#thank you to my good friend cc for editing and beta testing

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

Mr Warren fic below the cut. Be warned - it’s explicit! Not for minors! 

Mr Warren had her right where he wanted her. She was laid naked on the rack, arms tied above her head. Her legs were spread, bent at the knees and shackled at the ankles. She surveyed him walking around her, shivering with anticipation about where he might touch her. She was positioned at the perfect height to observe his tightly buttoned torso as he deliberated, looking from her to his table of toys and back again. His long, wavy locks tickled her bare skin each time he lowered his head to kiss her; on her stomach, her hip, her inner thigh… oh god she was aching for him to move closer between her legs. She couldn’t move much. He had bound her securely but comfortably, checking with her that the shackles weren’t too tight. She wanted his touch, his fingers inside her, his mouth all over her body. She was on fire for him and he’d barely even started. 

He lowered his lips level with her ear and spoke in the silkiest voice imaginable. “Didst thou cavort with the devil?”

Her breathing hitched at the sound of his voice and she managed to make a small nod. 

Slow and smooth, he spoke again. “Art thou filled with wicked thoughts?”

She could only murmur her assent. 

In a whisper now, he played with every syllable. “Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

“Oh Reece, you know that drives me wild!”

“Tut tut, wench!” He replied, dangerously quiet. “It is ‘Mr Warren’, to you. I know not this ‘Reece’ of whom you speak.” 

“Sorry!” She smirked. “I couldn’t help—“

“Shhh,” he  whispered softly and placed his forefinger gently on her lips. 

She loved that he had the ability to maintain his character. As she was musing over his many talents he slid two fingers inside her. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers fucking her. While she lay quivering with delight and desperate for more, he stopped, licked his lips devilishly, then placed the tip of his index finger to his teeth as he perused his table of toys. His hand moved down, fingering lightly over handcuffs, feathers, a blindfold, a riding crop. Arriving at the nipple clamps, he paused as though weighing his options, then picked them up.

He lay the two clamps on her stomach. They were attached together with a delicate metal chain which felt cold against her flushed skin. He rolled her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and they stood obediently to attention; she sighed her approval. He attached the clamps to her nipples, tentatively allowing them to close, all the while surveying her face with microscopic precision, only wishing to prescribe the required dose of pleasurable pain. She did not dare speak lest she utter his real name again but an approving moan escaped her lips. 

His fingers returned to their welcome place between her thighs, this time circling her clitoris, she was slick, swollen and ready for his touch. With his other hand he gave the attached chain a small tug, leaving her utterly breathless. He tended to her diligently, each of his hands eager in its task, causing waves of pleasure to build deep in her core. Completely at his mercy, she looked up into his face, beautifully framed by long, dark curls. As he brought her to orgasm, his penetrating blue eyes narrowed into a cat-like smile. 

He unfastened her ankles and ran his warm, soft hands down the insides of her thighs. She thrilled at his touch in this vulnerable position, her nerve endings sensitive from her orgasm. He gently removed the clamps, released her wrists and held her hands as he helped her sit up. She could finally run her fingers through his curls and kiss his plump, pouty lips. He held her head tenderly as they kissed and nuzzled for a moment. She felt completely blissed out, her legs dangling over the edge of the rack as he stood in front of her, fixing her with his baby blues. 

Eventually she spoke. “Mr Warren, it appears that we have some unfinished business to attend to.” She set about unfastening his trousers and grasped his throbbing cock. He held her eye contact, smiling and spoke softly. “Then open up and let the devil in.” Standing between her open thighs he pushed himself inside her. Catching their breath, they held still for a moment, her legs wrapped tightly around his body. She held onto his shoulders, feeling the soft, warm leather of his tunic with her hands as the metal buttons from his neck to pelvis pressed into her front. His breathing turned to growling in her ear as his pace quickened. Neither of them able to maintain it for long, he allowed himself his release, holding tightly onto her. 

He let go only to grab his cloak from the other table, wrapped her gently in it and kissed her. She sat being cradled by him for a moment. 

“Come on,” he said gently. “We ought to go, before anyone comes.”

“True.” She hopped down and dressed quickly, back into her jeans and jumper. “We don’t need anyone else coming in here.”

“Exactly. Just a devil and a whore.” He gave her a quick eyebrow raise and a smile. 

“Why don’t you bring the costume home?” She suggested coyly. “Now that you’ve finished filming, I mean. It might come in useful for Halloween… or something.”

[spnfanficpond]

July 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap

We had a great time chatting with @crispychrissy today! Thank you so much, Chrissy, for joining us!

This month, to make up for not having a chat in June, we chatted for two hours about some issues related to posting your works on Tumblr. Chrissy talked to us about making our own gifs, we discussed giving credit to gifmakers, how to make a Keep Reading cut, and much more!! A rundown of the chat, as well as general Pond news, is below the cut!

[Editor’s Note: For ease of understanding, the tags you put at the bottom of a post with a # will be called #hash-tags, while the tags you use to notify another Tumblr user that you’ve posted something will be called @mention-tags.]

Q: What programs do you use to make gifs? Are they free, or do you have to buy them?

Chrissy: Well, there is a free one I used back when I started called GifCam. It's easy to set up (it's just an exe) and there's a little learning curve, but it's easier than what I do now. I currently use a screen capture program that came with my $1500 graphics card along with Sony Vegas. If anyone wants GifCam, I can send it to them.

Q: And are you watching via Netflix or some other way?

C: Yes, I use Netflix. I have the first 6 seasons on DVD along with 12 and 13, so for bloopers and deleted scenes I have to use the DVD's. For current episodes, I have YouTube TV, and use the screen capture option with that. Tumblr has a 3MB limit on file size, so it’s really hard. The amount of frames you can fit in a sub-3MB gif depend on so many factors. Colors in the scene, movement, FPS (frames per second), and length. A low FPS gif looks pretty choppy, while a high FPS gif is smooth as butter.

Q: So that's why some gifs seem to go on forever, and others are quick things.

C: Yes. I can make a really long gif of something that's really really tiny, but if you want it to fit into the pixels of a Tumblr post, it limits how long they can be.

Q: And I guess that's also why some gifs I find from Google and try to put into a post won't animate right. If they're too big, I guess Tumblr stops them?

C: Yes. Tumblr just freezes the image instead of animating it. When you save it, check the file size.

C: So this is an example of the brightness and colors of a gif affecting the size. Since there's so much brightness and color, the more the gif has to render, meaning the bigger the size. This worked out to be only 35 frames, which is like... really small, but the gif itself came out to be 2.83 MB.

Q: Are websites that come up when I Google "gif maker" worth my time and effort?

C: Only if you don't mind a stupid watermark from the company.

Q: About giving credit to gifmakers....any thoughts?

C: Well, all my gifs have "cc" in the bottom right corner, that's how I give myself credit if they're used. Not everyone knows the "cc" gifs are mine, but I do. I offer my gif making services to anyone if they need a specific gif made for a story or otherwise, not limited to SPN. I've made porn gifs, ones from YouTube, and from other shows. If it exists, I can gif it. Tumblr's search feature is... well, it's not perfect, but it'll help give you a quick gif and give credit to the author. When someone uses a gif I've posted, it gives me a notification, which is awesome, but annoying if it gets reposted a crap ton. It also links the person back to the original post and who posted it.

Q: Some folks seem to think that if they grab a gif from Google, just saying they found it on Google is giving credit. I know this isn't the case. (I mistakenly thought that pasting the link to the image would allow folks to click through to where I found it, but discovered last night that's not the case.) If I found a gif on Google that was yours and used it, and provided a link to the page where Google found it, would that be enough, do you think?

C: Sometimes a reverse image search can be helpful, but it mostly doesn't work with gifs. That would be fine for me. Like I said, I have "cc" in the corner so that's me marking the gif as one of mine. I can't control where someone reposts them or uses them. There's a difference between reposting it to a site like Pinterest or using my gif on a LiveJournal post and saving it and reuploading it like it's yours and without giving me credit. One is malicious, the other isn't. I have a problem with the latter.

Q: I started looking at where Google finds gifs last night, and noticed that sites like gfycat have whole pages of gifs, and just citing that page might not be enough. (And trying to find where Google found them many times leads to a Tumblr blog that’s now gone.)

C: Google finds gifs all over the place. Someone can take my gif from Tumblr and reupload it to a bunch of different websites, all which would show up in a Google search. It's hard to find the original poster when it happens. Yeah, people delete their pages, but the gif stays. If you get to that point, just say, “Gif found on Google, unable to find original post"

Q: Speaking of finding gifs, how does the search function work on Tumblr? Is it just whatever the post was tagged with or the first 5 tags like regular searches or something else entirely?

After some discussion, we all decided that the gif search uses whatever #hash-tags are on a post where a gif is used, and then makes that gif searchable by that #hash-tag. So, if you make a post about chronic pain and use a gif of the Winchesters hugging, that gif will then show up in the gif search under #chronic pain. Also, popularity of the gif ensures it shows up at the top of the search. As people stop using a gif, it eventually falls out of the search results.

Q: Going back to file sizes...Do the dimensions of the source video (like watching Netflix/YouTube in full screen vs in a smaller window) impact the size of the gif, specifically with GifCam?

C: Now, that's a HUGE reason why I switched the way I make gifs. Netflix has a set streaming rate, which is only optimized at full screen. So the smaller you make the window to get it to fit into the size of the gif, the more degraded the image is. (Some confusion was expressed, so she continued to explain it further.) Netflix likes to run as big as possible. It wants as many pixels it can get to show you an image. If you minimize the window, it kind of freaks out and has to quickly scramble to make everything smaller so the video keeps playing. It does that by squishing everything down, making the image look weird. It might not be too noticeable when you look at it, but when you make gifs, they're gonna come out lookin all wonky.

Q: So, you have to make the Netflix window smaller in order to capture the images with the gif-making software? The gif-making software can't capture full screen?

C: GifCam will record the gif based on the window size. You gotta squish the window down to make it a reasonable size to fit on Tumblr. Other programs, which you might have to pay for, might be able to capture full screen and do the squishing for you. (Side note: during this discussion, Chrissy gave us some examples, and in showing them to us, revealed that a good gif size for Tumblr is around 410-430 wide, 230-250 high.)

After that, we moved on to other topics that had been brought up in the Pond survey a while back. 

How to make a Keep Reading cut and when you should use it.

Note: Although this worked for one person on the app, it doesn’t seem to work for all, and we’re not sure why. There are too many variables to determine the root cause for why it doesn’t always work. 

Q: "When should I give someone credit for being a beta (for example: I bounced ideas with someone for a minute or two but they didn’t technically beta read it; I can’t decide between X and Y (with no context), pick one)"

A: Always mention anyone who helped you. You don’t have to say they beta-read your story, but at least mention that they helped, even if they didn’t know it! Gratitude is always a good thing!! Writing takes a village, and being thankful for help is courteous, kind, caring, and helps you to make friends that will be the same right back to you.

How do I add my masterlist for my blog description?

Note: Chrissy pointed out that if you change your bio by hitting “edit appearance” instead of “edit theme” the link will break, so be careful where you add this! These things and more can be found in the Pond FAQ list!!

Q: The facts on search issues (re: links, tags, and anything else that keeps a fic from being “searchable”)

A: A lot of testing and research went into trying to figure this out, and we still probably don’t have it all figured out, but we learned some interesting things!

Most importantly, since we have a lot of smut writers, if you use the #hash-tag #NSFW on your post, your post will NOT show up in any searches!!

Adding an external link should not cause your post to be unsearchable, but that’s not guaranteed. According to Tumblr’s own help pages, “some links may cause posts to be hidden from recent search results.” Since spambots use external links in their posts, this will always be something that could possibly interfere with your post being searchable.

According to Tumblr: “Blogs that have been either self-flagged or flagged by us as “explicit” per our old policy (before December 17, 2018), will not show up in search. Users under 18 are still not allowed to click through to see the content of these blogs. If you think your blog has been erroneously marked as explicit, you can file an appeal by following these instructions.”

When you are searching for your post, make sure you are looking at Most Recent posts, not Most Popular! 

Some things to know about searching:

There are two ways to search a blog. If you use the search box at the top, then your results will have a URL like this:  https://spnfanficpond.tumblr.com/search/big-fish-chat

However, that is not the only way you can search your blog. If you look at a post, and click on one of the tags on that post, your results will have a URL like this: https://spnfanficpond.tumblr.com/tagged/big-fish-chat

The first search will look through all of the text in a post to find the words you’re searching for. The second search will only look for posts with that specific tag. If a blog doesn’t have a search box in its theme, you can type these searches in manually, and they will still work.

You can also do these searches manually through all of Tumblr. Keep this in mind when you’re doing your general Tumblr search and check the URL of your results, because... “search” & “tagged” look at #hash-tags differently!

(This is so confusing, we know.)

“Search” will look through 20 #hash-tags. “Tagged” will only look through 5 #hash-tags. So, put your most important #hash-tags in your first 5!!

Q: Can you talk about xkit?

A: xkit is awesome and we should all bow down to the xkit guy because he fixes things when Tumblr poops on the carpet. Seriously. It’s only for use on desktop, but it makes Tumblr so much easier to manage.

xkit is an extension for your browser. Look for New xkit, and download that. Once you have xkit loaded, click on the xkit icon near the top right of your screen. When the xkit window pops up, click on Get Extensions. We could suggest a list of the best extensions, but they’re all seriously awesome. Blacklist seems to be the most common, as it filters out posts you don’t want to see based on tags and text. Auto Tagger, Activity+, Outbox, One-Click Postage, and Quick Tags are all ridiculously useful for everyday blogging. The whole thing is super easy to learn and use, and you can’t break anything while you’re learning. Some extensions, like Blacklist, may slow your computer down when you’re surfing your dash because they essentially surf it ahead of you and manipulate it. If you start seeing problems, you can disable any extensions you decide you don’t want to use, anymore.

Seriously, it’s freaking awesome.

Great talk, guys! If you have ideas for topics, please let us know!!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

What we’ve got cooking up next: 

We’re working on setting up the discord server. We’re still learning the ins and outs and all the options available. More options means more discussion among the admins and decisions to be made, so please be patient! We’re getting there!

Reminders:

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work!  IF YOU HAVE SENT IN A NOMINATION, BUT HAVE NOT RECEIVED A PRIVATE MESSAGE CONFIRMING WE RECEIVED IT, WE DIDN’T GET IT. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

SPNFanFicPond Season 14 Weekly Episode Challenge - Now that the season is over, we will be reposting each prompt list through the summer months! Remember, there’s no deadline for submissions!

Say hi to June’s New Members!

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the chat room and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details!  The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

We don’t have a topic or speaker set up for August’s event, yet, so if there’s something you want to talk about, or someone you want to talk to, LET US KNOW!

[beauvoyr]

My Friend, Mr Noctgar | 3

EPISODE III | vendetta

Pairings: Noctis/Reader vs Ravus/Reader  Genre: Romance Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Alpha/Beta/Omega, no beta we die like men, Humour, Angst, Fluff, Size Kink, Size Difference, Short Reader, Self-Indulgent Characters: Older Noctis, Older Chocobros, 30-year-old Ravus Nox Fleuret, Ardyn Izunia, Aranea, Loqi Tummelt, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Homeless (?) Noctis Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: ao3 Summary: Transferring from Gralea to Insomnia’s already hard enough for an Omega like you. Luckily your new friend Mr Noctgar, a homeless Alpha who’s always skulking around Sagefire, is there to brighten your dreary days ahead. And he’s always there to teach you the best spots in Insomnia, among other things.

“—which is why Ghorovas’ Rift is what it is today,” Noctgar ends his tale, flattening the top half of his vanilla soft serve with an agile tongue. At your wide-eyed stare, he swipes a few more licks to the cone, blunt fingernails absently scratching his scruff. “Told you Ifrit was an ass.”

“B-b-but that’s not what the Cosmogonies say?” you sputter, well aware that you sound like an utter imbecile for believing in half the garbage printed. Noctgar regards you with sympathetic understanding how a parent breaks to a child that Shiva Claus isn’t real, and you could only cover your burning cheeks by blaming the dastardly cunning ways of the Insomnian sun. “I mean—they should totally fire their writer for coming up with that fanfic-level stuff and—“

“I don’t get why they tried to make it romantic too,” Noctgar offers his thought, hacking off another solid chunk of vanilla with that sinful muscle of his. “Ifrit’s ego is the size of Ravatogh; unless he apologises to Shiva for messing up Solheim, I don’t think she’s going to lift the curse on Ghorovas. Of course,” his side-glance comes with a playful twinkle, “they tried to tone it down for the kids, I guess. No evil curses, just straight-up romance. Easier for them to digest that stuff.”

Serves you right for being such a gullible child, now Noctgar’s going to think you’re such a baby for believing in that load of junk. When you get back to Gralea, you’re putting up your limited edition copies on nBay. You’re so selling them. Bitterly, too bitterly, you mutter, “Should’ve known Shiva and Ifrit weren’t just Astrals immortalizing their love in Ghorovas. Ice and fire, duh, polar opposites. And polar opposites just don’t get along with each other.”

“Really?” Noctgar bites out a stifled chuckle, now nibbling around the rim of his cone. “Why’d you say that?”

“My superior, Ravus, is what I’d call my polar opposite. The Ghorovas’ Rift to my Leide Desert, if I’m trying to be poetic,” you answer as your thoughts turn to the flaxen-haired prince charming fairing from Tenebrae, substituting black chocobo and polished armour for a Bentley too big in a six-digit suit daily. “He’s a Sonnet 18 kind of guy that could quote ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’ right down to ‘So long lives this, and this gives life to thee’, and then there’s me, rapping Monster’s ‘You could be the King but watch the Queen conquer.’” You pause at the affable agreement from Noctgar, who’s taking it in with his cream-stained lips twisting into a smile. “See what I mean? We could totally work together but beyond that? Yeah, it’s the original version of Shiva and Ifrit right here, now that I stand corrected—”

The corners of Noctgar’s mouth twitch wider. “Your soft serve’s melting.”

—and you’re flailing at the way vanilla oozes down your flaccid cone, sticky fingers and a veiny trickle down the back of your hand. Any second later and it would’ve stained your cuff. “Oh sh—“ With no napkins left, you lapped at the mess in alternating waves of broad licks, the tip of your tongue erasing all whiteness. You transfer the soft serve to your free hand just so you could suck off all stickiness from your fingers, taking each digit into your mouth and releasing them with a salacious pop, glistening wet yet thankfully free from all stickiness. Thank Astrals for this good head on your shoulders. “There, saved.”

When you turn to Noctgar once more, proudly showing him your handiwork, it is indeed news to you that Noctgar is also susceptible to the ways of the Insomnian sun, despite having lived here for a while.

5.48 p.m. comes as a heady perfume of melancholy and lovesickness. It has Ravus jabbing the keyboard a bit too hard when the scent draws closer and closer, like the metaphorical smog wafting in those inane morning cartoons Luna enjoyed. He knows what this is. Clack, clack, clack goes his keyboard when click click click ends at his doorway, bringing forth a scent that corrupts all Alphas into beasts, a scent that has his jaw set taut, teeth clenched.

“Hey sir,” you chime, your handbag shouldered, eyes a starry concerto when you seek his. By the Gods, he hates that glassy sheen, especially the hint of your teeth hiding behind the pink of your lips. “I’m about to head back.”

So leave already, he wants to snarl.

Get out of my sight, he wants to growl.

“Very well, you may leave,” is what he says, ignoring your questing eyes in favour of the bulleted list he’s been typing since five. Seven pages in, charts and tables drawn, paragraphs elaborated and red-tabbed notes highlighting key points in the report, and yet it is still far from complete to him. From the looks of it, a few more hours will be a worthwhile investment in order to achieve the level of perfection he’s after.

Something must’ve crossed his face when he returned to his work, for your keen eyes are still riveted on him. “You’re…not going home?”

Fingers skating across the keys stop. Your innocent concern is a forgery most Omegas have mastered; a species designed to captivate and fascinate those around them, unhesitant to delve their fingers into the stickiest of pies, only to draw them back, licking and sucking off cherry-reddened digits one by one. Viciously coy to those they want to enrapture, cunningly demure to those they want to seduce, Omegas are disgusting creatures willingly spreading their legs for any and all Alphas to conquer. Once they’ve conquered the body, they will conquer the world. Such is the reality Ravus is acquainted with, considering the multitude of Omegas who have crossed his path and tried to make him theirs.

And you could be one of them.

Another one of them, seeking wealth and riches only a prince could satisfy.

Ravus skips over your gaze, knowing he’ll find nothing. Clack clack clack on his keyboard again, this time in a measured pace. “No.” By right, he could’ve left it at no and watch you leave his room with one of your feigned sympathy, but professionalism has a say over prejudice. Work is work, and you are but an Omega stationed under him. He keys in the last period and skims over the sentence twice more. “I am preparing an outline for tomorrow’s briefing, as we will be hosting a corporate event on C3 involving both CC and NT in the near future.”

“Ohhhh…” You’re nodding—which, in Ravus’ dictionary, is not a good sign. The moment you’re adjusting your shoulder strap absently, Ravus regrets every word leaving your mouth: “Anything I can do to help out?”

This is what he doesn’t need. Help. An excuse following an excuse, Omegas are good at conjuring a thousand and one more excuses to spend more time within the proximity of those they’re trying to capture; How low will they stoop? Low enough until they crawl, Ravus supposes. And crawling is what Omegas do best.

His words are clipped, underlined with brutal intent. “No. Leave.”

Unfortunately, you are dafter than most. Where others would scurry along and never look back at the sight of his darkening expression, your stupidity takes you places others wouldn’t dream of venturing. Now, you are waltzing into the territories of Ravus’ restraint with a quiet, “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that, let me help you out.” Again, you are the obnoxious Omega pushing every button on the console as if to trigger his wrath, fond eyes juxtaposing narrowed ones. “The sooner we get this done, the faster you can go home, right? So let’s get to it.”

Foolish, selfish Omega.

Fingers lacing together, Ravus leans into his backrest, tipping his chin ever so slightly at the sight of the disobedient Omega toeing his doorway. What do you seek to gain from testing his patience? His affection? Hah, hardly. A one-night stand much like the cheap paperbacks Luna enjoyed? Never in his lifetime. Winning his attention? On the negative spectrum, you will. What about monetary expenses? Surely you’ll benefit from overtime, making the most of your meagre salary to support your luxurious lifestyle. Omegas and their petty needs of pretty collars for every outfit, polished nails done in salons, nauseating perfumes in crystal bottles—everything as an excuse to waste money. Ravus considers this train of thought twice more before he comes to a conclusion.

“You won’t be paid for your overtime,” he breathes his verdict.

It's a variable thrown into the mix for the sake of observing your reaction. If he’s right, he should be receiving the expected reaction right about—

You straighten up, nodding once. “Okay yep, bye.”

Click, click, click is the sound that follows, the very sound of victory proving his statement. Ravus smirks to himself, knowing he is not wrong and he will never be wrong. A typical Omega you are, lured by the lavish prospects of making more money through whatever means you could get. Laughable. Your desperation is disgusting and he detests your very presence. He should be very careful in deflecting any future advances from your end, knowing how adamant Omegas can be once they settle on a target to devour. You may have given up tonight, but you will return sooner or later. With that warning planted in his head, Ravus rests his fingers on his keyboard, gliding over them in ease.

Click, click, click is also the sound of defeat when you backtrack into his doorway again, flashing a cheeky grin that belongs only on primates in zoos. “Just kidding, sir, I’m not that heartless. Back in Gralea, Aranea used to stay back with the rest of the team when we worked on something. And because NTG was extra broke at one point because they keep siphoning the money to different politicians, I’m used to not getting paid by now.” You do a one-shoulder shrug, rattling about a paper bag. “As long as I can trade those OTs for credit leaves, I’m cool with that.”

Foolish, selfish, and annoying Omega.

If Ravus were a slighter man, his door would have answered your statement in seconds. However, he is the Prince of Tenebrae, and so he returns your imprudent gallantry with a frown. More minutes are wasted on entertaining your stupidity, minutes that Ravus could have spent on bettering his outline, minutes that Ravus would have clocked in at least two more pages to his text. Here you stand, awaiting his response, and here he sits, awaiting your departure.

No such luck.

Such trifling matters to be handled; yet it niggles his head all the same. He could only tear his eyes away from your unblinking stare, resuming his work once more. “…do whatever you want.” Yes, you could do whatever you want; after all, you may have won the fight, but you have yet to win the war. Ravus taps away at his keyboard, finding more satisfaction in punching in the alphabets than staring you down. “And while you’re at it, get me some coffee.”

“Great! I still have some bread from Sagefire this afternoon so we can totally share that.” You’re all but bouncing away as your voice drifts from a distance, filling in the click click click of your heels. “Gonna be in the pantry for a sec, ‘scuse me.”

He does not want any bread from Sagefire, not when Scientia owns it. But your return brings two mugs of coffee, setting them with noiseless experience of a waiter on his table. In a creamy caramel colour, Ravus glowers at the consistency of your coffee. “What’s this?”

“Coffee!” you cheer, rolling out a chair to make yourself comfortable as you unpack the paper bag to reveal an assortment of diabetes inducing treats on a ceramic platter. “And here’s some bread too—I totally recommend having their strawberry danish because it’s so good.”

With an upturned nose, Ravus angles his face away from your weak craft. “I only take mine black.”

Your head bobs rapidly like a storm-wrecked buoy, a certain light illuminating your face. “Well! More for me then!” The moment your offending hand begins its advance for his mug, he grits his teeth at your impudence and swats off the intruder. “Ow!” You rub the back of your reddening hand, pouting—Gods, the thing an Omega loves to do most, pouting. “Okay, okay, I get it, sheesh…I’ll make yours black next time.”

Ravus only hikes a brow at your impertinent words and merely answers your sulk with a sip.

It’s not black coffee, but at least you make a decent one for a screw-up.

2.39 a.m.

You could barely even control the yawn escaping your mouth, what more controlling your appearance in front of him. Two mugs, one rimmed in nude lip prints, both equally drained to the dregs. The back of your hand sports a smudge of brown and black, courtesy of an accidental rubbing of your eye to fight your sleep. Roughly thirty minutes earlier, you splashed cold water on your face, effectively erasing every last inch of powder on your haggard face. Only three days in and your superior is already treated to the sight of your bare face, no lipstick, no eyeliner, not even a cushion powder to fix up your appearance. That’s a record, considering how Aranea only saw your pillow face three months in when you first started; now Ravus has seen it all, and you think he’ll start seeing more the longer you work with him.

How could one thing escalate to another, a briefing outline on tomorrow’s meeting turning into an impromptu planning session for NTI’s charity event on C3 grounds anyway?

The answer?

Well, that’s work for you.

With another disgruntled yawn, you rub the bridge of your nose. Only, Ravus looks up from his copy of the document, pen paused. In his normal state, Ravus is considered crabby. Past midnight, stuck here for hours and hours on end with you, he’s the crabbiest ever. You could only manage an apologetic sigh, hoping you don’t add on to his irritation. “Sorry, Ravus…I’m just extra tired lately.”

“Aren’t we all?” is his acerbic response, utterly lacking sympathy.

You don’t expect him to properly channel human emotions since he appears to be a counterpart of Andronicus, but he least he could do is to understand where you’re coming from. You click your pen close, setting it parallel to your lipstick-ridden mug. “Emphasise on the extra tired, sir.” Your lips twitch at his merciless dour. “I didn’t even get to unpack my stuffs yet. So many boxes and so many things are missing in my new apartment. Hooks, locks, curtains, sheets, pillows, everything. I can’t use the stove because I haven’t bought induction pans yet, I haven’t hanged my clothes in the closet because I don’t have time to iron everything, I need to call the landlord to call the plumber to fix the heater because it’s already broken by the time I moved in—Shiva, the best I have is the bed because it’s the only thing I managed to set up. Just throw on my scarf and bundle my sweater and boom, that’s my bedsheet and pillow.”

Of course, you hadn’t intended to shoot him with your rant but it is what it is. While your problems are your own, and a prince wouldn’t necessarily come equipped with generous understanding of how hard moving from one place to another while being dead broke can be, your mild outburst is intended as a plea for him to remove his feet from his fancy, hard leather oxfords for once and slip on your ratty morning office slippers instead. If you had all the money in the world, hiring people to furbish your rented apartment would be as easy as waving your black card on the scanner, go to work in Louboutins while riding a Maserati, and come back to a five-star chef having prepared fresh fish air-flown from Altissia for your dinner. All of that is easily within Ravus’ command if he desires, but you? You’re just an Omega making a measly 3.8k a month and a good chunk of that money is going to your rent, meals, supporting your parents back in Gralea, and public transportation fees.

However, for the strangest moment, Ravus is silent.

When it comes to your sporadic verbal machine gun going rat-tat-tat-tat for a conversation, Ravus keeps to himself most of the time—or downright ignores it. Granted, he could’ve unloaded a scathing bazooka of, “Silence, vermin,” on you, or a derisive variant of, “You asinine whelp,” on your sorry ass just to keep you silenced once more. But this time, there is none of that. Ravus leans into his seat, briskly capping his fountain pen closed. Heterochromatic eyes are back on you again, appraising your paltry worth under fluorescent tubes. Being probed by a man like him, wholly, unabashedly, with lips set in a thin line and eyebrows furrowed, everything just burns an uncomfortable bonfire in your tummy.

‘Oh gods, just stop staring already,’ you internally shake your hands skywards, begging the Astrals on your knees to spare you because Ravus can’t seriously be doing this now.

Your blouse is rumpled from all the active moving you’ve been doing throughout the day, you’re sure you’re shitfaced because your makeup is gone, nada, zilch—and the worst part is, he’s not even saying anything about it! Not even a degrading remark! Comparing your dishevelled self to him, his three-piece suit still remains impeccable even if it had been hours since his arrival at office, his face is a marble statue of cool composure an Alpha commands, and he does not look haggard (unlike you, you weak ass Omega). The longer he stares, the more you feel your cheeks burning with the intensity of a wildfire scorching Leiden desert.

Heck, anyone and everyone getting picked to pieces by a hot guy would probably feel the same way too, just that said hot guy happens to be the punishing Prince of Tenebrae.

And said Prince of Tenebrae so happens to be your superior.

Three seconds later, the Alpha comes to a decision. “Let us stop here for now.”

That’s so unexpected until you blink at the surprise. Did that sympathetic node in his brain finally function?

Apparently, Ravus isn’t finished with his train of thought. “I find that working when one is demotivated is akin to pushing a dead mule. Ineffective and inefficient.” And, for the slightest moment, the edges of his lips curl. “Like you.”

—so maybe you were too hasty in your conclusion.

If it were up to your fighting spirit, you would’ve spat fire in his face, fuelled by your fatigue and fury from his relentless barrage of insults. But, Gods above, this guy’s your superior and you’re going to be stuck with him for a long, long time. It’s only been three days, three days! Biggs and Wedge once tested your patience with repeated pranking in office and you only snapped after finding your car painted in Post-its after the second month. Just because this goddamn Prince of Tenebrae doesn’t understand the hardships a broke ass Omega needs to endure in a new environment, it doesn’t mean he should be getting under your skin this easily—and that doesn’t mean you should jeopardise your sole work source of income thanks to him.

Because, hey, this isn’t a girly manga where the main character quarrels with a filthy hot, fucking rich dude and winds up in a twisted relationship with the man, yeah?

Yeah, so let’s roll with that.

You stomach his insults in hopes you’d digest his assholery and turn it into diarrhoea by tomorrow morning. At least you made some progress into his work and you can’t say you shirked out your duty as a senior exec. The smile on your face is positively simpering. “Thanks, Ravus, I really appreciate it.”

Translation: Go fuck yourself.

Swiftly withdrawing all papers and clutter from his desk to be stuffed into a folder, taking off the mugs and dumping them in the sink for washing tomorrow morning, you return to his room to grab both your handbag and work bag, slinging them over your shoulder once more. In a couple more hours you’d be back in this dreaded place again, enduring yet another hellish torture from 8.00 a.m. to 7 p.m. and you can’t say you’re looking forward to it. A glance to your wristwatch tells you it’s 3.04 a.m. and you’ve got only four hours of sleep maximum if you’re looking to arrive at work on time, but the bigger problem here is this:

“What the fuck.” You blink at your wristwatch’s guiltless face. Then turned to Ravus’ cocked eyebrow at your uncharacteristic cuss. “Sorry about that. I missed the last train.”

If possible, Ravus’ eyebrow climbs higher. One day, you’ll ask him the secret to his condescending eyebrow ascension, but not today. Not when you’re stranded here with nary a cheap cab to haul your pathetic ass home. ‘Great job, (y/n), great job. You done fucked up now.’

The curled edges to Ravus’ lips are still there when he questions, “And where do you live?”

“Somewhere on the – uh,” you squint at the foggy memory of sienna walls and bricked roads, vivid playground and a kindergarten nearby, “I think it’s called Kore? Not sure where that is.” Considering it’s only been four days since you landed in Insomnia, it’s a miracle your overworked brain could recall a fragment of the location. “But it’s got a kindergarten and some swings and it’s a pretty cheap and quiet neighbourhood kind of thing—safe, hopefully.”

“That’s quite some distance from here,” he hums. “I suppose you walk to the train daily then?”

Chatty, isn’t he? You shift your weight on the other foot, rubbing your nape as your head sifts through possibilities of Moogling up a 24-Hour cab service and risk getting conned for thousands of Credits, or grab Uber instead and risk getting into a car with a potentially frisky Alpha. The choices are clearly endless. “Well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. If I stay close to NTI, I’m gonna be even more broke than I am now. Need to make the best of my pay.” Not that it changes anything in your current situation; you probably should start thinking of alternatives now. Cab it is. “Yeah, anyway, I gotta go now. Gonna call a cab, ‘nite.”

Granite and amethyst are sharply narrowed your way once again, this time with an ever-familiar scowl. “Don’t be asinine—“

You sigh. ‘Yep, there it is, he’s gonna chew me out again for my life decisions. Stay out of my life, dad, I’m an adult.’

“—I’ll send you home,” Ravus finishes, already striding past your stunned figure to switch off the lights to his office. “Come along now, we don’t have all day.”

Your head whips around so fast you could’ve risked cracking your neck.

Holy shit. Did you hear that right?

Is your life really starting to turn into that girly manga route where the cold bastard finally takes an interest in the protagonist and the protagonist falls helplessly in love with him and it culminates into—‘Okay, no, calm down, self, calm down. It’s just Ravus being a sensible guy—he’s a human being and he’s got to have some sort of kind bone in him somewhere. Don’t overthink this and don’t end up making it more awkward than it already is. Ifrit and Shiva, Ifrit and Shiva, gotta remember that.’

That’s your pep talk for the day, but your traitorous heart’s palpitating loud enough for your eardrums to beat along. Tugging your bags closer as you tailed Ravus on your way out, you crane your neck to look up at him in gratitude. Because, seriously, all girly manga clichés aside, he’s the real MVP for wanting to send you back home. “Thanks, Ravus, seriously. I really appreciate this.” And no, not a hint of sarcasm this time. For real. “Seriously seriously. Thanks man.”

Ravus allows himself a sidelong glance at your expectant gaze, almost haughty in his disdain. “If you were to be murdered, I will end up losing more manpower in this office. I simply cannot let that happen.”

Or so he says, yet as your shoulders sag at his incriminating statement, half-lidded eyes are lingering far too long on you.

It is rare occasion for one to find oneself riding his car. It is rarer occasion for one to ride with him twice in a single lifetime.

Strangely, you defy all norms with your brutish pig-headedness, barrelling past all barricades he’s strategically set up to deter those coming his way. Riding in his car twice, and having the gall to fall asleep at that. Foolhardy, insolent, never quick to rise to the baits he dangled right under your nose. There should be a specific category for people like you, those who teeter along the fine line dividing the charlatan and the frank, though he can’t quite find a box befitting your nature. At most, you rebuffed his mockery with a snide smile, knowing your place underneath him, playing by the unspoken political hierarchy in the office.

Chancing a glance at his side rewards him with a vexing view of your lolling head. Shoulders softly rising and falling in tune with your breathing, guiltless in your slumber. Never once stirring from your sleep, hands politely folded over your thighs, both bags sitting by your feet. Street lamps flashing over your skin hardly bothers you, though Ravus supposes sloths are heavy sleepers. While it is indeed a blessing that you are silent for once, it is also infuriating that you dared to sleep in his presence, rendering him akin to your personal driver. An incredibly incensing thought, one that almost makes him want to shake you awake just to see your disgruntled face upon being rudely woken up.

The sooner he deposits you, the better.

A finger to the blinker, he smoothly swerves left and exits the highway.

Stalagmite skyscrapers gradually disappear from the distance, consumed by the miles separating them from the heart of Insomnia as Ravus drives on. Kore, miles from the heart of Insomnia, is a suburb for the penniless. Unfortunately, it’s one of Luna’s favourite spots for her charity charades, or what Ravus thinks it is. Visiting orphanages with trolleys of toys and wheeling around gap-toothed children in wheelchairs, her actions earned the love of locals easily. A gentle beauty who is no stranger to TV shows and radio podcasts, his gentle sister preaches to the masses. What Ravus saw as cunningly crafted manipulation of the media to bolster Niflheim’s extensive efforts in positive politics, Luna would wage a war with words against him—or what she calls pessimistic derision.

Whatever it may be, Ravus isn’t keen on correcting her altruism at the expense of their familial ties; as long as she’s safe, their views may continue to differ, so long as it contributes to the same cause.

His foot eases off the gas pedal as the traffic lights transition from amber to red. The quiet outskirts of the city are obviously dead at this hour with no cars whirring across the road. Waiting for a full minute at the intersection when he’s all alone would’ve sounded ridiculous to many, but rules are not meant to be broken. At the inopportune moment presenting itself, Ravus chances another glimpse at your visage, catching your head still lolling softly as though you are headbanging in your dreams. The sight of your unashamed barefaced slumber whisks an irritation he deems it can be solved once he swats you awake.

Foolish, selfish, annoying, and audacious Omega.

As though the traffic lights sensed his malicious intent, they immediately popped green.

Thus, Ravus is thwarted for the night.

Much later on, miles and miles away from the junction, stopping by the cracked sidewalk leading up to a rundown two-storey apartment with an exposed stairwell and walls as thin as a single brick, he watches as you stumble out of his ride with half a heel worn and the other stuck somewhere underneath the seat. You yawn open-mouthed when you’ve fished the abominable needle-heeled shoe from ruining his ride, slurring a sleepy good night with that idiotic slant slacking your lips to reveal a hint of teeth in a coy smile.

Shutting his door, you totter off into the distance as darkness warps your body until you are no more.

Ravus stares at nothing.

And then he leaves.

8.35 a.m.

Oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

You’re speed-walking through the thronging crowd at four oh shits per second, in which an interspersed oh fuck gives you an extra boost when you glance at your wristwatch. You are so dead—oh, you wish you were already dead because at least you don’t have to step into office and get physically dismembered by your boss. While you would’ve preferred your phone to be pinging nonstop with a barrage of assaulting messages from Ravus, the eerie silence speaks volumes for your current situation. Nothing’s scarier when a boss says nothing about your tardiness—in which it’s already a code red for your life.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you chant to the crowded escalator as your heart goes oh shit, oh shit, oh shit in tandem, pushing past the slow-motion bystanders—or are you actually on fast-forward? No matter, same difference, just that you need to get the hell out of the station to run to your office.

Emerging from the subway, your heart’s pumping like you’re about to undergo a cardiac arrest as you reorientate yourself with your surroundings. In the distance, NTI gleams like a silver stake ready to be spiked through your body. Just imagining the things Ravus would do to you the moment you step past the office doors gets you doubting yourself for a second there longer—oh Astrals, would it be better if you just stop by a Starbucks somewhere and tender your resignation to HR via email just so you’d spare yourself? Or would it be better if you just hightail it back home and never show up until they just terminate you? Either way, anything sounds like a good choice—far better than going in there unarmed against your boss.

With a nervous twitch, you withdraw your phone to check the notifications.

Nothing.

Not even an insult?

Or even something vaguely derogatory?

Good gods, you’re really done for, aren’t you?

All because you decided to spend your OT in office with him until three in the morning.

‘If anything, he should be grateful to me because I helped him out,’ you huffily try to justify should ragnarok come hurling home. Stuffing your phone once more, it is with a heavy heart and heavier feet that you drag yourself to your office, slowing down to one and a half oh shit at a time. ‘But then again, it’s not like I was helping out much. He got his shit together while I was sitting there like a moron watching him work.’

As a senior executive, whatever your boss tasked you with, you were supposed to execute it with the aid of fellow execs under you. Growing into this new role of yours gets challenging without a guiding hand showing you the ropes—you suppose all you could do is to imitate whatever Aranea had done and replicate it in your own unique way. Just like yesterday, when experience poured from the tip of Ravus’ fountain pen whilst he scribbled ideas on a scrap of paper. Planning charity events requires budgeting; that much you knew from your years with Aranea. NTG had to ration their budget expenditure spread over a financial year and NTI isn’t any different—except, NTI had a wealth of money at their expense, apparently. Ravus had kindly set aside close to a hundred thousand for media buys pertaining to social media ads, and that’s not even including billboards and traditional media. You had dumbly stared at the 1.5 million Credits parked under production costs as you mentally contrasted it with NTG’s measly 30k—to which the prince haughtily declared, “Did you think this will be just like Gralea?”

As snotty as he sounded, you couldn’t admit yes.

The scale of the events NTI organized shouldn’t be a surprise to you; Ravus had shown you that whatever NTG did, NTI would execute it on a grander note. That’s because it’s not for Niflheim anymore; it’ll be the talk of the kingdom if NT scrimped out on their political campaign by delivering less than what is expected. None of them would like to lose face in front of the king, would they? From the guest lists to the caterers, he shared his thoughts and views on contracted vendors and agencies that would be setting up the event site. Coordinating their locations, standardizing the colours, ensuring all corporate identities are prominently displayed via buntings, it’s almost everything you’ve ever done in NTG amplified threefold. With every snip of his tongue lashing, you are forced to reorganize your bearings and fulfil his wishes according to his ideals.

It’s overwhelming. Exhausting. Demanding.

Yet, as you think about your boss’ solemn profile as he worked tirelessly through the night, it pops a funny little bubble in your tummy.

Ravus Nox Fleuret is a pain in the ass, sure, but at least he taught you something.

And how are you supposed to support him as a senior exec if you’re going to get fired today? Well, better get your feet moving faster than one oh shit at a time if you still want a job by tomorrow.

Picking up your speed, you allow the ocean of humans to suck you into waves. Everywhere you looked, the morning zombies of Insomnia were in the same state: Dragging their feet to their workplaces. You can’t say you’re proud to be one of them, especially when your body’s in a state of disarray. That lack of sleep manifests by way of a throbbing headache and tunnel vision as you weave through the crowd, making your way to the stab of silver in the distance. Except, along the way, you didn’t expect a familiarly antique scent to come sidling up your strides.

“Hey, morning,” Noctgar offers a rumbling greeting, scruff twitching along his words.

What could possibly improve your disastrous morning to be better? None other than your favourite homeless Alpha, that’s who.

In all honesty, you wanted to slow down and have a good chat with him before you head to your funeral—but it’s not easy being the star of your own beheading, so you can’t really show up late. Flashing him your most genuine smile, you keep an even pace. And it certainly helps when you’re short, for you would never wind up outpacing him.

“G’morning, Noctgar! So sorry I can’t stop and chat, I actually shouldn’t be alive right now!” you chirp. At his stunned silence welcoming your shocking statement, you laugh a little. “Just kidding—well,” you sober up at the reality of the situation, “half kidding. I’m just really late right now, so I’m trying to make the most of my last moments on Eos before my boss decides how he wants me done today. Grilled, charbroiled, steamed, everything on the menu is possible.”

Even with the bustling Insomnians talking in dissonant murmurs, Noctgar’s low whistle couldn't be missed. “Sounds rough, I’m sorry to hear that, old friend. Take care.”

“Take care!?” you squeak your disbelief, chortling at the way Noctgar’s ever-expressive eyes twinkle with mischief when he knows you hadn’t missed out on the joke. “Such support, much wow. Wait ‘til you receive my e-invite for my funeral today, free lunch provided.”

Noctgar chuckles at your dark humour, easily sidestepping a passing Beta before rejoining your side like velcro. “Yeah, wouldn’t miss out on free lunch. Hope he cooks you good.”

“Me too,” you lightly punch him in the bicep as he returns his revenge by messing up your hair, trading blows.

Somewhere down the street, Starbuck’s open doors wafted bitter notes of coffee among the herd of creamy Omegas, subtle Betas, and masculine Alphas. Cabbies and Ubers are honking at the building traffic, tyres screeching on asphalt. Just like this, it feels good to have someone with you. Walking together through the slow drift of chilly breeze, making jokes over your misfortune when the going gets tough.

Noctgar’s the same as ever, dressed in a humble jacket, hands pocketed in drab jeans. Still looking like he hadn’t a decent night’s sleep, always in need for a good shaver and mirror. Who knows what he’s doing out here anyway? Insomnia’s probably his turf, so it makes sense why he’d just pop up near the subway by accident if he had been napping nearby—and boy, it’s an excellent accident to happen first thing in the morning. Alas, all good things have to come to an end, marked by the way NTI’s glass lobby looms all too soon into view with lively Techies swarming in by the second.

You instinctively slow down, turning to your Alpha friend with a grimace. “Well, we’ve come to the end of the line.”

“Any last words?” Noctgar teases, leaning back with his head tilted aside.

It takes you a moment to search the Merriam-Webster Dictionary preinstalled in your brain when the image just assaults you like this. With creamy light spilling over pale skin, the wild arrangement of tousled hair, sharp Alpha characteristics of a defined jawline following a cocky, self-assured smirk; yeah, this homeless friend of yours is definitely something, why didn’t you realize it earlier? With a little snip of his scruff, a tidying of his locks, and some fitting garment, Astrals, you could’ve transformed him into a model! Or at least you could do a joint venture where you could pitch his existence to modelling agencies as his self-appointed manager and rake in thousands by the end of the month—

—yeah, too bad you have to die today.

“Eh, well,” you do an unenthused shrug, already accepting your inevitable death at the hands of your boss because no amount of active imagination could spare you from Ravus, “thanks for being a pal, Noctgar. You made my short stay in Insomnia a luxury vacation, really. Five stars on TripAdvisor as best tour guide.”

At this, Noctgar’s lips twist oddly—like absent fondness and Something More™, but who knows what Something More™ could mean when you obviously won’t live long enough to find out. “I’ll make sure they bury you with your phone so that you can still text me an invite in the coffin. Can’t miss out free lunch and five stars on TripAdvisor.”

How morbidly charming. You really like this guy. Holding out a fist, you flash him the kind of smile when Brave Legends Go Off To Meet Their Impending Demise. “See you on the other side, pal.”

Noctgar only returns your brofist with unwavering confidence. “Yeah, see you.”

As you heroically march right up the entrance sans epic background music, too lost in the moment where the highlight reel of your life is on playback before your eyes, you’ve most certainly missed out a blurry reflection of Noctgar withdrawing a cellphone from his back pocket, snapping a picture of you.

“Ah, Your Highness, to what do I owe this pleasure of a phone call while I’m in the middle of a meeting with my board members, who are coincidentally very peeved at this ongoing interruption?”

“Sorry, not sorry. Do you wanna owe me something real quick?”

“An intriguing offer! Go on, I’m listening.”

“Great. There’s this girl, (y/n), coming up from NTI’s lobby now. She’s new, Omega, black collar, and reports to Ravus—I’ll send you her pic in a sec. Think you can see that bastard and make up some excuse on why she’s late?”

“Pray tell, what benefits will I reap from this ad hoc liaison?”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Debt is the slavery of the free, after all.”

“…fine, I’ll go to that damn charity event on C3.”

“What an intriguing offer indeed.”

NOTES:

Thanks for all the support during my absence! Going through a bit of a rough patch in life at the moment, but I'll try my darnest best to keep writing and keep updating! ❤ Stay safe everyone, stay hydrated, and may 2019 go well for all of you!

THE TRAGEDY CONTINUES: Great. Great, great, great, great great great, just great. The way you punched in the fullstop a bit too hard resounds like a bullet through metal before you rise to your feet, already feeling cold sweat collecting under your boobs. Because fuck sweating profusely through your armpits when that’s too mainstream, since the way you’ll get fired is already premium with how Ravus stands before his room like a headmaster catching his students sniffing glue in the school’s backyard. As if things can’t get any worse, everyone within vicinity are pretending they’re focused on their work—but you catch their sneaky eyes hovering above iMacs, ears subtly angled Ravus’ way. Absolutely fabulous, it’s barely your first week here and you’ve already fucked up ten ways up Ravus’ ass, and judging from how hairy things are getting, you suspect he hasn’t shaved his crack for a long, long time.

(Or maybe he’s never shaved at all.)

(But you haven’t considered if he’s naturally hairless, did you?)

[hkvoyage]

Fic: Butterfly Wings - Chapter 42 - Epilogue - Complete

Story summary A fashion blog started at University launched Blaine Anderson’s fortune and fame. As Vogue’s new editor-in-chief, he is struggling to find an original angle for an upcoming issue. Kurt Hummel has recently arrived in New York City after finishing high school, and is having no luck building a musical theater career, so he decides to explore another passion of his: fashion. He applies for an internship at Vogue, and Isabelle sees in him the perfect fresh face to liven up the magazine, and convinces him to try out as a model. Kurt meets Blaine, and in spite of their 10-year age difference, sparks fly. Can they overcome misunderstandings and sabotage to find their happily-ever-after? Klaine model AU. Rating for this chapter: General (overall story is mature) Word count for this chapter: 5,679 Can also be read on A03 / FF Masterpost is here. The fantastic artwork produced by Cassie at CC-Graphics can be here.   Thank you to the amazing @lilyvandersteen for the beta work and support. ***** “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story” - Orson Welles

Seven Years Later

“Kurt, you’re not going to believe this. I just got off the phone with Matt Bomer. He wants to commission two bracelets for his and Simon Halls’ wedding anniversary. He said that money was no object.” “When’s their anniversary?” “In May.” “That sounds doable, Tina. As a matter of fact, I’ve been tinkering away at a new design. I’ll send you a preliminary sample next week. Tell Matt that his anniversary bracelet will be part of my new line, but he’ll be the first one – after Blaine, of course – to have the limited-edition bracelet in precious metals. How’s everything else going?” “Our back order will keep the factory going for the next three months. The Pride bracelets are still selling like hotcakes. I’m getting all the quarterly figures together for when you and Blaine visit in two weeks’ time, and I think you’ll be very happy.” After discussing forecasted silver prices and the inferior jewelry findings recently delivered from China, they end their call. After graduating FIT, Kurt had decided to start a jewelry business labeled ‘Buckeye Designs’ and sold brooches on Etsy. His dad thought he had named the business after his favorite Ohio football team. Only Blaine knew the real reason for the name – after all, it’s Kurt’s favorite butterfly. On their wedding day, Kurt surprised Blaine with a bracelet using differently colored precious metals to create a rainbow. Blaine was thrilled with it, but refused to take off his silicone rainbow wristband, and he now proudly wears both. Blaine urged him to sell his version of the rainbow bracelet on his Etsy site. Once Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka bought them, and the bracelets were noticed in a Vogue photo spread, it became an instant bestseller. The demand was so great that Kurt couldn’t keep up. After discussing it with Blaine, he called Tina to enlist her help. Tina immediately quit her job at Vogue – she wasn’t happy there once Blaine had left. She established a workshop in Long Island and ran the company, and it now has its own website and also sells through Amazon. This allows Kurt to focus on creating designs and infusing capital when it’s needed. It also means that Kurt can work anywhere he wishes and set his own hours. It works perfectly into Kurt’s life. Kurt looks at the clock on the workshop’s wall and starts tidying up his area. He’s finishing earlier than usual, but tonight is very special. He walks to the tiny store front and covers the display cabinets. The shop is tucked away in a little back street in Key West’s historical district. It’s one of those places you need to know about, otherwise you’ll miss it. The only reason Kurt keeps the shop is so that he can see people’s reactions to his work first-hand without them knowing he’s the designer. Kurt sends a text to Blaine saying that he’s on his way home and asking whether he should pick up anything. In record time, Kurt receives a reply: Nothing needed except you. Hurry up! I miss you <3 <3 <3. Kurt smiles at the text, wondering how he got so lucky with Blaine. Even after seven or so years together, his heart races at the thought of going home to his sweet Blaine. Kurt locks the front door to his store and peeks into the window display of the art gallery next door. His chest bursts with pride when he sees a few of Blaine’s photos on display. They certainly have fun exploring the Florida Keys and knocking things off their bucket list. Blaine’s passion for photography is still strong and he continues to be inspired by the vibrant colors of Florida’s subtropics. “Kurt! Buena suerte (good luck). Toda la familia (the whole family) will be watching tonight,” the local Cuban cigar and bar owner shouts as he passes by. “Gracias, Martín. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.” Kurt loves that he knows all the local shop owners in the area and that they’re supportive of Blaine and himself. Sexual orientation isn’t relevant in Key West, and the LBGT community seamlessly blends into all aspects of the island’s laid-back lifestyle. When Kurt was finishing his associate’s degree at FIT, Blaine took a one-month job in Miami as a back-up musician for Jason Derulo’s latest album. At the end of the month, Kurt flew to Florida for a long weekend in Key West. They fell in love with the island and the lifestyle, and decided to move there once Kurt graduated. Kurt crosses the street and heads into Kermit’s Bakery. After a thorough taste-testing throughout Key West, leaving no shop or restaurant untouched – and Blaine groaned when there were semi-finals and finals – Kurt reached the verdict that Kermit’s has the very best key lime pie. Kurt had always thought that cheesecake was the best thing on earth, but now he knows better. The rich tangy key lime filling with the crispy base now holds the number one spot. The best part is that Blaine’s lips pucker with every tart bite that he takes, and Kurt knows exactly what to do with those puckered lips – kiss them senseless. Kurt purchases the key lime pie, hoping that the Anderson-Hummel household will have something to celebrate tonight. Kurt walks the few blocks to Mallory Square, the main plaza and the tourists’ focus for the famous Key West sunsets. He walks past El Meson de Pepe, where he and Blaine are the kings of the dance floor every Tuesday on salsa night. Pepe himself jokes that he could charge people to watch them move their hips together. Kurt walks on board the small old ferry and takes a seat on the wooden bench. It’s a three-minute ferry ride home. When they first arrived in Key West, they rented a house in the historical district, but found the island too busy. Blaine had been nervous around so many tourists with cameras. After house hunting in the area, they found the perfect lot on Sunset Island. The 27-acre island is only 500 yards away from Key West, but it feels like another world. There are fifty private homes and one exclusive resort on the island with strict access controls. They purchased a vacant lot on the waterfront and then spent a year building their dream house. As the ferry approaches Sunset Island, Kurt can make out two silhouettes on the dock. When it finally anchors, Kurt races off to be with his family. “Papa! Papa! Daddy said we could visit the butterflies on Saturday!” Kurt feels stubby arms wrap around his legs. Kurt rolls his eyes fondly at Blaine and groans “Not again” before giving him a kiss. Blaine laughs as he takes Kurt’s messenger bag and the key lime pie. “You know you like the butterflies.” Kurt picks up three-year-old Lizzie and tosses her in the air before kissing her. Since the first time they held her, minutes after she was born, she has been the central focus of their lives. When they were looking for a surrogate mother, Rachel had insisted that she wanted to carry their children. They will always be indebted to her for giving them Lizzie and the baby due next month. They get into their golf cart – no cars are allowed on the island. Blaine drives and Lizzie sits on Kurt’s lap. “Tell me the wedding story. Pleaasse, Papa,” Lizzy pleads. Kurt smiles and gives Lizzy a gentle squeeze. Even though he has told the story countless times, she never tires of hearing it. “There was a special area on the beach set up for us, and our closest friends and family. I walked down a white carpet that was covered in rose petals. At the end of the path was a special pagoda covered with flowers, where I saw your Daddy waiting for me. He looked like Prince Charming, wearing a black tux. His hair…” “I know! I know! Grandpa said stuff. Nana cried. You and Daddy kissed. Now get to the good part!” Blaine chuckles, “That was the good part, angel.” Kurt presses a lingering kiss to Blaine’s cheek and whispers, “No, the good part was later that night. Maybe I can give you a refresher course this evening?” “Come on, Papa. Stop kissing Daddy!” “When Daddy and I kissed, hundreds of butterflies were released into the air. They fluttered around us and then flew towards the sun.” Lizzy lets out a big sigh. “I wanna wedding like that. Only I’m gonna be a princess and wear glass slippers. And I’m gonna ride a white horse into a castle.” Blaine stops the golf cart in front of their house and lifts Lizzy from Kurt’s lap. He opens the white picket gate and says, “Come on, princess. Go inside and wash your hands. It’s almost time to eat.” When Kurt joins him on the veranda, Blaine pulls him into his arms and gives him a kiss that he can feel down to his toes. When Blaine finally releases Kurt, he murmurs, “I expect the advanced and intensive refresher course.” They giggle as they enter the reception area. The two-story house is light and airy, with honey-colored wooden floors and ceiling fans throughout. Blaine’s baby grand piano is situated in what is usually used as a formal dining area. Kurt had wanted to make the guest cottage in the backyard Blaine’s special music room, but Blaine had insisted he wanted to play the piano and still be around his family. Amy now lives in the guest cottage, giving them the privacy they need at night for refresher courses. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” Amy shouts from the kitchen. She had moved with them to Key West when they built their house. They now have someone come to clean twice a week, allowing Amy to help with Lizzy and keep the Anderson-Hummel household humming along. Even though it’s February, it’s plenty warm enough to eat outside on the patio. Kurt and Blaine have a simple meal of conch chowder and salad, while Lizzy eats chicken fingers, carrots and peas. “I don’t wanna eat yucky veggies!” Lizzy protests as she pushes the plate away from her and pouts. “Come on, sugar plum,” Blaine coos. “Veggies are good for you.” Blaine starts singing as he pushes the plate back towards Lizzie. Grab a plate and add some peas Then a carrot and a broccoli Take a bite, chew it around Lovely taste, crunchy sound Eat your vegetables they’re so much fun to munch! Kurt smiles as he watches Blaine sing and Lizzie quite happily eats all the vegetables on her plate. It’s a well-tuned dance that they play every mealtime. Blaine is about to go into the music studio as Mr. Healthy and record a children’s album. He has composed songs about pancakes, snappy beans, sweetie corn, table manners and the like. Blaine certainly has a way with children, and is very happy staying at home with Lizzy during the day. Whilst Kurt needs to go to a separate and quiet space to be his most creative, his husband is the opposite. Blaine takes inspiration from the little things in their daily life and squeezes in song writing during naptime and weekends. This perfectly suits Kurt – after all, he has a regular tea party with Lizzie on Sunday mornings, complete with scones and cucumber sandwiches (with the crusts removed, of course). After dinner, Kurt gives Lizzy her bath. She has bubbles, color bath drops and rubber toys. It’s almost impossible to get her out, and usually Kurt loves this one-on-one time each day. But tonight, Kurt is working to a strict timetable. He goes through the usual routine, but he does not give in to Lizzy’s pleas for an extra goodnight song. When Lizzy’s eyes shut and her breathing evens out, Kurt adjusts the covers and gives her a peck on the forehead. Kurt quietly leaves her room, closing the door very slowly, and joins Blaine and Amy in the main living area. The large flat-screen TV is turned on to the Grammy Awards. “You’ve got the DVR going?” Kurt asks, plopping down next to Blaine on the sofa. Amy nods and whispers, “Shhh! They’re showing the interview with Rachel when she walked down the red carpet.” Kurt sees a heavily pregnant Rachel discussing her return to Funny Girl after she delivers the baby. “God, Blaine. Rachel’s so huge and there’s still a month to go. Do you think she’s going to have twins?” “That’s not what the scans say, but I would love to have two babies that look like you,” Blaine replies. Blaine is Lizzie’s biological father - it’s so obvious with her curls and hazel eyes. They initially agreed that they would have two children, one sired from each of them. Recently, Blaine has been begging to adopt an older child, someone who could benefit from their love. They agreed to put the discussion on the backburner until their second child is one year old. Kurt knows that eventually they will have a family full of children. The Grammy broadcast returns to the stage. LL Cool J and Ed Sheeran are announcing nominations. LL Cool J rips open the envelope, “And the song of the year is ‘You Move Me’, composed by BK Viceroy.” Kurt leaps into Blaine’s lap, kissing him all over his face, chanting, “You did it! You did it! Oh my god! I’m married to a Grammy winner!” Before they can get carried away, they look back at the TV. Marley Rose is walking onto the stage to accept the award. BK Viceroy asked me to accept this award on his behalf. Personally, it’s been an incredible journey to go from a jazz nightclub singer to performing the song of the year. BK Viceroy is the most talented songwriter I know and composes songs that anyone who’s in love – or wants to be – can really connect with. BK wishes me to thank the love of his live, the inspiration for the song, the inspiration for his everything. BK and I are collaborating on our next album, so watch this space. Thank you. Kurt’s eyes tear up listening to Marley Rose’s acceptance speech. “You know that the song was written about you.” Kurt nods his head, but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing. ***** One month later “Don’t you cry, my sweet Tracy Michael. Papa and I are going to take care of you and love you until the end of time,” Blaine coos, cradling the newborn baby in his arms. He and Kurt took him from the hospital yesterday, and they’re staying in a self-catering apartment in New York City for another two days. Blaine’s mother has taken Lizzy to Alice’s Tea Cup for afternoon tea, and Kurt is catching up on his sleep in the bedroom. “You’re a real natural,” Michael comments, who’s in the kitchenette preparing the bottle. “I love being a dad, but honestly, I couldn’t do it without Kurt. He keeps me grounded. While I throw myself into the moment, Kurt reminds me about what matters in our lives.” Michael hands Blaine the bottle, which Tracy greedily latches onto. “I’ve always been proud of your accomplishments - at Dalton, Harvard and Vogue. The Grammy award proves that you can do anything that you set your mind to. But honestly, Blaine, seeing you in a loving marriage… watching you raise children… well, that’s in an entirely different league. I wish I could have been the same sort of father.” “Hey, that’s not true. Look at us now. Sometimes a struggle is necessary before really connecting. God knows, that’s the way it was with Kurt.” Blaine takes a good hard look at his father. SONY Records donating a percentage of the sales proceeds from his songs to the Monarch Foundation has allowed them to move along at record speed. After the sixth Monarch House was opened, Michael quit his job at the insurance company. He’s now the chairman of the Foundation and overseas operations in nineteen locations. There are plans to open a Monarch House in Tate, Georgia – the first presence in the South. Michael has been inspirational to other parents of LBGT kids, telling his story of finally accepting Blaine for who he really is. “Hey, Dad…. Once Lizzy and Tracy get older, I’m sure that they’re going to throw a curve ball or two at Kurt and me. Some things that we’re not prepared for and don’t know how to deal with. Could I come to you for advice?” “Yeah, I’d like that. I have learnt a few tricks over the past seven years.” ***** They arrived back in Key West two days ago, and Blaine is relieved that the flight went so well, with Tracy sleeping the full three hours. Lizzie now wants to be a flight attendant, with glass slippers and a tiara, of course. After feeding Tracy, Blaine lays him down gently in the crib set up in the nursery. Even though Blaine had wanted to have the crib in their bedroom, Kurt wouldn’t hear of it. He claimed he needs his beauty sleep and their down time alone. Blaine couldn’t say no to that. Blaine heads to the patio and sits in the lounge chair, and just as his eyes start drooping, his phone starts ringing. “Congratulations, man. How’s my godson doing?” “Tracy is gorgeous, Sam. He has Kurt’s beautiful blue eyes. I pray each night that his eyes won’t change color over the next few months. He mainly sleeps, eats and poops - but that’s how it is the first few weeks.” “Getting much sleep?” “Enough. Amy takes the day shift, Kurt the evenings, and I’m on from midnight till 6 a.m. We’re managing.” “Well, tonight, when you do the midnight feed, you’ve got look at the new story that JiffyFeels started.” “A new story?” Blaine asks. “There’s only one chapter posted so far. Biffy is a shy nerd who gets bullied in high school and works at the local bakery on weekends. Jamie’s a bad boy, and when he gets out of juvie, he’s transferred to the same high school. Jamie’s openly gay, and when he goes to his first class, he sits down next to Biffy and hits on him. Biffy is shocked and brushes off his comments, but secretly he thinks that Jamie is hot. The story’s rated explicit, so I’m sure stuff will go down pretty soon.” “I’ll read it tonight.” “During the 3 a.m. feed, you can read the new one-shot by KrianFeels. It’s 20,000 words and it’s epic. They’ve got this superhero fantasy thing going on in the bedroom, but it’s got a twist. Brian is dressed up as the superhero and is tied to the bed and Kevin is the evil one, having his wicked way with Brian. He…” “Enough, Sam! Don’t spoil it for me. I’m not sure this is the sort of thing I should be reading with a newborn baby in my arms.” “Dude, relax! Don’t you know that Tracy can’t read yet?” Blaine rolls his eyes, because the problem is that certain parts of his body would get far too interested when he’s reading. Even though he and Sam haven’t lived in the same place for years, they still manage to remain close. “So tell me, Sam, how’s the filming going?” “It’s really happening! Everything’s on schedule. Mark September 6th in your calendar – that’s when the pilot is going to air.” Sam’s Surfs!Up webcomic now has over a million followers. When Sam had attended the Swarm Con convention last year, a production company offered a substantial amount for the TV rights. It is now being filmed in LA, and Sam is the lead story advisor. After finishing the phone conversation with Sam, Blaine shouts for Amy and Kurt to come join him. “Two updates, Amy? Where do you find the time?” “For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been a writing ninja. I knew I’d be busy when Tracy arrived. I posted them when Rachel went into the hospital.” “I can’t believe that Sam hasn’t guessed yet that you are both KrianFeels and JiffyFeels,” Blaine remarks. “Don’t tell him, Blaine!” Kurt shrieks. “Naw, there’s no fun in that,” Blaine chuckles. “A superhero bedroom fantasy one-shot?” “Kurt had a stroke of genius to replace the eye mask with a blindfold.” Blaine gives Kurt a pointed look. Kurt blushes and shrugs behind Amy’s back. Once Kurt had found out that Amy was posting smutty fanfic, he volunteered to be her beta. Whenever Blaine finds the two of them in the kitchen, whispering and giggling, he knows that they’re brainstorming new story ideas. It has certainly kept things interesting in the bedroom. Once Tracy starts sleeping through the night, Blaine knows for sure that Nightbird will rise again. ***** Blaine is panting as he enters the house after his run on the beach. He goes to the kitchen and Amy hands him the power smoothie she’s just finished making. “All good here?” “I put down wee Tracy for his morning nap ten minutes ago. I’ll pick up Lizzy from preschool in a couple of hours.” Blaine nods and heads to the patio to cool down and drink his smoothie. As a man in his late thirties, he knows how important it is to keep fit and healthy. Blaine wants to be with his family for a very long time. It was easy to replace morning runs in Central Park with runs along the beach. He keeps up with yoga, which Kurt very much approves of. Now that the ocean is at end of their back garden, Blaine enjoys swimming as well. Blaine admires the lantana shrubs in the garden that are in bloom with red and yellow flowers. Kurt planted them years ago because they attract butterflies. The pool and Jacuzzi look very tempting, but Blaine discards the idea of jumping in. He’ll wait until Lizzie comes home and they can have a swim together after lunch. It’s been challenging to combine parenthood with his songwriting, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. While some of his friends tease him about being a househusband, Blaine wants to be home while their children are still young. Blaine had really enjoyed recording the Mr. Healthy children’s album while they were in New York City, waiting for Tracy to be born. Blaine decided long ago that his music career was going to be spent behind the scenes writing songs for others. The royalties are more than enough to keep them in the lifestyle they want, with regular savings tucked away for retirement and college funds. Blaine writes songs under a pseudonym – he doesn’t want fame or media attention. However, when he came up with the idea of creating a Mr. Healthy album to help parents with fussy eaters, he couldn’t resist singing the songs himself. Lizzy would have been so disappointed if he hadn’t. Blaine mulls over the Skype conversation he’ll have next week with the music producers. He’s looked at their proposals for a tie-in TV program, and it’s a very interesting idea. Blaine is thinking of setting up a production company and hiring someone to create the show. He thinks that Sebastian Smythe might be the perfect person for the job. After his truce with Sebastian, Blaine meets him for lunch whenever he and Kurt are in New York City for Buckeye Design’s quarterly board meetings. Sebastian is still a very generous patron of the Monarch Foundation. Blaine now understands better how he ticks, ever since Sebastian told him how he was outed the summer before high school. Sebastian has said many times that the editor-in-chief job at Elle isn’t as interesting now as it was when Blaine headed up Vogue. Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to keep up a serious rivalry with Isabelle Wright. Maybe moving into television is exactly what Sebastian needs. Sure, he has no experience, but Sebastian is smart and will soon pick it up. His business acumen will help keep the concept on the right path. Blaine chuckles when he thinks that Sebastian has gone through every hot gay male model from New York City to Milan. Maybe hot gay actors will be his next challenge. In whichever direction Mr. Healthy goes, Blaine will make sure that it somehow includes his brother. Cooper met Cassie when she was an extra on The Young and Restless. Within six months, they were married and expecting their first child. Cooper quit the show when their second daughter was born. Cooper’s on-screen wife murdered his character, and it was epic. She served him a strawberry milkshake full of sedatives before bludgeoning him to death with his golf clubs. She then rolled his body up in a carpet and had it placed in their storeroom in their Park Avenue complex. Cooper’s dramatic death scene won him a Daytime Emmy Award. Cooper capitalized on this fame and opened up an acting school in LA, where he gives master classes. He supplements his income by doing voice-overs for Doritos. Blaine is sure that Cooper can supply students to audition for the Mr. Healthy show, as long as they don’t do too much pointing. ***** As Blaine reads the latest Vogue issue, he glances over from time to time at Lizzy cooing at Tracy, who’s in the baby swing. Blaine likes the direction Vogue is going under Isabelle’s leadership – the magazine now has a blend of fashion and thought-provoking stories. “Hey, bud. Can I get you anything?” Burt asks, as he enters the living room. “No, I’m good. Come have a seat,” Blaine replies. Burt arrived yesterday to spend time with his grandchildren. He retired from politics three years ago. Burt still works at the garage, but has given Timmy more responsibilities, allowing him to visit them often. Burt says that Key West is good for his heart. While Kurt thinks that his dad means his medical condition, Blaine knows that Burt means that they’re food for his soul. “Have you heard from Bentley recently?” Blaine asks. “Yeah, we’re headed to Lake Superior in June for our annual fishing trip. It’s the perfect time of year to catch trout and salmon.” When Blaine and Kurt had moved to Key West, Isabelle quickly snapped up Bentley to be her personal driver. “Next year, you two must have your annual fishing trip in Key West. You need to check out deep sea fishing. I want a stuffed marlin hanging outside the guest cottage.” When Blaine hears a ping, he grabs his phone and quickly swipes across the screen, eager to read the text message. I’ll be home in an hour. Can’t wait until you’re back in my arms again - K xxxx Blaine smiles at his phone, knowing that the four kisses are for each person in their family. Over the years, Kurt has become quite the master at cheesy texts. Blaine looks lovingly at his screensaver, which is a photo of him, Kurt, Lizzy, and Tracy the first day they returned to Key West. He snaps out of it when he hears Burt clear his throat. “That was Kurt. He’ll be home in an hour. We usually meet him at the dock, if you want to join us.” “How about I stay here with Lizzy and Tracy, and you go on your own? Maybe take the boat out and enjoy the sunset.” “Are you sure?” “Amy and I will be fine holding down the fort. Go spend some time on your own with Kurt.” Blaine jumps up and nods, before running to their bedroom. He wants to look his best for Kurt. He takes a quick shower and uses a little hair product to tame the curls. He puts on his favorite board shorts and the Surfs!Up T-shirt that Sam gave him last Christmas. It’s a size too small, so it clings to his upper body - Blaine loves how Kurt’s eyes darken when he wears it. He pulls out some clothes for Kurt to wear during their sunset sail, knowing that he won’t want to wrinkle his work clothes. When Blaine returns downstairs, Amy has an ice-chest ready for him. Blaine peeps inside and sees drinks and little containers filled with finger food. He then takes a deep breath to tell Lizzy the evening plans. “Hey, angel. I’m going to meet Papa by myself at the dock today.” Lizzy looks up from her coloring book. “Grandpa told me. We’re gonna play Chutes and Ladders, and then have a special picnic in the backyard. You and Papa aren’t invited.” Blaine chuckles and silently mouths ‘thank you’ to Burt. Blaine grabs two beach towels and drives the golf cart to the main dock. Blaine glances at the time on his phone – there’s still ten minutes before the ferry arrives. Blaine reflects upon their decision to build a house on Sunset Island. When they decided to marry, Kurt had wanted to renovate a large house in the historical district of Key West. However, Blaine wasn’t comfortable with living so close to all the tourists. It would have only been a matter of time before fans would have found out where they live, so Blaine suggested that they look for a place at one of the other Keys. If Kurt had still been the way he was the year they met, he would have assumed that Blaine wasn’t happy with their relationship and was getting cold feet about the marriage, and Kurt would have fled to Lima or far-off lands. Thankfully, Kurt has changed and matured over the years, so he took the time to find out why Blaine felt that way. Kurt came up with the perfect solution of building a house on Sunset Island – it gave Blaine a sense of security, but allowed them to enjoy the Key West lifestyle as well. When they signed the deed to the vacant lot, Blaine knew that they could work through anything. There have been discussions about whether to send Lizzy to private or public school (Kurt won that one – Lizzy’s already on the list for the best private education), and how to keep their careers in check so they don’t rule their lives. What makes their day-to-day marriage work is their commitment to figure things out together. As the ferry is getting closer to the island, Blaine feels butterflies in his stomach. When he sees Kurt leaves the ferry, Blaine’s breath hitches at the beauty before his eyes. Kurt looks incredible and effortlessly sexy in his dress trousers and short-sleeved shirt. There’s a scarf draped around his neck, secured by one of his signature brooches. When Kurt smiles at him, a warm tingly feeling flows through Blaine’s body. There is so much caring and love in Kurt’s eyes. Kurt wraps his arms around him and pulls him in tight, and Blaine’s arms immediately clutch onto Kurt. Blaine can feel Kurt rub his back gently as he nuzzles closer into Kurt’s neck. Blaine sighs, feeling as if he were the one who had just arrived home. When Blaine tries to nibble that spot that gets Kurt feeling good, Kurt pulls back. “Where’s the rest of the welcome committee?” “Your dad and Lizzy are having a special picnic in the backyard. Amy’s looking after Tracy in the house. I’m on strict orders not to come home for at least a couple of hours. Let’s take the boat out to watch the sunset.” “God, that sounds so freaking good. I miss our alone time together.” Blaine drives the golf cart to the private dock where they moor their 17’ sailboat. Blaine plans to go to the Ft Lauderdale Boat Show next year to buy a bigger model that will accommodate their growing family. As Blaine makes the safety checks, Kurt artfully changes into his swim trunks beneath the beach towel. When Kurt pulls on his rash guard swim shirt, Blaine’s eyes rake over his body, loving how it fits so snugly. Kurt is still very careful about protecting his skin from the sun, but has loosened up significantly since they moved to Key West. Blaine loves the freckles that now grace Kurt’s face – they’re like sun kisses for each happy time they’ve had together. Blaine pulls up the anchor and starts the engine until they are a few minutes away from shore. He then hoists the masts up, kicks off the engine and sails towards nearby Wisteria Island. Blaine shares the details of his day and what he did with the children. Kurt confirms that he signed up Lizzy for the summer dance program during his lunchtime. Kurt excitedly talks about the new café that is opening up one street over from his workshop, and Blaine makes a mental note to reserve a table for two on its grand opening day. When the boat reaches the little hidden bay at Wisteria Island, Blaine drops the anchor and hoists down the sails. Blaine pours the mojitos into two plastic tumblers, and Kurt spreads out the food nibblies. Kurt kicks his feet up and scooches along the cushioned bench so that his back hits the end, and opens up his arms. Blaine immediately sits in front of him with their feet tangled together along the bench. He loves it when Kurt holds him like this. “I love you,” Kurt whispers. “I love you too, husband… papa of our children… lover… best friend,” Blaine replies. “When I was younger, I had thought that New York City was the only place for me. But now, I’m living my personal teenage dream,” Kurt sighs. Blaine squeezes Kurt’s arms that are wrapped around him. He’s living his dream as well, and life is good… Life is perfect. Blaine looks at the red burning sun as it sinks into the sea. For all the gay bashers, rivals, spies, and especially the paparazzi… They can’t touch them or what they have. *fin* Author notes Author notes Song Blaine sings to Lizzy at dinner – ‘Eat Your Vegetables’ by Little Baby Bum. 

Nine months, 42 chapters, 210k words later… and the story is now completed.  This story has been an incredible journey, for Blaine and Kurt, and myself. There will be no sequel to this story. I believe I’ve left Kurt and Blaine in a very happy place. However, I’m open to writing one-shots so please give me any ideas you might have. 

Hopefully, I’ve given you many hours of enjoyment reading this story. Please take a minute or two to let me know what you think in a review. Whether you’ve read the Epilogue ten minutes after I posted it or ten plus years later, I’ll read it. If you decide to reblog’, it will also bring a huge smile to my face. 

Before I wrote this story, I thought this was my one and only Klaine fic, so I went for the long multi-chapter story with my favorite elements included. Go big or go home was my motto! It turns out, I have another Klaine fic to tell – a Downton Abbey inspired AU. If you’re interested, follow me as a writer to get a notification for ‘Westerville Abbey’. I’ll start drafting it next month and won’t post the first chapter until the story is fully drafted. I promise that you won’t need to have watched Downton Abbey to enjoy this historical AU set in the 1910s in Britain. Look out for it sometime this summer. 

Thank you to @lilyvandersteen for her beta work, Cassie @cc-graphics for the fic artwork, @sunshineoptimismandangels for giving me the encouragement to write this fic at the start, and @lady--divine for politely answering  random questions and reviewing my first smut scene. I also thank every single person who left a review or messaged me. Your words of encouragement and constructive feedback helped to keep me motivated and wake up early on Saturday mornings to post a new chapter.