#then seven comes at him with 'you better wait for a cake attack HA'

[xelasrecords]

Now this is what I'd like to see in ultra HD quality

[emilia3546]

Secrets - Nessian

Written for Nessian Month using prompt: Nessian on a date (this one is more of a set up but part 2 is on it’s way)

Nesta and Cassian have only been back in Velaris for a week after their honeymoon, but Cassian has already slipped off to arrange something in secret, leaving Nesta with nothing to do but finish off her present for Nyx's birthday.

*****

Nesta sighed and rolled over, searching for Cassian's warmth, blinking her eyes open when she found his side of the bed empty. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as she caught sight of the mating band now on her finger and absentmindedly rubbed it with her thumb, flopping back onto the mattress but eventually managed to force herself to roll out of bed. She tugged on a pair of shorts, not even bothering to button up the shirt she'd stolen from Cassian, he was never getting it back now anyway.

When she made her way to the dining room, she found a note on the table and groaned, they'd only been back a week and he thought it was okay to leave for a whole day? She could try to find him, whatever it was, it'd be quicker with both of them, but he hadn't said where he was or what he was doing, she'd never find him. Still, she hadn't even touched her leathers in three weeks, wedding planning was exhausting, let alone the weeks that came afterwards. She glared now at her mating band,

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, you know," she muttered, they might not be daemati like Feyre and Rhys, but she had no doubt that Cassian could sense her annoyance down the bond. She cursed out loud at the whisper of amusement flickering from him, but laughed when a slice of chocolate cake appeared in front of her, "Thank you," she chuckled, "Cake makes everything better," a soft thunk sounded on the table, "Cake and a book, are you sure you're not my mate?" She laughed, and a warm breeze ruffled through her hair.

She leafed through the book, the cake practically melting in her mouth, and she pushed away the thought that she should ask for proper breakfast, cake was totally acceptable. Still, no matter how good the book was, she couldn't help seeing herself in it, which was new, usually she related to parts of characters, but she'd never completely seen herself in the pages, and she groaned when Cassian managed to invade the book as well,

"Really?" She muttered, "You chose this one?" No reply, "I'm not really mad at him you know, I'd just like to know where he is," the breeze floated back through the House in understanding, but she couldn't finish the book, not now. She finished the cake, and the plate disappeared, along with the book. Nesta murmured her thanks and wandered back to the bedroom, pulling out her leathers, if Cassian had decided it was time to do something useful, so would she.

Still, three weeks without training had taken its toll, she'd assumed it would be fine, but it seemed that copious amounts of sex was not equivalent to proper training. The one thing she could still do the same was her running and endurance work, so maybe it hadn't been completely useless to her.

Her arms were aching almost as soon as she picked up her sword, her swings lacking in power and speed. She curled her lip in disgust, staring at the practice dummy, there wasn't one decent hit she'd landed, if it were a real fight she'd be dead by now. Reluctantly, Nesta returned the sword to the stand, rolling her shoulders, and dropped to the ground, forcing herself through a series of quick pushups, continuing until her arms gave way and she slumped to the floor. She lay there, panting with the effort for a few heartbeats before stumbling to her feet, shaking her arms as she did, her mind flicking back to Cassian, if he was doing some sort of mission, if he was attacked, she just prayed that he was in better shape than she was.

Still, she couldn't help him now, she just had to trust him, and finish her own task. She glared now at the pair of weights, but sighed and swung them over her shoulders, dropping down into a squat, all of her muscles complaining as she forced herself through as many as she could manage, giving herself five minutes before returning to her pushups, then back to the squats, going through the motions twice more before rolling into a plank, cursing herself for how few she'd managed in the last set, and collapsed to the floor after just two and a half minutes of plank. She sighed, hopefully, she'd be able to regain her fitness faster this time, but it wouldn't do to push herself beyond her limits, and she resigned herself to stretching off, all thoughts of Cassian fading when she sat silently in the middle of the training ring, the wind whipping past her face as she closed her eyes, stilling her mind.

She had no idea how long she'd sat there, but her stomach told her it was time for lunch, so she tidied up, wincing at the slight soreness in her tired muscles, and thanked the House for the hot bath already waiting for her. She must have fallen asleep in the bubbles, the heat easing the remaining soreness, and she thanked whatever god had given the fae such quick recovery, not really considering that perhaps it hadn't been a god at all, but Cassian's, and her own, dedication to training over the last year. She was out of practice, not totally out of shape. But now her stomach was growling rather loudly, so she didn't bother to tidy up the bathroom before wolfing down the plate of food the House had left out for her, the rest of the day starting to loom over her. There was no way she was going back to the training ring, one workout was enough, and she didn't really want to face the stairs, she could always call Feyre mind to mind and ask for someone to fly her down, but she'd send Rhys, and on good terms or not, she remembered the last time he'd flown her down, and wasn't keen to repeat the experience. Azriel wasn't here anyway, so flying was a no-go, and she had no work, Feyre had made sure of that ahead of the wedding. She could read, but she had a distinct feeling that the House would make sure she read the book from earlier, the one that kept making her miss Cassian. 

There was always the library, she could see if Gwyn was there, but she might be working, and there was no way that Clotho would let her work right now. She smiled to herself, but silently damned everyone and their insistence that she have no work at the moment. There was one thing, she'd need Feyre's help to finish the later version, but this one she could do. She pulled out the half-written book from its hiding place on her bookshelf. She'd need to re-write it later, to include all the details, but this simplified version would do for now, she couldn't give baby Nyx the full version yet anyway, he'd need to be older, but Nesta still remembered when she was little, older than Nyx, but before her mother had decided she had to start being a lady. She remembered those bedtime stories, and she couldn't think of a better story for the child than his parents' own.

She crossed to her desk, setting the manuscript down and dipped her pen in the ink bottle beside her. A few hours, and several hand cramps, later she closed the book, smiling. She was no artist, but she was capable of a simple design on the cover and spine. The last touch was the most scary, and she hoped that Gwyn's calligraphy lessons had stuck. She carefully practiced tracing the title in the air, then set her pen against the cover, the title flowing from the end.

A Court of Mist and Fury.

She smiled, and hid the book back on her bookshelf, they were due to have a family dinner in a few days, and Nesta was painfully aware that she hadn't gotten Nyx a birthday present yet, so there it was. She didn't really know what happened before Feyre had come to the Night Court, but that could be in the later version when her nephew was older.

She'd just replaced the book when a note appeared on her desk, in Cassian's unmistakable handwriting, 

Meet me on the terrace at seven. Wear something nice.

She snorted, but smiled at the realization that he must be alright if he was sending cryptic messages and keeping secrets, but she glanced at the clock, one hour, she'd better start getting ready.

[heliosthegriffin]

The Adventures of Shota Jaune

Arthur Arc always knew his son was going to be special, it had been seven daughters straight that the Brothers had given him, he was due for a son. Good things come to those who hold strong and have faith.

His son would be amazing.

It was a given!

He didn’t expect how right he was.

How was he suppose to know his son would come out of the womb glowing like a disco ball!

The nurses were running around, his wife was crying, and Arthur had dick all of an idea what was going on.

Arthur winced has the doctor doctor cradled his broken hand while being escorted out of the room, all Arthur had seen was a flash of light and a cry of pain, before a nurse caught his falling son.

Now Arthur held his glowing baby boy as his wife was being loaded up with Morphine wanting to now what’s wrong with her baby.

Shit’s fucked.

Arthur looked at his baby boy.

“Your name is Jaune Arc,” The baby slept in his arms. “you’re going to be a trouble maker aren’t you? Well, that’s fine, we have plenty of trouble makers in the family. You’re going to fit right in.”

And so the Arcs were once again black-listed from another hospital, and Baby Jaune Arc had already broken a man’s hand.

-----------

Four year’s Later....

Arthur walked groggily to his son’s room, light bleeding from underneath the door.

It was midnight he should be asleep.

His son’s giggling told him otherwise.

He opened the door and called out to him. “Jaune, it’s midnight. Why did you turn your lights on?”

His son turn his head to him looking embarrassed as several floating orbs of light rotated around him.

Arthur felt his jaw drop. When could he do that?!

“Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll go to bed soon.”

Arthur felt the words on in one ear and out the other, had his son found his semblance? 

“Jaune, what are those lights?” Arthur said weakly to his son.

Jaune looked confused for a moment looking around. “I didn’t turn on lights, though,” Then his expression brightened, literally as a orb went pass his face. “Oh that! You said I could have lights on at bedtime, and sometimes I got scared, so my Orra would make me flashy flash, but that just made more shadows. So, I tried to to make my Orra bigger, but it wouldn’t so I tried to make it move over the shadows, and it did!”

Arthur watched in fascination as the globes orbited around his son. His son really was special. This was beyond basic Aura manipulation, this was beyond anything an expert could do. Darkness be damned, even Arthur himself prided himself on his aura control couldn’t doing anything half as intricate as this!

“How did you get it to move like that? Your Aura that is?” Curiosity bled into his voice. It stung his pride a little bit to ask his son tips on Aura manipulation, but his pride as a father and his own want to know how won out.

Jaune looked at his father confused. “I just did?”

Arthur looked at his son patiently. “Could you show me how to then?”

“Um, ok.” His son said reluctantly. 

Arthur watched his son carefully, activating his aura and having it circulated into his eyes to be able to see his son on a auric level.

Arthur flinched back in shock and nearly blind.

His son had so much damn aura! It was like looking at the freaking sun at high noon.

Arthur could barely even see his son’s figure through the light, a barely visible shadow in the midst of a bonfire of pure white light that danced and waved on currents that could not be understood even by a expert like himself. Light filled the room and a revelation hit Arthur. He himself was under his son’s aura, the entire damn house was!

Even outside the room he could see the currents of his son’s brilliant aura circulating around the house and even leaking into the wood and stone! He was reinforcing the house, and it was even being absorbed into his own aura and he hadn’t even noticed.

His son had been subconsciously leaking aura and he hadn’t notice at all! It was so invasive and overwhelmingly aggressive, but deviously subtle that it took a hold on everything it was near.

His son was a walking talking breathing, Aura reactor. No wonder he lit like a disco-ball when he was born, no wonder he fired off the occasional flare of aura, no wonder his all of his sister had awakened their aura, no wonder the fucking cat did too!

His son was enhancing everything around him, Arthur himself hadn’t even questioned why his own reserves had enlarged, his son did it.

It was a open knowledge that reserves just increase with time and practice, but his had nearly doubled over the last four years.

Arthur shut down his Aura Sight, any more and it might give him damage his control.

Arthur no longer needed an explanation as to why his son could create light-balls. It was easy enough explanation to himself, he was just separating dense sections of aura and have them follow the auric currents he created.

Arthur knew what he had to do now, his wife was going to kill him for it, but Jaune not mastering his talents would be the graver sin.

“Jaune do you want to be a huntsmen like your dad?”

Arthur frantically cover his eyes as his son squealed and flash-banged him with happiness.

Even through his aura he could feel a sun-burn, well aura-burn, forming.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

-----------

One year later....

Arthur’s eye’s twitched as his wife tried to get his son off the hill he made out of his sisters unconscious bodys.

“Jaune, please come down, they’re your sisters.” Victoria said trying to coax they son down.

“NO!” Jaune said with a stomp, pained groan coming from the sisters. “They’re mean and tried put me in a dress again!”

“They’re doing that because they love you and want to see how cute you’d look!”

Jaune groaned. “You’re in on it too!” He said with another stomp.

“Oww,” Another groan came from the pile.

“No, Jaune I just want to see my little man look pretty!”

“I don’t wanna be pretty I wanna be man’y man!”

“You can be a manly man,” A gleam came to his wife's eyes and Arthur groaned. “After you wear this dress!” Victoria said pulling out a dress and lunging at her son.

Arthur shook his head as his wife and only son tussled. “Jaune I’ll be waiting in the backyard when you want to practice.”

“No, Jaune no! Don’t use the back-breaker aaagggh!”

“NO, Jaune don’t suplex me into your sisters! Aggh!”

--------

One year later.

Arthur watched his son play in the parks playground, a nice day with a clear blue sky and a cool breeze that would come around with a the pleasant smell of evergreens and the clean lake in the park, Arthur taking a moment to admire the small waves going across the water to lap at the beaches edge.

Ah, it couldn’t get more relaxing than this.

‘Shink-Break.’

He hated when he was right. He had run across the park as fast as possible to stop the blade from hitting his son.

He really shouldn’t have bother though, as Jaune grasped a broken pocket knife blade in his hands.

An absolutely tiny little thing was holding the other end, a horrifically skinny child with brown, pink, and white hair was trembling as Jaune held her in the air.

Arthur nearly gagged in disgust as got within ten feet of the children.

The smell was nose-burning and made his eye’s water in pain.

Still though Arthur look at the child his son was holding in pity. The poor thing could have been much older than his son but probably didn’t come up above three feet, they were dress in what might have been clothes at one point but had been caked in so much filth, dirt, and grime that they might as well been wearing rags.

So skinny, so damn skinny.

Arthur grimaced at the sight, the child was on the verge of starvation. A fire then lit in his belly, if he ever got his hands on whoever left a child like this he would swear on his word to kill them, no excuses, he was a huntsman he had enough sway that he could get away with it.

“Jaune, what happened? Also, put the child down.”

Jaune shrugged. “Can’t if I do she’ll do her shiny thing and disappear again.”

“Her shiny thing? Does she have an Aura Jaune?”

“Yeah, an sembence.”

“Semblance, yeah. So, could you give her to me, so that we could talk about how this happened?”

Jaune shrugged and handed the child to him, who started thrashing violently as they were being handed over, then Jaune stopped and hugged her, even as they were thrashing, her broken knife chipping at his aura.

“Actually, dad, I think I’ll hold onto her.” Arthur sighed with pity, and nodded his head. It was probably better that she didn’t get pasted around it might give them a panic attack.

“That’s fine, so what went on for this to happen?”

Jaune started rocking the child in his lap, even as they stabbed at him, but the fight quickly left them. 

“Well, I was playing, and I got tumbie rumbles, and went to get an ice-cream, then my ice-cream went gone, and I was not happy, then I did a ohra thing, and could see that she was eating my ice-cream.” Jaune took a breath and Arthur absorbed the information.

“So, I ask her why she stole my ice cream and why she’s so smelly, she got mad, well actually she got scared, an tried to punch me, then when she hurt her hand she disappeared, so I tried to find her again, then I picked her up and she tried to stib me.”

Arthur nodded and sighed again. He got on the ground and looked at the child, he gave the friendliest smile he had.

“Hi, I’m Arthur and this is my son, Jaune. What’s your name?”

The child looked away.

Arthur frowned for a second before trying again. “Do you have any parents? Or a guardian? Could you bring them to us, or have them come here?”

‘So that I can beat them to death with my bare hands.’ Arthur thought. 

The child said nothing.

“Are you hungry? We can get you some food? You want to go get some food?”

The child still said nothing, but there was a slight tremble to them now.

“Hey dad, um.” His son said. “There’s a thing, on her, It don’t look so good?” Jaune said pointing at the girls neck.

Arthur leaned in closer and recoiled immediately.

A black leaking smile was gashed across her neck leaking white and yellow pus.

“We’re going to the doctor, immediately!”

-------

Two months later.

Arthur smiled as his newest daughter was following son around like a duck. It had taken a little while and a couple stab wounds, but Neo had finally given into the Arc charm and let herself be adopted.

She was finally gaining a healthy weight and color to her skin, and her hair was combed and cut properly. Dressed up in nice clean clothes. Oddly enough she was actually older than Jaune by about three years. That had only made Arthur more incensed to find her parents.

Arthur had also been true to his word. More than happy to keep it actually.

Vale may be down one councilwoman, but the world was a better place so it balance out. Shame they couldn’t keep his face out of the press, but he sent his message.

-------

Six months later

Arthur glared at Saphron as she fidgeted with her girlfriend Terra.

The tweens had lost not only Jaune, but also Neo. In the middle of Vale.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand down his face, then pointed at the ferry where Victoria and his other daughters waited.

“Go wait over there with the rest of them. I’m sure your mother and Gris will have words for you two.”

“But Dad-,” “Mr. Arc please-”

Arthur stared firmly at her and Terra. Two tweens vs a now world-class huntsman would never in a million years be a fair contest.

They bowed their heads with shame and sulked over to his wife and eldest daughter, Gris the only huntress out of his daughters.

Arthur tried not to smile, as his daughter and her girlfriend got torn a new one, but he could only try so hard.

To be honest, however. He wasn’t worried for Jaune that much or Neo if Jaune was there. With the boys Aura and her Semblance they were damn near untouchable even for him.

No, he was more worried about-

‘KAAAA-BOOOOOOM!!’

The colateral damage.

So, Arthur did what he always did to find Jaune, follow the sounds of destruction.

He found Jaune sitting and talking to nothing in the middle of what was probably at one time a nice three story building, along with what might of been a nice, friendly gang of Vacuon thugs judging by their skin tone and tattoos that led back to the Sand Devils Gang.

They weren’t much more than bone splinters, red mist and a little bit of viscera now.

If he wasn’t so proud of his son, he might be terrified.

“So, Jaune mind telling me what happened here and where your sister is?”

Jaune jumped at the sound of his voice, bringing his hands up the way he taught him and probably how he just annihilated those men.

He relaxed when he saw Arthur and smiled. “Oh, hi dad! You can drop the barrier Neo and Em,”

Em?

Arthur had a feeling that they had another one.

“So Dad, we met a new friend, and she wanted to show us her house, but a group of meanies where here and wanted to make us do things, so I made Neo and Em hide, while I took care of it!”

Yep, they got another one.

Neo shattered into existence along with green-haired mocha skinned girl who looked absolutely terrified.

“This is Emerald, she lives here-, Oh no! I wrecked your house, I’m sorry!” Jaune looked at his dad paniced. “Dad! She can stay with us, right?!”

Arthur nodded and sat down to get eye level with the children.

Neo was holding Emerald and soothing her, and Emerald looked like she might run away at any moment.

She looked around nine, less dirty than when they first found Neo, but still under-fed and probably a street kid.

“Ok, you can stay with us.”

Emerald’s eyes went wide with shock, but Neo and Jaune pulled her into a hug.

------

Two months later...

Emerald was following Jaune and Neo like a moody cat, she had taken to living in with them better than Neo, even if she still pickpocket them some times and hid in the crawlspace.

Turns out she had still living parents. Arthur had made sure to extract all in the child support she was owed, and made sure they left her in their wills.

Too bad they suffered such tragic accidents afterwards. But, who would miss some Vacuon Dust Baron, or some Atlas Upper-Class Trash. 

Plus who cared if he was wanted by Vacuo or The Ace Ops, he was already blacklist anyway in both kingdoms.

-----

Two Months Later...

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday Jaune Arc!”

His string bean boy had turned seven years old today.

He was so happy for him.

Arthur looked at his son blow out the candles.

A wind blew over the campfire as storm was on the horizon.

They were celebrating his birthday here in Shion this year.

Arthur had a special present for his son this year, something to celebrate starting to train him in earnest as a huntsman. Even if he was as powerful as some huntsmen in training.

Boy would he be a monster... Well, more of one.

Arthur slid a long rectangular package across the camp table to Jaune.

“What’s this?”

“Open it up.”

Jaune looked at it and then tore open the wrapping.

A stainless steel practice sword and a heater-shield made for his size.

Jaune looked at his father with tears in his eyes. “I love it!” He squeaked out.

Victoria did glare at Arthur along with Gris, but they and the rest of the family squeled athis reaction.

They were just jealous he got the best gifts.

Arthur looked at his son seriously. “You understand what this means, Jaune? You’re going to have to start being a real huntsman now, no more regular school, we’re going to home-school you, and anytime you’re not training you’re going to be learning, understood?”

Jaune looked nervous briefly, but nodded resolutely. “Yeah, I get it. Plus I didn’t like anybody at school anyway, they were always mad at me for some reason or the girls would run away screaming.”

Arthur drifted his gaze to Em and Neo, who looked away innocently. “I guess it’s time for you two to start huntress training too, Jaune could use some partners.”

“Yes!” Emerald said joyfully, as Neo cheered with her.

Victoria stilled glared at Arthur, but he ignored it. “Who wants cake?”

------

Later that afternoon...

Clouds were starting to blow in and Arthur was gathering his family into the fortified cabins. It was going to start a down pour soon.

That’s when Arthur heard it, a moan of pain.

Arthur sighed and walked into the woods. His son, his newer daughters, and some boy he’s never seen before, all circled around a black haired Grimm masked woman who was on the ground in pain.

“Alright, what’s up this time?”

Jaune kicked the woman in the gut, elcipting a groan from her.

“She’s mean, kept trying to make us go with her, then made Vern over there fight us,” Arthur looked at the boy name Vern, who was staring awestruck at his son. Vern noticed him and quickly nodded, Arthur then noticed a black eye on the boys face and several other wounds. 

“I beat him though, and Vern got all scared, the Lady then tried to make us walk through a portal, I said no. She got mad. So she tried to beat us up, so Neo and Em gave her the run around while I beat her up. Then she got flashy eyes and tried to blasted us, but Neo and Em gave her the run around and she hit herself, then we all gang up on her.” Arthur looked at his son and daughters in amazement, not even hunters and huntress-in-training and they took on a rogue huntress with a powerful semblance and dust capablities. He was so proud of them!

The his eyes drifted back to Vern.

Arthur had a feeling he knew this song and dance already.

Arthur on down on one knee.

“How do you feel about adoption?”

------

One month later...

Raven Branwen, Raven notorious coward Branwan, was the rogue huntress his children caught. Nobody believe him though and now he had the nickname Tribe-Hunter.

Team STQ was quite interested in handling her imprisonment. That was none of Arthur’s business. Ozpin had been quite generous on his bonus though and gave him plenty of vacation time with his family.

Oh, and Vern was actually named Vernal and a girl. He really should have expected that by now. She didn’t take to family very well, but once a pecking order was established she was better behaved, even if she challenged him or Jaune for leadership.

Arthur held his wife closely as they watched their children play in the backyard. Well, Jaune and the new three.

They were practically a little team. Vernal was even calling his son ‘Boss.’

Arthur though couldn’t help feel something inside him watching his children beat the shit out of each other. That this was only the start of craziness.

His wife then gripped his hand. “I want more.”

“I feel like we don’t have a choice anymore.” But the idea didn’t bother Arthur much.

[babymetaldoll]

The Super Secret Mystery Project (Insomnia II) (Matthew Gray Gubler / Reader)

Requested: Yes 

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler proposes to Reader after seven years together 

Warning: You might die of an overdose of fluffiness. Sorry, I can’t help it. 

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler / Reader

Word count: 2,6 K

A/N: Thank you all for the nice comments and requests <3 

Part I  

Materlist

.

- “I need you to guard this for me”- Matthew Gray ran into the kitchen and nearly killed his girlfriend of a heart attack. She jumped on her spot and almost dropped the cake pan she was holding.  

- “Jesus!! Gubler!!”- but he just laughed and kissed her cheek sweetly, notoriously excited about something she didn’t know. 

- “Sorry Bunny!! Just keep this for me for a while, ok?”

Matthew placed an envelope in her pocket and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

- “What are you baking?” 

- “I’ve been craving an ice cream cake all week, and today I finally have time to do it”

- “Damn, sounds good, which ice cream’s flavors?” 

- “Oreo cookies and cream, and chocolate chip cookie dough”- Gubler kissed (Y/N)’s neck making her giggle as she kept pouring batter on the pan.

- “You are gonna make me get fat”

- “You don’t have to eat it”- (Y/N) turned and smiled at her boyfriend- “More for me.”

- “You wish, young lady, but that ice cream cake has to get the Gubler’s seal of approval before it’s served”- Matthew pecked her nose and moved to the fridge. His girlfriend stared at him with a sweet smile, thinking she was dating the most adorable manchild on earth.  

- “And what am I guarding by the way?” 

(Y/N) looked back at the pan and prepared it to get into the oven, and her boyfriend stayed quiet for a few seconds, trying to arrange his thoughts. It was an important deal, and he had to make sure it all turned out perfect. 

- “Remember that project I’ve been working on?”- he finally said, as casually as possible.

- “The “Super Secret Mystery Project”?”- she asked, thrilled to know more about it- “The one you’ve been working secretly for the last two weeks?”

- “Yes, that’s the one”- the actor took a sip of water and finally made his move- “I was thinking I could show it to you later”

- “Really? is it done?”- (Y/N) turned to him the second she closed the oven- “Can we see it now?”

- “Nope, you have to finish that cake first”- her instantaneous pout made him chuckle immediately.

- “Please?”

- “No, Bunny, you’ll have to wait.” 

The “Super secret mystery project” had taken Matthew Gray Gubler at least two weeks in the making, mostly because he had to do it at work, in between shots in the set. Why? ‘cos (Y/N) couldn’t see it, which meant he couldn’t do it home. 

Ever since the last time he was forced to spend a whole week home alone, he had made the decision: it was time to propose. But first, he had to find the perfect way to do it. 

There was no way on earth Gubler was going to do it over dinner in a restaurant. 

Neither on the beach at sunset. It had to be special. It had to be different. It had to be about them. Easier said than done, that’s why it took him exactly seventeen days to be completely ready to do it. And the day was that night. 

- “Ok Gubbilubie, the cake is in the freezer, can I see the “Super secret mystery project” now?”- (Y/N) literally jumped on the couch onto Gubler’s lap and pouted- “Please?”

- “Gubilubie? what the fuck?”

- “I don’t know, it just came to my mind in the desperation to get your… attention?”- she made up a bad excuse and snickered- “Come on, it wasn’t that bad… was it?”

- “Please never call me that again”- Matthew Gray pretended to get serious, but you could tell he was making his best not to smile. 

- “What? Gubilubie? why not? it sounds super cute”

- “I hate it”- he was lying

- “If you don’t want me to call you that again, show me the Super Secret Mystery Project.”

- “You love calling it by that name, don’t you?”- Gubler leaned and kissed (Y/N)’s lips softly a few times.  

- “What can I say… it’s a good name, just like Gubilubie”

- “Stop it”

(Y/N) smiled and watched him stand up and grab the remote control. 

- “Ok, so, it took me a while to master this project, it’s something I’ve had in mind for years, but it has always been hard for me to find the right time to do it… besides, I felt I needed more to add to the story, more character development, more… I don’t know, like one last push, maybe? I don’t know how to explain it”

- “Is this about the puppet show you were putting on the other day in your office?”

- “No”- Matthew laughed immediately- “Although, maybe I could add it… I’m not sure… it’s not a bad idea” 

- “Come on! show me the project!”- (Y/N) jumped on her seat and clapped excitedly. 

- “Fine, just… be honest and tell me what you think, ok?”

Matthew Gray Gubler was nervous. He had always said you had to get nervous when you were doing something important, ‘cos it meant you actually cared for it. Well, this time, he was truly nervous. Afraid even… hysterical, maybe, but making his best to look as cool as a cucumber. He loved that comparison, he was indeed a fan of cucumbers. Not ta fan of eating them, ‘cos he said they were disgusting, but he supported them. His words exactly.  

  The second he pushed play, there was no way back. 

- “Hi, I’m Matthew Gray Gubler”- the image of him sitting in his trailer waving at the camera made (Y/N) smile immediately- “And today, I’m here to make some magic, make you laugh, but mostly, to tell you a little story about this incredible girl who met this, badly groomed, awkward and hyperventilated looking dude a few years ago, and somehow, fell in love with him”. 

(Y/N) looked at him not getting what was going on. He just smiled and pointed at the screen. 

- “Keep watching, it gets better.” 

And it did. 

- “Hi, I’m (Y/N)”- on the screen, Gubler impersonated her voice and stood next to a real size cardboard cutout standup of her, in the middle of the bullpen set. There were people around him actually pretending that wasn’t weird at all and just kept working. 

- “Are you serious?!”- the real-life (Y/N) yelled and laughed as soon as she saw the screen- “What the fuck is this?”

- “Just keep watching, and don’t laugh, this is some serious work, Bunny, it might be the best thing I’ve ever directed”

- “Hello, I’m Matthew, nice to meet you, (Y/N)”- and in the scene, Gubler shook the cardboard hand and smiled- “You smell like cinnamon”

- “I just baked cinnamon rolls”

- “So, do you bake a lot?”- that had indeed been their first and awkward conversation the day they had met at a party one of their friends had thrown. 

- “No… yes, have someone ever told you how hot you are?”

- “Gubler!”- (Y/N) yelled and smacked his arm right away- “I didn’t say that!!”

- “It’s an adaptation, I’m sure you were thinking about it”

- “I was not thinking that!”

Yes, that was exactly what she had thought. 

- “Be quiet, I wanna know what happens next”- Matthew covered (Y/N)’s mouth with his hand and turned to the screen. 

- “And, would you like to go out sometime? maybe get some coffee?”- Gubler said to the cardboard.

- “Sure, sounds like a plan, you look like a nice, handsome young man who can make me happy”- (Y/N) turned and looked at Matthew with narrowed eyes, but didn’t make a noise. She was enjoying the super secret project way too much to keep talking. 

- “This is an incredible evening, so romantic!”- cardboard (Y/N) said. The scene was taking place in the Criminal Minds’s jet set- “I can’t believe you are taking me to London on our first date”

- “Why didn’t you do that in real life?”- she whispered and giggled, but he shushed her and pointed at the screen.

- “Pay attention!”

- “Anything for you, Bunny”

- “You are amazing Matthew Gray, you are the most handsome, intelligent and tall man I have ever met”- Gubler’s impersonation was so funny, his girlfriend couldn’t stop laughing  

- “You forgot I can also do magic”

- “I can’t believe it! you are perfect”- (Y/N) had to bit her lip to control the laughter. 

- “Would you like to see a trick?”

- “Of course, there is nothing on earth sexier than a guy who can do magic”

- “Great, let me get my special deck”

On the screen, Gubler started to prepare a magic trick, but now the camera was pretending to be (Y/N), so he was sitting right across from her. 

- “Take that deck of cards and pick nine cards”- on-screen Matthew said, and in real life, he pointed at a deck sitting on the coffee table

- “I think he wants you to do it”- he whispered and his girlfriend looked at him confused.

- “What?”

- “He said he was going to make a trick for you, so… try i”t- not getting what was actually going on, (Y/N) grabbed the deck and did as told. 

- “Do you’ve got your nine cards?”

- “Yup”- (Y/N) answered the screen feeling like a dork. Like a happy and excited dork.

- “Great, now shuffle them a little, then turn them, and fan them, so all the numbers are facing you, got it?”

- “Yes Mister Magician”- (Y/N) nodded at the screen and giggled, having the time of her life.

- “Spread them out, can you see all of them?”

- “Yes Gubidubi”

- “Stop it”- real-life Matthew whispered, making his girlfriend laugh

- “Shh, I’m doing a magic trick here, don’t interrupt me!”

He kept looking at her, now sitting on the floor, with his legs crossed, her eyes stuck at the screen. And he kept feeling his heart about to come out of his chest. That was indeed the biggest and more important project he had ever made. 

- “Now it’s time to pick a card, I’m gonna roll my lucky nine sides dice to pick it, ok?”- the two of them watched how Gubler did so on the screen- “Number two, so look at your second card from left to right, and memorize it, ok? ‘cos that’s your secret card, and you don’t have to forget it, alright?”

The girl nodded and looked at it.

- “I don’t know what cards you’ve got, so this is going to very hard to do… but trust me, Bunny, the Great Gubler is gonna blow your mind”

There was a short silence, ‘cos both on-screen, and real-life Matthew were looking at her at the same time, if possible. 

- “Get the cards together, turn them over, numbers down, and we are going to do my secret special shuffle, the one that’s going to do all the magic, ok?”

It was funny ‘cos (Y/N) was actually nodding at the screen, making Gubler chuckle. 

- “You have to spell your name putting the cards in a pile, ready? use one card for each letter”- and so, she did as asked- “Ready? now take the cards left in your hand and put them on top of the pile, and now hold all of them in your hand, got it?”

- “Yes!”- she wasn’t actually trying to hide her excitement

- "Awesome Bunny, now I want to be part of this so why don’t you spell my name with the cards, just like you did with yours”- (Y/N) frowned and looked at her real-life boyfriend

- “Just Matthew or can I use one of the million nicknames?”- but the answer came from the tv.

- “Spell Matthew, Bunny”- her jaw dropped, and yelled.

- “Witchcraft!!” 

Her boyfriend was really having a hard time trying no to laugh, he kept biting his lips as he smiled. So far, so good.

- “Are you done? now place the remaining cards on top of the pile, pick them all, and now put the first one facing down on the table”

- “Ok…”- she whispered 

- “Now the next one on top of it”

- “Alright…” 

- “Keep going, you can stop whenever you want to, and when you do, I want you to put the remaining cards on top of the others... if you don’t have any left, that’s cool, I just hope the trick isn’t ruined”

(Y/N) chuckled at Gubler’s face on the screen and did as told.

- “Now, as you can see, there’s no way I can know which card you selected ‘cos… well I’m not there, and I don’t know which card you selected, but, I am gonna give it a shot, ok?”

The fact she was nodding at the screen, forgetting Matthew was in fact sitting there next to her, was so far, his favorite part of the whole video. She was so into the trick, she had no idea what was coming up next. 

- “Ok Bunny, move a little closer to me and place your card facing down in your hand”- she crawled closer to the tv and giggled.

- "And now take the first three cards, don’t look at them, just hold them up and show them to me… no, neither of those, throw them away, we don’t need them, show me the next two”

And so she did, giggling nervously, thinking there was no way on earth that trick was ever going to work. 

- “Nope, your card ain’t there either, show me one more… nope, nothing… are you sure you shuffled this right? yes? sorry, don’t look at me like that! ok… you know what, none of those is your card, I’ve got the feeling you’ve got it hidden somewhere… hold it… I can feel it” 

(Y/N) frowned, confused and by instinct, her hand moved to the envelope her boyfriend had given her earlier. 

- “Yes Bunny… show me what’s in that envelope”- she knew it was the same man the whole time, but it was still freaky the guy on the tv knew everything she was doing in real life.

- “Now, open the envelope and show me the card…”- she did exactly what the magician asked her to do, and saw him smile.  

- “Finally! that’s your card, take look at it” 

When (Y/N) turned the card, she wide opened her eyes. It was actually the card she had picked, but it also had a note written on top of it with a handwriting she knew all too well, that said: “Turn around”. 

And when she did, she saw Matthew Gray Gubler kneeled in front of her holding the perfect engagement ring. 

- “I always thought magic was an illusion you create for an audience until I met you, and you made me feel the magic in life without any kind of trick, that’s why I want to be with you for the rest of my life, trying to make your days as magical as you make mine… so… (Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you marry me?” 

The tears and the smile across her face were all the answer Matthew needed, but it wasn’t until he heard her say “I do” that he didn’t let out the breath he had been holding ever since he had stopped talking. 

That was it, it was finally happening, in the most romantic, different, nerdy way Gubler could have thought about. And she had said yes. Anyone would have been sure she was going to accept, but he didn't want to take her for granted, it was the first mistake in a relationship. He hadn't done that in seven years, he wasn't going to start now. 

They held each other tight for a few minutes, whispering how much they loved each other. They kissed, they even cried a little (more than a little, actually), and finally, they sighed and smiled. 

- “Is it too soon to ask for some of that ice cream cake?- Gubler whispered in her ear and she laughed.” 

- “I was thinking about it... celebration cake?”

- “And then, celebration sex?”- they smiled at each other and nodded. 

- “I love you, Gub”

- “I love you, Bunny.” 

[yuzukult]

effortlessly pt. 2 || jungkook & reader

title: effortlessly pairing: jungkook x reader genre: fluff, romance, school!au, smut (not in this chapter) words: ~3.0k notes: this fic might be longer or shorter than planned, i have no idea what i’m planning for this so...... yeah, figured i should drop something before i drown myself bc i have finals for my online summer semester ;u;

o young love, how i wish i could go back in time // also it’s not edited yet, i usually proofread about 5x because i have the worse eyesight and i read too fast :D series: part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || epilogue 

The chlorine from the school’s pool overwhelms your senses, triggering you to sneeze a couple times into the crook of your arm. “Bless you!”

Lifting your head to meet your gaze with the owner of the words, you see Jungkook standing before you, swimming cap in one hand and a towel in the other, tousling his hair dry. He doesn’t have a shirt on, just his bathing trunks that hang loosely on his hips, and you swear that if he wasn’t preoccupied, he would’ve seen the drool coming from the corner of your mouth.

“Uh, thanks.”

“You came.” He grins, plopping his wet body onto the bench beside you as you grimace at the water from his trunks splattering at you. “I kind of thought I scared you away earlier.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” You say, feigning ignorance. “You told me the other day you wanted me to come by after practice and here I am.”

“You know what I’m talking about. That ‘crush’ conversation.” 

You roll your eyes at him, pushing him away playfully. “I thought I told you it was Yura with the crush.” Jungkook shakes his head in dismissal, clicking his tongue in unison. “I’ve known you your entire life. You’re telling me that I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“No, but—” He’s leaning close, his soaked fringe dripping onto your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. “What?”

“Just trying to get a better read on you.” The proximity between you and Jungkook is small, so small that you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath the entire time until he backs away and you let out a deep exhale. “W-What for?” You manage to respond.

“What do you think about us... doing it again?” 

He’s not looking at you this time, hands running through his drenched locks, eyes never leaving the concrete ground. The question startles you. For one, Jungkook was being shy. He never seemed to hide things from you before but that assumption was proven wrong when you saw the girl he brought him the other day. Jungkook didn’t even hesitate to call you up when he just took the biggest shit or even when he picked the longest booger. Why was he suddenly acting bashful?

“... again?” You reiterate, hands clutching onto the bench. “You want to do what again?”

“Uh... sleep together.”

“Jeon, we always sleep together. I don’t understand why you’re being weird—“

“No,” he sighs frustratedly at himself, knowing his question was unclear while slouching over in his seat. “When I say sleep together, I meant have sex again. I feel like I fucked up our first time together and I want to make up for it.”

Oh. Was that all? After the incident, you’d been as emotionally intelligent as you could, pushing to the back of your mind the fact that you’re so in love with Jeon Jungkook and you’ve both had his first kiss and virginity— for him, likewise. How yes, these things were far from perfect but to you, it was perfect because it was with him. That’s all that mattered.

“You don’t need to make up for anything. It was good! You took care of me and made sure I was okay. Apparently, it hurts like hell but you made it bearable.”

“I... really want to try again. What if we try teaching each other so that when the time comes and we meet someone, we’re ready?”

By the time we meet someone. The words burned in your heart, hissing as the pain clenched your chest. You knew that you didn’t want to meet ‘someone,’ you just wanted Jungkook. Just then, the girl comes to mind.

“Is it about that girl?” Jungkook’s head shoots in your direction, brows crinkled in confusion. “What girl?”

You’re chewing your bottom lip anxiously, waving your hanging legs above the ground. “I saw you bring a girl home the other day. Is it about her?”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change for a moment before an ‘ah’ escapes his mouth with the memory. “You mean Dahyun? I’m tutoring her in my free time. I needed some money. What? Are you jealous?” His lips tug in a mischievous smile; he’s genuinely enjoying the way your face contorts into realization, his heart warm at the idea of you wary of someone else capturing his attention. 

“No.” You quickly mutter under your breath, a bit annoyed with yourself for letting your emotions get to you so quickly. This was Jungkook you were talking about here— the one guy who could pretty much land a date with any girl at your school, yet he’s over here playing games with you instead. It’s no surprise that he’s teasing you again but you’re wishing he was serious.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the only girl in my life?” 

You shove him off the bench, rolling your eyes. “Why did you want me here again?” He’s on the floor, a hearty laugh roaring from his chest. He’s effortlessly handsome like this and it’s no wonder that you’ve fallen for him. 

“I think you should reconsider my question and let me know when you’re ready. But besides that,” Jungkook is getting off of the solid ground, rubbing his bottom in the process. “I want you to come to my swim meet this Friday. You’re my good luck charm and I can’t win without you.”

“Why do I feel like those one of girls who are hopelessly in love with him?” You grumble into your arms, rubbing your hands into your face dishearteningly. “I feel so stupid, falling for his charms and everything. You know what he said to me again today?”

Yura’s in the process of shoving the cheesy goodness of tteokbokki into her mouth, sauce spilling out on the sides of her lips. She always had the biggest appetite and ate messily but it never stopped the queue of men standing outside her locker trying to shove in love letters on Valentine’s Day. Yura was a pure beauty— you always found yourself curious how the two of you became friends because you thought you weren’t as special, just average. But nonetheless, Yura had never failed to be there for you, through thick and thin, and your love for her in this friendship was almost the equivalent to what you felt for Jungkook. Except you were in love with Jungkook.

“Wha de he say?” She doesn’t even wait to finish swallowing her food, she just speaks through it, spitting some of the hot sauce onto your side of the table as you scowl in disgust. 

“Jesus, Yura, chew and swallow first.”

“Sorry,” She smiles cheekily after emptying her mouth. “What did he say?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re the only girl for me? I want you to come to my swim meet this Friday. You’re my good luck charm and I can’t win without you.”

Both of Yura’s brows raise up. “Oh wow, he’s definitely smitten with you. So, when are you gonna tell him that you’re ‘hopelessly in love’ with him?”

You sigh. “I can’t. I’ll ruin our friendship.”

“You’re doing this ass backwards,” She says, shaking her head as she picks out a fish cake from the bowl. “You guys fucked and yet you think that confessing your feelings will ruin your friendship?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you exhale another deep breath of sadness. “I’m just happy with where we are. I like being the special one in his life. What if I tell him and he doesn’t reciprocate feelings?”

“Worry about it then.” She responds casually, stuffing another spoonful into her mouth. “I don’t understand why people get so scared of telling someone how they feel. You never know your opportunity until you try it. Plus, it’s Jungkook. You really think he’s going to just drop you after all these years?”

Maybe Yura was right. Well— there was no way in hell you’d let her know that because her ego would swell up and get the best of her, but she made a valid point. Jungkook doesn’t know that you like him, right? So what if he did feel something for you?

“Think about it. Has he ever had a girlfriend?”

Silent, you’re almost skimming your mental memory of any recollection of Jungkook having a relationship. “Honestly, no.”

“And he tells you everything.”

“Correct.” You answer again. 

“Don’t you feel like he’s waiting for something? Or someone in particular? You even mentioned it before, he happens to have the entire women population of this school crawling at his feet and all he does is act dumb.”

A floral square neck short sleeve crop top and blue jeans were what you decided to leave the house with for Jungkook’s swim competition but you don’t feel like yourself underneath this fabric. In actuality, you would never find yourself walking out the house in something so... fitted, opting for something more comfortable and breathable, but you knew today wasn’t a day for that. You’d gather enough courage to finally tell Jungkook that you didn’t want to be just friends anymore, you were ready to take it to the next level.

Sitting down on the bleachers of the humid arena, the stench of chlorine attacks your sense of smell again. You could never understand what it felt like to be Jungkook— he lived for the aroma of the water entering in his nostrils, the feeling of water touching his skin for hours, having so much control whenever he was in the pool. Whenever he was stressed, angry or sad, the first place you’d look for him would be here. Mediations were for some people, but swimming was for Jungkook.

He’s walking toward you, a beautiful grin spreading from ear to ear, wearing what seems to be insufferable competitive swim trunks that hug the lower half his body so tightly it could be a second layer of skin. He hasn’t worn his cap yet, but he’s holding it in his hand with his goggles, arms opened wide for you to come into his embrace.

“I’m seriously so happy you’re here. And look at you! All dressed up. Is this for me?” You scoff yet you’re already in his arms, face snuggled into his bare chest. He smelled like the water but when it’s coming from him, the scent is intoxicating.  “Why would you even expect me not to come? I’m always rooting for you and your dreams, you idiot.” 

For a brief moment, you’re standing on the sidelines with his arms wrapped around your frame and his chin resting on your head. Being with Jungkook was different, he made you feel a way that none of the guys that came into your life have made you feel. 

Summers ago, you met this handsome boy, Taehyung. He was a few years older than both you and Jungkook and a member of the same swim team as Jungkook. Taehyung was the love that you knew realistically would never like you back. He was close to graduation, prepping for the recruiters who would attend their swim competitions to see potential candidates for colleges. Girls were flaunting themselves on him just as much as Jungkook and just as similar to him, his aspirations were a priority. Those girls were put in the back burner. He’d make your heart swell in your chest, constantly bringing you snacks and checking in on you occasionally as you study on the sidelines by the pool, waiting for your best friend to finish practice. You recall telling Jungkook about your childish crush on the guy you barely knew and him responding with, “You just think he’s cute. I don’t think you really like him,” or “He’s just being nice! He’s nice to everyone. Don’t fall for his charms so quickly.”

All of your feelings for Taehyung disappeared the day he graduated, saying his goodbyes to both you and Jungkook while in his blue gown, newly dyed platinum locks disheveled underneath his cap. He ruffles Jungkook’s hair, eyes gleaming toward the younger male before saying, “Take care of yourself, will ya? And take care of the little one too. Don’t let her fall between the cracks.” With that, he left with a scholarship to swim for the college team abroad in the United States, and you haven’t heard from him since.

The whistle blows, signaling the swimmers to get in their positions, and Jungkook lets go of you and you’re suddenly feeling empty. But the look he gifts you is loving, the reflection of the sunlight hitting the pool touches his face before he’s putting on his swim cap and goggles. 

Jungkook is standing on the platform, side by side with other competitors from local high schools. Although you’ve come to almost all his practices and attended every single swim meet, you couldn’t exactly grasp onto any of the rules or the jargon but Jungkook never held that against you. He just wanted you there as his personal cheerleader, standing in the bleachers, watching him perform the greatest act as each time he does this is better than the last.

The referee blows a short series of whistles, initiating the start of the race and Jungkook dives into the water in mere milliseconds amongst the rest of the swimmers. He’s fast—incredibly fast that you’re afraid to blink because you might miss something important. 

Jungkook was placed in the freestyle 100m event; his coach evidently complimented him constantly for his ability to adapt to the time and switch the types of strokes he needed to use in order to beat anyone neck and neck with him. 

Today was no exception. Jungkook hit his first lap in third place; a technique he learned was to never overexert your strengths in the beginning because in the last portion of the race was where you want to push yourself to the fullest. The amount of videos he made you sit through the entirety of throughout your life was countless. He would plop himself in front of the television or computer for hours, observing the olympic and professional swimmers tactics because his parents couldn’t afford a private teacher for him. It wasn’t until high school that he had a real coach, someone who could dedicate their time in training and shaping Jungkook into the athlete he wanted to be. Before that, he would come to school’s indoor pool almost daily to just swim laps and test out what he watched on the internet.

His second lap was closing to its end and like every other swim meet, your stomach was doing flips. There was so much faith in Jungkook, from you, his parents, his team, but you weren’t sure how he felt about himself. He never failed to impress everyone, swooning the hearts of both males and females during these events however never once has he expressed his anxiety before a competition. He just did it because he loved it. Swimming was Jungkook’s passion.

The male next to him is close, they’re strokes away from each other to the point you can’t even tell who’s in the lead. It ends so quickly that the referee blows into his whistle before you realize as Jungkook ascends from the water, snapping off his cap and goggles as he eyes the man in the white and black striped shirt before glancing over at his opponent.

The referee grabs Jungkook’s wrist with another scream of the whistle, and excitedly, Jungkook smacks the water. He won.

Towel hanging around his neck, his eyes sparkle at the sight of you approaching after his team congratulates him eagerly on his win. If you knew better, the sight of you was his own personal win.

“Congrats, Jeon.” You say, playfully pulling on his drenched locks. “I knew you’d win. You always win.”

“I always win because you’re here.” There he goes again, tugging on your heartstrings so carelessly. “Come join us for dinner after this.”

“Only if you dedicate some alone time with me for dessert.” You have no idea what being possess you because you’re abruptly so bold. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head questioningly. “Now you’re just tempting me to cancel dinner and go right to dessert. What do you want to talk about?”

“Just... stuff,” You say, pursing your lips. Before Jungkook can even say anything, another teammate comes up to him, slapping him on his buttock with a bright smile. “Look at little Kook, I’m not even surprised he even won.”

“I told you, I got myself a personal cheerleader. You should get one too.” Jungkook says, grasping onto your arm. “It’s a real energy booster when they’re cute too.”

“Oooo, maybe I can borrow your cheerleader!” His teammate teases but Jungkook clicks his tongue threateningly. “Get your own, this one is mine.” His teammate laughs before shaking his head and walking away to the rest of the group.

“I’m still curious what you’re going to say to me.” He says, turning back to direct his attention onto you. “You think you can skip waiting ‘til dessert and tell me now?”

“No.” 

“Oh, come on!” He whines and despite his height, he still can throw a tantrum like a child. “I really want to—“

“Oppa?”

The two of you divert your fixation onto the owner of the soft voice; blinking blankly, your eyes browse over the girl. You assume it’s Dahyun because her hair is down like the other day and her petite body seems familiar and you’re proven right when Jungkook calls out her name.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a math test tomorrow that you need to study for?”

She has a pink gift bag in her hand, butterfly and heart stickers decorated all over. The bag looks heavy with how the handles stretch to the fullest extent. You’re chewing your bottom lip now; Dahyun was going to confess and you’re unsure if Jungkook can tell.

“Can we talk in private for a moment, Oppa? I have to tell you something.”

“You can tell me here.” He gestures your presence with a grin on his face. “I don’t have anything to hide from her, she doesn’t judge so tell me what you have to say freely. And if she does judge...” Jungkook’s gaze shifts to you as he squints his eyes. “I’ll just beat her up.”

“Oppa, I think I like you. Will you go out with me?” 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I haven't really been in Johnlock scene, but I suddenly had a MIGHTY NEED for mutual pining between the two, and your fic recs delivered in the best possible way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing so much about these two! (and now it seems I'm lost to Johnlock, send help, but not really, this is awesome)

Hi Nonny!!

AHhhhh thank you for your kind words about my lists!!! I’m so happy you enjoy!!

You’re in luck, my friend!! I have a Part 2 list of my Mutual pining fics with enough to start a new list, so here we are!! Also, if you’re interested in exclusive pining, I’ve a part 2 to my Pining Sherlock list in its final stages of cleanup, so keep an eye out for that one!! <3 Enjoy!!

MUTUAL PINING Pt. 2

See also:

Mutual Pining Pt 1 

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Pining John

One Sided Pining

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and Ones, Drinking, Pining, Second Person POV Sherlock, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w., 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

Kirby and his friends vigorously climbed into the small boat. King Dedede, crammed into a small seat, immediately after departure, was incessantly complaining.

“Hey fuzzball, give me some space,” the king shouted to Rick, who was sitting right next to him, “it’s too hot in here!!”

In spite of the complaining, Rick, full of determination, didn’t flinch in the slightest.

“What? Who’re you calling fuzzy? My fur is known for being the shiniest in the Rainbow Islands!”

“I don’t care. Anywho, it’s way too hot in these small, cramped seats. Meta Knight, couldn’t you have prepared a ship that was just a little bit bigger?”

“The size of a small boat has its perks,” Meta Knight coolly answered, sitting in the spacious cockpit, “it’s more difficult for your enemies to spot you because you are able to move more quickly, which is very important. Actually, this small boat was made as a three-seater.”

Meta Knight looked back at the seats behind him. Behind the captain’s seat, there were only two seats. Since King Dedede, Kirby, Rick, Kine, Coo, and Pirka were seated there, they were, of course, cramped together.

“You’ve got seven people sitting in a small three-seater boat!” King Dedede said, seemingly-fed up. “Rick, Kine, Coo! You guys keep squishing the rest of us. I’m enough to take out the bad guy-”

Rick shook his head.

“Not a chance! This is a problem dealing with the Rainbow Islands. Thanks for coming to help us, but we’re not just gonna stand around while you do all the work!”

“....................”

Kine shook his dorsal fin to express agreement. He couldn’t talk because he was holding Kirby in his mouth. For the sake of having more space, Kirby fit inside his large mouth.

“Humph, you two are acting all self-important,” King Dedede said with a sour look, “but you just wanna show off to your wife and girlfriend anyway. I can see right through you.”

“Wh-What did you just say!?”

Having apparently been right on the mark, Rick waved his limbs around in confusion.

“Th-That’s not what we’re trying to do!! At this point, even if we were, Pick already knows how good I look!”

“...................!!!”

Kine shook his dorsal fin, sitting. As Kine was unable to say anything, Kirby spoke instead:

“It doesn’t matter what they’re doing this for! The more the merrier. Eating and playing are way more fun when you do it with others!”

“For goodness sake, we’re not going there to play,” Coo said, exasperated. He was resting on top of Kine’s head. “We’re going there to catch the evildoer above the clouds. We mustn’t be so careless.”

“Um, I agree,” Pirka said, calling out to Kirby and the others, “there’s only one enemy to face, but it is very strong, to a barbarous extent. Everyone, please be careful not to get hurt.”

“We’ll be fine, it’ll all be fine!” Kirby said in a happy-go-lucky voice.

“We are going to arrive soon,” Meta Knight said, still sitting in the cockpit, “There’s a chance that the enemy that attacked Pirka will suddenly attack us as well.”

“Everyone, be careful.”

“Got it!” the group said together. Before long, the small boat steadily flew above the clouds. At last, the group had arrived at the world above the clouds, with Meta Knight standing at the lead as they got down. Though it only looked like a small cloud from the ground, as they tried to get down, it was so spacious they could not see the edge.

“Where’s the bad guy?” Rick asked as he looked around the place. “Things seem peaceful here, but-”

“Mm- mGYAAAAA!!” Kine screamed in an odd voice, spitting Kirby out of his mouth. Kirby was sent rolling. When he stopped, he looked back at Kine and complained:

“Jeez, Kine!! You could’ve warned me before you spat me out!!”

Rick laughed.

“There’s no way he would’ve been able to say anything to warn you, y’know? You were in his mouth, after all.”

“Oh, really?”

“It’s true~!”, Kine said, happy that his mouth was finally free, “hey, where’s that nice smell coming from?”

“A smell?”

Kirby stood up on the tips of his feet and tried to smell the air.

“What kind of smell? Cake? Or meat? Spaghetti? Ramen?”

“Nothing like that. Way, way better... It’s the smell of water!” Kine said, wiggling his tail fin.

“Water?”

Rick’s small nose twitched. He shook his head.

“But I don’t smell anything.”

“I understand. Follow me~!”

Kine proceeded glidingly, as if he were swimming in the air.

“Kine, you’re right,” Pirka said, “the lake is in that direction.”

She spread her wings and lightly flew. As the group chased after Kine, Meta Knight asked:

“Pirka, tell me about the dangerous creature that attacked you. What was it like?”

“Very creepy-looking.”

Pirka’s voice trembled.

“It was round, about the same size as Kirby. Its body was dark blue. It didn’t have any arms or legs, and it attacked by using its long tongue to lick me. I didn’t understand where it was looking, but it had a strange look in its eyes… It was truly terrifying.”

“That sounds really scary~!”

Kine trembled.

“It was round, dark blue, with no limbs, long tongue… strange creature,” Rick muttered with a serious look on his face, “who was it?”

“Round, dark blue,” Kirby pondered, “licking… licking… huh? What? Wait a sec!”

Kirby, having come to a sudden realization, was dumbfounded. At the same time, Coo realized.

“That creature, perhaps-”

“There it is!” Pirka shouted. “Look, it’s the lake!”

A large lake was laid out ahead. On the shore, there was a large tree growing, bearing dull purple fruits. It was an unlikely scene above the clouds. Kine cheered:

“Hurray, clean water! It looks so good~!” Immediately, Kine jumped into the lake, but, suddenly, something moved to stop him. Kine stared in awe.

“Huh? Over there, could it be…”

Before Kine’s eyes, a strange creature stood. Its body was round and dark blue. It had no limbs, and swung its long tongue left and right. It bounced up and down, as if it were playing.

“Eek!” Pirka shrieked. “That’s it! The creature! Everyone, be careful!”

“I knew it,” Kirby said, taken aback, “that’s Gooey! The weird creature Pirka told us about was Gooey!”

“He’s right!” Rick said, also astonished, “What's someone like Gooey doing in a place like this?”

Pirka, turning pale, stared at Kirby and the others.

“Kirby, everyone, do you, by any chance, know it...?”

“Yeah. He’s a friend!”

“No way!”

Pirka backed away from them, seeming horrified.

“Pirka,” Rick said, “there’s no need to be scared. Gooey’s not evil. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he’s a fun guy.”

“But he attacked me!”

“Nuh-uh,” Kirby said, “I bet Gooey just wanted to play with you!”

“That’s not the case. He attacked me with that long tongue of his. Moreover… look!”

Pirka pointed at the lake.

“See those piled-up stones over there? He put them there!”

Exactly as Pirka said, there were stones piled up in one part of the lake.

“The water of this lake has a mechanism of falling from there to the ground below. However, by piling up those stones, he dammed up the water, causing it to stop raining!”

Rick shook his head.

“This has to be a misunderstanding! There’s no way Gooey would do something like that!”

“But-”

“Anyways,” Kirby interjected, “let’s hear what Gooey has to say about this! HEY, GOOEY!!!”

Kirby shouted in a loud voice, waving his arms. Noticing Kirby’s voice, Gooey started to approach the group. Pirka hid behind Kirby as she trembled.

“He’s coming this way!! Be careful, Kirby!! He’s going to attack you with his tongue!!”

“It’ll be fiiiiine!”

However, it was at that moment that Gooey stopped, then turned to face Kirby. Then, suddenly, Gooey stretched out his tongue and attacked!

“WHA-?!”

Kirby was confused.

However, Pirka, who had been quivering behind Kirby, couldn’t dodge it in time. Whipped by Gooey’s tongue, Pirka was knocked down.

“EEEEEEEEEEEK!!!”

Pirka had been sent flying in the air, then fell down on her back.

“What are you doing?!”

Now with a shocked expression, King Dedede, grasping his hammer, charged toward Gooey.

“You must’ve gone mad, you googly-eyed blob!! Why would you do such a thing!?”

The king jumped at Gooey and swung his hammer. Gooey dodged the attack with ease, then, once again, stretched out his tongue, not at king Dedede, but instead at Pirka, who had collapsed.

“Danger!”

In the nick of time, Meta Knight picked up Pirka and jumped out of the way.

“Gooey, stop!!” Rick screamed. “Why are you doing this?!”

However, Gooey wouldn’t respond.

“He’s after Pirka~!” Kine said, shaking his dorsal fin. “But why?”

“Maybe it’s because I tried to destroy the stones,” Pirka said, breathing heavily, “that must be why he hates me so much!”

“No way, Gooey would never-”

However, not seeming to care for what anyone had to say, Gooey kept attacking. Once again, he stretched out his tongue and tried to attack Pirka.

“He doesn’t seem to be listening,” Meta Knight yelled, covering Pirka with his cape, “if this continues, I’ll just fight. Kirby, Dedede, are you two ready?”

“Of course!”

King Dedede clutched his hammer, full of rage. However, Kirby could not be ready. Gooey was one of his best friends.

“I don’t wanna fight!!” Kirby said earnestly. “This isn’t normal!! Gooey just wants to play, no doubt!!”

However, as if to ridicule Kirby, Gooey’s attacks grew more intense.

“That is what you consider ‘play?’ Get a grip, Kirby!” Meta Knight yelled. Kirby could no longer say anything. There was no way Gooey’s behavior was meant to be playful.

“Gooey!! What’s going on?! Tell me!! Why are you doing this?!”

Gooey wouldn’t answer Kirby’s questions. For some reason, he didn't seem to care. Without a word, he simply turned to hostility. At that point, Kirby had no choice but to give up.

“Let’s get out of here!” Kirby screamed, turning away from Gooey.

“Get out of here?” Rick asked with a surprised voice. “This isn’t a joke, Kirby. We need to work together to stop Gooey!”

It was exactly as Rick said: Gooey was all by himself. If Kirby and his friends got serious, they would be able to defeat him. That’s why Kirby didn’t want to fight. Kirby didn’t want to gang up on Gooey with the others and attack him, or anything of the sort.

“I’m running away!”

Kirby grabbed Pirka by the hand and started to run.

“Everyone, follow Kirby,” Coo shouted, flapping his wings on a grand scale, “now is not the time to fight!”

“Why!?”

Rick glared at Coo, appearing irritated.

“If we fight, we can win!”

“Our goal isn’t to win. Gooey has simply lost his mind. Nothing will come of attacking him!”

“If that’s the case, then I’ll knock his senses back into him with my hammer!” King Dedede yelled, filled with fighting spirit. Meta Knight, with his treasured sword Galaxia, was about to slash Gooey at any moment. Coo raised his voice:

“Stop it! If we fight, we’re going to get hurt. Not only that, but this has left us utterly distant from Gooey! Our friendship with him has been torn!”

Kine, hearing this, panicked.

“Distant?! Does that mean we might not be friends with Gooey anymore?! I don’t want that at all~!”

“Therefore, we should get going!”

Rick and Kine nodded their heads. Meta Knight lowered his sword. King Dedede, reluctantly, lowered his hammer. They all turned their backs on Gooey and started running.

< Previous | Table of Contents | Next >

[pls-let-me-out]

The Selection

For thirthy-five youngers, the Selection is the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to escape the life laid out for them since birth. To be swept up in a world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels. To live in a palace and compete for the heart of gorgeous Prince William.

But for Niccolò Jackson, formerly di Angelo, being Selected is a nightmare. It means leaving his home to enter a fierce competition for a crown he doesn't want. Living in a palace that is constantly threatened by violent rebel attacks. Especially when he knows that his family has rebel affiliations. Just one slip as he talks of them, and he will be executed for treason. So, when he is chosen to participate, he has a simple plan: get in, don’t do absolutely anything to attract the Prince’s attention, and be sent home after the first week.

Of course, things start going down-hill since the first day.

 After saying good-bye to his younger sister Hazel, with the promise of writing, the last thing Nico wants to do is socializing with the other suitors. Not only would it be absolutely tiring, but he also finds it useless, as they are meant to be competitors for the same prize. None of them will cultivate any long-lasting relationship. Not that the others are too heartbroken to see him disappear, they have been eyeing him weirdly since he first set foot down the plane. He isn’t the one from the lowest cast, but most of the others are from the higher ones.

Nico is a Six, or has been so for the last few years. It’s the cast of workers. He doesn’t know how much of a background-check they’ve done at the Palace, how much the Prince actually knows about him. However, it has taken Nico exactly a look at the other two suitors from the lower castes (Elise, a Seven, a manual laborer; James, a fellow Six) to know that they are the charity cases. Every time a Selection is held, people from all castes (except Eights) are brought to the Palace, but it’s always clear that they won’t stay for long. They are often ignored by the other suitors and the Royals. It’s fine by Nico. He will be paid for staying a week.

The gardens are at least pretty. Nico has to admit as much. There’s a maze somewhere, which he doesn’t want to see even from afar, and old statues in white marble are scattered around. If Hazel were here, she would love the place. Nico finds it a bit overboard. There’s a golden plaque on the ground. Nico bends to read the descriptions.

“Forgive me,” someone says, and Nico almost jumps out of his skin. “Are you lost, sir?”

Nico turns around, hiding the cigarette behind himself. Useless, since it just makes the smoke come from behind him. The person he comes face to face with has widened blue eyes. Oh shit.

So much for not being noticed, Nico thinks. In complete silence, he stares at the Prince, and the Prince stares right back at him. Nico hopes that, if he gets away from the situation at hand quickly enough, the Prince will forget his face. Poor people probably look all the same to pricks like him, anyway.

“Hey!” The Prince exclaims, and a smile brightens his features. “You are one of the suitors, aren’t you? I’m Prince William, it’s nice to meet you.”

Prince William extends a hand, and Nico has to switch the cigarette in the other hand to shake it.

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. Should he say that it’s nice to meet him? How is he supposed to know how to greet a Prince? He lets go of the Prince’s hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the Prince continues. “However, shouldn’t you be socializing with the other suitors?”

Nico sighs. “It’s not really my scene. Sorry.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” The Prince rubs the back of his neck, looking around uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico says. He craves peace and quiet, and he can’t get it when the whole reason he has been taken away from the family in the first place is right in front of him. “You can just go. I’m sure you have very important things to do.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Greeting every suitor, for example.”

“Consider me greeted.” Nico nods one last time at the Prince, before giving him his back and inhaling the smoke of his cigarette. He really hopes they aren’t being filmed right now, or Sally will kick his ass once he gets home.

“I – you shouldn’t be smoking,” the Prince continues.

“Will you put me in jail if I do?”

The Prince seems even more taken aback, and Nico is starting to feel impatient. He wants to go home and sleep for the next few years, but he can’t, because of course he just had to be one of thirty-five idiots sorted from the whole kingdom. That’s just the kind of luck that follows him around these days.

“Well?” Nico asks again. “Will you put me in jail?”

“Of course no! But it’s bad for-”

“Bad for me, so mind your own business.”

And with that, Nico stomps away. They won’t even notice I’m there, Nico told Hazel before leaving, when she was still in bed with her hair wrapped in her scarf. I’ll be a shadow. I’ll sneak something out of the Palace for you, though. She laughed, until her lungs started burning again, and she got cut off by a heavy round of coughs.

 Nico shares his suite with a guy named something he can’t pronounce. He’s a Two, an actor. He informs Nico of that himself, and also asks whether Nico wants an autograph. It’s almost heartbreaking, how Nico has to inform him that he has never seen any of his movies.

“It must be such an upgrade for you,” the guy continues, from where he is perched on the sofa, watching him unpack through the open door of the bedroom. “Passing from being a Six to a Three. You know you will be a Three when this is all over, don’t you? Of course I will remain a Two, unless the Prince chooses me. Then I’d be a One. Don’t you find it so-?”

Nico doesn’t hear the rest. He closes the door, muttering something about taking a bath. He just sits on the bed, and lets the hours pass. He doesn’t get out of his room until it’s dinner time, when they are brought food into the suite. Actor-boy tells him that he will be dining with the girls in the next suite, and leaves Nico behind.

 The following day the suitors have breakfast together. Only one place is left vacant at the table, by the time food arrives.

“Is it for the Prince?” The girl next to him asks another. “Should we wait for him?”

The other shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s for Drew Tanaka. She will be having breakfast with her family, though.”

Nico furrows his eyebrows, sipping his coffee quietly. Shouldn’t that not be allowed? They can keep their phones and contact their families, also post on social media, but they shouldn’t be traveling home. And does she intend on traveling home every day?

“Her father’s a lord,” the second girl responds. “Her family lives here.” She snorts. “Didn’t you research anything about the other suitors?”

“I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“And it isn’t,” a third girl says. She sighs. “Honestly. Just don’t talk about breaking the rules so openly at the breakfast table. You don’t even know who is listening.”

Nico feels her eyes on his face, but he doesn’t look up from his coffee. Once again, he wishes he were in his own home, even if it means having to deal with Percy and his obnoxiousness. Maybe he can stay just for a few days, thinking better about it.

When breakfast is over, they are brought to a circular room. The smell of flowers in there is almost nauseating, and Nico wishes he could open the windows. But Jasmine – the woman who showed them around yesterday – is already giving him weird looks. If he were to step closer to the window, she would probably think him in the middle of a robbery of windows. So he walks around the room while he waits for his turn, stopping every once in a while to admire the paintings on the walls.

“You aren’t a Five, are you?”

Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Again. This time at least it isn’t the Prince in front of him, but the third girl from the breakfast table. Nico shakes his head.

“Six,” he says. “But not only Fives can watch art, you know.”

“I guess,” she responds, shrugging a bare shoulder. The girls are wearing elegant dresses, and hers has a particularly large gown. Nico is in a suit, which he looks like an idiot in. “I’m Lou Ellen, Two.”

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. “Six.”

“You already said that.”

Nico shrugs, without anything left to say. He turns back to the painting.

“You don’t look particularly happy to be here,” she continues. “Don’t you want to woo Will?”

Nico turns back to her. “Who’s Will?”

“Prince William.” She doesn’t hide a smile. “He’s a friend of mine. So, are you going to woo him?”

“That’s just the least my charming personality can do,” Nico replies. There’s a smudge of something in the corner of the painting, which is in equal measure disgusting for the viewers and horrifically disrespectful to the artist.

Lou Ellen laughs. “I guess so. Why are you here if you don’t think you can woo him?”

Nico shrugs. “Aren’t they paying us?”

“Chapeau,” Lou Ellen concedes. She takes a deep breath. “You don’t seem very interested in making friends.”

“That’s because we won’t be friends for long. Ten go away after this first week, or fifteen, I didn’t really read all that well. After that, everyone who has stayed will try their best to remain again, beat the others somehow. At some point, people will just be stabbing each other in the back.”

“Will you?”

Nico scoffs. “I won’t stay that long. Me, the other Six, and the girl from Seven. We are the three everyone is certain will leave after this week. We are placeholders.”

Lou Ellen is called in next. They’re going by order of the castes, so Nico is the third-last to go in. He finds the Prince seated at the round table, the breeze entering from the window is ruffling his blond hair. His lips are already pulled in a smile when Nico enters. It makes him shiver.

“Mr. Jackson,” the Prince says. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

The Prince gestures to the enormous teapot and the two empty mugs. There are also many types of sweets, and the lemon-cake Hazel likes so much. Just thinking of her has nostalgia blossom in Nico’s chest, and they have only been apart for a day.

“Are you glaring at the lemon cake?” The Prince asks.

Nico startles. He quickly sits at the free chair. “No.”

“Are you allergic?”

“No.” Nico clears his throat.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“I really despise tea,” Nico replies. He crosses his arms on the chest, leaning back. The Prince pours some for himself. ���Also, isn’t it your thirty-third cup?”

The Prince smiles. “Yup. Believe it or not, there are people who enjoy a good cup of tea.”

“I can believe that, but thirty-three in a morning is a bit of a stretch. Won’t you get indigestion or something?”

“Is that a threat?”

“From the one who thought that it would be alright to let you drink thirty-three cups of tea in a morning, maybe,” Nico replies. He grins. “Not for the poor soul who is just the witness. Should I tell the thirty-fifth to let you take a toilet break?”

The Prince laughs. “I really hope you know we are being filmed, and this is a live-stream.”

Nico taps his foot on the ground. He isn’t used to being on camera anymore, although Hazel often posts short videos in which he also appears on her profiles on social media. He doesn’t have to talk in those, though.

“You really know how to put people at ease,” Nico comments. “What are you going to tell me next, that your parents are watching in the next room, ready to intervene if I ask you too much about your toilet habits?”

“They only intervene if you are unreasonably sarcastic.”

“That’s a very charming and fancy way of telling me to shut up.”

“Oh dear – tell me you aren’t one of those eat the royal folks.”

“Didn’t you run a background check on me or something?”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t shown any of that,” the Prince admits. He shrugs. “So, uh. I don’t know much about you.”

Nico nods, and stares at the table. It’s covered by a really horrible, red and golden tablecloth. It’s exactly the type of thing Nico should have expected to find in the Palace.

“Cool,” Nico says.

“What’s cool?”

Not this tablecloth. He doesn’t say that. “Not much.”

The Prince nods. “Alright.” He clears his throat.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Nico should deal better with awkward, really. That’s all conversations ever are with him. There are stilted words, long, stretching silences. He wishes the ground would open under him.

“How much longer do I have to stay?” Nico finally asks.

“Where?”

In this hellish hole. “Here. Now. In the tea-room, I mean.”

“We should go for a walk,” the Prince says.

“Not together, right?”

“Ah.”

“I mean, no offense, but this is frankly embarrassing,” Nico says. He leans forward in his seat. “I just really need a cigarette.”

“I’ve never smoked one.”

“I really hope you aren’t trying to get one of mine.”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

And the Prince makes a strange kind of puppy eyes, which Nico has only ever seen Hazel make. And Percy, occasionally, but his just annoy Nico to an unbelievable level.

“So, what do you do in your free-time?” Nico blurts out, hoping to erase the Prince’s eyes.

“Oh, I study,” the Prince says. “I really enjoy reading, and learning in general. I particularly enjoy Philosophy, which I usually study on my own. I have tutors, of course. Although at the moment I am having some problems with Physics. I have also tried studying French a couple of years back, but I wasn’t really good at that. It was just so horrible.”

“Learning French sucks,” Nico concedes, thinking back to his own struggles with the language. “But not as much as learning Latin.”

“You know Latin?”

Nico shrugs. He shouldn’t have said that, should he? The Prince has already said that he doesn’t know much of his background, so maybe he also doesn’t know that Nico hasn’t always been a Six. Hell, he wasn’t even always called Niccolò Jackson.

“I know Ancient Greek.”

Nico nods. “Sounds fancy.” He doesn’t say that he knows that, too.

The Prince almost seems to be having problems controlling all his energy. His finger curl and uncurl around the armrests of the chair. His gaze shifts more than once to the windows and the gardens. When Nico follows his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, though.

A bell rings, startling the Prince out of his reverie.

“It seems that our time is up,” the Prince says.

The Prince stands, and Nico does the same, giving him an even-more-than-awkward nod, and turning to leave.

“It was really nice meeting you!” The Prince continues, when Nico’s hand is already on the doorknob.

Nico turns back, to give him a tight-lipped smile, catching the Prince empty the mug of tea out of the window. It startles a laugh out of him. The Prince turns, his eyes widened at having been caught in the act. His cheeks dust in red, and it only makes Nico laugh harder.

“So you aren’t poisoning yourself with thirty-five cups of tea, only the soil outside,” he says. “Good to know.”

“It’s considered polite to offer people tea,” the Prince replies smoothly.

Nico’s smile tightens. “Well, let me tell you, Your Highness, maybe the Twos, Threes, maybe even Fours or Fives, care about drinking tea and making small talk. Sixes and Sevens? We don’t really care whether you stuff yourself in tea and lemon cakes. Actually, most people from home would probably much rather you not waste so much food when everyone has already been served plentiful breakfast.” Nico makes a mocking wave with his hand. “With your gracious permission.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind himself, even if his cheeks are red and his ears ring. Sally should be proud of him, honestly.

[sceptilemasterr]

Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 3, Scene 8 - The Penderghast Amorelia Day Gala

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Several weeks later, Fiora and her friends enjoy a night of dancing, food, and fun.

Previous Scene: Never Bet Against Fiora

Masterlist: Link

INT. RHUKA HALL - GRAND BALLROOM - NIGHT

Several weeks later, the Amorelia Day Gala has arrived. Penderghast’s Grand Ballroom, located on Rhuka Hall’s top floor, has been fully decorated for the event. The entire room is bathed in a soft blue light, changing and shifting in ways reminiscent of sunlight being filtered through water. Toward the ceiling, multicolored floating umbrellas hang suspended by some kind of Air Stoichi. Beautiful fountains erupt in impossible patterns, shaped by Water Stoichi into figures and patterns that rise and fall in time with the music. A table against the far wall hosts countless dishes of all kinds of food, complete with several multi-layered cakes at the center. A few Penderghast students, along with several professors, are already present as several more trickle in, all dressed for the occasion. Then:

FIORA: Holy... wow! This place is amazing!

SHREYA (smiling): Not half as amazing as moi. Or, for that matter, my lovely date.

Fiora blushes heavily as she and Shreya make their way into the room. Shreya wears a beautiful beige dress with matching circlet, both of which are decorated with a Light-Att technique that makes them sparkle every time she moves. Fiora’s dress, in contrast, is a muted golden color with flowing translucent sleeves. As they enter, Fiora beams at her date.

FIORA: Shreya... this is amazing! Thank you!!

SHREYA: Perhaps I ought to be thanking you for saying “yes.”

FIORA (blushes): Yeah... I’m a bit slow sometimes--

She is interrupted by Shreya pulling her into a quick kiss. They break apart quickly when Shreya spots Zeph, Griffin, and Peter approaching.

SHREYA: Oh! Hi, everyone! So glad you could make it!

ZEPH (laughing): Don’t worry about us. We’re not interrupting anything!

Shreya and Fiora blush furiously.

GRIFFIN: Glad you both could make it! Did either of you see Beckett, by the way?

ZEPH: ...Or Atlas?

Fiora shrugs.

FIORA: They might be going together. I don’t know, Atlas was kinda hesitant about--

BECKETT: Ah, there you are!

Beckett approaches the group, along with an unfamiliar, bland-looking woman they do not recognize. Beckett is dressed in a crisp suit with golden tie, his hair impeccably combed straight back. The woman beside him wears a sparkling navy-blue dress, and Fiora at first doesn’t recognize her. Then, she seems to realize something, and peers closer at Beckett’s companion.

FIORA: ...Atlas?!

ZEPH: Wait, Atlas? Where?

SHREYA: Fiora, what are you--

The woman at Beckett’s side smirks, then waves a hand in front of her face and makes a few quick gestures. The unfamiliar features fall away, replaced with Atlas’s distinctive silver hair and facial features identical to Fiora’s. Zeph lets out a soft gasp.

ATLAS: ...I assume that damn thing works, then?

BECKETT: But of course! None can recognize you now, save those you’ve granted permission to.

ATLAS: Good. ‘Cause I’m leaving this place immediately if there’s any chance of--

ZEPH (laughs): Come on, Atlas! Can’t you just enjoy yourself for five minutes? I promise, nothing crazy’s gonna attack the Gala while we’re here. Okay?

Atlas scowls. Then she relents, smiling slightly at Beckett.

ATLAS: ...Fine. Can’t hurt to be here with someone like him, after all. He’s almost as good with combat stoichi as I am!

BECKETT: I--excuse you, what do you mean, almost?!

ATLAS: Oh, please. As if you even understood half the things I’ve had to...

As Atlas and Beckett continue arguing, the others exchange a look of exasperation.

FIORA: There they go again...

PETER: Uh, Griff, what’s with the disguise? I don’t think most people wear Cloakguises to go to Penderghast dances...

FIORA (shrugs): She’s my twin sister. Long story short, she’s... not supposed to be here.

ZEPH: Also, Beckett’s had a huge crush on her since even before we knew she existed--

BECKETT: I did NOT!

PETER (laughs): Sure he didn’t. Anyway, fair enough. I ain’t about to rat her out to Goeffe if you aren’t.

He glances over at the back of the room, where Dean Goeffe stands, a severe look on her face as she engages Dr. Englund in deep conversation.

SHREYA: Well? Shall we, then?

Shreya tugs Fiora out toward the center of the room, the other Pend Pals following close behind. As they approach the dance floor, Zeph dashes ahead of the others.

ZEPH: Watch this! I’ve been waiting for weeks to show you all this move!

Zeph launches into a full body wave, complete with shoulder shimmy. The others watch, enraptured... most of them, anyway.

BECKETT (huffs): I give that a two out of ten.

ZEPH: Oh, c’mon. That’s at least a seven, isn’t it?

BECKETT: Then show me a “seven.”

Zeph pouts as Shreya pulls Fiora onto the dance floor.

SHREYA: Alright, allow moi to show you a thing or two!

Shreya launches into a complicated dance sequence, complete with handstands, cartwheels, and other flashy moves. After a moment, she grabs Fiora’s hands and draws her in to the dance.

FIORA: Shreya, I don’t--Whoa!

After a few beats of dancing, Shreya grabs Fiora’s arms, holding them outward so that her hands are facing up. Perplexed, Fiora keeps her hands there... only for Shreya to step back, then leap into her hands, using them as a foothold to backflip through the air!

ZEPH: Holy Source!

GRIFFIN: Whooooo!

PETER: Yeah!

ATLAS (shrugs): Not bad.

Shreya lands and strikes a pose beside a still-slightly-bewildered Fiora. The others all applaud.

GRIFFIN: That was amazing! Shreya, where’d you learn that?

Shreya giggles as they step off of the dance floor.

SHREYA: I learned that one at a club in Pennseil!

Everyone besides Fiora gapes at her, impressed. Fiora simply looks confused.

FIORA: Okay, is this one of those Attuned things I just don’t understand, or...?

ATLAS (whispering): Pennseil is the Attuned reflection of... “Paris,” I think it’s called.

Fiora gasps in recognition.

FIORA: Oh! Wow, Shreya, that’s super awesome!

SHREYA: ...Well, Beckett?

BECKETT: Hmph. Well, I suppose that might be worthy of a ten out of ten, if for no other reason than by comparison with the single other entry in this impromptu competition.

ZEPH: Hey!

Atlas bursts out laughing. Shreya smiles and wraps an arm around Fiora.

SHREYA: Well. As if I would ever lose such a contest with you by my side, non?

FIORA: Of course not. That was seriously amazing, Shreya.

PETER: Hang on, I think I just spotted some cake. Can’t miss out on that!

GRIFFIN: Looks delicious! Let’s go!

The two of them dash over to the dessert table, with Fiora and the others following close behind. The group eagerly approaches the huge, multi-colored cakes dominating the center of the dessert display.

FIORA: Wow. Okay, that looks amazing.

She moves forward to take a slice, but Shreya grabs her arm and pulls her back.

FIORA (frowning): Hey!

SHREYA: Don’t worry, darling, you’ll get your chance. I just want to be certain you know what you’re getting into, first.

FIORA: Why? It’s just cake-- (sighs) It’s... not just cake, is it?

SHREYA (laughs): Of course not! The esteemed Chef Liyan Fang would never make something as ordinary as a simple cake, without even a single stoicheal infusion, can you imagine?

FIORA: So this thing has some kind of... effect? If I eat it, it’ll do something?

SHREYA: Just watch.

Peter grabs a slice from the blue tier of the cake, near the center. He takes a bite.

GRIFFIN (laughs): Wait for it...

A few seconds later, Peter lets out a series of musical belches that play perfectly in tune with the music playing overhead! Fiora gasps in surprise, then giggles, as the others all laugh.

FIORA: Ooh! I wanna try!

GRIFFIN: There’s gonna be more than one effect. It all depends on which color tier you take the slice from, plus which part of the cake. Choose wisely!

FIORA: Wait, so, is there a sign or something that says which part does what?

PETER (laughs): Where’s the fun in that? You’ve gotta take a wild guess, be surprised!

FIORA (hesitantly): Oh... I don’t--

She swallows, and her expression changes as she confidently approaches the table. She nods once.

FIORA: You know what? Why not. Here I go!

She takes a slice from the corner of the cake’s yellow tier and cautiously takes a bite. The others look at her expectantly.

ATLAS: ...Well?

FIORA: I don’t feel any-- Whoa!

Fiora stumbles back in shock, and the camera shifts to her perspective. She (and the camera) look around at each of the others, and we see shining auras surrounding each of them. Shreya’s aura is a flickering reddish-orange; Griffin’s, a shifting earth tone; Beckett’s is stiff and silvery; Peter’s is wispy and fleeting; Zeph’s is bluish-green; and Atlas’s resembles Zeph’s, but much stronger, with an overlay of crackling yellow lines rushing throughout.

SHREYA: Fiora? Are you okay?

FIORA: Yeah, I... I think I’m seeing your stoichi! It’s surrounding everyone, like a glow, or...

BECKETT: Ah! Your vision must have been enhanced so as to better make out our stoicheal auras!

SHREYA: You actually can see them normally, if you try hard enough. Though here, surrounded by so many Attuned, it’s hard to notice... they’re fairly faint most of the time.

FIORA: Whoa. This is trippy. I--

Fiora’s (and the camera’s) vision pans to the left, toward Dean Goeffe and Dr. Englund... and we hear Fiora gasp. Dr. Englund’s aura is a stronger version of Griffin’s, but Dean Goeffe’s is a swirling mass of darkness, engulfing her to the point that we are barely able to see the dean herself through the thick aura.

FIORA (quietly): Dean Goeffe... her aura, it’s...

Atlas glances over at the dean. She frowns.

ATLAS (quietly): I don’t see anything. What is it?

FIORA: It’s black. And... it looks angry. It’s so thick, I can barely see her. What is that?

GRIFFIN (curiously): I don’t see anything. She looks like a normal Metal-Att to me.

FIORA: No, I--

The aura effect fades away.

FIORA: Darn. It’s gone! Hang on, give me some more of that cake!

The camera returns to a normal perspective as Fiora reaches forward, grabbing another piece of the cake. This time, she takes from the side of the yellow tier instead of the corner. After taking a big bite... She suddenly starts levitating in the air, wisps of Air Stoichi circling around her feet!

FIORA: Whoa! Okay, I did not expect that.

Everyone laughs.

SHREYA: The location of the slice matters too, remember? Wow, I absolutely must try one now.

As Shreya and the others all start taking their own slices of cake, all of whom end up with a wide variety of stoicheal effects, Fiora frowns, looking back at where the dean and Dr. Englund had been. Dr. Englund is now standing near the wall, gazing out at the crowd... and the dean is nowhere to be seen.

FIORA (to herself): That... something’s wrong...

After a brief moment, Atlas comes up to Fiora. Her hands and wrists are covered with shimmering red scales that are slowly fading away.

FIORA: What’s with the scales?

ATLAS: Damn cake.

FIORA (laughs): Should’ve known! Anyway, what’s up?

ATLAS (shrugs): Dunno. I just wanted to say... thanks. For keeping me around all that time, even though you barely knew me...

FIORA: Aw, Atlas, you don’t have to--

Atlas holds up a hand, and Fiora stops talking.

ATLAS: Seriously. You could’ve kicked me out at any time, or reported me to someone. Couldn’t blame you, with how suspicious I was being of your friends. But you put up with me. Not only that, when things were going south at the birthday party... you really stepped up. And now... well, I’m glad I’m here. With your friends.

FIORA (knowingly): By ‘friends,’ d’you mean... ‘Beckett,’ specifically?

ATLAS: Now you’re pushing it.

FIORA: Sorry.

ATLAS: But seriously. Thanks. I’m starting to see why everyone made such a big deal about this party. It’s... fun.

FIORA (smiles): If anyone deserves to have fun, it’s you, Atlas. I can’t imagine there were many parties in the Between.

ATLAS (laughs): If Raife’s evil cultists were having any parties, I sure as hell wasn’t invited. ‘Sides, at least here, I know I’ve got people to watch my back.

FIORA: Really?

ATLAS: There’s nobody I’d rather have at my side in a pinch than my sister. And... just between you and me, I don’t entirely mind that Beckett guy. He’s... competent.

FIORA (knowingly): “Competent.” Right. He’s definitely... that.

ATLAS (awkwardly): Right. Whatever, enough with all that sentimental crap. Catch you later.

Atlas disappears into the crowd. Fiora looks around, bewildered, until Shreya appears and pulls her into a twirl.

FIORA: Whoa! Hey there, Shreya.

SHREYA: Fiora! Just the good-looking and absolutely breathtaking Light-Att I wanted to see. Come dance with me!

Fiora smiles at her date.

FIORA: I thought you’d never ask! I’d love to.

Shreya leads Fiora out onto the dance floor as the music shifts to a slow waltz. They start to dance perfectly in time with one another, moving slowly around the dance floor.

SHREYA: This is lovely. Why don’t we dance together more often?

FIORA: Dunno. Guess we’ve been too busy with school... and fighting off random shadow monsters... and discovering my secret twin... y’know, usual stuff.

SHREYA (laughs): Ah, yes. Things are never dull with you around, are they? I am so glad we ended up roommates. It was clearly meant to be.

Fiora smiles warmly at Shreya.

FIORA: We were clearly meant to be, I’d say.

SHREYA: Oh, I agree. Everything is simply so... beautiful. Don’t you think?

FIORA: Yeah. Beautiful...

Fiora leans in and kisses Shreya.

SHREYA: Well! That’s certainly something the Fiora of a few months ago never would have done!

FIORA: Why, are you complaining?

SHREYA: Perish the thought!

They resume their dance as the music shifts into something more upbeat. After a few moments, Atlas and Beckett join them, followed closely by Griffin and Peter. They all dance together for a brief moment, until finally the song ends, to be replaced with another. The six of them all head toward the edge of the dance floor, where Zeph is waiting, eating from a heaping plate of some type of glowing Attuned snack.

SHREYA: This had best be important. I really was enjoying myself!

Atlas gives her a meaningful nod, then jerks her head in the direction of the ballroom’s entrance. Shreya and the others follow her gesture to see...

FIORA (astonished): Dr. Swan?!

SHREYA: She’s back? But... I don’t... that cannot--

BECKETT (frowning): Rather suspicious, isn’t it? That she should vanish for so long... only to reappear now? And without even speaking to Fiora or Shreya?

ATLAS: Took the words right out of my mouth. Something’s wrong.

FIORA: Let me talk to her. Maybe she knows something.

Fiora starts walking toward Dr. Swan, when suddenly, the booming voice of Dean Goeffe, amplified by telepathy, echoes through everyone’s minds.

DEAN GOEFFE (echoing): ATTENTION. THIS IS AN OFFICIAL PENDERGHAST ANNOUNCEMENT FROM DEAN GOEFFE. THIS CAMPUS IS CURRENTLY IN A STATE OF EMERGENCY. ALL STUDENTS ARE INSTRUCTED TO RETURN TO THEIR DORMITORIES IMMEDIATELY, AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION.

As the students around them start panicking, Fiora and her friends look around with suspicion.

ATLAS: Okay. I can’t be the only one who finds this suspicious, right?

GRIFFIN: Right. Something’s wrong...

DEAN GOEFFE (echoing): ALL PENDERGHAST PROFESSORS ARE TO REPORT TO MIRROR STORAGE AT THIS TIME. I REPEAT: THIS CAMPUS IS CURRENTLY IN A STATE OF EMERGENCY. ALL STUDENTS...

The Pend Pals watch as Dr. Swan and Dr. Englund both immediately head toward the ballroom’s entrance, disappearing through its double doors. Fiora looks around at her friends, then at Atlas.

FIORA: Something’s not right. We need to follow them.

ATLAS: Agreed.

Amidst the throng of confused and terrified students, seven students make their way toward the exit, following the professors toward the Mirror Storage room...

_______________________

Notes: And so the climax begins... let's hope our heroes are strong enough to handle whatever comes next for them!

Timeline: The Amorelia Day Gala takes place on March 17th, 2018.

_______________________

Next: Into the Between

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie

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[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.���

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

[gyllenhaalstories]

imagine taking rapper jake home to meet your parents.

i’m so sorry for the delay, anon! <3 buckle up, it got long and i’m emo!!!!! lil jakey jakes meeting your parents was not something i thought i’d cry about right now but here i am. i listened to nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex if you want to vibe with me!

<3

jake swore he was about to shit his pants when you reminded him of the dinner with your parents.

he ran all over his house, searching for nothing and everything at oncel. one second it was his tie, the next his phone and after that his keys. he was just so terrified. he wanted to leave a good impression.

he dressed up like he was going to the oscars. he put on a suit, a new one he got tailored to his body just for the occasion. he covered all of his tattoos, with those long sleeves. he hid his chain under the color of the shirt you buttoned lovingly. he went to the barbershop too, he got a fresh cut and his beard neat. he looked like a movie star and even if this was not the man with whom you fell in love, you still loved this new persona.

“you’re so stressed that i’m stressed” you’d scream at him while he paced around the bedroom as you put on a simple outfit, some jeans and a button up shirt too. dresses felt too formal. it was your parents, not the pope. “we’re not going. i’m calling them and i’ll say i’m sick”.

jake stopped moving and protested. “if i wanna ask your father for your hand, i better know how he looks like first. if he likes golf, i’m out”.

the joke was unexpected, but it made both of you laugh. he kept bringing up marriage. it was like a running gag, but it felt more and more real. one day you would be called mrs gyllenhaal. and this day would not happen if you died from a heart attack because you couldn’t face the judgement of your parents.

so jake waited for you in the car. he picked a black jaguar, he didn’t want to be too obnoxious. he had the head lights shining bright and blinked them so you pretended to walk like a model and twirl in front of the car before you sat on the passenger seat. “so fuckin’ gorgeous.” jake said and noticed you, too, wore the chain he got you for your birthday. he stretched his arm out to play with it lightly and then proceeded to drive to your parents’ house.

he stopped in the drive way. it was a tiny home, very old with a bunch of flower pots that were wrapped up for the winter. it was lovely already. jake stopped the car and took deep breaths.

“you sound like you’re about to get into labor”

“it’s a neat trick you’ll have to try it”

and you both breathed fast like two freaks in the car while the music was playing in the background. some U2 song. it calmed the two of you down. when you got out of the car, jake immediately grabbed your hand. he needed the comfort.

you were about to ring the door bell when your mother slammed the door open and wrapped you in a tight hug.

jake smiled and looked behind her. he waved at your father.

“mom, dad, this is my boyfriend, jake. jake, this is my mom and dad.”

“hi mom, hi dad” jake replied and it made the two of them laugh.

jake wanted to bring champagne and flowers, but you convinced him to not do too much. your parents were simple people. they would be happy as long as jake didn’t tease you from under the table (the jeans were definitely a good option) or mentioned politics. 

“our daughter has told us a lot about you” your mother said “yeah, we heard you are a singer? isn’t that the dream” your father added

“yeah.” jake smiled awkwardly and took a sip from the glass of water you both shared. you were sitting on his lap, on the love seat of the small living room. your parents asked him tons of questions. he answered them genuinely. he asked them questions too. he was relieved to find out your father preferred hockey to golf.

you sat around the table. it was weird that the fourth chair of the dining table was finally used.

none of your previous relationships lasted long enough to reach this level of intimacy. sex was one thing, but meeting your parents? that was a HUGE deal.

jake behaved like the best man in the world. he complimented the food. it was just simple spaghetti and storebought garlic bread. but it tasted like love and home. he asked for two other plates. your mom even reached to wipe his chin from the tomato sauce.

it filled him with joy. he had a tough relationship with his own family and he felt like he fit right in with yours.

you watched jake with heart eyes. he was so happy to explain his art and craft to your father who kept asking him if he had met blake shelton or the backstreet boys. you know, hip people. jake laughed and shook his head. he didn’t bother explaining that he sang about filthy things the two of you did. he was happy they considered his job as valid. he was not a carpenter or a doctor. but he was happy to spoil you nonetheless.

“you’re doing great” you’d whisper to jake.

everything was fine. until your mom pulled out the baby photos albums. THE SHAME.

“look at that tiny baby booty!” jake pointed and melted. “toohtless! that gums only look, can’t wait to see it again when we’re old and grumpy.” he pulled out a photo. you were wearing matching ugly yellow zipped hoodie and plaid pants. you were holding a teddy bear of the same colour as the one he got you for your birthday. behind the photography it was written happy y/n at the park with her best friend. he asked if he could keep it. your parents agreed. (it was his phone home screen from now on, your lock screen being a post sex glow photo when he could see a tiny drop of cum at the corner of your eye, it was still cute to him). “so she’s always been bad at cooking?” he said and laughed when you found a picture of you and your grandparents where you held a plate of burnt cookies. “hey, not cool! i was only seven!” you pushed him gently. “look at you now, you burn bread in the toaster”. your parents were the ones who melted now.

“so, jacob...”

jake insisted that it was fine your father called him by his full name.

the two of you were so stressed out. the tone of your father’s voice was suddenly heavy and scary.

“yeah?”

“does it hurt to get tattoos?”

jake squinted and you coughed loud enough to cover the whispered what the fuck that came out of his open mouth. his sleeves were rolled up and exposing the ink. “i mean, yeah, it hurts a lot. it’s worth it though. i feel like an art collector.”

“in my young days, i’ve always wanted a tattoo. i got the concept. this lovely lady as a pin up girl, quite impressive, huh?.” he winked at your mom who blushed while you tried everything you could not to throw up.

jake rolled his sleeve a little higher and pointed at a spot near the veins of the inside of his arm, close to the elbow. he got the outline of a heart tattooed. you noticed how wobbly the lines were, that’s because it was the heart you always drew at the end of your notes that you left him when you were gone or when he was out working. “that’s my favourite.”

THE WAY YOU JUST BURST INTO TEARS and your mom shouted “time for dessert!”

great timing.

“our daughter told us you loved m&m’s”.

jake turned to look at you. you shrugged.

your mother came back with chocolate cake on which she had sprinked crushed m&m pieces on the frosting.

jake asked to get the biggest slice. “that’s the best fuckin’ cake i’ve had in my whole life.” (which was a lie because the best cake was your ass but details) he said, his mouth full. your mother laughed and your father agreed. they began talking about hockey when your mother asked for your help in the kitchen.

“if we learned anything from you,” she started and handed you a plate to dry. you hated to do the dishes, especially if you were to be lectured like a child. “it’s to never judge people by their covers. we love jake. he’s good to you. you’re good to him.”

you hugged your mom and the two of you cried so loudly that jake dropped his spoon. he thought something bad happened. that you cut yourself with the butter knife or something.

“welcome to the family, jake.” your father squeezed jake’s shoulder as you walked back to him to press a kiss on his cheek.

it was now time to leave, after hours and hours of anecdotes from your childhood or from the time you were convinced you’d marry brad pitt or when you put eyeshadow in your hair to act like you dyed them to be punk but it was raining that day and you came back looking like a sad frosty rainbow.

“you’re my favourite person.” jake told you when he gave you his vest as a coat. it was chilly outside.

you all hugged and shook hands, promising to come back soon for brunch. jake told them he’d make his famous pancakes.

“hold on!” jake exclaimed and pulled you by the arm. you followed him back in the kitchen and he fed you a spoon of the cake. you fed him one in return again. “tastes almost as good as your pussy” he whispered in your ear and kissed your chocolate covered lips.

you finally left the house, waving from the car at your parents who stood on the porch. they seemed satisfied. and you? you had never been more in love.

“can’t wait to rip those tight jeans off your body and fuck you like a bitch.” jake winked and started to drive away. “i’m looking forward to the toothless viagra boosted blowjobs too, that’s gonna feel divine.” 

you slapped his thigh and he moaned in pain. you rested your hand there and he brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss.

“welcome to the family.” you repeated.

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 10 Blood and Bread

Come Together

Welcome back and I hope you took advantage of the opportunity to catch your breath because the Rocks family is granted no such reprieve. Fresh off the heels of Jet’s tragic murder by Ciabatta and Calroy answering the question of whether a cake can coup, we pick back up with Theo who’s foiled his imprisonment by making use of the skills Lazuli taught him and magically busting down the door. Then, he makes use of his other knight skills and absolutely eviscerates the shocked guards outside. 

He runs for the King’s quarters and, obviously, doesn’t find Amethar as he’s in a smoking crater outside, but he does run into Caramelinda who he immediately informs of the situation as best he can. Cara is confused, even as guards (Cal’s men) show up and start firing on them. She tries to get them to stop on her royal authority but Theo hears a lot more soldiers coming on a Nat 20 Insight and is like, “We need to go.” Cara does her own Insight check and has the good sense to follow him.

They run and Theo takes her into a little secret door in one of the hallways. Just in time too, because Cal walks by all camp-y kids movie villain, clearly telegraphing his intention to kill Cara, and tries drawing her out by saying some bait-y stuff about Amethar but Theo says they should ignore it and they escape down a spiral staircase instead of confronting Cal.  

Meanwhile, Ruby (still Invisible) runs across the bridge, feels Jet pass, and keeps running, all the way to the standing stones of the Sugar Plum Fairy. 

“Bring her back,” she demands, tearfully. “I know you can bring her back. What is the point of having magic if I can’t bring her back. Please.”

The SPF appears and gently says that the nature of the world is such that she can’t bring Jet back. However, it may be possible to bring them to Jet. Go north to the Stone Candy Mountain, she says. That’s where she is and where her sister is waiting.  

Ruby then sneaks her way back to the castle, and sees Kerradin on his way there with about 30 knights. On double Nat 20s, when she gets to the castle, she clocks her dad immediately. Cumulous (who was also in the general area Ruby just came from and can now see where she is based on the glow of her magic, though he doesn’t know it’s her) also sees Amethar. Ruby, horrified at the thought of losing both her sister and father within about five minutes, runs to him.

Liam, still in the lingerie shop, hears Ciabatta wonder where the “witch boy” (Liam himself) went and also gives away some plot info for free: Alfredi has been hanged and she was apparently the only person skilled enough to make watersteel daggers. They’re fresh out. They leave and Liam pops out of the Rope Trick. He checks the glowing chest and sees that all that’s in there is a glowing rock--ambush bait. He then wraps Jet’s body in tasteful lingerie (sure), puts it in a cabinet for later retrieval, and takes her sword and locket for Ruby before stealthing away to find the others. 

Amethar, fallen but not Fallen, unsteadily picks himself up, just in time to see the magic glow of his invisible daughter’s footsteps approaching him. “Pops, it’s me,” she says, voice wavering. “I think Jet is dead.”  Amethar gives her a huge dad hug as she channels some of his barbarian energy, vowing to kill whoever did this, and their children, and drown their lands. The very stealthy Liam and Cumulous also show up for this--Liam joining the hug and Cumulous just announcing his presence awkwardly when his name is mentioned. 

Liam lets them know where Jet’s body is and also gives Jet’s things to Ruby. Ruby takes the sword but haltingly insists that Liam keep the locket--it won’t work alone, and besides, Jet would want him to have it. 

Cara and Theo pop out of the secret tunnel and the kids instantly Perception/Insight check her (no doubt feeling burned after Cal’s betrayal). Ruby, on a 23, gets nothing sinister--it’s just her extremely freaked out mom. With that reassurance, she reveals that Jet is dead and Liam chimes in that it was Ciabatta and his men. Liam accusatorily mentions the letter that got them ambushed and Cara claims to not only not know about the letter, but to not know the lingerie lady at all.

Ruby lets everyone know that Kerradin is on his way and Cara says that most of the Castle Candy soldiers have been sent to Castle Many Licks on Cal’s orders. It’s mainly just Cal’s men in the castle--the castle that is currently being redecorated with House Cruller banners. Translation: They’re F’d. 

Amethar remembers that Manta Ray Jack is still in the harbor and--after talking Liam out of going rogue and tracking Kerradin--the group decides getting to him and making a break for it is the best bet. They pick a path that will go past the lingerie shop so they can pick up Jet’s body on the way.

They see torches being lit and hear dogs--clearly a search party coming for them--so Ruby uses Prestidigitation to scent the path with anise so the dogs will be confused (which Brennan rewards with disadvantage on tracking checks). Ruby and Amethar are both mortally wounded, but they decide that getting away ASAP is a better option than waiting to tend to their wounds. They roll initiative and head off.

The Sweet Escape

This is another unusual combat episode from Crown of Candy. There’s not so much brawling as there is running and trying to avoid fighting. I don’t think a play by play will be very interesting, so I’ll just give a quick rundown of the highlights. 

The mechanics of this is it’s basically a series of group stealth checks until they get to where they’re going. Ruby still has 25 mins left on her invisibility and Brennan lets her cast Mage Hand with a 1st level spell slot to keep Theo’s armor from clinking and giving him disadvantage for seven rounds. 

They fail their first round of checks and are spotted by hot-hounds (hot dog hounds, of course). Cumulous tells the group to keep going and he stays behind to handle it. He kills the dogs (yay?) but alerts other guards in doing so. Liam, with his crossbow, headshots the guard about to make trouble for Cumulous and then Cumulous steals his chariot. 

Ruby, cantrip master, uses her Mage Hand (feeling a kiss on her cheek as she does) to hold a lantern and send it in a different direction, creating more confusion for the people tracking them.

Cumulous, on a Nat 20 Animal Handling check, fully on purpose (and after taking a bunch of damage from being fired on by ballista) drives the chariot off a cliff.

We’ll get back to that.

Liam, four rounds in, remembers that, oh yeah, he *does* have Pass Without Trace which gives +10 to all stealth checks--a little late but a game changer nonetheless. As he casts it, Cumulous feels the call of something like the Hungry One but not the Hungry One and Liam feels that same weird magical feeling he did running from the Cathedral in Comida.

Cumulous, as he rockets off the cliff (killing the horses in a very Hardwon Surefoot move), uses Fluffwind (his staff) to cast Gaseous Form--dropping his speed to a snail’s pace but saving his candy bacon.

The rest of the group does stealth checks until they make it to Dulcington. Ruby sets a tent on fire with her lantern as a distraction and all of them have to cross a river (the bridge is occupied by guards). Ruby gets a Nat 1 and falls in but Liam gets a Nat 20 and helps her across.

Unfortunately, the initial splash into the river alerted guards and they’re run up on by Ceresian soldiers. But, really, it’s more of a minor annoyance. Between Peppermint Batman critting, Ruby doing some sniping (losing her Invisibility in the process), Theo desperate to not see another Rocks dead on his watch, and Amethar in a full dad-rage, these guys are dead before they even have a chance to attack.

Cumulous drops Gaseous Form and anime sprints back to the gang. 

Amethar and Liam grab Jet’s body and then run for the harbor with the others. Theo Messages Jack to get the ship ready because they’re gonna be there in a minute and they need to go NOW.

Enemy archers fire on them but they ignore it and just keep running. When they show up, Jack is confused but they’re like, “Sail now, questions later.”

Brennan says there’s no way they’re gonna get the ship going before soldiers catch up with them but he obviously didn’t count on Amethar going into a rage and just pushing the boat himself, snapping the mooring keeping it docked. As soldiers ride up on them, Ruby uses Mage Hand to help with the few remaining ropes and Theo casts Knock to undo the reins on one of the horses, sending the mounted soldier flying. 

They narrowly escape up the river, and that’s where we end our episode. 

Thing I’m Concerned About

This is something I mentioned as an aside in the last recap and it seems that it’s become relevant so I’ll be more explicit now. When the tear-away lingerie came up in episode one, it seemed like it was news to Cara (and I’m sure Brennan too because it was obv off the cuff). But last episode, the letter they got seemed to indicate that she was in cahoots with that person. But then in this episode, after a pretty high Insight check that indicated she was on the level, she said he didn’t know about any lingerie lady. Which seems to indicate setup, right? Which would make sense there was nothing at the shop and assassins waiting (assassins who seemed unsurprised to see the kids and not her for what it’s worth). But the way they got the letter, with Cara leaving the room, it seems like she would have seen it. So was that even really her? Is there a bad guy walking around with Disguise Self? If so, Bad! Also Bad! if she actually does turn out to be bad and it was like a DC 30 Insight check to find out, “Surprise! Your mom has been secretly evil this whole time!” Cara calls Ciabatta Imperator before she gets that info and idk if that’s Brennan misspeaking or A Clue and it *better* be the first because I don’t have the energy for *another* betrayal right now. It does seem like exactly the kind of thing you’d use in story to bait the twins if you knew them though, right? Like anyone who even sorta knew them (but especially someone who really knew them like Cal--was he there for that lingerie conversation in episode 1?) would know that was surefire twin-bait. 

Don’t love that the SPF is, with different faces and different tactics, corralling everyone to the Mountains. I don’t know what her game is but I Do Not Trust fae. Also, maybe I’m being paranoid but when the SPF said, “Your sister is waiting,” I def had a burst of...your sister as in Jet or your sister as in this bastard child who we know nothing about? Wouldn’t that be such a dirty trick? To skirt fae lying rules (idk if they exist in this world) by talking about Jet a bunch and then saying, “Your sister is waiting,” about a totally different (half) sister?

So who all is working together? Cal last week said he was working with Alfredi and Ciabatta was also working with Alfredi. Plus, Kerradin was there (which, sidenote, WILD. Did Alfredi just take all the heat or something?). But I can't imagine everyone’s goals are fully synced. Ciabatta seems to mostly care for his own power. The Pontifex wants the Ramsian Doctrine fulfilled presumably which puts her at cross-purposes to Cal. What’s everyone’s game here. Is any of this stuff just happening independently of the others and Amethar just has hella enemies/has just lost Concord protection?

All this “like the Hungry One but not the Hungry One” stuff has me suspicious. People have mentioned to me that the noises that Brennan makes when he brings that up are kinda snorty and pig-like which raises two possibilities. It could be the vengeful spirit of Preston--which would go with the ice motif since he’s a peppermint pig and we all know peppermint is the cold magic of candy. It could also be related to the Great Boar of the Meatlands. I can see a pig spirit showing favor to an angry kid who took good care of his best pig friend who then tragically died, even with the cross-food barrier. Idk, we’ll see how this goes.

Ruby, my girl, please don’t do anything rash in your grief. You’re 1000% valid but please stay as levelheaded as you can. 

Five More Things

Lol at Ally very confidently saying they don’t have Pass Without a Trace even after being reminded of it and then three turns later being like wait nevermind. 

Killshot Thompson at it again with those precision voice breaks at all the most heart-crushing times. I would have loved to have seen Emily’s reactions from video village during the scene with Amethar. And then the, “I can’t lose another. Please,” to Liam? Ugh. My heart.

Ally’s “WHY?” when Manta Ray Jack started ringing that bell was beautiful.

“Another secret black woman,” might be the funniest thing Lou has ever said. And he’s said a lot of funny things. He originated, “Somebody call Wizards of the Coast.”

A second set of double Nat 20s from Siobhan! She also did it in Fantasy High Sophomore Year when freeing Fig from mind control. The only other person I think who’s done it is Lou as Fabian during the arcade battle in FH S1. You can’t really tell because of the way I glossed over the nitty gritty of this ep, but the Nat 20s were really out of control this session. It’s just that, as the cast said in Adventuring Party, Nat 20s don’t get you spectacular things this season. They just mean you get to not die that turn.

[dorkzilla-exe]

Zim, Dib, and Seven Smeets

A ZaDr series: Ep 1, Hatching Day

Dib: Zim, will you come down.

Zim: *sitting on top of the fridge* DO NOT DISTURB ME WHILE I'M IN MY PANIC SPOT!

Dib: Im just-

Zim: *crying* DIBBERSON, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, I'LL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!

Dib: you said that an hour ago, I've got everything set up for the celebration, so at least be down before 3, ok?

Zim: wait, you did the decorating? You did EVERYTHING?! ON YOUR OWN?!

Dib: *smiles sinisterly* yes, yes I did, all on my own, probably made some mistakes in color arrangement-

Zim: LET ME SEE! YOU BETTER NOT HAVE MESSED ANYTHING UP!! *jumps down from the fridge and scurries into the living room*

Dib: works every time...

Zim: Dib, you didn't actually mess any of the decorations!?

Dib: I studied hard when you were decorating for Gaz's birthday, so I applied your decoration tactics to this room and... well... ta-daa!

Zim: you really are amazing, Dib. You know that, right?

Dib: I got the hint the day you gave me a ring-pop and asked for my hand in marriage.

Zim: I swear I didn't know it was candy, the person who sold it to me said it was worth 5,000$ and would sell it to me for 4,900...

Dib: I really didn't care about being proposed to with a candy ring, a ring is a ring to me, wether it's candy or not. Although, it is very concerning how someone managed to sell you a ring-pop for that much.

Zim: don't remind me...

Dib: would you believe me when I say I still have it?

Zim: no, I actually wouldn't.

Dib: well I do, I had it dipped in resin so it wouldn't deteriorate.

Zim: wow, how have I not noticed it?

Dib: remember that box I where keep stuff like pendants and pins? That's where the ring is.

Zim: that's sweet.

Dib: wait a minute, I just remembered we've got one more thing to do...

Zim: The Smeet's play-pen! We've gotta decorate that! Get the streamers! I've got some decorating to do!

[About an hour later]

Dib: alright, living room decorated, snacks and cake ready, little gift bags customized for every guest, flowers and other table decorations, and Zim's in the play-pen with the eggs. We are ready for the guests to arrive and it isn't even-

[Knocking from the front door]

Dib: right on cue, must be dad cause he's been early to ever other party. *answers the door* hey- uh...

Tallest Red: hello there, you must be Dib

Tallest Purple: How has Zim been? We haven't heard too much from him since he layed the eggs.

Dib: uhhhh... Hi I'm Dib Membrane, Zim's husband. Zim's been doing wonderfully, aside from the random anxiety attacks and his weekends of depression. Please come in! We have plenty of Irken friendly food and drinks ready, but remember to save some for the other guests. You two apparently aren't the only alien guests on our list.

Tallest Red: Thank you Mr. Membrane, we appreciate your hospitality. *enters with Tallest Purple*

Zim: My Tallest! I didn't expect you to be here until 10 minutes later.

Tallest Purple: see, I told you we were too early!

Tallest Red: EUGH, we could've brought the little ones Paks...

Dib: actually, we already thought of that. My Dad works at Membrane labs and designed him "Membrane Paks". They are designed to make it easier for them to identify us in a crowd, immediately begin healing if injured, ward off any diseases and illnesses, higher pain tolerance, and give them a longer life.

Zim: the only major differences are the Designs and application process. Instead of implanting electonics in abruptly, we will apply them more delicately, carefully and less painfully.

Tallest Red: hmm, I see, it would also be much easier to identify them if they ever decided to work for the Irken Empire.

Zim: i mean, you're not wrong. But I also invited here to ask for permission to retire.

Tallest Purple: retire?

Tallest Red: eumm... sure? Why not?

[1 hour later]

Dib: Dad, Gaz, the tallest, Skoodge, Tak, Tenn, Keef, Z, Zita, Clembrane, Prisinor 777 and his kids.

Dib: that seems to be about everyone, all we're missing are-

Anne: *annoyingly beating on Dib's Door* DIBDIBDIBDIBDIBDIBDIBDIBDIB!

Dib: Anne and Flish...

Dib: *opens the door, making Anne fall into the house*

Anne: Crikey, you've grown! You're 'bout as tall as Flishey now!

Flish: howdy, Dib. Sorry we couldn't make it to yer wedding last year.

Dib: it's ok, come on in you two.

Tallest Purple: oh yeah... we banished HER here too...

Tallest Red: I feel like Zim isn't our biggest concern anymore.

Anne: My Tallest! It's been YEARS! how've ya been!

Tallest Purple: good~

Anne: *gasp* OH MY GOSH! The eggs! Aw, they're absolutely precious! Zim, you oughta call yourself lucky! 'Lotta Irkens can't lay eggs y'know.

Zim: eheh, I know. Which is why I didn't fully expect it.

Dib: you should've seen him, he cried his eyes out the whole time and more.

Flish: Heha! sounds like Zim a'right. But don'cha get all concerned and stuff. It's completely normal to cry during egg laying. Er, from what I've heard at least.

Dib: it's official, everyone's here.

Tallest Purple: great!... Now what?

Dib: Um, we talk.

Tallest Purple: sounds boring.

Gaz: I have Videogames.

Tallest Purple: Ooo, sounds intriguing! What do you do?

Professor Membrane: son, may I speak with you for a moment?

Dib: sure.

Professor Membrane: let's go into the other room, ok.

Dib: *nods and walks into the bedroom*

Professor Membrane: something is wrong and I can tell.

Dib: *walks over to the bad, grabs a pillow, and screams in it*

Professor Membrane: I know your stressed, but everything will be just fine. I'm sure you and Zim will be great-

Dib: But what if we arent?! I work weekends at a coffee shop and Zim works at a clothing store in a mall. We can't provide for SEVEN babies! It took a lot of saving to get this party set up! I rarely get any tips and the one tip I got last weekend was from Gaz and it was a penny.

Professor Membrane: Ok, now that's just sad.

Dib: I don't know what to do! It's hard for me to get a different job, a barista was the closest I could do because I apparently make really good lattes. *sob*

Professor Membrane: have you ever considered working with me in the labs? You already know everyone there and know the place well. Plus, I could adjust your schedule so you don't have to come every day and you get paid just for being there.

Dib: you'd do that for me?

Professor Membrane: of course! You really do need the money, I could have you work as a lab assistant, but that's a little dangerous. I could put you in the mailing room? Or-

Dib: what about food service? I can cook, I can make coffee, tea, and plenty of different desserts.

Professor Membrane: that's a wonderful idea! I could make you work down at the cafeteria so your talent isn't wasted on Lattes!

Dib: Consider me hired! Ill be there tomorrow evening-

Professor Membrane: no no, you should stay home for a few days.

Dib: but dad, I-

Professor Membrane: Dibberson, I know you want to help out as soon as you can, but right now, Zim and your children need you here. Besides, it's hard to bond with a child while you're away, right?

Dib: I guess it is.

Anne: *Bursts through the door* Dib! It's about to happen! One of the eggs moved!

Dib: bwha?! Already?! I didn't think it would be this early! *runs to the living room*

Zim: Dib! There you are! Hurry over here, you don't want to miss this!

Dib: *looks over the pen* which one moved?

Zim: This one right here. *puts egg in lap*

Dib: When will they-

Zim: any moment now...

Dib: *puts hand on egg, feeling for any movement*

Zim: Dib, can I admit something before they hatch?

Dib: go ahead.

Zim: I knew about the eggs since the first day they began developing.

Dib: wanna know something? The 4 months before I helped you with the eggs, I was suspicious that you might've been pregnant. I was kinda right.

Zim: yes, yes you were. AH! DIB, IT'S HATCHING!

Dib: *removes hand, watching both the eggs hatch and his family grow before his eyes*

Zim: thank you, Dib

Dib: hm?

Zim: thank you for everything. I'll love you forever and on.

Dib: *pure panic* wait, you dont die after the eggs hatch, do you?

Zim: No, no I don't, but I'll love you longer than you'll ever know. And that's a promise.

From then and on, Zib and Dib lived a happy and eventful life with 7 beautiful Human-Irken Smeets.

The End

Zim: Or is it?

Dib: Not really, but for now, yes.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Whole Truth - 5

(As promised - some answers this time, as well as angst, and fluff, and a bit of sap. It’s a long one, so get comfy, here or on AO3. Enjoy!)

Thursday

Aziraphale paced the shop, wringing his hands.

What on Earth had he been thinking yesterday? With any of it?

Crowley would think he’d gone mad. Probably already did.

Had he actually touched Crowley’s arm during dinner? Repeatedly? Let their knees brush together under the table? Ordered a shared dessert? His stomach hurt to think of it.

Not that the cake hadn’t been lovely, but he’d insisted on feeding Crowley a bite and, oh –

He pressed his hands to his mouth, wanting to remember every moment, wanting to forget entirely.

What if Gabriel had come to check-in? He’d said Friday, but it was always a possibility, always. He would have caught them, sharing a table, laughing over cups of coffee about humans they’d known through the ages, leaning close, so very close. Or walking back to the Bentley, hands brushing against each other, smiling like…

He picked up the telephone for the third time this morning, desperately dialing Crowley’s flat. He needed to tell the demon not to come. Needed any excuse to keep him away, or he…he didn’t know what he’d do.

But again, the line rang, and rang, and the foolish machine picked up, asking him to leave a message. He waited for the tone, then snapped, “Crowley. It’s me again. Do not come. Don’t – you need to stay as far from me as possible. I can’t—”

The roar of an engine, the muffled sound of Queen, and he looked up just in time to see the long black car stopping in front of his door.

A moment later, Crowley stepped out, another bag from the bakery. And…were those flowers?

It was worse than he expected. Aziraphale backed away in horror.

“Angel?” Crowley called through the door. Was it too late? Could he hide in the back room? “My hands are full, could you…?”

This shouldn’t be hard. Open the door. Tell him you don’t want to see him today. Don’t accept the lovely flowers. Don’t thank him for the pastries. And whatever you do, don’t pull him through the door, slam him against the wall and –

Oh dear.

He opened the door a crack. “Crowley. I. Oh, did you…change your hair?”

Crowley tossed his head, and now all his hair was loose and free, gleaming in the sun, and of course one strand got caught across his face and Aziraphale wanted to tug it free, to set it in place, to run his fingers all through that dazzling mass of red until—

“Just a bit. Thought I could use a change. Do you like it?”

“I do, I really do.” He slapped his hand over his mouth.

Crowley smiled, and it wasn’t sarcastic, it was genuine and heartbreaking. “Good. I – I thought you might. I, um, I got you these.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the white-and-yellow bouquet. “Daisies? Oh, I adore daisies. So bright and warm…”

“Yeah, I know. And they, um, remind me of you.” Crowley shuffled his feet, still on the doorstep. “I thought, if we’re going to be poring over that book for two more days, might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

“I.” Send him away. “I thought.” Send him away right now. “I don’t believe I…invited you.”

If the smile had been heartbreaking, the way it fell nearly destroyed Aziraphale on the spot.

“You. Aziraphale. You never invite me, I just…come.”

“I know.” He tried to keep his face straight, his resolve firm. “And that’s…that’s very much the problem, isn’t it? You just show up whenever you wish, unannounced, regardless of how I feel, or what I’m doing or – or who might be visiting!”

“Is someone there now?” Was Crowley even aware of the way his whole body tensed when he worried, coiled, preparing to spring into action? He wasn’t a fighter – he always preferred to flee and hide – but somehow any time his mouth pressed into that line of resolve, Aziraphale just felt safe. “Do you need me to cause a distraction? Just say the word.”

It was the perfect out. Tell Crowley Gabriel was here, that he had it under control.

“No. I’m alone.”

“Then what’s the problem? I told you last night I’d swing by as early as I could. Yes, I should have called first, but it’s not that big a deal, is it?” He moved as if to step through the door, though Aziraphale still stood in the way.

“Yes, it is!” Aziraphale pushed the door almost completely shut, so he could see nothing but Crowley, and the flowers. “It is very much a ‘big deal.’ You never think about these things, Crowley, and I have to worry on my own. You never change. What would you have done if Gabriel were here? Hmm? Do you even remember the time you almost walked straight into him, or did you conveniently forget that as well?”

“Of course, I remember.” Crowley’s voice was a low growl. “But you just said he’s not, so it does not matter.” He took a step back at least. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Put a bad comment on your quarter-century review?”

“He might! He might do a lot worse than that! Do you think anything like this—” he gestured between them “—this has ever happened before?”

“I don’t know, Angel. What is this? Tell me that!” But under the anger there was a note of desperation, and Aziraphale had to gnash his teeth to keep from saying something that would make the situation worse.

“Crowley,” he finally managed, sounding half-strangled even to his own ears. “I don’t want you to come in.” There was a strained silence, broken only by the crinkle of the paper around the flowers.

“Angel. Just tell me—”

“No, Crowley. Don’t ask me any more questions.” He was terrified of what answers he might give. “Just leave. Go – go far away, and do not contact me until I ask you to.”

“Fine.” The bundle of daisies tumbled to the step. “Fine.” Crowley strode back to the Bentley faster than Aziraphale had ever seen him move. “And don’t think I’ll be standing next to the phone when you call. I have better things to do with my time than wait for you.”

“I doubt that!”

But he was gone.

Aziraphale let the door drift open, as the flowers scattered and blew away in the wind.

--

He glanced up from the book, blinking blearily at the light. It must be afternoon by now.

Aziraphale didn’t remember much after the fight with Crowley – he rarely did, not for the serious fights – and the cup of ice-cold tea and stack of notes four centimeters thick were the only real indicators that time had passed at all.

He folded his arms across the book, leaning against them, breathing in the spicy smell. Tried not to think about how much he missed Crowley’s jokes and snide comments, the way he would bend over Aziraphale’s shoulder to look at the page, breath warm on his cheek.

“Don’t think about that. He wasn’t helping.” He scolded himself. But, really, for all his notes, he’d contributed as much to this translation as Crowley. Aziraphale was getting nowhere, and he only had another day.

What would Crowley do, if he were here?

Terrible question. Better to ask what Gabriel would do, or one of the Scribes of Heaven. They would surely have some wonderful idea for a new angle to attack the text from that would force it to reveal its secrets, and not a moment too soon.

But Crowley would suggest going for a walk. Feeding the ducks. Getting something to eat.

It took ten minutes of searching to find a satchel, just the right size for the book. He slid the heavy tome inside and headed out.

--

“Seven, huh?” Eliza smiled, sliding the last tiropita into the customer’s bag. “Guess you like these.”

“Oh, yes, they’ve been my favorite mid-afternoon snack for the last two millennia.” The customer – she recognized him as the old man from the bookshop down the street, the one that was never open – seemed startled by his own joke. “Only they’ve been rather out of fashion in this part of the world until recently, so it’s nice to have them available again.”

“Right,” she smiled, punching the order into the till. “Well, I hope they’re as good as you remember.”

“Oh, the modern recipe doesn’t use nearly enough honey, but I find I enjoy them nonetheless.”

Weird bloke, she thought, fighting to keep her customer-service-smile in place. Probably harmless, though. “Going for a walk?”

“Yes, I’ve been rather caught up in a project, but I’ve made no progress on my translation for several days. I’m hoping a change of scenery will help.”

“Oh, translation, huh?” she showed him the total, and he handed her a few notes. “I’m taking German this year. Supposed to help with the grad program I want. What’s yours?”

“It’s a text of no known language that foils every attempt at decipherment,” he said as she counted out the change. “Furthermore, there is a curse upon it which could destroy half of London if tampered with.”

“Yeah.” She handed over the coins and bag, trying to make sense of that one. “My sister said the same thing about her Latin class, but she’s always been a bit mad.” Eliza glanced out at the sunny street, wishing her shift would end already. “Enjoy the weather.”

“I hardly think that possible, as I had a terrible fight with a very dear friend this morning, and I don’t believe he will talk to me again for quite some time. I would much rather it were raining, to suit my mood, but the nearest storm clouds are over France. Summoning them now will almost certainly have unforeseen consequences to the regional climate. Good day.”

He backed out of the shop and hurried up the street. Definitely weird. “Can I help who’s next?”

--

Up and down the streets of Soho he walked, unable to stop himself from talking.

Waiting for the light to change, he told a family how the Trojan War wasn’t entirely his fault, but things had gotten rather out of hand. “I never should have let him tell me the apple would make a good prank. My word, did everyone take it so seriously.”

Wandering past the duck pond, he explained to a confused group of students that, had he really known who Dante was, he never would have given the job to Crowley. “I just thought, poor chap needs a vacation, he’d had a terrible century, might as well spend a few weeks in Italy, all he has to do is go drinking with a poet and cheer him up a bit. And, frankly, if my orders were just a bit less Ineffable maybe I would have seen this coming!”

Sitting on a bench with an older couple, he tried to describe the outfits he and Crowley had worn in that church in 1941, though the couple seemed confused and kept interrupting to ask questions about the flowers or guests. “No, there weren’t any guests, just these awful people I thought I knew. But Crowley arrived and got me away from there, oh it was really something. Dancing all down the aisle.”

Leaning against the wall outside a bar, he pleaded with every passerby: “I wasn’t really thinking, I just – they didn’t have any way to protect themselves, it was going to be dark, and raining, and the lions. So, I handed over my sword. I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t mean to, I just – it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

He didn’t pay attention to where he walked. But it was no surprise at all when he found himself in Mayfair, staring at a long black Bentley and a tall, modern block of flats.

--

His fist pounded on the door. “Crowley? Crowley, please.” Aziraphale knocked again. “Crowley, I just – I need to talk to you, please, I know you’re here.”

The door opened so suddenly, he nearly toppled in. Crowley scowled at him, blocking the entrance, hair slicked back once again. “Oh. Aziraphale. I don’t remember inviting you.”

“I know. I know, please, I – I need your help.”

“Oh, now you need my help? Is that how it’s going to be? I just sit around waiting until you need me—”

“Crowley, this is serious! Will you just listen?”

The demon leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Go on then.”

“In…in the hallway?”

“Yes, in the hallway. Seems fitting.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching his own hands twist and wring against each other. “I deserve this, of course. After the frightful way I treated you, and not just this morning. So many times over the years—”

“Oh, spare me the passive-aggressive speech,” Crowley groaned. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I am, Crowley. This is what’s wrong. The – the curse. It’s started to affect me, quite – quite frightfully.”

He glanced up, just in time to see Crowley swallow. “Are you dying?” His voice was painfully neutral.

“No, nothing like that.” Yes, it was easier to address this whole conversation to his shoes. “I just…can’t seem to stop talking.”

“Well. It’s a terrible curse, but I’m sure you’ll survive somehow. If you’ll excuse me, Golden Girls is coming on—”

“It isn’t just that, Crowley, I can’t – I can’t lie.” Icy silence. “I’m compelled not just to speak, but to say the truth, the absolute truth. I’m finding it nearly impossible to conceal anything at all.”

He waited for the door to slam in his face.

“Get in, you idiot.”

Head jerking up, Aziraphale found that Crowley had stepped aside and opened the door wide. Nodding his thanks – knowing if he tried to voice them out loud, he’d say something he truly regretted – Aziraphale entered the flat.

--

He looked around in every direction, trying to avoid Crowley’s gaze. The demon was still tense, still leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “I say, this is the exact opposite of cozy,” Aziraphale commented cheerfully. “You seem to be missing nearly all your furniture. The walls are very white, aren’t they?”

“It’s called minimalism,” Crowley grunted. “You should try it.”

“Oh, is this the modern style of decorating?” There was a black sofa facing a television, a broad plain desk, the top of it a thin plate of glass, and an oddly shaped chair. A few pieces of sculpture were scattered around, though they didn’t seem to fit the general look of the place.

“It was. Bored with it now. Maybe go retro next, I don’t know.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale bit his tongue. He pulled off the satchel holding his book, placed it on the floor next to the sofa, trying to find something polite to say. He failed. “Only, it seems a very strange color choice, as it makes your whole flat rather look like—”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley snarled, pushing off from the wall.

“I can’t help it! I told you, I can’t seem to stop talking. Half of Soho now knows things about me I’ve never said before, and I just…I can’t stop.”

“Really?” he stalked forward. “So, if I asked you a question right now, you wouldn’t be able to lie, or avoid the subject or any of those other things you do?”

“Crowley, your expression right now does not at all make me feel safe.” He stepped back and closed his eyes. “But I suppose…yes, that’s fair. You can ask.”

“Oh, thank you for the invitation. Tell me, did you lie when you said you like having me around?”

“No, I…I think it had already begun to affect me.”

“Interesting.” Crowley’s voice was coming closer, but Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly shut. “Then you lied when you told me you wanted me to leave this morning?”

“No, of course not. I was quite incapable by then.” He stumbled back another step. “I knew letting you in the shop would be disastrous – not that I was fully aware what was going on – so it seemed the best thing was—”

“The best thing was to get rid of the demon, not to tell me that something was wrong? Bless it, Aziraphale, even when you tell the truth, you’re so – so twisted!”

“I didn’t – I don’t—” He stepped back and collided with the table; nowhere else to go. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, and Crowley stood so close, towering over him, teeth bared, and the angel trembled like a mouse before a serpent. “It’s not that I like deceiving you, Crowley. I don’t. But I’m not – I don’t feel safe without them. My lies. I feel…exposed…naked…” He closed his eyes again. The words cut deep wounds across his heart.

“So, that’s why you didn’t trust me this morning? You don’t feel safe around me? What, do you think I’m going to take advantage of this? That I’m going to hurt you?”

“Of course not! I’m not afraid of you I’m—” He struggled to hold on to the one secret he had left. “Crowley, if I can’t break this curse by tomorrow, I’ll – I won’t be able to stop myself from telling Gabriel—”

“Telling him what?”

“That I love you!” The words tore through Aziraphale’s last layer of defense, shredding him, leaving him open to the world. He sobbed, leaning against the desk behind him, practically sitting on it as his legs gave way. “I love you, Crowley,” he repeated, much quieter. “You’re my best…you’re my only friend. And I love you so very dearly. And I can’t…can’t ever let anyone know…not even you...”

He heard something click onto the table beside him, and looked up to see Crowley, glasses gone, eyes brighter and wetter than Aziraphale had ever seen them. “There. Now we’re both naked,” he said softly.

“I’m…I’m sure this comes as – as something of a shock…”

Crowley chuckled. “What, that? I’ve known for centuries. Millennia, Angel. I just…I didn’t think you knew.” His hand slid up and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, and the angel leaned against it, drawing on Crowley’s warmth and strength.

“I…I hid it, even from myself, for so long. I never let myself acknowledge…but, no, I’ve known since…the church. The bomb. Couldn’t really deny it after that.”

“And you know I…I feel the same.” His serpent eyes almost blinked. “That I have…for so long.”

“I hoped so?” Aziraphale’s voice was tight, straining. In Crowley’s movies, these conversations didn’t hurt. They were always full of laughter and smiles. Instead, Aziraphale felt torn to shreds, he felt raw, and he saw the same pain reflected in Crowley’s eyes. “I worried, every time I lied, that this would be the last straw, the thing that sent you away for good.”

“I’m not going to leave—”

“Sometimes I wished it would be. That you would just – just go. Because it would be…so much easier…”

“They would punish you, if they knew,” Crowley said slowly. “Hurt you. Make you Fall.”

“I don’t care about that.” Aziraphale felt the first tear slide down his cheek. “It’s not – I don’t lie, and hide, and shut you out to protect myself. They would destroy you, Crowley. And I would rather die than…than see you hurt…”

Suddenly, Crowley’s arms were around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Oh, you stupid, stupid Angel. Don’t worry about me.”

“One of us has to.” Aziraphale pressed his face into the curve of Crowley’s neck, felt his arms slide across Crowley’s back. Pushed himself fully onto the desk so he could wrap his legs around Crowley’s, pull him close, keep him safe. “I will protect you, my dear Crowley. I will. Anything to keep you safe.”

“Aziraphale. I don’t – I just want you to trust me. Talk to me. Let me help you." The angel shook his head, burrowing deeper into Crowley's embrace. "We can keep each other safe. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“I…I don’t…I don’t want to be alone,” Aziraphale managed.

“You never will be. Let me be there for you.”

“Crowl—” he tried, but all that he managed was a throttled squeak. He nodded, face still buried in Crowley’s shoulder, and let himself be entwined - engulfed - absorbed in that love.

“Aziraphale,” his demon whispered after a moment. “I want to kiss you.”

“I…want you to…” Crowley’s hands cradled his face again, pulling him back until their eyes met, and oh, that look on Crowley’s face now hurt even more than the sappy, hopeful smile this morning. “But you can’t,” Aziraphale ground out, despite his raw throat, his heart straining to burst free.

“Why not?” He leaned closer, until Aziraphale could feel his warm breath.

“Because…my dearest…if you kiss me, I’m never going to stop.” Crowley chuckled. “No, I mean it. I love you. So much. Every moment that I’m not kissing you is a lie. It’s why I’ve been so blasted affectionate the last few days. I need - I’m compelled - to express my love. To say it. To show you, and it hurts to stop.”

“I can stop us.”

“We can’t risk it. I can’t. Not when it’s your life at stake.”

“That’s my choice.” The lips were so close, he could practically taste them already. If he just leaned forward the tiniest bit…

“Please,” Aziraphale begged. “Don’t.”

The hands holding Aziraphale’s face tightened – and tipped his head down, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s. “Alright, Angel. Anything you want.”

Aziraphale tried to find his breath again. He didn’t think his heart would ever stop hammering.

“And we will find a solution to this, Aziraphale. I’m not going to lose you now.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have much choice in the matter. I will betray us both. By tomorrow I won’t be able to resist telling everyone I’m madly in love with a gorgeous, kind, wonderful demon, whose soul sings like the sweetest music, whose heart burns with the passion of the stars, and – oh, there I go again.”

Crowley growled, playfully. “I’m not any of those things.”

“Well, I hardly could have lied, could I? So, it must be true.” Aziraphale sighed. His heart and head ached, he just wanted to sit here leaning against Crowley forever, but there were things to take care of. He let go, allowed Crowley to step away. “I’ve had no luck with the book at all.”

Crowley pressed his lips into a line. “I…I told you I asked around Hell. Not one word about this raid.”

“Well, it’s entirely possible they’re keeping it from you.” Aziraphale stood, stretching. “No offence, darling, but you’re not exactly a high-ranked demon. According to Gabriel, your side was quite soundly defeated. Perhaps they’re covering it up.”

“Yeah, maybe, but,” Crowley backed away, pressing a hand against his hair, smoothing non-existent fly-aways back into place. “Even then, they’d never keep it a secret for long. Any time one of the lords of Hell weakens, the others swarm like…like…some sort of…blood-thirsty insects…”

“Sharks.”

“Sharks aren’t insects,” Crowley reminded him.

“No, but they do swarm. Quite ravenously. You remember that film we saw.”

“I don’t think Deep Blue Sea is a documentary.” Crowley frowned, but without his glasses, Aziraphale could see how his eyes danced. “Anyway. Maybe someone low-ranked was trying to organize a coup but…doesn’t feel right.”

“Perhaps it was some sort of ruse,” Aziraphale considered. “Pretending to lose in order to get the book captured. That would mean,” he realized with alarm, “the text itself is false, entirely untranslatable. Just a way to lure a researcher in, while the curse takes effect. But who could it be intended for?” He began to pace, struggling to focus through the whirl of emotions. “It might make sense for the target to be one of the Archangels, but they don’t do their own research. And how did the demons plan to capture the angel, once the curse was fully developed?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I have an idea, but I…need to be sure first. I need to see the book.”

Aziraphale picked up the bag, but hesitated. “Gabriel told me not to let anyone touch it. I gave him my word.” His fingers brushed down the leather spine. “What if…being touched by a demon sets it off?”

“It won’t,” Crowley soothed, but didn’t reach for the book. “I know how to handle cursed objects. Do it all the time for Hell. And if I’m right…” He glanced down at the bag. “I’ll be careful, I swear.”

The book felt heavy in Aziraphale’s hands – heavier than any book had a right to – heavy enough to drag them both to destruction.

“I trust you, Crowley.” He held it out, letting the bag fall to the floor. “But. Be careful.”

The moment Crowley touched it, his golden eyes went wide. He quickly placed it on the desk, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Well, that’s…” He glanced at Aziraphale. “I’ll know by morning. Why don’t you get some rest? When was the last time you slept?”

“1941. The ride back from the church, remember?”

Aziraphale never slept, usually. But sometimes, on particularly thrilling days, days fraught with too many emotions, his mind would buzz, overstimulated, until it felt numb. Then, he would lie down and drift away, and wake in the morning feeling himself again.

He’d felt that edge of over-exhaustion as they walked out of the church fifty-eight years ago, terrified by the newly recognized emotion that had bubbled under the surface for so long. Crowley had brushed a finger across his forehead and invited him to sleep, and he’d dozed off in the passenger seat of the Bentley, feeling warm and protected in ways he’d never known, not in all the long eternities of his existence. He woke the next morning on the shop sofa, bag of books resting on the floor beside him.

He felt it again now, that exhaustion, and knew it would only get worse the longer he fought it.

“Come on. This time you can use a bed.” Crowley put an arm over his shoulders and steered him, past a room full of vibrant green plants, and into another as empty as the first. A single bed pressed into a corner, white duvet and black pillows; a plant in a white pot on a black bedside table. That was all.

“Honestly, Crowley, this is where you sleep? It’s so infernally drab I can’t imagine how you manage.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off.

“Eh, it’s fine. All bedrooms look the same with your eyes closed.”

When Aziraphale was comfortable under the thick duvet, Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing his forehead as they had in 1941. “Sleep, and dream of—”

“I’ll dream of you,” Aziraphale said. “Damned honesty curse. I always do, though.”

“Well, then.” Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s hairline, just for a fraction of a second. “Too much?”

“No, dear. Never.”

--

Crowley stood beside the bed in the dark.

He’d found his answer just before midnight. He knew who Aziraphale’s enemy was. A solution had already started to form in his mind, but it was a terrible thought.

Would Aziraphale believe him? Would he agree to what needed to be done?

Could Crowley go through with it?

No choice, he reminded himself. Aziraphale needs you. It was all he ever needed to steel his resolve.

“Angel.” He reached out and gently shook Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

“Crowley. C’m to bed.”

His heart rattled in his chest like a busted engine. “No, Aziraphale, we need—”

“Need you.” One eye opened just enough to reveal a gleam of blue. “Just…few hours. Let me have that. Please.”

Crowley wasn’t in the business of denying Aziraphale anything.

He lay down on top of the duvet, curled on his side to watch Aziraphale sleep. “Like this?”

The angel struggled a moment, until his arm came free, groping weakly in Crowley’s direction. “Can’t find you.”

“I’m coming.” Crowley wiggled closer, turning around until his back was pressed as close to Aziraphale as he could get it. The angel’s arm looped around, crossing his chest, pulling him closer, until his breath brushed warm on the back of Crowley’s neck. Until their hearts beat together. “How’s that?”

“Love you,” Aziraphale whispered. “Safe…” but soon he was asleep again.

Not long after, Crowley drifted off, into the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

--

Aziraphale woke the next morning with Crowley in his arms.

He held Crowley and cried, quietly, his heart overflowing with love.

--

(Alright! One more long chapter to come, and it’s going to be another emotional rollercoaster. Look for it on AO3 or comment “tag” so I’ll tag you here!) @black-velvet-roses-tea @witchingwhovian

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any fanficions that are very science-y, if that makes any sense? Like, focused on scientific things, in the writing style or actual experiments incorporated into the story itself? I hope I'm making sense

Hi Nonny!

Ahhh yeah, though a lot of the fics I read have it deep in the fic, lol. BUT!!!! Guess what?? Your ask is the lucky one that spawns a new list I’ve been waiting forever to post the next part for a tonne of new fics, LOL!

As always, gang, if you have a fic more tuned to what Nonny is ACTUALLY looking for, please add them here, LOL. Pt. 1 will have a lot more of what you’re looking for Nonny, since there’s a lot of my FFNet recs on that one, but both lists have great recs!! <3

IT’S AN EXPERIMENT! Pt. 3

See also:

It’s An Experiment!

It’s An Experiment! (Pt. 2)

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It's because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Undercurrents by entanglednow (E, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Disturbing Things, Crime Scene Fetish, Pseudo-Necrophilia, PWP, Masturbation) – “There, that's it, perfect, shut your eyes and don't move - and don't speak."

John's Missing Wednesday by PipMer (K+, 2,999 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Pre-TSo3, Non-Con Drugged John, Friendship, Experiment) –  "Now John I'd poison. ... Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." – The Sign of Three. This is the story of that missing Wednesday.

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Experiment by Gwen's Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w., 3 Ch. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson's penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Speak My Language by Itsallfine (T, 7,479 w., 4 Ch. || Thanksgiving, Love Languages, Love Confessions, First Kiss, John Experiments in Sherlock) – When Mrs. Hudson introduces John and Sherlock to the concept of the five love languages, Sherlock descends into a dark mood and John’s curiosity gets the better of him. What is Sherlock’s love language, and why does the whole concept set him so on edge? Part 1 of A Holiday Triptych

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

[idiot-with-a-cat-pen]

Day 1: Semblances

So I literally just finished this because I’m an idiot, but anyway Winter is helping because Qrow and Clover are dumb, and this is a soulmate au.

I will now add a break because it might not be that long, but it’s long enough.

Clover stares at his wrist in anticipation, counting down the seconds in his mind. It’s 8:15 right now, and at 8:17, he’ll see the words appear. Just two more minutes, and he gets to know his soulmate’s Semblance.

“You know, staring at your arm for that long isn’t going to make his Semblance show up any faster,” Robyn drawls, flopping over the chair she’s been lounging in. “So you might as well have some cake.”

“First of all, I haven’t been staring for that long. Second of all, cake? Where did you find cake?”

Harriet appears in the doorway, staggering as she tries to balance a cake stand on one arm. Cursing, Robyn rushes to go help her and barely catches the cake before it hits the ground.

Clover blinks. “Lucky catch?”

“We’ll never know with you around, will we?” Ari sighs as she follows Harriet into the room, the tips of her braids covered in green globs of frosting and crumbs.

Raising an eyebrow, Clover asks, “I take it your baking skills aren’t as good as you thought?”

Ari crosses her arms. “I could have done it if Harriet hadn’t insisted on speed-decorating-”

“There’s a minute until his soulmate’s Semblance shows up,” Harriet says, mimicking Ari’s pose as Robyn carefully sets the cake down on the table. “We had to get it done fast, so I did.”

Clover takes the opportunity to look at his cake. It’s clearly been haphazardly cut in the shape of what he thinks is supposed to look like a four-leaf clover, and the green frosting seems to be sliding off. On top of the mess is a message that’s nearly impossible to read, but Clover’s seen enough bad handwriting to decipher the words Happy 17th, Clover!

“Haven’t you ever watched Cake Wars?” Ari demands. “You have to wait for the cake to cool unless you want the frosting to look like that.” She points at the frosting, which is still sliding down to the base of the cake.

Harriet waves her away and checks her Scroll. “It’s fine. Clover, thirty seconds.”

Clover stiffens and turns back to his wrist. His teammates sit down in the chairs around him, their eyes on the cake. Ari pulls out one of her swords and carefully cuts a huge slice. She barely manages to balance it long enough to put it on a plate, but she doesn’t hand him the cake. Not yet.

“Twenty-five,” Robyn says distractedly, her attention split between the cake, his wrist and her Scroll. She accepts the next piece of cake and starts eating while they wait for the seconds to tick by.

“Twenty,” Ari mutters through a mouthful of cake. She gags almost immediately. “Harriet, are you sure this recipe was a good one?”

“I got it off the description of a baking hacks video, don’t ask me.”

“Why would you trust a baking hacks video-”

Harriet swallows her bite of cake, clearly not finding a problem with its taste. She gestures with her plastic fork as she responds, “They said seven quick and easy hacks for baking, so I figured it was a good idea. Besides, I knew you would mess something up.”

“That frosting exploding was your fault, but whatever,” Ari replies, setting her plate down. She checks her watch. “Ten seconds, Clover.”

“Nine,” Harriet says, putting her cake to the side so she can perch on the armrest of Clover’s chair.

Robyn, still with her cake in her hands, jumps over to the other armrest. She and Harriet lean close to his wrist and wait.

“What if it’s the other wrist?” Ari asks as she balances on the top of the chair like a gargoyle.

“It won’t be,” Clover replies. The confidence he tries for doesn’t quite make it into his tone. He’s always felt like the words should be on his right wrist.

Ari pulls out her Scroll and positions the camera so she can take a picture of his wrist. “I’ll send it to Elm and she can get it filed for you,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Three,” Harriet says, her voice almost a shout.

Robyn does shout. “TWO!”

“One,” Ari screeches even louder than Robyn.

“Zero,” Clover finishes as everyone’s Scrolls hit 8:17:07. The members ofTeam CHRY lean as close as they can to his wrist and wait.

Red letters start to appear, one by one. MI

“Mist,” Harriet suggests.

“Mirror,” Robyn says.

“Mirage,” Ari offers.

“Misfortune,” Clover says, getting weird looks from the others. It’s an odd guess, but the letters forming do nothing to prove him wrong.

MIS

“Damn it,” Ari and Robyn say at once. Harriet waits with bated breath, but she can’t even come close to matching Clover’s level of excitement.

This is it. Sure, he’s not exactly meeting his soulmate yet, but at least he’ll have a hint. For all he knows, he’s already met them and didn’t notice.

MISF

Harriet sighs in disappointment, but Clover has a feeling he’s right that sticks with him as the next six letters appear. When he reads the full word, he’s not surprised.

MISFORTUNE

Robyn wheezes, drops her cake and falls off the armrest. Ari loses her balance and crashes to the ground, while Harriet has to put a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself.

“Well, that’s ironic,” Ari says when she picks herself up.

“How did you guess that?” Robyn groans from the floor.

Clover shrugs. “Lucky guess?”

“Of course,” Harriet sighs. She stands up straighter. “Do you think he’s naturally unlucky, or does he just make everyone else unlucky?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Robyn cackles. “Misfortune. They’re never going to be able to do epic Semblance combinations like that.”

“Yeah, like Matter Absorption could ever work with your Semblance.” Ari reaches for her cake before she thinks better of it and stops. “What if he’s just not a Huntsman?”

“Then he’d get Words instead, genius,” Harriet says. She turns to Clover. “Are you going to see if anyone in the school has misfortune?”

“Later,” Clover responds, his mind elsewhere. The rest of his team might find it funny that their Semblances are opposite, but he can’t help but think about Harriet’s question about the specifics of his soulmate’s Semblance. What if he affects the people around him? He’s always been glad that he’s able to help change the outcome of things for the better, but what if it’s the opposite for his soulmate? Would he be forced to stay distant to keep the people he loves safe? Looking around at his team, Clover can’t imagine the loneliness of staying away from everyone.

Gods, he hopes that’s not how his soulmate’s Semblance works.

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The announcer- a teacher from Shade, he thinks- leans into the microphone and says over the cheers of the crowd, “Clover Ebi and Harriet Bree of Atlas versus Qrow and Raven Branwen of Beacon!”

Clover takes a second to thank the gods that his outfit doesn’t have sleeves as the parts of the arena click into place. A glance behind him tells him that they have an area of fire Dust and an area that looks like it was cut straight out of the desert. Combined with the sun’s heat, he can bet that their half will be unbearable. Then again, sunburn might be worse.

Behind the two members of Beacon’s team STRQ, a pirate ship rises along with a biome made of ice that glistens in Vacuo’s heat. Clover and Harriet send each other meaningful looks- they’re definitely going over to Qrow and Raven’s side.

“Three…”

Kingfisher snaps out to its full form while Fast Knuckles extends around Harriet’s arms and hands. Across from them, Raven pulls out a long red blade, while Qrow puts a hand on the handle behind his back.

“Two…”

Clover slides one foot in front of the other and raises Kingfisher. Harriet curls her fingers into fists. Raven brandishes her sword, but Qrow’s only movement is a slight shift forward.

“One…”

Glancing at Harriet, Clover tries to indicate with his eyes that she should fight Qrow. She nods, smirking confidently, and turns back to their opponents.

“Go!”

Harriet takes off in a burst of speed and punches at Qrow’s face, and to her evident surprise, he ducks it with speed rivaling hers. Her second punch strikes metal as he yanks out a huge sword to block it.

Clover doesn’t see any more of their fight as Raven shoots in front of him with her sword slashing down. He raises Kingfisher to block it, just barely catching the blade before it hits him. Clover tries to kick her, but she leaps away. He uses the opportunity to grapple over to the pirate ship, and she follows him.

Swinging around the ship, Clover’s acutely aware of how quickly Raven follows him. He manages to turn at the last second to kick her away, but her sword is so long that when she jerks her arm, it still makes contact with Clover’s hand. He loses his grip on Kingfisher and lands hard on the deck of the ship.

Raven moves the second she lands, returning to attack again while he’s disarmed. Hastily, Clover flicks his pin and amplifies his Semblance. He holds out a hand, and Kingfisher drops into it. He blocks her sword just in time.

Harriet’s shout of triumph reaches him when she finally lands a hit on Qrow and swings another punch at him. Raven spins and slashes her sword through thin air, opening up a red portal. Its twin appears under Qrow and drops him right next to Raven. With Harriet too far away to attack, they both focus on Clover.

Just my luck, Clover thinks. He doesn’t have time to flick his pin again as both of them spin and bring their swords down on him with so much strength that he almost collapses from holding them both back.

Qrow frowns, and Clover’s about to grin when his sword starts to change. Gears start to whir as Qrow’s massive sword curves, its handle extending. Clover doesn’t have time to process until Qrow angles the scythe downward and shoots him in the stomach.

Flying backward, Clover sees Harriet leap over the edge of the pirate ship and hit Raven in the face so hard that the deck collapses under her. As Raven falls, Harriet catches Qrow’s scythe and tries to throw him in after her, but he dodges her attack.

Clover staggers to his feet and casts Kingfisher towards Qrow’s scythe. He tries to yank the weapon away, but Qrow only raises an eyebrow and jerks his scythe so that Clover gets dragged closer.

After that, it’s a mess. Qrow manages to dodge Harriet’s punches and kicks her right into the path of Raven’s blade. Somehow, he and Qrow start fighting in the ice Dust area.

As Clover slides over the ice, it starts to crack. Panicked, he tries to use his Semblance before he realizes that he’s so low on Aura that it’ll probably break before the ice does. At least Qrow’s at roughly the same level of Aura- if he can just get one more good hit in, he can finish him.

The ice starts to crack even more under Clover’s feet, but he does his best to avoid it as Qrow closes in. The cracking follows him until Clover’s sure that this has to do with Qrow’s Semblance.

On cue, the announcer says, “It looks like Qrow Branwen’s using his Semblance- Misfortune!”

Clover hesitates with Kingfisher inches away from Qrow, but his opponent doesn’t. Qrow spins his scythe so fast that it catches Clover and throws him against the ice so hard that the entire area rumbles.

The buzzer blares across the arena and Clover sighs, watching his Aura tick down to 0% on the screen. He remembers why he hesitated in the first place and looks up, trying to see if anything is written on Qrow’s wrist.

Clover notices two things at once- that Qrow’s wrist is covered by a black band, and that a large chunk of ice is separating to fall on him. He tries to get to his feet, but he can barely stand up on the slippery, cracked ice. “Shit.”

Luckily, Qrow notices too. Eyes lighting with alarm, he doesn’t even hesitate to leap for Clover, throwing his scythe aside. The chunk falls as Qrow tackles him, making them both slide across the ice.

The ice chunk explodes into smaller bits that fly everywhere. Qrow sees them and positions himself over Clover so none of them hit him. By the time the ice has settled, the buzzer sounds twice- once for Qrow, whose aura is at 19%, and once for Harriet, who’s clearly been distracted enough for Raven to knock her off the ship.

Qrow sighs, his face so close to Clover’s that he can feel his breath shift his hair. The red-eyed boy pushes himself up, slight disappointment in his expression as he helps Clover to stand. “Sorry,” he rasps. “You okay?”

Clover just stares at him. Now that he thinks about it, Qrow’s kind of hot, and his face was just so close to his, and he’s still holding his hand, and he might be his soulmate- Clover nods mutely, unable to form a single word.

Looking relieved, Qrow turns back to Raven, who uses another portal to come over and high-five him. Harriet zips to Clover and gives him an I-know-what-you’re-thinking look.

When they leave the arena, Robyn and Ari are already there, standing at the exit with identical shit-eating grins. Clover gives them one alarmed look before Harriet runs over to join them.

“So,” Robyn begins.

“You lost,” Ari continues.

“To a guy whose Semblance is exactly what’s written on your wrist,” Harriet finishes. She practically bounces as she asks, “Are you going to go talk to him?”

Clover hesitates. “I couldn’t even talk to him the first time,” he finally says. “And I don’t think he likes us that much. Not to mention if I ask about his soulmate’s Semblance… that kind of implies that I think it’s me, doesn’t it?”

“Your choice,” Harriet shrugs. She turns to the exit. “Let’s go get ice cream and cry over our loss, okay?”

Ari shoots a glance up at the bright sun and back down at her long sleeves. “That is something I can get behind,” she agrees, following Harriet.

Robyn starts walking after them, but she pauses when she sees Clover stay still. “Are you coming?”

“In a sec. I’ll catch up,” he replies, and Robyn shrugs and walks away.

Clover turns around to where he can see Team STRQ celebrating. Qrow is talking to his teammate, who wears a long white cloak. Her back is to Clover, but Qrow’s isn’t. Staring just a little too long, Clover knows he’s bright red when Qrow looks up, smirks and raises an eyebrow.

He turns and hurries in the other direction, his entire brain screaming at him. Clover doesn’t know if Qrow’s still looking at him, but he doesn’t want to find out.

As he leaves the arena, he runs into Harriet, who seems to have seen the entire thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him?”

“I’m busy trying to banish that from my memory, thanks.”

“...Good luck with that.”

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General Ironwood reads the report again. An unauthorized Manta has landed somewhere in Mantle, and now they’ve taken out their weapons. Great. At least there aren’t too many. If he sends the Ace Ops and maybe Winter, they should be able to-

His Scroll beeps. Ironwood looks down and clicks on the picture from one of the drones. It’s blurry, but he recognizes dark hair and a torn red cape. Qrow.

“Sir?” Winter speaks up from across his desk, reminding him that she’s there. “What do you want us to do?”

Something clicks in his brain, and Ironwood looks up as fast as he can. “Do you have Clover’s file?”

Winter nods and extends her Scroll, where Clover’s picture pops up on the screen. He scrolls down to the bottom part to a picture of Clover’s wrist. And the word written on.

MISFORTUNE.

“Oh, this’ll be hilarious,” Ironwood mutters. He looks up. “Just send the Ace Ops. Tell them to be stealthy.”

Winter follows his gaze to the picture of Clover’s wrist. “Oh.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for him to figure it out?” Ironwood smirks.

“Knowing both of them?” Winter shakes her head. “I’ll have to drop hints every day.”

“Something tells me that might not even do it,” Ironwood sighs.

Winter shrugs. “I’m doing it anyway.” She leaves the office.

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Clover turns to Qrow. “Thanks for the call-out. That could have been bad.”

The Huntsman sighs, frowning. “I wouldn’t thank me,” he says, and Clover has the briefest flash of a fleeting memory, one about his Semblance. “My Semblance brings misfortune. Sometimes I can’t keep it under control.”

Thanking the gods that he’s learned to (somewhat) control his levels of gay panic, Clover says, “That so? Well, hey. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He can tell that Qrow definitely has been beating himself up about it. So maybe his soulmate’s Semblance really does just affect others. Hardly daring to breathe, Clover manages to continue, “My Semblance is good fortune. Lucky you, huh?” He even winks, although that might be overkill.

This is it. If Qrow has his Semblance written on his wrist, he should react, right?

Qrow looks shocked, and although Clover can’t describe his next expression, it’s almost heartbreaking. The hope alone is enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe this is it.

He doesn’t say anything else, and Clover turns away, disappointment pooling in him. Of course. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

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“You know,” Clover says, causing Qrow to look up from his Scroll. “General Ironwood admitted he sent the Ace Ops to arrest you all on purpose. Do you have any idea what that’s supposed to mean?”

“Maybe it’s because he remembers when I kicked your ass in the Vytal Festival.”

Clover gapes at him. “First of all, why do you remember that? Second, I would have won, I just got… distracted.”

Qrow raises an eyebrow. “Distracted? By what?”

“At this point, I don’t even remember,” Clover admits. “I tried very, very hard to forget what happened, and I think it worked.”

From the hallway, Harriet screams, “YOU WERE LITERALLY ON TOP OF HIM, THAT’S WHY.”

Both of them look up to see Harriet streak by the doorway, electricity crackling in her wake.  In the blink of an eye, she’s gone.

“...What?” Clover and Qrow ask at the same time. They both shrug and go back to their Scrolls.

After a few more minutes, Winter walks into the room. She pauses when she sees them together and starts backpedaling out. “I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Qrow gives her a suspicious glare. “What do you want, Winter?”

“Oh, nothing,” Winter replies just a little too casually, but she returns to the room. Clover knows her well enough to know that she’s definitely up to something and that her plan is working perfectly.

“Did you want to stay?” Clover asks, watching her badly hidden smirk grow wider.

“Not really,” Winter grumbles, glowering at Qrow. He returns the look. “Just out of sheer curiosity,” she begins, her words sounding forced, “Have you two ever thought about finding your soulmates?”

“Obviously,” Clover says. “I’ve only met one person with my soulmate’s Semblance, and they know mine, so it can’t be them.”

“Same,” Qrow sighs. He holds his covered wrist out to Clover and pulls the band away. “You wouldn’t happen to know someone else with good fortune as their Semblance, would you?”

Clover blinks, staring down at the teal letters on his friend’s wrist. “Your soulmate’s Semblance is-”

Winter forcibly grabs his wrist and holds it out to Qrow, shifting her gloved hand so he can read the single word written on it. Qrow’s eyes widen.

Agonizingly slowly, Qrow looks up at him. “And your soulmate’s Semblance is-”

“Yes, yes, you’re soulmates, everyone else knew, you’re idiots, and you can thank me later,” Winter huffs, releasing Clover’s wrist and standing up again. She leaves without another word, the sound of her boots audible for a good minute as she walks away.

Clover looks back to Qrow. “Um. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a romantic soulmate, would you?”

“I..” Qrow trails off, but the way he stares at Clover answers the question for him. Clover suddenly realizes just how close Qrow’s managed to get.

Oh.

All Clover can think of in that moment is how badly he wants to kiss Qrow.

So he does.

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Clover dials General Ironwood with shaking fingers, looking between Qrow and Tyrian and Robyn. The general picks up after a few rings.

“What is it?”

“Uh, sir?” Clover asks, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He feels a hand wrap around his and looks up to find Qrow holding his hand. Qrow gives him an encouraging nod, so Clover continues, “Are you sure that arresting them is a good idea? Especially-”

“I’m aware Qrow is your soulmate,” Ironwood interrupts. “But I need you to arrest him and bring him back immediately. If he cooperates, no harm will come to him.”

Clover resists glaring at the Scroll. He turns and addresses everyone else in the airship. “Right, guys, let’s get Tyrian to prison and then we’ll go down to Mantle.”

“What? Clover, I gave you an order.” Ironwood sighs louder than it should be possible to sigh. “Clover, please. This is for the good of Atlas. Arrest Qrow.”

“First of all,” Clover replies, letting his contempt shine through, “That’s bullshit.”

“Clover-”

“Second of all, no.”

“Clover-”

He hangs up.

----

uh I hope you liked it? It’s also on ao3 here?