosina's possible protest, before shaking her head. With just a little difficulty, she bent down to open one of the door's on the aga, reaching inside with a skewer, after a short while she pulled it out triumphantly. "There! Cooked through! I told you, Ros, it would be perfectly fine. Somebody else is going to have to take it out, though."

"Oh, yes!" Rosina shook herself. She shouldn't really have been standing around watching while her eight months pregnant sister-in-law checked the turkey was cooked anyway. Making to grab the oven gloves she was stopped by Sam gently taking her arm.

"I'll get it. That thing weighs a ton. There's only going to be six of us, you know."

"Yes, but we both know you and Drake eat for two!" She grinned at him, feeling just a tiny bit less tense now the turkey was done, and he laughed.

"And some of us are actually eating for two!" Morwenna smiled. "Besides, leftovers. Who are we to deny Drake that terrible turkey curry he always makes?"

"I heard that!" Drake's voice echoed in from the sitting room.

Sam heaved the admittedly sizable bird onto the bench, and helped Rosina transfer it from the roasting tin onto a serving dish. Even if Rosina did say so herself, it looked very delicious, the skin and the pancetta lattice on the crown both cooked perfectly. It only needed to sit for 30 minutes - which was just enough time for it to be served at exactly the right moment. "Oh! What about - ?"

"Demelza's mushroom wellington is in the oven and it will be ready in 20 minutes. You put it in there yourself - and set that timer." Morwenna explained patiently, pointing to where Sam's phone lay at the far end of the bench, silently counting down the minutes.

"Oh. Yes."

"I keep telling you, Ros. Everything's going to be fine." Sam had returned to his seat at the kitchen table, where he'd been doing his best to be unobtrusive but helpful ever since they'd returned from his morning service at the church.

He, and Morwenna, and Drake, had all reassured her that today was just a nice Christmas lunch and nothing to be concerned about, but Rosina was struggling to agree. She had met Sam's sister, Demelza, only once or twice before getting engaged to Sam, and Rosina wasn't entirely convinced that Demelza liked her very much. Of course, if Demelza had taken against her, a Christmas dinner probably wouldn't change that, no matter how perfect it was. Didn't stop her from obsessing over it, of course, especially after finding out that Demelza was a vegetarian.

Thankfully, despite preparing for the fairly imminent birth of a baby, Morwenna had been on hand to help. Rosina had been a bit nervous getting to know her to begin with, feeling every bit the village girl she was next to the sophisticated Morwenna, but the other woman had turned out to be incredibly sweet and friendly, and made Rosina feel nothing but welcome. That slightly awkward feeling had returned quite recently when she and Sam had been invited along to Morwenna's cousin Elizabeth's Christmas party, held in her ridiculously huge house where she lived with her incredibly rich husband, but Elizabeth had turned out to be just as kind and warm as her relative.

The doorbell rang and Rosina just about jumped out of her skin. They were here!

~

"Oh, this looks good!" Ross flashed Rosina an encouraging smile, apparently attuned to her apprehension. Demelza's husband was a handsome, dark-haired man in his mid-30s, far more casual today than in the stiff, formal portrait Rosina had seen of him in full dress uniform.

"Well, there's plenty to go around!" Although Morwenna and Sam had both gently suggested she might be being a bit over-ambitious, she hadn't really believe them until she looked at the table now, practically groaning under the various dishes laid on it. Aside from the turkey and Demelza's wellington, there was pigs in blankets, two types of potatoes (roast and dauphinoise, which she could cook but not pronounce), Yorkshire puddings (not traditional on a Christmas dinner but she'd been eating them her whole life and she'd been damned if she stopped now), two types of sprouts (one with bacon and one without, for Demelza) and various other vegetables, as well as one stuffing with pork and one without. Perhaps she'd tried too hard, or - even worse - looked like she'd tried too hard, especially as Demelza was regarding it all rather coolly.

"Great! I'm starving!"

"You've already had breakfast! And a rather large one at that!" Demelza's face broke into a wide smile when she looked at Ross, transforming her face from merely beautiful to radiant. "That's all you do at Christmas. Eat like a horse!"

"Hey, you try living on Army grub eight months of the year. They've never served us a spread like this."

There was a period of what Rosina hoped was an encouraging silence after Drake had carved the turkey (and cut a slice off Demelza's wellington) and everyone had served themselves.

"Oh, this is delicious, Rosina." Morwenna said between mouthfuls of dauphinoise.

"Mmm, fantastic." Sam agreed, reaching down to squeeze Rosina's hand under the table before sticking his fork into another pig-in-blanket.

"How -" Rosina cleared her throat, "How's yours, Demelza?"

"Mmm...gorgeous!" Demelza directed that smile at Rosina, who immediately felt like she'd been cut free of a huge weight. "I've been to three Christmas meals this December already, and have had to eat bloody nut roast at every single one! It's so nice to have something else. That sauce is beautiful. And I love the sprouts, too - is that sage and lemon on them?"

"Er, yes."

"Would it be cheeky to ask for the recipe?"

"No! No, of course not!"

With another smile, Demelza returned to her plate, helping herself to more of said sprouts. From her left, Morwenna mouthed 'See?' at Rosina, who pretended not to notice.

After pudding (either Rosina's clementine Christmas pudding or Morwenna's gingerbread yule log - everyone named Carne ended up having both) and some non-alcoholic mulled wine, they settled down in the sitting room to exchange presents. That had been a stressful shopping trip for Rosina, again backed up by Morwenna's calm presence - although she had been understandably inclined to wander off into the baby sections when left to her own devices.

Ross was absolutely delighted with his whisky miniatures, while Demelza immediately wrapped her soft wool scarf - the forest green colour perfectly complimenting her red hair the way Rosina had hoped it would - around her neck, cuddling into it.

"Oh, I love it, thank you!" Demelza handed Rosina a heavy, rectangular parcel which she unwrapped to reveal a hardcover book of knitting patterns. "Sam told me you like to make your own clothes, so..."

"Yes, yes, I do! This is very thoughtful, thank you." She shot a glance at Sam, who winked at her.

A while later, as Demelza and Ross were leaving, after Demelza had hugged both of her brothers tightly, and Morwenna as best she could around the bump, she drew Rosina slightly aside while the others chatted with Ross on the step, despite the bitter cold outside.

"I just want to say how lovely today was, Rosina. Ross isn't always home from Christmas, and what with Sam being away at the old parish until last year, it's been quite a while since I've been with all of my family. Thank you for making it so special." Before Rosina could even begin to get herself together enough to make a proper reply, she continued: "And I'm really sorry we've barely been in the same room since you and Sam got together - to tell you the truth, I was a bit nervous about today - I wasn't sure I'd made the bet impression the last couple of times we've met!"

"Oh, r-really?" Demelza didn't seem to notice Rosina's slightly strangled tone.

"Yes! But I definitely want to remedy that. I'll call you after New Year and we can have coffee. Get some girl time with my future sister-in-law!" With a quick hug, which Rosina was too surprised to respond to, she was gone, hurrying down the garden path after Ross, stylish leather boots crunching on the frost. With a final wave, she disappeared out of the gate. Sam and Drake retreated back into the sitting room, leaving Rosina and Morwenna standing in the hallway, Rosina still holding the door open for a moment before slowly clicking it shut.

"All right?" Morwenna asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh? Yes." Rosina sniffed and quickly rubbed at her eyes. "Just the cold wind that's all."

[starrystarrybabe]

Bacon and Eggs (Roger Taylor x Reader) CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER 3 Word count: 3,799

I don't expect this to get too many notes, as the initial response to the first chapter got smaller and smaller, but I'm really enjoying writing this, and I appreciate the people who are still reading. If you want to make sure this keeps going, it would be helpful to me if you reblog this. I know it's not typical to do that on tumblr, and even I am trying to get into the habit of doing it more often, and if more of us start doing it, it will become more of a practice than a rare occurrence. Enjoy this chapter!

-

you sit on your couch, waiting for anna once again. this time, instead of going to a gig, you two are going to kensington market. there's a stall there that carries older books, and you plan on buying at least three to add to your collection. with a sigh, you roll your eyes and slump back on the couch.

"anna! we don't have all day!" you call out to her as you rub your temples, aggravated beyond belief.

"wait one second! i'm dressing nicely for john!" she calls back to you, yelling over her music.

ever since they met, john and anna have been inseparable. they just work together. it's adorable, but sickeningly so. as a single person, you find it to be just plain disgusting how sweet they are in public. pda is not your thing, nor will it ever be. couples being affectionate in public is a repulsive, socially acceptable form of voyeurism.

"he would love you if you were wearing a bloody potato sack, anna! hurry the fuck up!" you snap back at her.

she comes out of the room in a sundress and john's denim jacket, and you stand up.

"let's go, lovebird," you tell her before she can say anything.

as you leave, you shove your hands in your corduroy jacket, speedwalking to the stairs.

"you're just jealous," she tells you, scoffing.

"jealous of what? the fact that you're in a budding relationship with a man who lives off of cheese toast?" you look back at her as you two exit the building.

she pouts and elbows you in the side. "hey! it's not that bad, and he's very nice. it's not my fault that you're a challenging person to love because of your trust issues and lack of ability to flirt."

you stop in your tracks, and for a minute you're speechless. "first of all, that's fucking rude, you wanker. second of all, you didn't have to delve that fucking deeply."

she looks at you and shrugs. "don't insult deaky and i won't tell you the truth about yourself."

you roll your eyes as you start walking again. "i wasn't making fun of him. he's just... deaky. i don't know how else to describe him."

she laughs. "he's a good man and you know it."

you nod. "yes. i know. that's the problem. he's too good to be around the rest of the boys."

-

once you get to the market and anna leaves to be with deaky, you begin to walk to the stall with the books that you love, but stop when you hear someone bickering with their co-worker.

"the hell do you mean, this is horrible?" an offended voice rings out.

"look at it. it's a nasty piece of fabric, and it's not worth that much!" an angry response snaps back, and you recognize the voice.

rog and freddie have a stall? huh.

you walk over to their stall, and when freddie sees you, he hands roger the awful shirt he's holding and comes over to give you a hug.

"(y/n), darling! i haven't seen you in a day! it's been far too long." he excitedly greets you, squeezing you tightly in his arms.

you respond by hugging him back. "if you'd like, you can come back to my flat with me after you're done here. i have nothing to do, and it's my day off from work."

freddie separates from you and smiles, going back to the box of clothes he's sorting through with roger. "i'd love that, dear."

roger's face turns sadder as he leans down to help freddie.

"you can come too, rog. you didn't really think that i'd only invite freddie, did you?" you grin and cross your arms, raising a brow at the blonde.

he looks up at you, shaking his head. "i can't come. i have plans."

you smirk. "what's her name?"

he thinks for a moment, blinking. "cheryl, or sherry. it's something like that."

"i'm sure she'll really appreciate you not even knowing her name," you sarcastically respond before picking up a marked down fur coat. "this is cute. i like it."

freddie smiles at you. "i'll give it to you for even less. friends get a marked down price."

roger looks up at freddie, baffled. "this is quite possibly the worst business model you could possibly follow, fred. how much money do you expect to make when you mark down items by that much?"

you smile and put down twice the price of the coat. "take this. the next time you have a gig, use the extra to get us a pitcher of beer."

roger puts the money in a box and grumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

"what is it, rog?" you ask him how he's doing as you put your new purchase in your side bag.

"we've sold bloody nothing today but that. at this rate, we won't be able to pay the rent." he sits down in a creaky little chair, and you move to sit down next to him.

"well, how much is the rent?" you prompt the grumpy drummer, like a therapist slowly getting the gist of all your problems.

"£130 a month, and me, bri, fred, and mary all pay for it," he explains, lighting a cigarette.

you frown. "that's too much for where you live. you got a bad deal, rog." you think for a moment. "anna and i's place has room for three more people, but at this point, i think anna will move in with deaky, she's around him so much nowadays. so that would make room for four people."

he looks at you like you're crazy. "how much is your rent?"

you shrug. "£100."

his eyes widen. "that's bloody cheap! how did you swing that?"

you sigh. "my landlord is my ex's aunt. she keeps it so low because she loves me and hates what he did to me."

roger nods, and slowly leans back in his chair. "what did he do to you, if you don't mind me asking?"

you light a cigarette, and look down. "cheated on me with my least favorite cousin. i walked in on him shagging her in my bed, so i dumped his shit out of the window and hit him with his favorite record."

roger is speechless. that's horrible, and he can see that it still makes you angry. he can also tell that you're not done.

"i told her to stay away from liam. she has a history of ruining relationships. claims she's just testing to see if the men are worthy, but she's really just a filthy wanker who thrives on others' pain," you continue, ready to rant about your horrible cousin. "i haven't been home since she did that, because i'd probably wring her neck and shank her with a rusty blade if i did."

freddie has been listening in, and quietly asks you, "how long ago was that?"

you blow out cigarette smoke. "six months ago."

roger and freddie look at each other in sad shock, and freddie comes behind you and gives you a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"i'm so sorry, my darling. if you ever need someone to go with you if you decide to go home, i am more than willing," he reassures you, and you smile slightly, holding his arm.

"i'll do it too. no guarantees i won't kill your cousin, though," roger adds on, angry on your behalf.

you smile at him, and nod. "you're both amazing, have i said that before?"

roger gives you a half hug and grins. "i could stand to hear that statement more often from you, love."

you snort and lean against his shoulder, your cigarette hanging in between your teeth. "of course you would, you egotistical twat."

freddie lets go of you and looks over you and roger before putting away some of the items they have out that have been neglected for a longer amount of time. "(y/n), i have a very important question to ask you," he prompts, holding the shirt rog hates behind his back.

you turn in your chair and nod in response. "what is it, fred?"

he holds out the shirt. "is this really horrible?"

you cringe at the shirt, and shudder slightly at the sight of it. "one hundred percent. it's pretty terrible, mate. not even you could make that look good, and you somehow pull off that white jacket with the collar that looks like an angry lizard."

-

SIX MONTHS LATER

your flat looks like a bloody nightmare, if you say so yourself. there are boxes of freddie's, mary's, brian's, and roger's clothes everywhere, and inside your room, anna still has a few boxes of random items she couldn't manage to part with. currently, she is in the process of unpacking her new apartment with deaky and your mutual friends brenna and alexis.

anna and deaky have been in a very steady relationship practically since they met, and it is insane how well they get along. you think that he'll propose soon, and even though typically, you'd be concerned about anna marrying someone she met six months ago, deaky is a good man who will love her completely and unconditionally.

you step over boxes of platform shoes, and make your way to brian's door. you knock to get his attention, and he turns to face you with a smile.

"i'm almost done, (y/n). there's one more box of mine behind you, if you wouldn't mind getting it for me." he points to a beat up cardboard box labelled "shoes" that rests just behind your legs while unpacking his shirts.

"no problem, bri. actually, after you're done getting unpacked, would you want to go to the diner to get dinner? we can eat, and simultaneously get out of everyone's way," you offer, bending down to pick up the box.

when you pick it up with a grunt, the bottom spills open, and at least five pairs of different kinds of clogs fall out of it. you look down at the pile of shoes at your feet and blink in confusion, pressing your lips together.

"brian?" you softly call his name.

"yes?" he looks up at you from the leather vest he's putting on a hanger.

you meet his eyes with a look of complete and utter confusion. "who needs five pairs of bloody clogs?"

"six pairs, actually. i'm wearing my white leather ones right now." he points to his feet.

"the question remains." if anything, you're even more confused.

"i just really like clogs," brian states simply, as if it's normal for a single man to have what could be the beginning of an extensive clog collection.

you sigh and begin picking up clogs, moving them inside the room. "you're a strange man, brian may. you're aware of that, correct?"

"i've been told that once or twice, yeah." he finishes putting away his clothes and puts the clogs in the closet that you are both sharing, since you've decided that your and brian's things can fit in the one room.

you look around the room, which is much more cramped than it was before. even though there's more space in rog's room, between his womanizing habits and his clunky drum set, it was agreed upon that it would be most logical to allow the man his own space. throughout the months, you've gotten closer with brian, and now consider him to be a dear friend. you regularly go to the library together after you're both done with your classes, and he cooks you breakfast on the weekends. you two even go grocery shopping together, and he's beginning to teach you how to play guitar.

"so, how do you feel about getting food and getting out of here?" you ask him again.

he lets out a sigh of relief. "anything to get out of this mess."

you and brian walk into the living room, where roger is moving his boxes, and mary is working on separating hers and freddie's clothes, which they packed in the same boxes.

"bri and i are going out to eat. how long do you think it will be until the floor isn't a sea of boxes anymore?" you ask the three new roommates, and they look up tiredly.

"give it at least four hours, darling. there's a lot of things to sort through and organize," freddie responds, leaning against the wall.

mary nods, agreeing with her boyfriend. roger is clenching his jaw as he looks down at a box of records.

"does four hours sound good to you, rog?" brian looks over at the blonde, who nods and goes back to unpacking.

you smile. "alright! four hours it is. let's go, bri. we can also stop at the music store to see if they finally got new strings since we have all this time!"

brian grins and nods, exiting the room with you. "sounds good to me. let's do it."

as soon as the door shuts, freddie turns to roger. "someone is being uncharacteristically quiet. what's bothering you, rog?"

roger looks at freddie and huffs. "nothing, fred. i'm just stressed out because moving is hard, alright?" mary raises a brow and puts down a silk blouse, looking at the stressed out drummer. "it feels like it's more than just that, rog. is it the fact that (y/n) is getting close with brian?"

roger scoffs, rolling his eyes. "of course not. why would i care if she gets close with him? i slept with her once, and it didn't mean anything. she just happened to stick around because she happens to be nice, and fit in with us."

freddie puts the blouse in his own box, and looks down. "you've admitted that you enjoy that she challenges you. you two tend to tease each other quite a bit."

roger shrugs. "so? we're friends. we poke fun at one another. you and i do that too, and so does bri and deaky. it's normal."

mary walks into her and freddie's room and begins to unpack some of her clothes, leaving freddie to reason with the grumpy drummer.

"it took you some time to get back to having successful one night stands after her. she even told you that when you're ready for more than a quick fuck, only then could you even entertain the option of having her in your bed." freddie recalls what's happened in the past months. "you want to get closer to her, don't you? like brian has."

roger leans against the wall and begins to go on a rant. "i can't be the only one who finds it strange that they go to the library together, go grocery shopping together, he's teaching her guitar, and they're platonically sleeping in the same room! how platonic could that possibly be? they're acting like they're bloody married! how long will it be until they're shagging on the regular?"

freddie smiles, shaking his head. "rog, you're the only one who thinks that. bri and (y/n) are just friends who happen to act responsibly together because they need to take care of us. you know that we behave like children at times, and we need her and bri there to keep us on track and out of trouble."

roger runs a hand through his blonde locks, slumping forward. "i'm a bloody adult. i don't need someone else to help manage my life."

freddie shrugs. "you may be an adult, but you act like a reckless teenager. i can be unreasonable and impulsive at times, but you're a nightmare to deal with."

roger looks up, offended. "how am i a nightmare?"

freddie begins listing off reasons. "you always drink too much and end up needing to be taken care of, you easily get into fights, if someone dares you to do something, you have to do it, you don't cope well with your emotions, and end up doing immature things to ignore them, and you lose your temper far too easily. i'm sure brian and deaky could add to that list as well."

roger presses his mouth together in thought, and wants to contest what freddie is telling him, but he knows that it's true. he bites back a scathing remark and instead asks freddie a question angrily. "if all that is true, why do any of you stick around? clearly i'm a nightmare and i'm not worth all the trouble."

freddie sighs. "we stick around because underneath all that is a kind, wonderful person we are lucky to have in our lives. that's why we put up with your stubbornness. (y/n) wants you to be closer to her and be with you, because she saw a little glimpse of that side, and recognized how special that was. all she requests is that you embrace that and show it to more people than just us, because the womanizing flirt you present yourself to be is not truly you." he stands up, and picks up a box of clothes. "she deserves better than that roger taylor. she wants the real deal, because she knows that she deserves nothing less than the best."

as freddie walks back into his room, roger takes a moment to think about what he's just been told. you had told him that he was trouble, and you had previously been hurt by a man who presented himself like roger did. if you truly thought of him as purely trouble, you wouldn't have even presented him with the offer to come back to you when he's ready for more than a quick fuck. that means that deep down, you think he's worth the emotional involvement, and you'd be willing to open up to him. all he needs to do is open up to the world and himself first.

-

as you and brian walk to the music store, you frown. "roger seemed kind of bothered today, didn't he?" you look up at the tall man beside you.

brian nods slowly, thinking about how rog had acted. "yeah, he did. i know he was initially questioning if we should be in the same room, but i thought he had gotten over that." brian returns your gaze, agreeing with you.

"he has seemed weirded out by our relationship before, for some reason. i explained to him that we're just friends multiple times, but i guess he considers our dynamic to be more than that." you shrug, noting the times that rog didn't seem to understand that you and brian were nothing more than friends.

"he can be a bit immature about these things, that's true. he has a very limited view of what a relationship between a man and a woman can entail. i get why he doesn't understand us from that perspective. but we've firmly established that we don't have a romantic relationship." brian tries to explain roger's behavior with a theory surrounding his beliefs.

"we do act a little bit like parents, though. getting groceries, working together in the library, you cooking for me, and overall, we take care of the rest of the band." you look up at brian as you go through your actions. "but he's not interested in grocery shopping or being responsible in general. he's an overgrown schoolboy, or at least he acts like one."

brian shakes his head. "but he's not. he's a biochemistry major who studied dentistry, and makes sure to take care of freddie. he's also an extremely talented drummer, and a fabulous musician. he's so much more than what he presents himself to be."

you two walk into the music store and greet the clerk before heading to see the rack of strings in the back of the room.

you nod. "i know that. i remembered a few nights ago why i was initially attracted to him."

brian looks down at you as you search through the different strings. "why was that?"

you find a pack of strings that you know brian likes and hold it up for him to take. "he was drumming, and for a moment he was so into the music that he just looked so genuinely happy, and confident. it wasn't the kind of loud, brash confidence that he uses to pick up girls, but a quiet confidence that doesn't need to prove itself to anyone." you stand up, and look at brian. "the roger taylor who i saw there is someone i would like to see more often than the one who flaunts his conquests in my face to try and prove to me that he doesn't feel anything for me."

brian picks up the rest of the strings he needs, and smiles. "you know he does still feel something for you."

you huff. "i know! but he always acts so bloody pathetically when it comes to facing his feelings, and it doesn't make him very likable. i want to show him that his behavior is incredibly ridiculous, and make him see that he doesn't need to be such a child about these things."

brian walks over with you to pay for the strings. "how do you propose we teach him that?"

you smile, an idea crossing your mind. "would you mind me borrowing one of your nightshirts and using makeup to draw hickeys on both of us?"

brian looks shocked before handing over the money and laughing. "that's genius, (y/n)!"

you smirk at look up at brian. "if you feel comfortable with me pushing it further, could i? just to rub it in his face, like he always does to the rest of us."

brian turns red, and begins stammering. "wh-what?"

you shake your head. "nothing too intense! just like, leaning against you, being closer in general, hand holding, stuff like that. it won't take much to put rog over the edge."

brian takes a sigh of relief. "oh, thank god. i think i can accomplish holding your hand, that's not a problem."

you grin and hug brian. "thank you!"

he pats the top of your head and grins. "you're welcome. would you like a led zeppelin tee-shirt or a beatles one?"

[fallling-skys-blog]

Noodle

The one constant in Noodle’s life was fear. The emotion she was most familiar with and knew better than any other. Her first memories were purely of fear and when she thought back she was flooded with the feeling.

So she’d gone out of her way to make sure that she wouldn’t feel that emotion ever again. She rejoined her very public band so that killing her would cause chaos, despite her newfound hatred for the bassist, making it much harder to attack or kill her without outrage. She was the loveable, happy go lucky celebrity everyone could find in their heart to love. She made sure that she kept her skills sharp so that if anyone tried to attack her she could kill them in seconds if the situation called for it.

She hadn’t always been this way, she was naturally happy and excited about everything. The band members all recalling her as a cheerful and upbeat child with a mischievous streak. She had times where she’d get out of control angry for seemingly no reason but only Russel would tell her this and Murdoc only would dare talk about her sweetly now.

She couldn’t remember too much from when she was a child at Kong. Russel had pictures and some videos of her that he’d kept and there were the Gorillaz Bitez that they had filmed but those had been scripted and acted out. She knew she had been extremely close to 2D, hanging out with him whenever she got the chance. He’d been her best friend and older brother. Russel was like her Uncle who she loved and Murdoc had been like her substitute father although if she ever called him that he yelled at her or his face would get strained and she quickly learned to never say that word and that it was forbidden.

Her last memory from her youth being ridden with fear as well. The worst fear, one for someone else. She had no doubt in her mind when Murdoc had his hands wrapped around 2D’s neck that he was going to kill him. She knew the look in a person’s eyes when they had decided without a doubt that they were going to bring about another living human being’s death, it was just back then that she hadn’t realized how.

She’d launched herself at Murdoc, the father figure she had loved and cared for so much, biting down as hard as she possibly could. She could still taste the blood in her mouth from the memory and knew that if it had been anyone other than Murdoc they would have stopped doing their activity immediately from the level of pain she had caused, with her full weight hanging off him.

Finally, Russel had hit Murdoc on the head as hard as possible with a closed fist, knocking him to the ground. Fear still surging through her as she was shaking herself, now knowing what it was that he was capable of. She’d watched as he had gotten up and screamed at 2D, blood oozing from his arm while he pointed and then turned to yell at all of them. Somehow, despite knowing it was wrong, she’d felt guilt over choosing 2D over Murdoc like he’d said back then. Knowing enough English and reading his expression telling her about everything that was happening.

After 2D had come back around and was breathing, she had kissed 2D on the cheek, telling him something in Japanese and hugging him. Turning to Russel to hug his leg quickly, patting his hand affectionately before rushing out the door to her future. She couldn’t stay here anymore and she had to find out who she was. Murdoc wouldn’t come back to the room so 2D would be safe and Russel was always able to take care of himself.

Even when she had been ten on the brink of eleven, she knew that she had to make her own path. So, she’d set out on her journey in Japan to find out her past that she had nightmares about to frequently.

She’d managed to track down an old man in a shop who was supposed to know about the secret government experiments, having been in charge of her own. She’d made her way into the restaurant, reading off the signs to herself in broken English. She figured that he had made them in English for the tourists and paid it no mind while she looked around.

“Ocean bacon?” Noodle had questioned to herself, trying to figure out what that had meant.

She’d felt all the memories flood back at her. When they say ignorance is bliss, they’re correct. That was something she discovered after that, meeting Mr. Kyuzo and clarifying any short questions she had about her past. She’d taken a picture with him when he had asked smiling happily that she knew what was going on now before leaving promptly and thanking him for saving her life all those years ago.

The memories that came back to her when she got back to where she’d been staying were the worst possible images imaginable. She’d taken people’s lives, people who were innocent and didn’t deserve it because of her orders. She would have been killed if she hadn’t when she was a child but it still didn’t serve to comfort her any. The fear and horror amplified only in her dreams, making the experiences more realistic as if she were there again murdering and torturing others for people who she didn’t even know.

When she came back panic attacks, depression, and anxiety spawned from the knowledge of her past and she was no longer the spunky upbeat Noodle of the past. She’d always been wise for her age, an old soul as Russel had called it, but this was different. Those experiences had made her into an adult and everyone in the band seemed to know that, treating her appropriately and discussing things with her like she was.

It was how she wanted it and she wouldn’t let them show affection towards her anymore, she didn’t deserve it and if she had that then Noodle knew without a doubt it would cause her to break down. She didn’t want to talk about it.

Ironically, this brought her even closer to Murdoc. He was an encyclopedia on scarring past experiences and they had bonded over their pain. Growing so close to someone after so long felt nice and despite not wanting to, she got used to having someone to trust and confide in.

He was the only person who understood her. She was pleasant to 2D and Russel but was distant, it was liking living in a house with two close acquaintances or friends who you had faded from but still had lovely memories and a special bond with.

That’s how she lived during that time in her life only extremely close to her father figure Murdoc and no one else, taking on a few of his quirks that were almost unnoticeable.

So he’d been the only one who’d noticed when she was acting squirmish and started to become even more distant. He’d come into her room and asked her when she planned on leaving and she’d looked up at him more curious than angry that he somehow knew about her plans to dissapear mysteriously.

“How did you know?” She had asked and he’d chuckled.

“Bit obvious, isn’t it love? You don’t exactly have your belongings disappear into the damned void for no reason at all. It’s not like that sock in the dryer missing situation, is it? Pretty sure that imbecile 2D’s behind it but I wouldn’t put it past Russel to go an’ pull that trick out of his hat as some sort of backwards revenge. You know they still think it’s my fault that you left before? Bloody unbelievable! You left cause you wanted to, always been like me that way, got to pave your own way and all that sappy shit they say in healing circles or whatever they’re called,” Murdoc said.

“You’re right, I might have left a little later if that hadn’t happened but I needed to find out my past. I’m...still not sure if that was the right decision for me or not,” Noodle said.

“Can’t change the past, don’t let it get to you or you’ll end up like me. Not that I’m not someone you want to be like, superstar, mansion, and to top it off leader of a hit band! You don’t want the nasty habits I’ve picked up, is all” He said and she nodded.

“What’s bothering you, monkey?” He asked, plopping himself down on her bed and leaning back making himself comfortable.

“That nickname is embarrassing, I’m not eight anymore Murdoc,” She’d said, although she hadn’t minded it back then.

“And the fact that my middle name’s Faust is too but I’m stuck with it which means you have to deal with that as well. Now are you going to tell me why you’re leaving or am I going to have to shock it out of you because I left my device at home and I’m not in the mood for torture,” He’d said and when he saw her sour expression he’d stopped himself from going on.

“Didn’t mean it, know that’s a sore subject for you, sometimes I can be a real knob. Go ahead, tell me what’s going on and I promise I won’t go off and say something brilliant that’s actually terrible, yeah?” He said, sitting up.

“I feel like I’m losing my barrier with the band. I’m starting to get close and let my guard down and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of relationship yet,” She said.

“What, the healthy kind? Hate to break the news but running away won’t solve whatever mess is cooking in that smart head of yours,” He’d replied.

“You’re always so understanding Murdoc. Glad I confide in you when it comes to important things,” Noodle had said.

“Look, I’m not going to stop you, just giving a bit of famous Niccals’ advice while I’m here with you,” He’d said and she’d rolled her eyes.

Then he’d told her about his plan that he’d thought of to get rid of Jimmy Manson and she had completely believed him. It was perfect, they’d get rid of an enemy and she wouldn’t have to explain herself to 2D or Russel. She’d get to go away for however long she wanted and be able to return later for another album if she felt like it. There’d be absolutely no pressure and she would time to find herself and figure everything out alone.

The fear, hurt, and betrayal that she’d felt on that tiny island was etched forever in her mind. She was lucky that her parachute had worked. At the very last second she had just barely managed to get away alive before the bombs went off. She still had a permanent scar around her eye to remind her of that event for the rest of her life, she couldn’t forget if she wanted.

It was easy enough to cover up with makeup luckily and while she explored and found solutions to the problems caused by her past, she had kept tabs on the band. Once, calling out for Murdoc’s help, Gorillaz in general, when she’d come out mostly unscathed and scared but that’d been a mistake. She knew that as soon as she saw the replica of herself that he had made, that all the trust she’d placed in him had been a mistake.

Still being hunted by the Black Cloud and other enemies she had made in her time alone, she had gotten in a boat to the coordinates that she had learned Murdoc was at, not sure if what she would do when she arrived there but knowing that something was compelling her to do so and listening to her instincts served her well most of the time.

She’d ended up assisted by Russel but by the time they got to the island chaos ensued and when she woke up, she found herself in a village located in Japan. When she’d been begged by Murdoc through a pathetic snapchat to join back in the band, she had as a last result needing a quick escape from bodyguard’s of a shapeshifter she had angered by assassinating their boss. Of course, they hadn’t known their boss wasn’t unhuman so it was a fairly appropriate response to try to catch and kill her after the act.

She let herself get close to Russel and 2D but only allowed herself sarcastic remarks in Murdoc’s direction when she felt kind. The cyborg’s head next to her desk with flowers in it to make sure that she remembered the horrible things that he’d done and the lies that he had told and would continue to tell.

When the police came for Murdoc, she’d opened the door while he begged for her help since she was the only one there, she’d shrugged and grinned at him, pointing to her eye with her scar.

“An eye for an eye old man, have fun in jail,” She’d told him, while stepping out of the way of the policemen.

She felt nothing when she’d said it and didn’t feel bad for him while he was begging her to bail him out and how he was sorry. Sorry, that was all she ever heard. Empty sorry’s echoing in her head ever single day of her life.

I’m sorry I ate your pancakes. I’m sorry I hit 2D. I’m sorry I wore your skirt. I’m sorry I tried to have you killed. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

His sorry’s meant nothing and would never mean anything unless he changed and he was a creature of habit so he never would.

When Ace came into the band it was finally full of people she trusted, although she didn’t trust Ace all the way she believed him to be better than Murdoc and that was enough. She made friends with him and he was a bit clingy but it was a nice change of pace and she figured that they could both use the affection that he was more than willing to give.

Everything was perfect until someone had messaged her at random and she decided to give them a chance despite the fact that they were obviously only talking to her to try and free Murdoc from prison. They either had no idea what he did or didn’t care but she couldn’t blame them, blind adoration was a nice thing to have and it wasn’t her place to ruin someone’s love for a person even if it was Murdoc.

It didn’t take her too long to realize the secret message that Murdoc had written and with the coordinates that they’d helped her with, it’d been easy to track down where El Mierda was hiding.

She’d told them that she was going to head out and said goodbye. Noodle decided not to leave at first debating everything but then leaving for the sake of 2D, someone who had always been kind to her no matter what. Even when she’d joined in being rude to him with Murdoc and snickered at some of the stuff that he did to the singer when she was extremely close to Murdoc, 2D had been nothing but pleasant to her.

She was sure that if she’d stabbed 2D that he would have apologized for being rude to her before dying from blood loss. The turmoil that Murdoc had caused him and the abuse that he’d done to 2D was suddenly apparent when she’d stopped looking up to Murdoc. Being hurt physically and mentally while still trying his best to be nice to someone so horrendous was something that was more than impressive to her, most people would have left or done anything else but 2D had stayed and never changed his attitude.

She climbed the mountains grinning when she came across a gang of andean cats on her journey. They were beautiful and she followed them part of her way on her journey, making sure to send the person she’d been texting earlier a photo of herself to show that she was more than okay.

When she got there, she didn’t see anyone at the hideout and sighed. Of course Murdoc would send her on a mission with no actual end. He probably hadn’t even known the proper coordinates in the first place, how would he have? He was in jail.

She unblocked his number momentarily to send him a text telling him not to try and get in contact with her again, gritting her teeth when he sent something back about her abandoning him and trying to guilt trip her about leaving him alone because of El Manana.

She blocked his number thinking about how he was better off in jail, going to sleep once she reached a vaguely safe point to set up camp. She’d head back down the mountain the next day.

She made herself food in front of the fire that emanated warmth in the otherwise freezing cold environment, reflecting on the nightmare that she’d had. It was always either El Manana, her time as a soldier, 2D nearly dying, Murdoc, or the time after the events of El Manana and before Plastic Beach.

She wondered if it was bad that she categorized the stages of her life by the albums Gorillaz had made and the time she’d been in the government facility. She didn’t think so, everyone had their own way of telling time and this was her’s. Someone might say during highschool while she would say the time before and a little after Demon Days.

She thought about the nightmare that she’d had and her past while she sat cross legged, eating her food, and staring into the fire.

The time after El Manana was a difficult time in her life when she was forced to deal with all the emotions that she’d been ignoring or pushing away while performing and recording for Demon Days. Her only way of expression playing guitar, dancing, and locking herself away in her room where no one else in the band could see.

The fear and regret were definitely the more intense and horrifying of the emotions she felt when it came to her days when she’d been a government experiment and from the El Manana incident. Those were the worst but the one emotion she was most afraid of from the government experiment stage of her life was the blood lust that she occasionally felt.

It was something that had been ingrained in her, she’d never asked for the terrible feeling and would get rid of in a heartbeat if she could. She dealt with it after Plastic Beach in a more healthy way by tracking and killing off a certain demon who she had released on accident, since he’d been evil and wasn’t supposed to live on Earth in the first place no one could argue that it was the wrong road to take.

The part that she didn’t like to talk about was when she decided to take out the blood lust in an unhealthy way. In her mind, it was fair and she would still argue that she hadn’t done anything too improper generally. The people she had killed were scum of the Earth and though she’d been an assassin for hire, the people she agreed to kill had to be morally terrible people who most of the population would secretly believe they finally got what they deserved.

She was playing God though and it eventually got to her head. In a good way, considering she’d realized that what she was doing wasn’t her place despite fair justification.  The combination of the fact that even monsters have family and have those who care about them, accompanied by her starting falling in love with a girl she met had made her turn over a new leaft since she didn’t want to get her potential love killed by having that as a job. After killing off one last person who was the most vile being that she’d ever been forced to research, she had stopped killing.

It made her think about if she would have killed Murdoc if he’d been suggested for her to assassinate, it would have been an interesting request certainly. He had mentally and physically tormented someone for years and tried to get her killed but that didn’t justify killing him. No, she would have kept tabs on him though to make sure he didn’t hurt any others. You could usually threaten these types of people and they’d manage to get their behaviour in check, nobody wanted to die and they were no exception.

She thought more about it as she climbed down the mountain, if the world would have benefitted from not having Murdoc in it. 2D would be better off, there was no doubt there. Russel could hold his own, Murdoc was cruel and teased him but not past the point of a school bully. He didn’t really affect Ace other than his job position but she knew he’d survive if Murdoc came back, she’d miss Ace’s company though.

What about herself? She was generally selfless except when she had to be selfish for her own wellbeing but then again, was taking care of yourself really seen as being selfish? If it was, she wasn’t sure that being selfish was too bad of a thing, depending on the situation, of course.

Would she be better off without Murdoc? Certainly she’d be less stressed, having someone full of lies who tried to kill her gone from her life would be a much healthier option. It was known by everyone who befriended or met Murdoc that he was toxic. She tried to think of a list of all the bad things that he had done.

He’d started to bully others when he’d realized that was a way to get ahead in life. He’d legally blinded 2D, who could see but terribly as Noodle had once found him talking to a tiny decorative palm tree in the lobby of the dentist. He’d put a teenager into a coma and while he was in that state, Murdoc had bullied him within an inch of his life. He’d given 2D permanent brain damage. Bullied Russel up to the point where he was about to snap. He’d nearly killed 2D when he’d choked him and if Russel hadn’t interfered, 2D would be dead right now.

He’d tried to kill her, leaving a permanent scar and a haunting memory she couldn’t seem to ever forget. He’d replaced her with a cyborg of herself as a teenager. He’d tortured 2D with something he had a serious phobia of while trapping him in a small room with little entertainment, only letting him out when he needed 2D to sing on the album. He’d also fed 2D only scraps of whatever food Murdoc ate himself and only occasionally remembered to give him water, refusing to take 2D to a doctor whenever he got sick.

It was a pretty impressive list of incriminating things that Murdoc had done over the years. If anyone else had done these things they would have paid for it dearly yet Murdoc had gotten off without punishment until now where he was in jail.

If he came back, when he came back, there was no telling what he would do. Sure he hadn’t done anything too disastrous yet except for send her on this wild goose chase with no worries about her own safety but he would never change, he’d had 52 years to try and improve on who he was and hadn’t so much as tried to be a better person than who he was.

She’d stayed in a hotel when she came back home, not sure she wanted to return home yet. She was on a dangerous path of thinking but it was also a logical and justified idea. There was no way of guaranteeing that Murdoc would stay in jail and where he was stuck at, he was only suffering. She supposed that was karma but she didn’t like seeing anyone, even Murdoc, having to deal with ill treatment of that proportion.

She’d been leaning against the backboard of the bed, strumming notes on the guitar that she’d brought with her when she received another text. She’d sighed, not really feeling up to talking to anyone even if the fan of the band was generally kind. She was a little thrown off when she saw the text was from an unknown number and hoped that whoever it was that had been talking to Murdoc hadn’t give her number away to the public or any of their friends.

She read over the text that was simply, “He’s trying to escape.” She decided to text back, taking another risk. 2D and the others would understand if she had to disappear from the world again, after all she was a free spirit and had a few people who would gladly kill her without a second thought.

“Who is this?” She replied, not adding an emoji since the message she had received was quite cryptic and probably not from anyone she should be friendly with.

They replied back with simply, “Like I said, a friend. Thought you’d be interested in Murdoc’s actions.”

“What’s his escape plan?” She sent, even if the information they texted her in response was false, she could always do her own research and find that out.

“Sewer system. I can give him a fake map so he can’t escape if you want.” They texted.

“Ok.” She responded.

“He’ll die.” The next text answered.

She thought about it. This was probably a bluff, a good one but a bluff nonetheless but if it was real. She wasn’t sure she wanted Murdoc out of jail and if he had to die to protect her real family, who had never betrayed her and didn’t deserve to be tortured by Murdoc any longer, then maybe that was for the best. She could deal with the guilt of his death on her hands for them to be happy and safe, she decided.

“Make sure no one is hurt, ok? Only Murdoc.”

She sent back and didn’t get a response which made her nervous but it was too late now. Either Murdoc would be dead or he would live out the rest of his life in jail, soon she would find out which one. For now, she would stay at the hotel here for a little bit longer and explore her surroundings. She didn’t feel like visiting home until she knew for sure what was going to happen. She needed an alibi if something bad did occur and she’d gotten good at disguising her looks so that she couldn’t be recognized by anyone.

She missed the buzz of the house and the band though. Ace obnoxiously changing the channel without even seeing what was playing, driving Russel nuts while 2D scribbled away in his journal with his tongue poked out of his mouth. She brang the phone with her, thinking up how to destroy it best. Whether or not Murdoc would be dead in future, she still didn’t want random strangers to have access to her number and wasn’t fond of the habit of carrying around useless hardware around with her.

[amarauder]

0.7 madame pamplemousse and her incredible edibles

sincerely, the blue and silver gryffindor

princess of magic book

draco malfoy x reader

The next morning Lard woke after a troubled sleep. He had been having nightmares about Monsieur Langoustine with long pinchers instead of arms, interrogating him in a cave beneath the sea. At one terrible moment  Langoustine had removed his dark glasses to reveal... but he had woken up.

Afterwards Lard was more than usually sweaty, so he lathered his armpits in powerfully scented soap and coated himself in aftershave. Then he put on one of his finest min-green-and-pink-striped suits and oiled his mustache. Monsieur Lard has a plan.

It was so beautifully simple. He kicked himself for not have thought of it before. When he had been in the shop, Madame Pamplemousse had been alone. She had the wretched cat, of course, but no assistant. Clearly she was too poor to afford one. So how could she refuse a sweet, charming girl with a dear smile who would work for free? In other words, he would volunteer Y/N for the job. Then, once inside, she could become the spy.

When he had finished oiling his mustache, Lard crashed into Y/N's bedroom, singing, "What a beautiful morning!" at the top of his voice and tap dancing so that the floor shook. Then he yanked her out of bed and told her to start practicing her smile. He also made her put on a ridiculous pink fairy outfit with silver wings.

"You don't fool me," he said over breakfast. This consisted of a large fatty piece of bacon that had been boiled until it was grey. "It's always the quiet ones. You might look nice and polite on the outside, but I know you're really a little sneak underneath!"

He chuckled in a way that instantly gave her stomach ache. This was before she had even attempted the bacon, which was very gristly and difficult to cut into.

"But I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself, a chance to put your sneaky little ways to good use!"

He bought his shiny, sweaty face up close. "You're going back to that shop and you're going to work for that woman as her assistant. And you'd better so as she says because she's not a big softy like me; one foot wrong and she'll chop you up for sausage meat!"

Y/N remembered the eerie darkness of the shop and the mysterious woman in black appearing out of nowhere. The awful thing was, her uncle was right: she did feel like a sneak, because he was serving food from this woman's shop and passing it off as his own. And it was all Y/N's fault; she had been the one who started it. Goodness knows what the woman would do to her if she found out.

"I want you to keep your eyes open. There's one special delicacy. One with no name, no ingredients on the label. I want you to find out how she makes it, what goes into it, right down to the last pinch of salt, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Uncle," she said very faintly.

"Good girl!" He gave her an affectionate pinch on the cheek. "And don't forget to smile!"

Monsieur Lard kept a tight grip on his niece's hand as he dragged her along the riverbank. Passer-by, seeing a big man holding hands with a small girl in a fairy costume, smiled at such a heart-warming sight. Eventually they turned down the winding little alley that led into the narrow cobbled street. And there was the shop.

They found the door was open and went inside. It took a while for them to adjust to the candlelight, but the shop appeared to be empty. Monsieur Lard rang the bell on the counter, but it was silent, so he rang it again several times.

"I trust last night went well, Monsieur?"

The voice came out of the darkness, making Lard cry out in shock. But the next moment there was the woman, standing right in front of him.

"Madame!" he sang in his oiliest voice. "How nice to see you again and, if I may say, how well you look. But last night! Such a delightful evening; my mother simply adored your little recipe."

"I'm so glad she enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it? She scoffed the lot! But you asked me to pay you whatever I deemed it worth. So may I present this girl."

Madame Pamplemousse stared at Y/N. "This is your payment, Monsieur?"

"Why yes, Madame. This is my niece, Y/N."

"I'm not sure I understand. Are you proposing I cook her as a rare delicacy?"

At this Y/N's blood ran cold, but her Uncle roared with laughter. "If you so wish, Madame. I had in mind a little helper. She can cook, she can clean, she can make your shop look brand-new."

"As you may have noticed, Monsieur," said Madame Pamplemousse, "My shop has never looked 'brand-new', nor do I think it ever will."

"Come, come, let's be frank," said Lard. "You are not a rich lady; you can afford no staff. Just think how useful she could be. After all, we know what a menace rats can be in this district."

"We have no problem with rats," she said and, from a dark corner, Camembert burped loudly and licked his whiskers.

Lard's bull-like neck flexed itself horribly. He had to suppress a powerful urge to smash the whole place to pieces. But instead, he smiled. "It may interest you to know I have recently made friends with many powerful people in television and the government." His smile became greasier. "They tell me how easily a shop like yours may be closed on the slightest suspicion of poor hygiene."

To this Madame Pamplemousse did not reply. Y/N could be sure but sensed that she was turning something over in her mind-that she was making some kind of decision. Then, with an awful feeling like someone squeezing a lemon inside her stomach, she realized Madame Pamplemousse was staring at her again. Y/N steeled herself and, cautiously stared back.

Madame Pamplemousse had the strangest eyes she had ever seen. They were a very deep purpley blue, the color of wild lavender. By no means were they unpleasant eyes, nor were they unkind, but they weren't exactly kind either. Then, miraculously, she smiled. "Very well, Monsieur," she said. "Since you make me such a charming offer, I accept. She may indeed prove useful."

Monsieur Lard beamed with satisfaction. "An excellent decision, Madame. She won't let you down, will you, Y/N?"

"Of course not, Uncle," said Y/N.

"Any monkey business, you come straight to me." Lard punched his hand for emphasis. "I'll soon sort her out."

"Thank you, Monsieur, that won't be necessary," said Madame Pamplemousse curtly.

"You don't believe me, Madame?" Lard moved closer until his hulking body towered above her. "I may look like a gentle man but I've still got one or two tricks up my sleeve."

From high above Lard's head there was a tiny sound, such as of a stopper or cork being released from a bottle. A moment later, Lard felt drops of moisture spotting on his head.

"Arghh!" he cried. "Even your confounded roof is leaking!"

"Alas no, Monsieur," said Madame Pamplemousse. "It is not my roof that is leaking, but for some mysterious reason a bottle has upturned itself on the highest shelf and is dripping on to your head. Unfortunately, it is a bottle containing concentrated oil from the Green Demon Pimento: a small but extraordinarily powerful chilli that used to grow in ancient Peru and was once worshipped as a god by the Incas. It is so powerful that one single drop is stronger than the hottest curry in the world. I regret to inform you, Monsieur, that several drops appear to have landed on your head."

But before she had finished, Lard's nostrils had already started to stream; his eyes went a bright green color and he ran straight for the door, bellowing loudly like a bull. Then, as mysteriously as it had begun, the dripping stopped and, staring up, Y/N thought she saw the darting shape of a long white body slipping behind the bottles on the highest shelf. Then all went silent, and looking down again, Y/N realized she was alone.

master masterlist

sincerely, the blue and silver gryffindor

[browniefox]

What’s Better Than One Dog? TWO!

Werewolf Au part four!

LA’s a popular place, there’s gotta be more werewolves in the area. 

@trulymightypotato tis short, but i think you may like :D

Stand by for more youtubers to probably come ;)

oOo

The night was warm, as nights usually were in LA, and Tyler sipped his coffe, desperately trying to stay awake. Mark, shifted to a werewolf, frollicked in the empty streets gleefully, bounding around to every new smell or sight. He was off the leash tonight since Tyler wasn’t really in the mood to be dragged around and he trusted Mark - for the most part - not to get into too much trouble.

There was quite a distance between the two of them when mark stopped, ears perked, before whipping around with his body now low to the ground. He barked twice - a whine sound to it that Tyler recognized as meaning something bad was coming. Before Mark had reached Tyler, something barreled into the werewolf. Both went skidding across the road. Tyler cautiously approahed.

Mark was pinned to the ground by an even bigger wolf. Though obviously not anything too monsterous, the werewolf was clearly a different ‘breed’ then Mark, just barely not wolfish enough to make one terribly uneasy while looking at it. Mark tried to bite and scratch and worm his way out from beneath the other’s paws but his efforts stilled when teeth pressed up against his neck.

“Hey!”

Tyler shouted, approaching faster now. His attempt to get the werewolf’s attention worked for only a moments as he lifted his head for only a moment - just long enough to give a bark not unlike the one of warning Mark had given moments before and then returned to his position, jaw posed threateningly over Mark’s throat.

“Back off!” Tyler shouted again, and this time he pulled out his knife, the metal clear in the monlight. The wolf looked up again, cocking his head to the side, and stepped off of Mark. Mark flipped back to his feet and immediately got between Tyler and the other, hackles raised and growling.

The other werewolf simply blinked at Tyler and Mark and then ran off, disappearing as quickly as he’d come.

“... I think we should head home for the night.”

Mark was a bit on edge the rest of the night, practically sittting on Tyler. It took a while to cajole him back into the bathroom and to stop watching the windows and doors. Once the wolf was secured where he couldn’t make too much of a mess while shifting back into the man he was, Tyler proceeded to, finally, get at least a bit of sleep.

Mark woke up before him, and Tyler was awoken to bacon and eggs and toast.

“That was… really weird last night.” Mark sat down across from Tyler, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he pulled on the fuzzy wolf memories from last night.

“Yeah.” Tyler agreed. They’d run into other werewolves before, more often than one would think in fact, but usually they were either very friendly or very dangerous and wouldn’t leave without a fight.

“And his eyes, ugh, they were so bright,” Mark pressed the palms of his hands into his own eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a werewolf with such weird eyes before.”

“Weird eyes?” Werewolves did usually have odd eyes - vibrant, almost glowing, sometimes colored differently than the human counterpart.

“Yeah, they were-” Mark stopped mid sentence, suddenly sitting up straight and staring in the direction of the front door. His nose twitched and his head was tilted a bit, listening. “Oh. He’s here.”

On cue the doorbell rang and Chica ran down to the front door. Both men got up and followed the dog.

Tyler wasn’t sure what kind of man he’d thought the werewolf would be in the day time, and while surprising, oddly enough it seemed to fit.

“Gar?”

He smiled at Tyler, eyes darting behind him to Mark.

“Hey. I had no idea Mark was a werewolf.”

Needless to say, they invited Gar in.

“So, technically I should’ve reported Mark in but honestly? I just didn’t want to.” Gar sighed, drinking some water. His other hand was at his side, scratching the curious Chica affectionately. “How long since you got bit?”

“It’s okay, Gar,” Tyler pulled out his wallet and slid the challenge coin out, passing it over to the youtuber, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh!” Gar held up the coin, admiring the engravings and various runes on it. “You’re a Retriever.”

“Not actively Retrieving, never really actively Retrieved, but yeah.” Tyler shrugged. “What about you? When were you bit?”

“Never.” Gar shook his head with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “I’m purebred.”

“Hey, why’d you attack me last night?” Mark didn’t really sound upset, just actually curious.

“I work with the Retriever’s during the full moon, catching any myth that seems like it may be causing problems. When I saw you running towards Tyler, I figured you were gonna attack him. What can I say, I don’t enjoy sitting by and watching my friends being eaten.”

“That’s fair.” Mark nodded, passing over some of the raw bacon form his plate. “Any tricks and tips to being a monster of the moon?”

“Loads.” Gar smirked.

They talked for hours.

oOo

*Random Little Facts About Purebred Werewolves*

They have pointer ears than humans and sharper teeth

Their wolf instincts do not fade with the moon

Their eyes flash their werewolf color during certain emotions

Retain the most humanity of any breed of werewolf when shifted

Wolf eyes are usually odder colors

[atamascolily]

Book Review: “Rider at the Gate,” by C.J. Cherryh

So I would like to give a shout-out to one of my favorite books, Rider at the Gate by C.J. Cherryh, and its sequel, Cloud’s Rider. I’ve never met anyone else who has read this series, which is a shame because it is awesome. 

Okay. So lots of books have telepathic animals that can communicate with humans, right? Friendly, happy, affectionate animals. Rider at the Gate takes the idea of telepathy and imagines an entire planetary ecosystem based around it. So different animal species use telepathy for various things, with varying degrees of sophistication: to attract mates, to make themselves look bigger than they really are, or to make you think they’re not there so you won’t eat them or so they can eat you. This is brilliant, and I’ve never seen any other books with this premise - and if there are, I need to read them ASAP. 

Needless to say, when human colonists show up on this planet full of telepathic animals projecting images into their minds so they can scare/confuse/eat them, they are toast. 

Happily for humanity, though, one of the apex predator species - nighthorses - are curious enough to investigate, and decide they like how human minds “feel” enough to bond with individual humans and keep the other telepathic animals away. So humanity can actually colonize the planet, as long as they have “riders” ringing their towns, protecting their poor defenseless livestock, and guarding their convoys between towns. Most unbonded humans are really freaked out by telepathy, and their attitudes towards riders range from grudging respect to the more fundamentalist “riders are devilspawn, stay away” (which amounts to an entire religion, actually). 

Add this to the fact that the planet is basically Alaska - short but intense growing season; long severe winters; lots of forests and mining resources - and electricity and tech are either unreliable or summon giant telepathic man-eating bears, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a setting. Basically, everything on this planet is trying to kill humanity, life is a grim frontier setting, and despite some good people trying to do the right things (particularly in book two) it’s hella dark. Frankly, I read this book as a masterpiece of world building, because most of the details are subtle and in the background rather than explained all at once in a big prologue. 

The nighthorses have their own personalities and agendas, that don’t always coincide with the human ones. You can ride them, but they get tired easily, so mostly you walk, and they don’t plan/think in the future super-well without a human mind to steady them. Also, they look kinda like horses, but they’re predators - they kill fish and small mammals easily, and they love bacon.  We all love the idea of bonding with an intelligent nonhuman animal, but we always expect it to be like the Companions in the Valdemar books (who are actually reincarnated people in horse bodies, not actual horses). This is what it actually would be like: occasionally awesome and convenient, but sometimes so damn frustrating.

Also, Cherryh writes telepathy really well. It’s confusing until you get used to it - it took me several read-throughs to really process how everything fits together, like an intricate puzzle-box. Part of the problem is that telepathy lends itself to rumor-mongering like you wouldn’t believe, and so it’s challening at first to figure out what’s actually happening versus what characters are imagining or are afraid of happening. I’ve never seen any other writer use that mix of images and words for telepathy, or set up her sentences so that she can write a descriptive sentence and the reader knows exactly what’s meant to be telepathic images and what’s not. 

Another thing I love about this book is that there are no real villains. I can’t really say much more without HUGE SPOILERS and y'all should just go and read these books for yourselves, but there’s no one in these books who I would consider to be evil in the usual literary dualistic sense. Stupid, selfish, short-sighted, confused, lying to save their skins, deluded, worried about what other people think, etc, etc, but never evil in the sense of Voldemort or Sauron. It’s a very realistic-feeling human kind of evil, the sort you can identify with on some level.

Terrible things happen, but even the primary antagonist (who is probably an undiagnosed sociopath and/or affected by their parents’ abuse, and definitely kills a lot of people in horrific ways because they’re mad about petty things) believes themselves to be a good person and that life just isn’t treating them fairly. For them, it’s an opportunity to enact their childish fantasies of power and privilege, and it’s a game without real consequences. What they really want is so relatable on some level that it’s hard (for me, anyway) to unequivocally hate them, even though the means they choose to enact those desires are awful. Ironically, this very refusal to believe that this person is problematic - because they look so harmless and they don’t match the other characters’ idea of evil - ends up causing the bulk of the problems in the two books, even after they should know better. 

It’s rare for me to find any genre fiction that is this psychologically, physically and ecologically real, or any “realistic” fiction with such an interesting premise and characters. I wish Cherryh had written more books in this universe, but I’m happy that this pair exists.

[spnroundrobin]

Masterpost: Round Three - Ship Round

Prompt: Newly human Cas has been staying at the bunker and helping the boys with research while they are away on hunts but has been feeling lonely being in the bunker by himself. During one of the lulls between hunts, he broaches the subject of getting a pet. Dean isn’t very excited about the idea. (established Destiel)

(Remember: This is the ship round so ship to your heart’s content. We’d like to keep this Teen rated so no sexual acts on screen. Innuendo is allowed. Sam is in the bunker so he can be included but side characters will have to be over the phone or on Skype.)

Schedule and Posting Instructions

(As submissions are made, they will be posted here by the mods.)

#1 @deadlykittenkay - Submission: 1

Cas was sitting at the table with books spread out before him and Dean’s laptop. He had decided to take a break from his research on how to get Mary back from the other universe. He always enjoyed watching videos online the featured little kitties and puppies playing. Sometimes Sam would try to find one that he hadn’t seen yet and send it to his phone while he and Dean were hunting.

Cas muted the current video of a cat pretending to be the famous Pokemon character when he thought he heard the bunker door open. After several beats of silence, Cas let out a heavy sigh. The bunker was such a lonely place without another living presence there, whether it be the Winchesters or Jody and Claire. Cas needed a companion, especially if Dean continued to be the over protective boyfriend, insisting that Cas stay behind on the bigger jobs.

#2 @zolaliz - Submission: 1

Of course, Dean would never agree to a pet.

“Who’ll feed it when we’re away, knee deep in some world-ending shitfest? No one. And then it’ll stink up the bunker.”

Cas scowled, recalling the conversation. As much as he hated to admit, Dean did have a point.

He mentally ruled out cats and dogs, glancing longingly at the muted laptop screen. Most mammals would need the same amount of care. Cas had learned over the past few weeks that humans were included in that category of high-maintenance, as he struggled with remembering to eat and sleep. This only added fuel to Dean’s runner-up argument against getting Cas a companion.

“You gotta start taking care of yourself before you go off trying to take care of something else, Cas,” Dean would say, in that highly hypocritical way of his (though Cas highly doubted that was intentional). But Cas reasoned he could work around that argument once he found a way to make Dean’s first one void.

He clicked open a new tab, and tapped “pets that don’t need to eat” into the search bar. Unsurprisingly, it heeded no helpful results.

“Maybe I’ll try to refine the search,” he mumbled, and bounced his fingers over the keys again.

#3 @ravenscat-tumbler - Submission: 1

Cas spent hours trying to find the perfect pet that would be low maintenance but that would still keep him company. He finally decides on a hamster. He knew that it would be easy to care for and not very costly. The little guy would also keep him company when Dean and Sam were away for cases.

The only thing now was to convince Dean to let him get one. He knew that Sam would be open to the idea and he also knew that Sam would help him convince Dean. So, he just had to bring up the idea with Sam first.

Perfect, now all he had to do was wait for the brothers to come home, hopefully safe and in one piece. He sits back and stretches on his chair. He does some more research and finds some useful things to help the brothers speed up their hunt. He picks up the phone and before he can dial he gets an incoming call from Dean.

He answers with a smile.“Hello, baby. I was just about to call you.” Cas answers.

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 1

“I just wanted to let you know that Sam and me are on our way back,” Dean said. Castiel could hear the rumble of the Impala in the background as Dean paused. “You sound like you’re in a good mood, any particular reason why?”

Cas scowled; was he really that transparent? He was going to have to seriously up his game if his plan to bring Dean around on the pet front but he knew it was going to have to be extra devious. His eyes widened and he smiled as an idea occurred to him.

“Nothing really but I was going to ask if you were going to be home tonight?” Cas replied smoothly, standing up to wander into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and started taking inventory.

Dean hummed in the affirmative. “Yep, we’re only about an hour out now. I was going to ask if what you wanted for dinner, we’ll stop somewhere on our way in.”

Smiling, Cas pulled his chosen items from the fridge. “Actually, since you’re almost home, I was thinking I could make something,” he said, grinning to himself. “I need something to do anyway and you guys are probably sick of take out.”

“That sounds really freaking good,” Dean sighed happily. “We’ll see you in a bit, babe.” This was followed by a quieter, “love you.”

“Love you too,” Cas said, smiling and shaking his head. All this time and Dean was still shy about saying that when Sam was nearby. It didn’t bother him since he knew it was just a fear of brotherly teasing, not that Dean was ashamed of them. “See you soon.”

After Dean hung up, Cas sat his phone down and looked at the pile of ingredients in front of him before glancing at the clock. He calculated carefully and smiled as he started peeling potatoes.

An hour was plenty of time.

Almost exactly an hour later as Cas was putting the finishing touches on the food, a familiar metallic clang echoed through the bunker and signaled the boys return. He worked quickly to clean up and wash his hands, hurrying out to the main area to see Dean and Sam’ booted feet clomping down the staircase.

“Oh my god, what smells so good?” Dean groaned as he walked over to drop his bag on the map table. He smiled brightly and pulled Cas into a tight hug, giving him a quick peck on the lips at the same time.

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. “Hey, Cas,” he said as he walked by to place his armful of books on the table. “I’m gonna go clean up before I eat. Don’t let Dean eat it all. He’s been whining for the last half hour about how hungry he is.”

Stepping back from Dean but not dropping his hand, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll make sure to save you some.”

“Speaking of food,” Dean interjected not so smoothly as Sam disappeared down the hall to his room. He draped himself over Cas’ back and wrapped his arms around his waist. “What are we having?”

“I may have made homemade bacon cheeseburgers and fresh cut french fries,” Cas said innocently; happy that Dean couldn’t see the smug smirk on his face.

Dean squeezed him into a quick hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Mmmm…my favorite…”

Exactly, Cas thought, internally preening as everything fell into place as he planned as he and Dean trooped to the kitchen. And just wait until you see the peanut butter pie.

#1 @Deadlykittykay Submission: 2

As expected, Dean showed his appreciation for the burgers with gusto. He would moan appreciatively with each bite, his cheeks filling like that of a chipmunk, or better yet, much like the hamsters videos Cas had seen on YouTube. Castiel couldn’t help but smile at Dean fondly every time he did this. Even Sam was enjoying his meal, despite his brother’s unseemly manners.

Cas had missed the brother’s terribly and watching them bicker and interact with each other, even throwing stray fries at one another, filled Cas’ chest with warmth. Between this, the feel of Dean’s knee knee against his own, and listening to Sam retell the story of the latest hunt, Cas nearly forgot about his mission behind tonight’s dinner.

“So,” Sam started, pushing his plate away and smiling at Cas. “What were you up to while we were gone?”

Cas just shrugged, glancing at Dean before redirecting his attention to Sam. “The usual. I’m still trying to find some lore about alternate universes. It’s a bit trickier than I had imagined.”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean nudged his knee with his own, giving him a found smile. “Don’t tell me you were a nerd the whole time.”

Cas rolled his eyes and reached for the brother’s empty plates. “No, Dean. I did more than research. I watched Netflix and YouTube videos. Pie?” he asked quickly, internally kicking himself when Dean groaned at the mention of the videos

#2 Submission: 2

Skipped

#3 @ravenscat-tumbler - Submission: 2

“Pie?” Dean’s face lights up at the mention of pie. “You made pie too? God, you’re perfect.” He says and then immediately blushes.

Sam snorts into his cup as he tires and fails miserably to hide his laugh. Dean glares at him and rubs the back of his head in embarrassment.

“I’ll go get that pie now.” Cas says.

Dean nods not meeting anyone’s eye.

“I’m gonna go put these plates in the kitchen.” Sam says, grabbing the dishes off the table and heading after Cas.

“Hello, Sam. Do you have a minute?” Cas asks as Sam walks into the kitchen.

“Yeah man, what’s up?” He asks, putting the dishes in the sink and leaning back against the counter. He looks at Cas and waits patiently.

Cas takes a breath, “I would like to get a hamster.” He says in one go.

“A hamster?” Sam tilts his head.

“A hamster.” Cas repeats again. “I need someone to keep me company when you two leave to go on long hunts.”

“Uhm, Ohhkay. So what’s the big issue?” Sam says, scratching the back of his head.

“And I need your help to convince Dean.”

Sam groans, “Dammit, that’s gonna be hard but alright, I’ll help you.”

Cas smiles warmly at Sam.

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 2

A quick and rough plan was quickly established and it all started with an extra large slice of peanut butter pie and Netflix.

“Wow, that was so freaking good,” Dean groaned, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach before letting out a contented belch that had Sam scrunching his nose. Cas picked stood up and collected their plates. Dean tugged him down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, a sure sign that he was in an extra happy mood. That would make the next stage of the plan easier.

Sam pushed back from the table and stood up. “I think I’m going to get into some sweats and watch some Netflix, you guys in?”

Dean replied in the affirmative and, while Cas quickly washed up the dishes, he and Sam went to change since Cas was already comfortably dressed. Fifteen minutes later, Cas and Dean were on the sofa in the room that had become the unofficial den after they’d picked up a couch at a second hand store. Sam was booting up Netflix from his armchair.

They settled on a light comedy show since Sam and Dean weren’t really interested in anything heavy after being out on a hunt. Cas curled up next to Dean and rested his head on his shoulder but he wasn’t really watching the show. He was waiting for his opportunity.

Three episodes in he enacted phase two.

Over the course of the next episode, Cas slowly and carefully situated himself so that his head was pillowed in Dean’s lap, one hand resting on his knees. According to plan, Dean began absentmindedly running his fingers through Cas’ hair while he continued to watch and Cas pretended to fall asleep.

“You know, I kinda feel bad for him,” Cas heard Sam say after about twenty minutes of ‘sleeping’. “Cas seems like he’s been sort of lonely while we’re gone.”

Dean grunted. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, he just mentioned how nice it was to have people moving around in the bunker again,” Sam said, his voice appropriately casual. Dean continued to toy with Cas’ hair, a sign that he was still relaxed. “I have to admit, it does get boring here when you’re by yourself.”

“I mean, we could probably take him on a few extra hunts,” Dean said though he sounded extremely reluctant, “but it’s really been working out for us to have someone here at home base.”

Cas heard Sam shifting in his seat. “Oh, yeah, I agree,” Sam replied before letting the conversation pause for a little bit. Cas had to work really hard to keep his body relaxed. “I don’t think it would hurt to have a pet around here though.”

The hand in Cas’ hair froze.

Dean sighed heavily and Cas’ stomach twisted in anticipation. “Sam,” he said heavily, his hand starting to move again, “you know my stance on pets, man. Cats hate people and dogs are just too high maintenance for a bunch of dudes who routinely get stuck on the road for weeks at a time. It’s not like we can call up the neighbors and ask them to pet sit.”

Cas felt his stomach start to sink. Dean wasn’t going to go for it; having Sam talk to Dean first wasn’t going to help his case. He had just decided to ‘wake up’ and forget the whole thing when Sam spoke up.

“But what if it wasn’t a cat or a dog?”

#1 @deadlykittenkay - Submission: 3

“Then what, Sammy?” Dean asked his voice sounding much more tired than Cas had ever heard come from the hunter. “A fish? So that way we can come home to it bloated and floating upside down? Think of how he reacted when you accidentally killed the bee last year. How do you think he’s going to react to a fish dying. Not just any fish but his fish.”

Sam sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms onto his thighs. “Not a fish, Dean.”

“Well I’d rather go to Hell again than have a snake or glorified spider in the bunker.”

“What about a hamster?” Sam tried.

Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I don’t know, Sammy. They’re rodents.”

Sam’s eyes connected with Cas’ from across the room. Cas opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he saw the flick of Sam’s hand, motioning for him not to say anything.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, a tone that Dean knew as the one Sam uses when he pulls his lawyer card on someone. “You love Cas, right?”

#2 @zolaliz - Submission: 3

Skip

#3 @ravenscat-tumbler - Submission: 3

“Of course I do!” Dean says a little too loudly. He bites his lip and looks down at Castiel, who stirs in protest.

Castiel keeps calm and tries not to open his eyes.

“Of course I do.” Dean says again, a little quieter this time.

“Then don’t you want him to be happy?” Sam asks.

“I do,” Dean says, looking down and carding his hand through Cas’ hair. “but I don’t see how a stupid hamster is going to do that.” He grumbles out.

“It will Dean, trust me. It will.” Sam says. “It gets pretty lonely here when you are alone.”

Dean sighs softly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I know.” Sam says smugly.

Castiel opens his eyes and looks in Sam’s.

Sam smirks down at him and Castiel mouths ‘Thank you’ at him.

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 3

When he’d “woken up” from his nap, Dean hadn’t said anything at first much to Cas’ disappointment. Maybe Dean had taken the time to think and decided that he’d changed his mind. It actually hadn’t been until they were getting ready for bed that Dean had haltingly admitted that he had been wrong and that it wouldn’t be a horrible idea for Cas to have a pet.

“So I guess, if you wanted, we could go to the pet store tomorrow and you know, look for some sort of critter…but only one.”

Cas tried extremely hard to receive Dean’s acquiescence towards getting a pet with grace and dignity and felt he succeeded…barely. Instead of jumping up and cheering at finally achieving his goal, he beamed and leaned in to kiss Dean silly before moving on to other ways to show his gratitude.

It would be well into the later part of the morning before they left their room for breakfast the next day.

After breakfast, which definitely seemed to take longer than normal to Cas, they left the bunker to head into town. Cas had the directions to the pet store pulled up on his phone; he’d spent days upon days while he’d been on his own researching the best places to find pets and had bookmarked marked them.

“Turn up here,” he said, pointing to the last turn that should take them to Pet-topia. Excitement had him practically vibrating in his seat as Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot and maneuvered into one of the store’s parking spaces.

Dean looked vaguely grumpy as they got out of the car but Cas suspected that he was just trying to pretend to be upset that he’d caved to save face or other such nonsense. He trailed behind Cas as they entered the store.

There was a bored looking teenager standing at the register when they entered who sighed heavily and didn’t straighten from his slouched position over his phone when he asked in a flat voice, “welcome to Pet-topia, is there anything I can help you with today?”

“No, thank you,” Cas said, noting the teenager went happily back to his phone.

Keeping his and Dean’s discussion in mind, he forced himself to pass the rabbits and other larger animals despite the fact of how much he wished they were an option and walked on until they found themselves in front of the hamster display.

Looking down into the massive cage, he saw oodles of small balls of fluff; some of them scurrying around on the wood shaving covered cage floor or on the wheels while other’s nibbled at the food and water or laid sedately in their chosen spots. Cas looked down at the hamsters, his heart sinking ever so slightly.

How was he supposed to pick just one?

#1 @deadlyangelkay - Submission: 4

Dean could tell from the slightly panicked look in Castiel’s eyes and the frown etching it’s ways at the corner of his mouth, that he was over whelmed. Hell, Dean wasn’t even the one picking the damn rodent and he felt over whelmed.

Dean’s heart broke when he heard Cas mutter that he should just get a fish. He hated hearing the defeated tone in his love’s voice and was determined to make this easier.

Dean draped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him closer and placing a kiss to his temple.

“How about this?” Dean suggested. “You spend some time with these little guys, see which one grabs your attention and I’ll go look at the cages and crap for his new home.”

Castiel gave Dean a small smile and nodded. “That is agreeable.”

“Awesome. Text me when you’ve found the one.” He gives Castiel another kiss, to the forehead this time and smiles at him before heading off to cages.

Dean had no idea that there were so many options for a hamster to call home. As if picking the perfect one was hard, Dean could only imagine how Castiel would feel about selecting a cage. Dean selected a colorful plastic monstrosity that had a Ferris wheel looking thing attached to it.

Of course, Dean turned down the wrong aisle and was accosted by the site of adorable balls of fluff. He would never admit it, but he had a soft spot for rabbits. The little balls of fluff with floppy ears and twitchy noses made Dean give pause every time. And this time was no different than any other time. Especially when one of the dwarf rabbits happened to be interested in his movements. Dean would be a bold face liar if he said that the damned ball of fluff hadn’t already set it’s hooks into him. And how could it not? It’s black fur contrasting with the bright blue eyes. Dean was so captivated by it that he hadn’t even noticed he had company.

“I thought you said no rabbits,” Castiel’s voice was soft and teasing.

#writer 2 drop

#3 @ravenscat-tumbler - Submission: 4

“I did not say that…” Dean starts, “And I’m not saying that now either.” He finishes. Castiel just smirks at him, eyes glinting.“Don’t give me that look.” He says, turning back to looks at the dwarf rabbit. “We can get the rabbit if you want to Dean.” Castiel says. He stands slightly behind Dean and places his hand on his lower back, looking at the rabbit with him. “He is a cute little fella, isn’t he?” Dean ask. “That he is.” “Alright, let’s get em.” Dean says, making up his mind. Castiel smiles warmly at Dean and then goes to talk to the person at the counter.The lady helps them pick out the necessary items they need to take the rabbit home. They leave the place with loads of bags and a lot less money than they came with. They come home and Sam is instantly taken to the little guy.“Hey, his features look like Cas’.” Sam says with the bunny on his lap. He scratches behind his ear and the rabbit wiggles his nose in content. Castiel smiles mischievously looking towards Dean, who had adverted his gaze and was pretending to read the bag of the food.“Is that why you wanted to get him, Dean?” “What?” Dean asks, looking up and pretending to hear them for the first time. “Did you want to get the rabbit because it had similar features to me?” “What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.” Dean says. “Anyways… what do we name the little guy?” He asks changing the topic.

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 4

The debate on what to name their, and Cas maintained that this pet belonged to all of them now after seeing Sam and Dean’s faces, rabbit raged on for the rest of the day until a decision was made just after dinner.

And so the rabbit was dubbed Bruce in honor of the Hulk and so that he had a “manly” name.

(Though Cas suspected Dean only agreed to the name so he could go around saying “Hello..my name is Bruce…” in an entirely inaccurate Australian accent despite his previous insistence that Finding Nemo had been boring.)

Originally when they’d been hammering out the details on where the hamster they’d been planning to get would reside, Dean had been adamant that “the critter” would be staying in the room next door to his and Cas’ room. He’d argued that he didn’t need a rodent in his living space. So Cas was surprised when Dean picked up the rabbit cage they’d purchased and carried it past the room they’d prepared only to enter their bedroom.

As much as Cas wanted to ask why their new pet was suddenly allowed to be in their room, he refrained. Today had been a big day for Dean what with agreeing to not only having a pet but changing that pet to a slightly bigger animal so he didn’t want to risk pushing his buttons too much. He cuddled Bruce to his chest as he watched Dean clear off a space on the one dresser for the rabbit cage; the little ball of fluff burrowing into the fabric of his t-shirt. Running his fingers through Bruce’s hair was extremely soothing and this pleased Cas.

Bruce wouldn’t be a substitute for actual human interaction but he’d definitely be a comfort and a fitting companion for when Sam and Dean needed to leave for extended hunts.

“There,” Dean said, stepping back to brush his hands off.  He stood there, examining his handiwork for a bit before turning to face Cas. “Bruce’s place is all set.” Dean reached out and scooped Bruce out of his hands, cooing at him. “Here you are, big guy. A home just for you.”

It took every ounce of control that Cas had cultivated over millenias of existence to not burst out laughing at his self-proclaimed “macho” boyfriend turning into a puddle of goo in the presence of a small bunny.

#1 @deadlyangelkay - Submission: 5

A few weeks had passed since they had brought home both Bruce and Peanut. The brothers hadn’t found a case and it gave time for all three to bond with the animals. Cas’ favorite part was watching the rabbit and hamster interact and Dean’s reaction to it. At first Dean was hesitant, having his precious Bruce and the rodent near each other. But once Sam pointed out that essentially the two were brothers, Dean begrudgingly relented.

Now, it’s as if Dean looks forward to their play time. Castiel smiles fondly at Dean as he laughs at the way Bruce and Peanut play. More like the way that would climb over Bruce and Bruce would twitch his nose at the hamster. The best part about watching “their boys” – as Dean has started to call them – was the Dean would periodically lean against Cas. Happy, content, and peaceful.

Before Castiel knew it, it was time for the Winchesters to go off to another hunt. Dean gave Cas the familiar speech about how it was just a simple salt and burn and they would be back before he could miss them. And as always Cas would roll his eyes because after all this time, when has anything been easy for the Winchesters? A quick kiss goodbye and a promise to call when they got to the motel, Castiel was once again left in the large quiet bunker.

He scooped up Bruce into his arms, the little guy nuzzling into his shirt as he carried Bruce to the bedroom. “You know, there’s an excellent documentary on Netflix that you might like,” Castiel says softly, happy to no longer be alone.

[firefly-hwufanficwriter-blog]

(Fanfic) Drake’s Poetry Lesson

July 24, 2017, Monday [#262]

My masterlists: [Fanfiction.] [Fan edits.]

Title: Drake’s Poetry Lesson (MC/Drake) (5,299 words)

Story summary: The royal suitors are given a new courtship task about Cordonian culture. Against his will, Drake helps Riley learn more about traditional Cordonian music, food... and poetry.

Drake's Poetry Lesson

[I.]

As per his usual habit when there was nothing that needed to be done, Drake was lying on a cold, stone floor, staring at a cold, stone ceiling.

After the events of the Apple Blossom Festival – he still didn't know whether to be happy that Riley had wanted everybody to celebrate his birthday with him; or annoyed that she had forced him to wear a jester's hat after she had been crowned Apple Queen – Drake definitely needed some time to himself, with nothing to remind him of the outside world.

“Hey, Drake!”

Of course, Riley would choose that moment to skip happily into the abandoned cold, stone room that, before her arrival, had been his sanctuary, and his alone.

Ever since he had accidentally fallen asleep in here during their conversation after the Regatta – he had had to endure her knowing smiles ever since – Riley had made a habit of looking for him in this very room whenever she wanted to speak to him.

And while he could find another secluded spot, he didn't want to. This was Drake's abandoned cold, stone room, not Riley's!

“Hey, LastName,” he drawled, teasing her by refusing to make eye contact with her at first, instead keeping his eyes on the grey blocks of stone that made up the room's boring ceiling. “What's up?”

Riley followed his gaze at the boring ceiling, but appeared to refrain from making the obvious joke in favor of discussing something else entirely. Instead, she replied happily, “I need your help for the culture event.”

Because the 'fox hunt' – all Cordonians knew where to put the air quotes – was delayed due to bad weather, it was announced that there would be an entirely spontaneous social season event to test Liam's suitors. At the end of the week, they were to make some sort of presentation or performance that showed their knowledge of and respect for Cordonian culture.

After pausing for a rejection but not receiving one, Riley continued. “I've been practicing singing the Cordonian national anthem in my room, but I haven't tried singing in front of anybody yet. I don't really want my first time to be at the event itself. Can you listen to me and tell me how I'm doing?”

That was a good choice. National anthems were intimately linked to their homelands, and Cordonia's national anthem was no different, telling the story of Queen Kenna's quest to unite the kingdoms and how every Cordonian should embody patriotism, compassion, and strength. Singing it in front of the king and queen would show that Riley was willing to embrace the country and all its history.

Finally meeting her eyes, he put his hands on the ground and lifted himself off the stone floor into a standing position, saying carelessly, “I'm all yours, LastName. Just don't melt my ears off with your singing.”

“Very funny,” she pouted, before smoothing out a sheet of paper Drake hadn't noticed earlier and looking at it closely. “Ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.” This ought to be entertaining, at least.

Giving him a cheerful grin, Riley exclaimed, “Great!” and started to sing.

[II.]

By the end of the first line, Drake's eyebrows had shot up as high as they could on his forehead.

By the end of the second line, his jaw had dropped open, not that Riley saw that because she was still focused on reading the lyrics from the sheet of paper she held in her hands.

By the end of the third line, he had begun to wonder if Liam's instructors had prepared him for this particular type of assassination attempt.

Riley's voice, which held a light, melodic quality whenever she spoke or laughed, seemed to lose all its pleasant features when her tongue attempted to mix words with music.

As she sang, she somehow lingered just a breath too long on certain syllables, while rushing others much too quickly, making Drake's head hurt as he, who had heard and sung the national anthem countless times in the past, began immediately mentally corrected her musical errors, and struggled because the headache-inducing mistakes just kept on coming.

As she reached the more musically dramatic part of the anthem – the part where a woman's voice would naturally go higher, while man's would go lower – the beautiful notes that were meant to convey the passion one ought to have for one's country changed.

Riley's voice turned the difficult musical notes into a peculiar, prolonged croak, sounding like a sickly frog at the very height of the national anthem, with her voice gradually regaining some human qualities as she brought the song to a close.

Finally, she stopped. Finally.

Setting down her sheet of lyrics with theatrical flourish, she beamed as she met his eyes once more.

“So?” she asked breathlessly. “How was it? Did I do okay? Do you think I'm ready?”

Normally, Drake wouldn't have hesitated in giving her a scathing remark that would express exactly how he felt. But Riley stood in front of him, with that eager smile, that hopeful twinkle in her eye, waiting for his approval, looking just like the baby deer he had told her she was in Olivia's wine cellar – and he couldn't do it.

Instead, he explained as gently – but as clearly – as he could that if she wanted to succeed at tomorrow's event, she would have to choose something that had absolutely nothing to do with singing.

And Riley, while obviously disappointed at his less than stellar feedback, thanked him for his help, saying that she knew she could trust him and that she would try something else. She exited the room, no doubt to look for ideas, as Drake rested his head in his palm, glad that the harrowing ordeal was finally over.

Drake's head was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

He knew why. Riley was a terrible singer.

[III.]

It had taken longer than expected for Drake's headache to dissipate, but finally, he felt that he could move again without feeling like a blacksmith's hammer was happily pounding away, using his innocent mind as an anvil.

The ringing of Riley's pitiful attempt at singing had finally left his ears – he noted sourly that he had even told her beforehand to not melt his ears off! – and he was just about to leave the cold, stone room and go upstairs for lunch when he spotted Riley turn the corner and enter the room, holding a kitchen tray in her hands.

“Good, you're still here!” she said in relief. Seeing that there was no table in the room, she lowered herself to the floor and sat down, placing the tray before her as she indicated for him to join her.

Intrigued, Drake did as she wanted and sat down across from her on the floor. From experience, he knew that he wouldn't have to ask what it was because she was already about to tell him.

“I tried cooking this time!”

She enthusiastically gestured by holding both of her hands, palms up and at an angle, just above the steaming bowl of soup on the tray, as if presenting him with the Cordonian crown jewels.

“I found the ingredients in a book and it looked like this was an important part of Cordonian history, so I'm sure the king and queen are going to love it – and you get to try my cooking first!”

Riley sounded so happy and so confident that Drake couldn't help but regard her fondly – and hope that she didn't notice. It wasn't that long ago when they were almost-enemies in a crowded ballroom during the social season's opening ball, where rather than speak to her for another minute, he left her to the mercies of the other ladies of the court because he couldn't stand to speak to her anymore.

To think that they were now in their abandoned cold, stone room together, that she was seeking him out to ask for his help, trusting his advice, trusting that he wouldn't steer her wrong... it was nice.

It made Drake feel like he and Riley had a relationship, a friendship, outside of their shared connection to Liam, and it was with these almost-affectionate thoughts – he just hoped that she didn't notice – that he took the small bowl in one hand so that he could hold it up and see its contents.

Cooking a meal in front of the king and queen would show that Riley was willing to serve, not just be served. It was actually an excellent strategy – but Drake should probably eat the soup soon, as there was less steam now than moments ago.

The low temperature of the cold, stone room must have slightly cooled its contents. Inside the bowl was some sort of dark broth with herbs sliced into tiny little pieces, and, from the weight of the bowl, he knew that there had to be meat or vegetables that he couldn't see beyond the broth's surface.

The scent of the soup, though, was unfamiliar, which was strange because Drake had eaten just about every type of traditional Cordonian food that existed.

“Interesting. And you said that this was somehow connected to the history of Cordonia?”

“Yup!”

He was glad to hear that. Cordonian dishes were traditionally very hearty because in ancient times, the majority of the common folk had been farmers and ranchers, tending to the vast fields that could be found as far as the eye could see in southern and western Cordonia.

In fact, the 'fox hunt' also included a feast that resembled a Cordonian banquet from ages past. One of the soup dishes normally served was a beef and black bean soup that was prepared for Queen Kenna's wedding feast.

Actually, according to his history teacher, the recipe had originally been for a bacon and black bean soup, but Queen Kenna's talking wolf had made an alliance with a floating octopus to steal all the bacon from the palace kitchens, and with the wedding ceremony almost concluded and the feast almost underway, the kitchen staff had no choice but to use beef instead.

Not that Drake had actually believed his old teacher. A talking wolf? A floating octopus? Yeah, right.

Perhaps that was why the soup didn't smell familiar. Drake was used to the soup containing beef, and maybe the bacon, combined with the herbs he could see floating on top of the soup, was simply mixed in with the black beans to the point that the beans had masked the bacon's scent.

Well, whatever, he shrugged. Food was food. He dipped his spoon into the bowl, drawing out a big spoonful of soup that he scooped into his mouth, preparing himself to discern the flavors of Riley's cooking...

[IV.]

...only to choke in surprise at the extremely unpleasant taste of the innocent-looking soup. Not wanting to spit anything out – no matter how much he wanted to – he chewed whatever hard thing it was that was inside his mouth into small pieces that he could eventually swallow, trying not to gag at the metallic, earthy taste that seemed to cling to his tongue and to the roof of his mouth long after he had swallowed that single, incredibly disgusting spoonful of soup.

What was that?!

“So?” Riley asked, not seeming to recognize the horror Drake had just been through. “What do you think of my cooking? Does it taste the way it should? You've probably had a ton of traditional dishes, so...”

She trailed off when she realized that Drake was staring at the vile bowl of soup with wide eyes.

“Drake?”

Still not able to speak, he slowly raised his eyes to hers, silently asking her why she would attempt to take his life by serving him the most revolting soup he had ever tasted in his entire life.

Murder by soup. How undignified.

“You look pale... you must be really hungry. Just go ahead and finish the soup, I can make more for myself later, so don't worry about me,” Riley smiled, making a shooing, 'go on' gesture with her hand.

After taking several deep breaths to try to recover from the painful experience he had only just narrowly escaped with his life mostly intact, he said slowly, “Riley... where did you get this recipe?”

“I told you, from a book, see?” She took out a book that he saw had actually been under the kitchen tray the entire time, turned it to a folded page, and began to read.

“...And so Kenna Rys, under the cover of darkness, fled the castle of her ancestors, abandoning the ancient fortress to the rein of Luthor Nevrakis, self-styled King of Stormholt. Her first night in exile, though filled to the brim with danger and despair, only strengthened her resolve to someday reclaim her homeland, her throne.

“To seal her solemn vow, she took the soil of her ancestral home and the root of the apple tree under which she played as a young child, and with these and her bitter tears made a soup that would forever remind her of her love for her people, her vengeance for her family, and of her future victory to reclaim the throne of Stormholt-”

“WHAT!?”

“I said, to reclaim the future throne-”

“No, not that!” Drake pointed shakily at the bowl of soup, which was smugly sitting on the kitchen tray, with his spoon. “Riley,” he asked her incredulously, voice rising in alarm with each proceeding word, “did you just feed me dirt-and-root soup?!”

And at that, she actually looked offended. “Traditional dirt-and-root soup! Don't blame me for the weird things your ancestors ate!”

He had no idea why this woman somehow felt like she had the moral high ground, but, rather than shout at her – he wouldn't shout at her because Riley never backed down from a fight, and not because he was worried that his genuine ire might make her cry, because he certainly would never be worried about something stupid like that – he asked her how she had found the book.

Apparently, after his unenthusiastic response to the song she had been practicing for days, Riley had panicked because there wasn't a lot of time before the event began.

She had frantically taken an armful of books on traditional Cordonian history and scanned them as quickly as she could, looking for inspiration. And when she had seen the word 'soup,' she had honestly thought it was another one of their unusual Cordonian things, like their fox hunt that didn't have any foxes.

Drake didn't bother correcting her. She would know to put the air quotes once she married a Cordonian.

Married Liam.

He got a funny mental image of Riley trying to spoonfeed Liam her dirt-and-root soup, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

Maybe that disgusting soup sucked all the humor out of him. Some real food, made with real ingredients, would probably be good for Drake right now. And it would likely be in his best interests to leave before she got it in her head to perform traditional Cordonian archery or something.

He got another mental image, this time of Riley lightly tugging on his arm, cajoling him to let her put an apple on his head so she could practice archery – and that image made him smile.

Hmm. It looked like his humor was coming back.

Still, some food wouldn't be amiss. After accepting her sorrowful apology for the atrocious soup she had made, Drake was about to leave the cold, stone room when a thought occurred to him.

“Since you were really... accurate... when it came to the dirt and the roots... did you also add your own tears to the soup?”

“Huh? No, of course not, I used salt and water. Adding my tears to a bowl of soup would have just been weird.”

“Right,” Drake repeated flatly. “Weird.”

At that, he left their cold, stone room so that he could get himself a good lunch because he needed to wash the taste of dirt and roots out of his mouth... though after a grumble from his stomach, he hastily decided that for now, perhaps a glass of water would be a better choice.

Drake's stomach was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

He knew why. Riley was a terrible cook.

[V.]

After having a delicious lunch and taking a refreshing nap, Drake was fairly sure that his stomach had settled, and he could now laugh at the situation. Looking back, it had been pretty funny that Riley had thought to feed him dirt and roots.

Maybe she was eccentric and totally crazy, but he was always sure to have an adventure when she was around, even if they were both just sitting inside a cold, stone room under a cold, stone ceiling.

He liked that.

Of course, another thing he liked was solitude, and he hadn't gotten enough of it today because Riley had dropped in on him in the morning with her song, and again in the afternoon with her... soup.

Now that it was almost time for sunset and she still had to think of an idea for the culture event, she was bound to be out of their abandoned cold, stone room, which meant that it was empty and waiting for him.

Finally.

After navigating the stairs with the careless ease of somebody who had been living in the palace for almost his whole life, he arrived at the right corridor and headed to the cold, stone room. But, as he drew closer, he could hear a voice coming from inside.

“Where was that page again? This poetry book is huge... Maybe I'll have to memorize it, but at least I won't accidentally poison anybody by doing a poetry reading... I hope Drake's okay... Oh, here it is!”

A poetry reading? Interesting idea. And a good one. If she chose the right poem, preferably something about the country's history, it would show her willingness to learn all she could about Cordonia, and that would make a good impression on the king and queen.

He felt a little silly standing in the corridor while she was inside, but he firmly reminded himself that he had thought earlier today that songs and soup were harmless, and look where that had gotten him.

Based on everything that had happened today, Drake was probably much safer out here in the corridor alone, than in there with here. While he didn't know what havoc she could wreak with dusty old poetry, he had no intention of finding out.

“My Beloved.”

Drake nodded to himself.

He knew that poem. Every Cordonian knew that poem. He wondered if she had chosen it herself, or if she had asked Liam or Maxwell for help – before he came to the conclusion that Liam probably wouldn't be allowed to help her about something connected to the event, and Maxwell didn't seem to be the type to recommend classic poetry.

And if she wasn't that familiar with the poem yet, Drake's presence might make her nervous. It was better to stay outside, close enough to listen, so that he could critique her later.

If only I

Could tell clouds to depart from that

Which is mine to protect

Command a world to awaken

Will I ever fathom the warmth

In you, my sun

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

Drake knew that the opening stanza of 'My Beloved' referred to the sun's power to change lives – to command an entire world to awaken, just as the poem said.

Savannah, when she had discussed it with him as part of her homework years and years ago, had remarked that it was a pity that the poem hadn't ended with referencing the moon, because that would have made the poem feel complete.

On the other hand, he had said that was too cliché – and got an apple custard tart thrown at the back of his head. But when he had turned around to frown at Savannah, she seemed unusually focused on her homework, as if she couldn't have possibly thrown an apple custard tart at her brother's head.

Riley's voice was tentative and soft when she read the first stanza. He didn't know if that was by design, or if she had judged that it was the best type of voice to use when reading the poem, but either way, Drake thought that it suited her just right.

It was rare for him to her her voice like this – normally, she was fiery and loud and making witty remarks in response to his own. Not that he would have her be any other way – but the gentle tone she was using right now... felt, right, too. Her gentle side was one he hadn't seen very often, but hearing it from a slight distance, as he was now, was pleasant, and he found himself liking the familiar poem.

If only I

Could paint a portrait of our

Pasts, kept safe in your heart and mine

Futures countless as the blades

Of verdant grass beneath my feet, yet still

Falling short of all the hope I see

In you, my haven

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

He supposed that Riley must have a gentle side. Waitresses would lose their jobs if they allowed themselves to lose their tempers at everybody they came across. Come to think of it, besides her being a waitress, she didn't seem to talk too much about her past – though she did tell him that she had managed to burn ice cream once.

Actually, how did she even manage to do that? As a waitress, he would have expected her to at least have some basic knowledge of how food was prepared. Drake really should have remembered that story of hers before trying her soup earlier today. The soup that she had claimed was traditionally Cordonian.

Instead of clinging to her American past, Drake observed, Riley had thrown herself completely into Cordonia. She might not understand why the Derby was important – honestly, Drake didn't either; but he did like the horses.

But she could find aspects of herself that she could show to the press to try and prove to them that she was worthy of being their queen. Yet even then, with her charming smiles and cryptic answers, the press had labeled her as 'The Mystery Woman.'

Women normally liked talking about themselves, but Riley, instead, preferred asking other people about themselves – and learning as much about Cordonia as she could.

It was as if she was forming roots here, already planning on building a life for herself here, and he didn't know if that spoke to her confidence about being chosen as Cordonia's queen, or simply to her growing esteem for a country in which she was determined to settle.

But then again, she had only seen the luxurious, glamorous side of Cordonia the whole time she had been here. What future did she see for herself here? If somebody else was chosen to be Cordonia's queen, would Riley be content to stay here anyway, but as a commoner, like Drake?

If only I

Could gather the scattered grains

Each a precious gift

Search blindly with my fingertips

Restore them to their place

Slow their treacherous fall

In you, my hourglass

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

This year's social season had gone by in a blink. It seemed that one moment, Maxwell was luring Riley to Cordonia, and the next moment, it was time for the 'fox hunt.' Time had passed – and passed too quickly.

Drake thought back to their walk back to the palace after eating cronuts. Riley had fallen into step beside him, and even that early on, she had already told him that with all his warnings about nobles and what the palace was like, it was difficult to get to know who he was.

How different would it have been, if Drake had know back then that Riley could be trusted? Drake wished that they had more time. He imagined longer conversations, more long talks and funny jokes and competitive races.

While ski races weren't an option in the palace, he could have told her about the game he had created with Liam, maze-tag, and had countless races to see who could reach the tree in the middle first.

Drake knew that she wouldn't think it was childish – she would laugh in the middle of his explanation, tag him, and run ahead, leaving him to stare, dumbfounded, for a second before he shouted a playful threat and chased after her.

They would play that game over again for hours and hours, one or the other always whining for a rematch to restore their maze-tag honor. And when they finally got tired, they would go to the tree in the middle of the maze.

They would lean against the trunk, breathing heavily from all the running and all the laughter, watching the sky in comfortable silence until the stars came out. He could tell Riley about the constellations Savannah had taught him, and hold back a smile as she tells him that what he said was a sea serpent looked more like a gummy worm to her.

How many starlit nights could Drake have spent with Riley in that maze?

But now, it was almost time for the 'fox hunt;' almost time for the final party of the social season at Maxwell and Bertrand's family estate; almost time for Liam's coronation. Almost time to find out if Riley was going to be somebody's wife. Liam's wife.

If only I

Could train flesh and blood and bone

To be of use, this shell, to see and shield you

Resist age and death, to spend eternity

In you, my home

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

The fourth stanza was a sad way to end the poem, speaking of a wish to do more and be more. The speaker clearly felt that whatever they had done, it wasn't enough. Devotion, at its very deepest, had its limits, but the poet clearly felt that endless, eternal devotion was the way things should be.

Drake disagreed. How pathetic would it be to be a shell, just lingering restlessly somewhere where they didn't belong, just waiting to be of use, having no purpose but to shield and protect? Drake found himself disliking the familiar poem.

How much time did somebody need to 'see and shield,' anyway? A lifetime was enough. Wishing for more time, for eternity, was just greedy, wasn't it?

[VI.]

Moments after reading the final line of the poem, Riley let out a small sigh. Because Drake couldn't see her, he didn't know what that sigh meant – and he didn't know why his own sigh followed shortly after, making Riley give a small squeak of surprise.

“Who's there?”

Drake opened his mouth to answer, but his throat felt slightly dry. And why did he feel so tired all of a sudden? He grasped the edge of the wall with his fingertips as he swallowed to moisten his throat, before finally giving a short, terse response.

“It's me.”

“Oh, Drake? Come on in! Why are you hiding out there?”

Noticing, even without wanting to, the fact that the wariness in Riley's first statement had given way to warm familiarity once she realized that it was Drake who had been there, he entered their cold, stone room with the cold, stone ceiling, only to see Riley getting up, smoothing the back of her blue dress with one hand as she held a book of poetry in the other.

“I finally found something I could do, Drake!” she said excitedly.

Waving the book in front of her, a finger marking the page she has just finished reading, she continued. “I chose a great traditional poem I could read to the court – I just hope they don't mind that I chose a romantic poem...” she finished with a slightly worried frown.

“Romantic?” he asked in surprise. “Riley, that's not a romantic poem. Every Cordonian knows that 'My Beloved' was commissioned by Queen Kenna Rys exactly one year after the defeat of Empress Azura. She told the poet to compose a poem, from the point-of-view of a patriotic soldier, that captured all the emotions of the Battle of Stormholt, so that younger generations would never forget.”

Drake pointed at a spot on the page.

“See that? The first three lines of the poem refer to Empress Azura – who was always called the Storm – and how the country united to defend the kingdom against her invasion. Our literature teacher told us that the poet had originally used the term, 'raging storm,' but Queen Kenna thought that it gave her too much power. So she had the poet use 'clouds' instead.”

Now it was Riley's turn to be surprised.

“But... but it sounds so romantic!”

Raising his eyebrow at her, he gently took the book from her hands to double-check that they were talking about the same poem, even though it wasn't necessary because, as he said, every Cordonian knew 'My Beloved.' And after confirming that it was the poem Drake had in mind, he started to explain the rest of it to her.

“See, the first stanza is about the whole country waking up to fight in the final battle... the second stanza is about the many possible futures Stormholt could have... the the third stanza is about the soldier saying that he wished he had more time to train so that he could be a better warrior for the country...”

He continued his way down the page.

“...and the last stanza is about him wanting to serve his country for eternity. Every stanza ends with the same line about being willing to go to war to defend Stormholt.” Drake snorted. “You must have a twisted mind to think – to think that such a historical poem as 'My Beloved' is about romance, of all things.”

It was silly of Riley. Just because something seemed like it could be romantic, like it should be romantic, didn't mean that it would be.

Would ever be.

“Drake? You're shaking.”

He looked down.

Why were his fingers trembling slightly?

Confused, Drake held them up in front of his face, and he blinked and blinked as he willed them to stop.

It worked almost completely. He shoved his hand into his pocket.

No need to see that.

“Oh, are you still feeling bad from the soup I made for you?” she asked, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. “I'll get you some dessert from the kitchens or something. That'll make you feel better. I'll be right back! And, don't worry,” she laughed, “I won't make it myself!”

With that, she rushed out of the room.

And after she was gone, he leaned against a cold, stone wall and wearily closed his eyes. Listening to a patriotic, historical poem about a soldier's love for his country shouldn't have drained all his energy from him, but somehow, it had.

Trembling fingers.

Shallow breaths.

Blinking eyes.

Drake's heart was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

But this time, he had absolutely no idea why.

(The end.) (Word count: 5,299 words.)

First author’s note: I’ve had this idea for a while, so I’m happy I was finally able to write it 😊 I like the idea of Riley trusting Drake enough that he’s the one she goes to for help 😁 Also, it was not easy trying to write a poem that could sound romantic and patriotic at the same time 😂 I couldn’t use any classic romantic poetry techniques OR patriotic poetry techniques without giving everything away 😂 I think that this is the first sad Drake fanfic I’ve written, though 😢

Second author’s note: By the way, receiving 🦄🦄 comments 🦄🦄 on my fanfiction lets me know that YOU are interested in reading more… 😊😎 Nudge nudge, wink wink 😀😋

(Waiting for H.W.U. to come back, forever and always; 24/07/17.)

[connehh]

11 Question Tag

alrighty so I was tagged by @blushingkunoichi my kpop fangirl sinner and partner in crime, love ya b

leggo

1) If you got to meet your bias one day, what would you say to them?

Oh buddy umm, let’s say I meet Changkyun imma let this cutie know how much I love his talented and handsome self and that he’s loved very much yes yes.

2) What’s your favourite instrument to play or listen to being played?

Since I can’t play any, I love listening to piano (specifically a certain someone play). Very soothing 

3) One thing on your bucket list?

Right this is gonna sound so basic but whatever XD Definitely wanna travel the world, see new places and experience new cultures and cuisines. 

4) Favourite candy?

One of the hardest questions here, ummmm I remember these cute strawberry gummies that tasted like heaven I used to buy when waiting for bus after school. Haven’t seen them in years but they’re definitely up there.

5) Who’s your UB and bias wrecker from the same group?

My ult would be the fine ass man named Min Yoongi, he my babe love him so much goshhh. Now my bias wrecker (honestly at this point I name him bias #2) would be one Park Jimin. As it is said, once you Jimin you can’t Jimout

6) Which Pokemon do you think you would be?

I feel so bad I don’t really pokemon so I leave that up to anyone who wants to decide (don’t eat me pls) 

7) Favourite pet?

Ooooh yes my pet cat Boomer (who is most likely dead now I’m heartbroken we haven’t seen him in over a week). He was the most affectionate lil baby always wanna crawl in your lap and would let you carry him. I’m gonna miss my child.

8) What’s one piece of advice you would give to your younger self?

Sweetie there’s gonna be tough times ahead, things you never expect to happen will, but you have to stay strong and true to yourself through it all. 

9) Which K-Pop MV would you have loved to be in & which role?

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit definitely Boy In Luv - BTS cuz goddamn the way Yoongi was lowkey manhandling the girl I’d die to be in her place yes please. 

10) One song (K-Pop or otherwise) that always gets you to dance

First to pop in my mind would be Just Right - GOT7, it’s so happy and cute and I honestly just love it

11) Favourite breakfast food?

I’m terrible to answer these kinda questions I’m indecisive as hell >.< buuuut I’m always down for the classic scrambled egg, bacon and toast (got hungry just typing that lmao)

Now my questions are 

1. Who’s your Ultimate Bias and when did you realise they were your ult? 2. If you could be any animal what would it be and why? 3. One thing you own that you wish you didn’t? 4. Are you a very family oriented person? 5. If you had to marry a K-Pop idol right now who would you choose and why? 6. One person/thing that can instantly lift your mood k-pop or otherwise? 7. What fictional place would you most want to visit? 8. Your top 3 Youtubers? 9. If you could only listen to one genre for the rest of your life what would it be? 10. Most impressive thing you know how to do? 11. Long hair or short? Curly or straight?

tagging @xxprincessjewelsxx @sadblvckkgirl @blackgirlslovebts

[archergwenwrites]

Put My Pillow Beneath Your Head

“And here’s the washroom. Sink, tub, a towel for you. The shower nozzle won’t actually stay up on the hook, gotta fix that, but otherwise it’s self explanatory. And here’s the toilet, light switch on the inside so no pranks possible.”

“Please, Blake, like your sister still couldn’t come up with five.”

“Six, actually. Now this is my room, and the bed for you. Don’t worry, I changed the sheets and everything. You should be good to go for however long you need to stay.”

Clarke paused, turning his words over before looking at him sideways. “And where will you sleep?”

“Oh I got the couch.”

“Oh no.” Clarke’s hands raised of their own accord. “You are not sleeping indefinitely on your couch while I use your bed, not when you already refused rent money.”

Bellamy turned his best “Dad Bellamy” stare on her. “You are my guest thanks to an overzealous arsonist. I am taking no rent, and I will not put a guest on my couch. I will broker no argument.”

Clarke pulled every finishing school trick she had to seem taller. “And I am not going to have my friend ruin his back on my account.”

“How dare you insult my couch like that. What did it ever do to you?”

“Stop trying to use humor to diffuse the situation.”

“Doesn’t matter, my house my rules. I will win this.”

“That’s a terrible impression of my mother. Octavia and Lincoln would let me sleep on their couch and not inconvenience them."

Bellamy smirked. "So I just have to prove you're not an inconvenience? Because you’re really not, Clarke. I wouldn’t have opened my apartment to you if I wasn’t willing and happy to help.”

“I’m still not taking your bed while you’re on the couch.”

“Fine. We’ll share. It’s a king anyway.” When Clarke didn’t respond, just stared, Bellamy nodded, curt and satisfied. “Great, that’s settled. Come on, let me show you the kitchen. The oven’s a bit tricky and one of the burners needs patience. I have a feeling you’re going to insist on cooking.”

Brain trying to catch up, Clarke lurched after Bellamy. “Of course! It’s only good manners.”

That first night was awkward.

Well, not the night so much, as Clarke fell asleep first, exhausted from moving. When she woke up, she discovered Bellamy on the couch and about dragged him to his own bed. “Deal breaker,” she whispered at him when he woke up.

“Frying bacon? Awesome.”

“Not awesome. I feel guilty. How would you feel if it were the reverse?”

“Fine, fine. The bacon’s burning.”

“It is not!”

All the same, that second night - after they bumped elbows and tripped over each other trying to get ready for bed - Bellamy dutifully wiggled into the bed next to Clarke. “Good night, roommate.”

“How did you sleep alone in this before?”

“You’d be amazed what you get used to when it’s free.”

“Touche.”

One of them shut off the light, and they fell asleep.

Slowly, they fell into a rhythm. Clarke went back to work after only a week. She’d been offered more time off from the museum, but honestly she needed something to do and to know she was earning money to replace all that was lost. She also needed money to slip into spots for Bellamy to find, which was all too easy.

Change pieces in his jeans to conveniently fall out as he did the wash. Tucking bills into books so he’d find them later. More obvious ones where she’d just blink her eyes innocently and deny everything - like change in his shoes.

He did let her buy groceries, and cleaning supplies, and other replaceables. It was almost an even split, like it was their shared home in full.

It was the same with chores, claiming what they were good at first and covering the other’s weaknesses. 

“Do you think this is what it’s like to be married?”

Bellamy starts, almost jumping out of their bed. “I think we’re missing a pretty big part of being married.”

She smacks his arm. “There are more important parts to being married.”

“I wouldn’t know. Mom never was when I could remember, and I haven’t been.” He looks in her direction, barely making out her face in the dark. “Were you parents really that good of an example?”

“Not at the end, no. But at the start-” Her voice trailed off before she restarted, hesitant. “I’m sorry. It was a dumb question.”

He can feel something breaking, and rolls over to face her, propping his head up on one hand. “No, it’s not. And I think, well, this is what you’d want from a marriage, right? We’re getting to be better and better friends, picking up each other’s favorite snacks or takeaway without really thinking. I mean, other than the whole fire thing to start, we haven’t really had any stressors, so I can’t say for sure whether this new angle on our relationship is healthy and strong. But, uh, yeah, you could probably say this is what it’s like to be fifty, married and in a stable pattern of life.”

“Wow, fifty?”

“That’s your takeaway?”

She snorts, and something mends. 

“So, Clarke my not-wife, did you ask because you’re planning to leave me for another man?”

She smacks him again, faking affront. “No, but when I find a guy who can give me this set up and find me incredibly sexually attractive, I just might.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Never said I didn’t.” He falls back down to stare at the ceiling.

“What? You? Why haven’t you made a move then?”

“As a rule, I don’t make moves on someone for whom I haven’t bought at least bought a drink.”

“’For whom I’ve bought a drink-’ You’ve bought me groceries. Things between us are a bit more serious.”

“You’ve convinced me. I’m dating you now.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. We’ll go get drinks Friday night.”

“Sounds like a plan. Good night, roommate.”

“Goodnight, person with whom I’m in a weird relationship.”

“Just end a sentence with a preposition.”

“Never. I’ll divorce you first.”

“Oh, we’re married now?”

“You brought it up first.”

Snickering gently, Clarke patted his shoulder affectionately. “Good night, Bellamy. Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Getting drinks went really, really, life-changing-ly well.

[megsblackfirewrites]

Two For The Road: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jesse woke to the smell of frying bacon. His mouth watered as his eyes fluttered open and he let out a long groan as he stretched himself out on the bed. Hanzo’s place beside him was cold and he pouted a little as he got to his feet; so much for waking up to her beautiful face. He stepped out into the main living space and smiled as he watched Hanzo zip around the kitchen making breakfast.

“How’d you manage to slip out from under me without wakin’ me up?” he asked with a yawn.

“Very carefully,” Hanzo replied as she flipped an omelette over in the frying pan. “Took a good twenty minutes, but I managed to escape your bear hug.”

Jesse shook his head as he walked over. “Looks almost domestic,” he murmured as he nuzzled his face into her hair. “Good look for us.”

“Don’t hug; I need my arms,” she warned as she started fiddling with the dials on the stove. She turned her head to kiss his cheek, her eyes soft as she ran her nose over his. “You need a shower, mountain man.”

“Smell that bad?” he smirked.

“There’s gore caked into your hair and beard,” she smirked in return.

“Oh.”

Well that made sense. He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the crusty pieces of blood that crumbled under his nails. That was gross. He rubbed his fingers together, careful to keep them away from Hanzo while she cooked.

“So want me to go now or…?”

“Breakfast is almost ready; you can take your shower afterwards,” she said as she flicked the dials on the stove to the off position. “You have plates right?”

“Of course,” he frowned. “Why do you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because this is a bachelor pad and you savages are infamous for eating everything out of the damn frying pan,” she laughed as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Well, I’ll have you know I’m the most cultured man around these parts,” he smirked as he pulled a couple of plates out of the cupboard. “You having tea?”

“I’m good for now,” she smiled as she loaded the plates full of omelette and bacon. “Sorry if the omelette’s a little off; I had to improvise a few things.”

“You know that scrambled eggs are easier to make,” he said as he accepted his plate.

Hanzo’s face turned a faint shade of green as she shook her head. “I haven’t been able to eat scrambled eggs since Germany,” she said softly.

McCree stiffened. “Oh.”

Right. He should have known that. How had he not even noticed that she hadn’t eaten scrambled eggs since that terribly botched Blackwatch mission in Germany? She’d vomited it up all over herself when the truck rolled; of course she wouldn’t want to eat scrambled eggs ever again. What sort of boyfriend didn’t notice that?

“Hanzo, I didn’t,” he started to apologize as she sat down at the table.

“Don’t worry about it, Jesse,” she smiled at him. “You didn’t say that to be malicious. It’s was an honest statement. Just let me know how it tastes so I know if I should use those ingredients again.”

Jesse sat down across from her and eagerly dug into the omelette. He coughed into his hand, shaking his head as the flavour covered his tongue. That was not what he was expecting when he stuffed a chunk of egg into his mouth.

“That’s sweet,” he commented as he poked at the omelette. “Did you put sugar in this?”

“Sugar beets,” she frowned. “Won’t use them again.”

“Doesn’t taste bad,” he grinned as he ripped off a large chunk of bacon between his teeth. “Just really sweet.”

“Something has to even out that sass,” she smirked.

“So, who called you last night?” he asked as they ate.

“My kid.”

Jesse just about spit his food across the table. “We have a kid?!” he demanded.

Hanzo’s face turned bright red and she held up her hands. “Holy fuck, no! She’s an omnic! Genji and I just call her our kid out of affection! Oh god, I have to start thinking before I open my damn mouth.”

Jesse deflated a little, running his hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, he absolutely adored kids. On the other hand, not being there when Hanzo gave birth would have made him a terrible, terrible father.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he smiled sheepishly. “Pet’s a bit of a mean name though, don’t ya think?”

“Don’t freak out,” she sighed. “Her full name is Petras RZL-1. We’ve been debating around the monastery whether she should adopt the Tekhartha or the Shimada surname.”

Jesse tensed up. “She’s a Petras Unit?”

The UN had commissioned a large number of robots to help enforce the Petras Act. He had seen them in action before, hunting down a rogue agent that made the mistake of not covering their trail. They were terrifyingly efficient; had the poor sod caught within a few hours, all without any harm to the civilian population. He hadn’t been aware that they were omnics though.

“Ex-Petras unit,” Hanzo corrected as she chewed on a piece of bacon. “She’s a really good kid. You’d like her.”

“Can omnics even be kids?” Jesse frowned.

“She has the mental capacity of a ten-year old at the moment,” Hanzo shrugged. “Zen’s been working with her to restore a lot of her functions. Apparently breaking as violently from her programing as she did really messes with your mental state.”

Jesse caught the affectionate nickname and grinned. “Zen?” he asked.

Hanzo blinked before a wicked smirk dominated her face. “Oh right, you aren’t in the loop anymore; Zenyatta and Genji have officially been an item now for almost four years.”

“So they finally stopped pussy-footing around each other?” Jesse laughed.

“I had to lock them in a closet until they talked it over,” Hanzo snorted. “Had Discord orbs following me around for days afterwards; Zen was so mad at me. Was worth it, though.”

“Sounds like it was,” he smiled as he polished off his plate and stood up. “I’m going to go take that shower now.”

“Good,” Hanzo smiled as she looked down at her plate and finished the last few mouthfuls. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

He gave her a kiss before carrying his dishes to the sink. He’d do them when he got back in and he made sure to call over his shoulder to let Hanzo know he was going to do dishes. He wasn’t letting her cook AND do the dishes. That would just be rude.

He headed outside to the back of the cottage and stepped into the little stall he had built when he arrived a few months back. He stripped out of his clothes and turned the water on, shivering as the cool water crashed over his shoulders. He scrubbed his skin down until it tingled and felt a little raw. Most of him was permanently tanned at this point from the long days in the sun while running from the cops and it looked funny turning a faint shade of pink. He started whistling softly as he lathered his hands up with shampoo and started cleaning his hair and beard. He rinsed and turned the water off.

He stepped out of the shower and shook his head like a wet dog, grinning foolishly at the mess he made of the walls. He pushed his hair out of his face, combing his fingers through his locks to part it the way he liked it. He figured that Hanzo would help get any knots out of it when she started playing with it later; it was inevitable that they were going to cuddle. He redressed himself, whistling as he headed back inside.

Hanzo had done the dishes and he pouted at the empty sink. Damn it. He huffed and looked around the main room, spotting her ponytail peeking up over the top of the couch. He smirked as he headed over, opening his mouth to playfully scold her for doing his job, but stopped as he noticed his black serape draped over her.

His smirk softened into a smile as he rested his arms on the back of the couch. “Didn’t think I was gone that long,” he teased gently. “Had to wrap yourself in something of mine to keep the loneliness at bay?”

Hanzo glanced up at him from her book and frowned. “This isn’t a blanket?” she asked.

“No,” he laughed. “It’s a serape.”

“A what?” she asked with a blink.

“Serape,” he repeated. “It’s sort of like a cloak.”

“Oh,” she said as she pulled the serape off of her. “Sorry; I thought it was a blanket from the way it was folded in the closet.”

“Ain’t no harm, darlin’,” he smiled. “Kind of like seeing it on you, even if you are just using it as a blanket.”

Hanzo shook her head in amusement before she reached for him. “Come lie down,” she said. “I barely got to enjoy you last night.”

Jesse grinned as he climbed over the couch and snuggled against her, covering her neck and jaw in kisses. She laughed and pushed at him, claiming that wasn’t what she meant, but she didn’t tell him to stop as he moved the serape over them and slipped his hand into her pants. If the possessive snarl she gave was anything to go by, she missed him just as much as he missed her. Perhaps a little bit more.

Zenyatta rested his knuckles on his knees and inhaled slowly through his vents. “Relax, Petras,” he soothed. “You are too tense to let your mind heal.”

Petras squirmed uncomfortably where she sat, her expressive features constricting as her ears twisted to lie flat on her head. “Sorry, sensei,” she apologized.

Zenyatta smiled with his optics before he reached out to stroke his fingers over her head. “There is no need to apologize, Petras,” he reassured her. “You have been doing very well. I am pleased with your progress.”

The shifting plates of her face twisted upwards into an approximation of a smile and she bounced a little where she sat. “Thank you!”

Zenyatta inclined his head as she straightened her back and did her best to focus on her meditation. Her tail twitched a little, but it soon settled down as her shoulders relaxed. He heard her vent deeply and let himself sink back into his own meditation.

Pet had come a long way from the broken, confused omnic that had stumbled into the monastery. Her boundless energy had taken some getting used to for the calmer individuals, but the bond she had formed with the Shimada siblings was more than enough to make up for any upset in routine she had caused them. Just the thought of her training with Genji and Hanzo in the courtyard brought a flutter of fondness to Zenyatta’s soul.

There was a long stretch of silence before Genji dropped down beside Zenyatta and settled into his favoured meditating position. Zenyatta sent two orbs to orbit around his mate before he turned to regard him.

“How was your jog, Genji?” he asked.

“Refreshing,” Genji chuckled. His fingers brushed gently against Zenyatta’s wrist as he shifted until their knees were touching.

“Did those egg hatch yet?” Pet asked excitedly.

“Not quite, but that momma eagle was sitting nearby and glaring at me when I get close,” Genji said. “I expect they’ll hatch any day now.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the daddy eagle?” Pet asked as her ears flicked sideways in what they had come to understand meant she was being coy.

“It was the larger of the pair,” Genji chuckled. “Female eagles are usually larger than the males.”

“Ooh,” Pet’s tail thumped against the ground. “Neat!”

“Very,” Genji agreed. “Aren’t you supposed to be meditating?” he teased.

Pet let out a playful gasp before she straightened her back again. Zenyatta shook his head in amusement before he settled back into his meditative state. They meditated for ten peaceful minutes before Pet began to squirm. Zenyatta let out a content sigh before he lifted his hands.

“That is enough for now, Pet; let me have a look at you.”

Pet stood proudly in front of him as her tail folded neatly into her back. She fit her hands into his, letting him lift her arms to see how her chassis was faring. Most of her components had been easy enough to replace and the new additions that Genji had helped meld into her frame were integrating nicely. There were still stress lines along her back where the folding plates did not mesh how they were supposed to, but they were slowly working their way through it.

“Do you think you can handle your shifting?” Zenyatta asked.

“Assault mode, yes; recon mode is still out of the question,” Pet replied.

“Show me,” Zenyatta instructed as he released her hands. “But do not force the shift. If it hurts too much, we will try again tomorrow.”

“Yes, Zenyatta,” she nodded her head.

She took a few steps back to give herself space and dimmed her optics. Her plating lifted before she shifted with some difficulty into her quadrupedal assault form. Guns whirled and clicked into place on her back as she shifted from one foot to the other, gauging her new center of gravity. Her tail moved slowly back and forth, the jagged edges bristling slowly.

She took a few shaky steps forward before she sat down. “All systems operating at sixty-eight percent,” she said calmly. “Support struts still unable to bear full weight when in motion.”

Zenyatta nodded and she shifted back to her bipedal form. “That is three percent more than yesterday,” he soothed. “You are doing very well.”

Pet’s face shifted into a smile and she bowed. “It’s because I have a patient teacher,” she said.

Genji let out a laugh as he got to his feet. “Aw, she’s starting to adopt some of my charm,” he said happily as he hugged her tightly to his chest. “Come on; let’s go get some target practice in before you have to go sunbathe.”

Pet let out a loud whoop of delight before she charged off ahead. Zenyatta glanced at his mate and inclined his head. Genji knelt down and pressed their foreheads together, accepting the soft little spark of a kiss with a soft hum. They rubbed their foreheads together before Genji went to follow Pet and make sure she didn’t accidentally startle one of the other monks.