#but good gravy i lost a lot of sleep for it

[bitsandbobcats]

Day 4: Blush

careful marinette, or else you might realize that you have a crush...

sorry about felix's handwriting. i wanted him to write in cursive, but i forgot that i cannot write in cursive. felix's handwriting would actually be very neat. the not says:

You're really special to me, and i care about you. I didn't want you to get in trouble. -Felix

Part 1 | Part 2 (here)

@felinettenovember

#This was probably my favorite prompt pair in terms of story #but good gravy i lost a lot of sleep for it #felinette #felinette week #felinette november #felix culpa #marinette dupain cheng #alya in the note passing pannel my beloved #reveal au

[jo-harrington]

Peak Sales Hours (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his first Black Friday, Eddie is exhausted and takes comfort in his new relationship with you.

Previous Part: Promotion

Warnings/Themes: Established friendship/new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort(?), idk it's a lot of comfort, working in retail hell, Eddie works at Tape World and Reader is the Store Manager at Claire's in Starcourt Mall, angry customers, weariness

Note: So...hi guys. Welcome back to the Store Manager Verse. This little installment is sort of skipping a step. I had a whole thing planned and half-written of Eddie and our favorite SM actually confessing their feelings and being fluffy...and it's still gonna happen I'm just...on day whatever of work and have a big deadline and have had sleep for lunch the past I-don't-know how many days.

And it just took me back to the countless Black Friday and Peak Holiday shifts where all I wanted was to get back home. So here we are.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

___

Never, in his entire life, had Eddie Munson felt more akin to the heroes from his favorite fantasy stories.

Long journeys and harrowing battles.

Deep wounds and comrades lost to the beyond.

Hoards of villains and the promise of a better future if only there was hope.

Taran. Aragorn. Luke Skywalker. They had seen it all.

"What's taking so long? I just need a gift receipt!"

But none of them had ever worked Black Friday.

He had experienced Black Friday before, as a shopper.

Thanksgiving hadn't ever been anything magnificent in the Munson household, especially after his mom died. Wayne and Rick had always tried to make it still feel special for Eddie, with hearty midwest comfort foods.

There would always be a full belly and an even fuller heart with his uncle and his almost-step-dad around. Eddie could never complain.

Then after a late afternoon dinner, Wayne would pack up a plate of leftovers to make his shift at the plant that paid time-and-a-half, plus a little something extra from the plant manager, cash in hand. By the time Eddie woke up the next morning, Wayne would pull up with a box of fresh donuts, honk three times, and they would be on their way to the Kmart on Rt 9 and get some steeply discounted goods with Wayne's holiday pay.

It was always a madhouse, but Eddie could swiftly dodge screaming kids, empathize with over-caffeinated employees, and wait in long lines if he and Wayne didn't need to fret about things like work boots and gloves, t-shirts and underwear, and usually one nice little Christmas gift for each of them.

This year, of course, had been a little different. Wayne had been a little disappointed--he would never admit it, but Eddie could tell--that their tradition would be forsaken for Eddie's shift at the mall. But your addition into the Thanksgiving festivities had been a welcome one.

Eddie had extended the invitation weeks ago, when you mentioned you wouldn't be able to make it home to spend the holiday with your family thanks to work.

You, of course, promised to pull your weight--

"It's always really casual," he tried to ease your worries as you began to fret over what kind of dessert Wayne and Rick might like. "You don't even need to dress up. Come in your pajamas. Rick makes a really good pumpkin pie, and I have my mom's old scalloped potato recipe that will literally put you in a food coma."

"What about turkey?" you asked.

"We don't really do turkey." He shrugged. "There's only three of us. So we do different things every year. Rick usually catches some kind of fish if it's warm enough. Wayne has a good recipe for fried chicken. We were thinking of doing meatloaf..."

"I can do the meatloaf!" You perked up immediately.

--only to show up laden with a roasting pan for the meatloaf, a plastic-wrapped gravy boat full of some kind of mushroom gravy, a salad, and a casserole dish overflowing with green beans, cream-of-something soup, and heaps of french fried onions.

Eddie, of course, scolded you as you shuffled through to the kitchen, much like he had the first time you showed up for dinner at his place. But he also placed a soft peck on your lips, which earned him a bashful smile as you shoo'd him away.

That was a new development to your...friendship, if you could even call it that anymore. There really hadn't been time to discuss the logistics between the frenzied makeout session in his van outside of the Hideout this past Tuesday night and Thanksgiving dinner.

Now that he had been trapped at the cash wrap, ringing out ungrateful customers for the past 8 hours, he was almost loathing his past self for wanting to be a little discreet in front of Wayne and Rick. For not...making himself have the "what are we" conversation with you, because your lips had soothed every frazzled nerve he had the other night.

Knowing that at the end of the day that he wasn't going through it alone, that his girlfriend was also in the mall suffering through the mass chaos and that he could go upstairs and steal a kiss whenever he wanted...well it certainly would have done him a world of good to mentally prepare him for this.

For the entirety of his time working at Tape World, he thought he had been doing a pretty good job. Sure there were some hard days, some rude customers. But at the end of the day, an 8-hour shift was an 8-hour shift, and he was only selling tapes. Not...ending world hunger.

"Ah you say that now," Kyle told him on Wednesday as they were putting together cardboard "dump bins" for the discount tapes that would be placed every 10 feet in the store. "But Black Friday is a beast, and Christmas Eve is worse. You're honestly lucky you only work here and not at, like, Radio Shack or something. My buddy Todd has seen some shit.

"Actually, I'm almost regretting scheduling you as a mid but I needed a second key." Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "Peak Hours. Mid's a rough shift for Black Friday weekend."

"I'll be fine," Eddie scoffed. "I've done mid shifts before. I'm almost excited. How bad could it get?"

Famous. Last. Words.

He had barely been able to squeeze into the store when it was time for his shift, the line for the cash wrap blocked the way to the stockroom door. As soon as people saw his name tag, they started shouting at him to open the other register, how they needed help; he could barely get a word out to explain that he wasn't clocked in yet. They didn't care.

He was no longer Eddie Munson, Tape World Keyholder and your boyfriend, probably, maybe...

He was a body who could unlock the electronics case and ring them out.

He was a husk who said "welcome in" and "thanks have a great day" and smiled until his face started hurting.

And for the first time since he had gotten this job back at the beginning of summer...it really fucked with him.

His legs were cramped from standing at the Cash Wrap for so long, he wasn't sure which of the associates had his keys, his hair was damp with sweat even if he threw it into a some haphazard bun hours ago.

He'd been yelled at by more people than he could count, counted so much change the edges of his fingers were pretty much stained from all the muck and grime on everyone's money, and had made so many returns from people with buyer's remorse that he was sure they had given more money back than they had made in sales today.

Eddie hadn't even gotten a chance to take his lunch out in the mall and pay you a visit like he typically would. He had just collapsed in the little metal folding chair in the break area of the tiny stock room. Kyle had clapped him on the shoulder with a quick "good job kid" as he left for the day and Eddie hadn't even moved.

"Alright Ed," Paulie shuffled over as Eddie wrapped up the last in a long line of transactions and was about to wave the next customer over. "Quitting time."

Eddie sighed and backed against the counter as Paulie counted him down. The adrenaline of the day finally started to wear off as he came to realize that it was all over, and a weariness unlike the one he had been feeling his entire shift settled deep into his bones.

He went through the motions as he went back to the stockroom to grab his jacket and punch out. He wove his way through the still-crowded store and out into the mall, sighing in relief as the cooler mall air hit him.

It was gonna be a mercy once he got out to his van. He'd drive home with the windows down.

His ears rang as he headed towards the employee entrance and he wondered if it would be worth waiting in line at the Orange Julius before he left or if he should just stop through the McDonald's drive thru or something on his way home.

"Eddie."

But then, he didn't really need to stop for anything. There were leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner at home. He could smoke a little bit, make some kind of meatloaf sandwich, and then sink into his bed.

"Eddie."

And sleep until...

Fuck.

He was gonna have to do it all again tomorrow. And the day after that.

He thought back to his favorite fantasy heroes and wondered how they did it. How they put themselves through endless journeys, practically sacrificed themselves time and again.

And he could barely make it through a shift at the Starcourt Mall of all places.

"Eddie!"

He crashed right into your hands as you planted them on his shoulders and prevented him from absolutely barreling into you.

"Jesus are you ok?" you exclaimed and pulled him off to the side of the walkway to get out of the way of foot traffic.

Was he? Probably not.

"Yeah," he shook his head and answered. He finally looked at you, finally actually saw you. Dressed in your Teen Vogue best, as you called it, although a little worse for wear, if the eyeshadow smeared where it definitely shouldn't be and your jewelry all askew was any indicator. "Yeah I'm fine.

"You sure? You looked like you were in a trance," you explained. "I've been calling your name for a little while."

"Oh shit," he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, no...it's...It was just a long day."

You didn't hesitate. Your arms immediately wrapped around him and you pulled him in. Pulled him back from whatever precipice he was about to launch himself off of, and straight into the comfort of you.

---

Before long, Eddie found himself in your apartment, fully upside down with his legs propped against the wall as he enjoyed the Blizzard he'd picked up on the way.

"You know just cuz you can hold it upside down, doesn't mean you're supposed to eat it upside down," you laughed as you filled a pot with water and put it on the stove.

"And what are you, the Blizzard expert," Eddie scoffed. "If you'll recall I was the one who took you to Dairy Queen for the first time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes and turned to grab some cans from the cupboard.

You had offered to make dinner--again--while he vented about his shift. Nothing as spectacular as what you made for Thanksgiving dinner, but it left the leftover meatloaf for Wayne to take for his lunches.

"You're lucky I like your spaghetti sauce," Eddie grumbled, a little sad that he couldn't have his meatloaf sandwich.

So he talked as you ran to your bedroom to rid yourself of the remnants of who you became when you were at Starcourt, and as you emerged the person that, he liked to believe, was reserved especially for him.

He told you about the back to back returns he had dealt with when he came back from lunch as you dropped dried pasta into the boiling water and grated garlic into sizzling oil.

He complained about the man who demanded help from a manager only even though all he wanted was a special edition cassette deck that had all the bells and whistles and anyone with keys could help him. His voice got louder and meaner as he quoted the jackass verbatim, but the sharp strike of your wooden spoon against the side of the pot brought him back down to earth.

And as he finished up his story about having to count Sam's register three times because he forgot that there were large bills under the cash tray, you joined him on the couch with a bowl of steaming hot pasta for each of you.

He righted himself and discarded the empty blizzard cup on your coffee table.

"First Black Friday in the books," you announced and you passed the bowl to him. "I'm proud of you."

"Proud?" Eddie groaned. "Seriously? It was a disaster."

"They always are," you explained sagely.

"You survived," he pointed out.

"So did you."

"Barely."

"So?" you asked and twirled noodles on your fork expertly. "Doesn't that count? This is, like...my 5th Black Friday? My 6th? I count each one as a victory. And so should you."

You leaned over to kiss his cheek, then clinked plates with his in a salute, and then the two of you fell into contented silence as you ate.

As Eddie worked ravenously through the layers of starchy, cheesy, garlicky goodness, he realized that the weariness that had settled within him after his shift had started to alleviate. How he felt more like himself now that he was sitting next to you, basking in the warm glow of your company.

He briefly considered this ritual the two of you had been engaging in for months. The way you shared stories and foods and got closer to one another. He had always been a little worried that things would change if he ever got his wish, if this friendship with you ever became more.

But it was like nothing had changed at all.

He wanted to ask, was tempted to ask, what this was? If this was a date, like all the dates that weren't dates hadn't been before? If you were his girlfriend now?

But then...he recalled the time that you had a bad day and you immediately found relief in him, how he thought that he didn't need to be your knight as long as he could be your home.

And Eddie realized that whatever the two of you decided it would be, whether you were still just his friend, or if you were his girlfriend, or maybe...maybe something else...

You, too, would always be his home at the end of a long battle.

---

Next Part: Disaster Preparedness

Tag List for Store Manager Verse is still temporarily suspended. Thank you for understanding.

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fic #Eddie munson #Eddie munson fluff

[dairy-farmer]

Okay but hear me out. Tim is Ra’s pillow princess. Maybe Tim gave in during the time Bruce was lost in time or Tim has always been Dami’s grandmother. But a happy Ra’s/Tim and really, really jealous Bruce and batfam

!!!!!! tim is stressed and in mortal peril every other day while on his bruce quest and ra's has offered reprieve, resources, and...well the belief in tim's hunch. which makes him the most supportive person in tim's life at the moment so...tim's willing to overlook the whole 'evil megalomaniacal leader of a secret guild of assassins'. though honestly it's not all that hard.

if tim was still 13 and deeply into dungeons and dragons he would've absolutely swooned at ra's and his pretty accent and fancy capes.but baby tim is not running the show. tim is. and tim is only human...

he's under a lot of stress and trying to find bruce and trying to navigate all the weird power plays and politics in the league of assassins and ra's keeps going that thing where he comes up behind tim and rests his firm hands on tim's hips, bending his neck slightly and whispering lowly into tim's ear, the ghost of his beard caressing tim's sensitive neck. he's being seduced. that much is obvious. tim tries desperatly to work out what for- maybe this is part of some mind game, or some preparation for ammo to launch at bruce when he comes back and ra's is happily swiping at him like an allycat throwing hands with another fat-cheeked tomcat.

some kind of 'i saw your son's pussy' sort of trash talk.

tim's already in his hands so it's not like ra's has to lure tim even closer. much of what he could potentially want to manipulate tim for could just as easily be something accomplished by trying to bribe tim with some mashed potatoes and gravy and not that salad with a million seeds he insists on serving for dinner each night. 'it's good for your health' tim's ass he sounded like tim's grandma.

bruce quest is lonely. and isolating. tim finds himself yearning for companionship and company. and ra's fills the hole but....tim also desires...more.

it's no secret in the caped community that the bats have a tendency to....sample one another. it's just one of those quietly unacknowledged things.

sex is a decent and better coping mechanism than things like...drugs or alcohol. things that could seriously impair their judgement or health.

when it had just been him and bruce, bruce had needed a lot of comforting to help him curb the worst of his destructive habits and maybe there was something to be said reguarding to morality of bruce sleeping with a thirteen year old but it helped.

just like it helped dick when the pressure of nightwing and bludhaven came to be too much.

both dick and bruce had wanted active lovers. lovers who would distract them from their miserable lives by bouncing on their cocks and sweetly accepting every drop of their cum into their little wombs.

it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that tim did all the work. and when you've just spent all night patrolling, are nursing bruises/ cuts and have to ride your brother/dad to completion so they don't have nightmares?

it's a lot. so tim isn't a huge fan of sex. but it does feel nice. and the warmth and connection does a lot to deepen bonds and help tim forget his own world of problems.

so when ra's finally propositions him- tim doesn't hesitate to accept.

however it's with a caveat.

ra's does all the work.

tim is tired. mentally and emotionally exhausted and if ra's want to fuck him well then tim gets to just lay there, look pretty and take it.

tim tells ra's as much and gets a darkened look of desire in return.

apparently ra's would love nothing more than to show tim what centuries of experience have taught him. ra's loves the sight of tim being a sweetly gasping and squirming thing, little body so unsure about what to do with all he pleasure flowing through him as ra's gently but surely fucks him through another orgasm- his cock pressing all the way into the opening of tim's womb while fingers decorated with gold rings and jewls toy with tim's little clit that ra's calls adorable.

tim doesn't leave ra's chambers for three days. they only leave because of urgent matters ra's wants to deal with and even then they just take their business out to the office ra's operates out of.

ra's talks to shadows in some coded tongue while having tim seated in his lap and plugged with his cock, his hands holding onto tim's hips and working him up and down until he's shaking from another orgasm.

it's not an exaggeration to say that ra's gives tim the best sex of his life while tim just lays there and takes it.

even when bruce is finally recovered from being lost in time tim's not even there to see it becuase he's too busy getting fucked stupid by ra's.

tim's also pretty sure ra's had some plan to screw over gotham and tim but that appears to have been scrapped in favor of getting unrestricted and free access to tim's cunt whenever he wants.

of course the bats go on red alert when ra's is spotted at gotham airport but until he does something they're forced to just monitor. which is how they find out about ra's and tim regularly meeting at hotels to fuck (not tim's nest because tim wasn't stupid like ra's because tim had entire hard drives of ra's many bases that he would blow up in a heartbeat if ra's broke up with him).

bruce, dick, and the rest of the bats all insist that tim should break up with ra's. but tim has decided the reward is well worth the risk. besides how is this any different from bruce with selina or any other cape having affairs with a rogue?

they're not happy. tim can tell his family is deeply unhappy with his decision. but either way tim gets wonderfully fucked and he doesn't have to lift a finger for it.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #rastim

[afarcryfrommymain]

Far Cry OC Tournament Round 1A: Diana Baker v Dean Sinclaire

About and voting undercut!

Diana Baker (@shallow-gravy)

About: Emotionally stunted, nihilistic 30-year-old bisexual with a guilt complex. Can’t be trusted to make good decisions. Shouldn’t have ever been allowed to be a cop. Sarcastic, impulsive and aloof, does not like it when people Know Her. Steals drugs from evidence lock-up and deep down feels the only thing she deserves is punishment but doesn’t know how to lay down and die quietly; hence her attraction to John Seed. She’s damn good with a gun though.

Does your OC have anything to share?: “Nobody backs me into a corner. I will fight and I’ll fight fucking dirty.”

Anything else we should know?: Pros: impulsivity means anything can be used as a weapon, but feels most comfortable with a firearm. Scrappy in a fight since she spent part of her youth on the streets / in a juvenile detention center. Comes across as “funny” and “cool” on a superficial level. Cons: not to be trusted as a friend or confidante because of poor decision-making skills; has a difficult time establishing close bonds, is just as likely to sleep with your boyfriend/girlfriend if the opportunity arises as she is to beat the shit out of them for cheating on you. Scrawny frame means people often underestimate her but watch out.

Dean Sinclaire (@derelictheretic)

About: Dean Sinclaire is a Junior Deputy and he's a himbo adjacent golden retriever boy, he just wants to help people and maybe convince himself all hope isn't lost for the world. He never liked cop's and wouldn't go flaunting his occupation but he likes to think he's making a difference and keeping his department in line, especially when he arrests Joseph Seed despite Sheriff Whitehorses discouragement. Yeah maybe he brought on the apocalypse but at least he wasn't being negligent! Outside of work he likes creative arts and doing things with his hands, he picks up new hobbies every other month but consistently enjoys drawing, hiking and being bad at journaling. He's besties with Sharky, Hurk and the Ryes and is constantly partaking in shenanigans with his boys. Dean also used to cage fight so he's no stranger to a showdown with all types of opponents, once he steps into the pit it's game on and he won't stop until he or his opponent goes down! He can take a lot of hits and is good at making his opponent exert themself so he can go full in at the halfway mark and take em down.

Does your OC have anything to share?: "I'm honestly just hoping no one breaks my nose, I'd hate to look like my old man at the end of this. It's been a while since i've done a proper fight so here's hoping all that muscles memory kicks in, if anything i'll tire 'em out for sure."

Anything else we should know?: The boy is very hesitant to even playfight with friends or family so if he goes up against another deputy he might be screwed because he won't wanna hurt them even in a low stakes setting!

#far cry oc tournament #polls #far cry 5 #diana baker #dean sinclaire #oooffff tough one

[thesaleswhisperer]

It's Oh So Nice To Raise Your Price: Jeb Blount Shares How

Professional Sales Tips you'll learn today on The Sales Podcast...

The only book on how to get higher prices from your clients

Clients will accept your price increase but not be happy

If the price increase is small just do it and defend it

You need scripts to articulate why the price increase

Explain why it's fair 

Your customer needs to feel like they are getting good value

Related episodes and posts

Jeb Blount Shares How To Use MLP to Negotiate Better Sales

Get On The Sales Gravy Train With Jeb Blount

Price increases are the fastest way to increase your bottom line...if you can keep your customers

Eight different narratives for explaining the price increase

Your job is to expand and retain your business as a salesperson

Salespeople are great at discounting and terrible at discussing price increases

Mature companies may not discount as much

What is the risk of losing customer?

A lot of companies do have CPI provisions for annual price increases

It makes sense to slowly and regularly raise prices

Salespeople are afraid to raise prices

Companies are afraid of raising the prices and losing the client.

They don't want to "awaken the sleeping giant!"

Red/Yellow/Green your customers.

Green is a solid, long-term contract

Yellow is borderline

Red is a potentially lost client if you irritate them

If a customer says they won't accept the price increase I can learn how I'm letting them down.

Most of your customers are in the danger zone.

Clean up your pipeline and accounts.

Clients get amnesia when the scheduled price increase kicks in that they agreed to years ago.

Have tough conversations early.

Have guts and confidence.

Get your message in order.

Salespeople are great at discounting and terrible at discussing price increases."

Pull out your calculator and show them the value.

Your price increase comes right out of the back pocket of small business owners.

It's your job as a salesperson to stand your ground and make that sale.

Most salespeople just walk away because they know they haven't earned the price increase.

Jeb uses a fit matrix to scatter diagram his customers.

Easy/hard to work with, high/low profit.

He'll ask for a 100% price increase on the low-profit, hard-to-work-with clients.

What's surprising is how few of your customers go away.

Customers hate being fired.

You need to know where you fit in the life of your customers.

Ideally you are adding more value than what you charge.

You need to be tooting your own horn.

You need to stay in front of your customers.

You lose because you take your customers for granted."

What is your messaging and method to stay in front of your customers?

Do quarterly business reviews, especially if you're a small cog in their system.

Get feedback from the customer so you know how you're doing.

Pick up the phone and have a conversation.

Do that maybe once a month.

Just touch base to stay top of mind.

You lose because you take your customers for granted.

Just manage the account.

Sales Growth Tools Mentioned In The Sales Podcast

Get his book, "Selling the Price Increase: The Ultimate B2B Field Guide for Raising Prices Without Losing Customers"

Check out The Sales Podcast's latest episode

#podcast #sales #marketing #ecommerce #marketing automation

[everysongineverykey]

your local shitposter/lore speculator here to crawl out of their little hole with a seam and noelle fic. this isn't related to seam week (i have some half-formed ideas for that) but it's here. featuring queen for a bit too💙

---

Noelle Holiday, despite assuredly having the money for it, was not a shopper.

This was something she was reminded of often, particularly when she was around Catti's garrulous older sister and her infectious love for shopping, and had never cared much about- until now, as she stood in the center of bustling Castle Town, placidly watching Darkners of all types go about their daily business around her. It was funny- when she had first fallen into a Dark World, lost amidst the overwhelming sights and sounds of Cyber World, it had been huge. At any moment she could look to her left, past whatever was in front of her, and see miles and miles of synthetic green and blue scenery, ads plastered everywhere, and the sprawling cityscape was never far away.

When that had been Noelle's only experience with Dark Worlds, she'd felt overwhelmed- tiny, insignificant, swallowed up by the massive city that was so far from what she knew. Now, she was standing in a world that could hardly be bigger than Hometown, and she felt strangled. She didn't understand how, but Castle Town was too small. It choked her, boxed her in, and she did not like it.

And then, there was the matter of why she was there- shopping. And she was realizing quickly that Castle Town was not exactly a shopper's paradise.

It shouldn't have been as hard as it was shaping up to be to find a simple gift for a friend- Noelle didn't do a lot of shopping, her mother buying all her clothes for her, but she was pretty sure any given town should have at least one gift shop or knick-knack store or- or- or some kind of place that sold things that weren't fights or food.

...Although, all things considered, that was probably exactly what she needed. It was supposed to be a simple gesture- she'd go to Castle Town with the five hundred dark dollars Kris had lent her and buy Susie something nice. "You know," she'd said to Kris, "just to show my appreciation! She did save me, after all! W-why're you looking at me like that?! It's a normal thing to do!!"

Kris, unfortunately, knew her better than maybe anyone. And it wasn't good when the person who knew you best was a known prankster who loved messing with people more than anything. So they'd just seen right through her stammering and blushing, handed her a wad of cash, and winked. And so it was that Noelle stood in the town square half an hour later, having paid a visit to the bakery (where she found an energetic small round boy offering her cookies of dubious healing ability), the cafe, the dojo, and Sweet Cap'n Cakes' own music store, where she got a nice song and a comprehensive lesson on the power of music in cyber-dystopias, but no suitable gift for her carnivorous crush.

Noelle stood, staring up at the towering castle that gave the place its name, wondering if she shouldn't just go in and ask Kris and Susie's strange goat friend for a cake, when near her, the doors of a small, unassuming equipment shop she hadn't been to yet burst open, revealing a familiar figure in all her seven-something feet of blue glory.

"And Seam" called Queen to whoever was inside, speaking in her typical odd, audibly punctuation-less manner. "If You See The Little Prince (Copyright-Neutral) / Tell Him The Water Bottle In My Room Is Like / Super Lame / And I Will Be Sleeping In His Cauldron Until He Fixes-"

She stopped, her eye-visor falling on Noelle, and Noelle was struck with that strange feeling she often got around Queen- something like a mix of fondness and anxiety, a side effect of being raised by a well-meaning yet often suffocatingly strict mother. She raised her hand and waved timidly.

If nothing else, Queen knew how to make an impression. She strode towards Noelle with outstretched arms.

"Noelle Sweetie Darling Honey Gravy / What A Pleasant Surprise / I Haven't Seen You Since Cyber World" Queen exclaimed, advancing on her. Instinctively, Noelle took a step back- Queen was extremely tall, and when she spoke to her, Noelle often had the impression that her own mother was giving her one of her talks about rules or manners- speaking with a sweet smile, but never failing to make Noelle feel a bit like she was on trial. Noelle returned Queen's smile and giggled, trying to revel in the nervousness.

"O-oh, um... hello, Queen," she managed. "I-I'm just here doing a bit of shopping."

"Shopping Huh / That Computes / You Lightners Have Entire Days Dedicated To Shopping Right"

"Uh, yeah, we have Black Friday, and..."

"And Cyber Monday I Know / That Used To Be Cyber World's Most Important Day Of The Year / The Addisons Always Got Ravenous / I Made Them Fight In Front Of Crowds For Customers" Queen's smile grew wider as she reminisced. "People Would Pay To See Them Beat Each Other Up Over Deals It Was Quite The Tourist Attraction"

She threw her head back and laughed then, laughed that regal, musical laugh of hers that Noelle was sure she had practised in the mirror. Queen's laugh was the only part of her voice that wasn't computerized, and... it always made Noelle feel at ease, hearing proof that Queen laughed too, such that she couldn't help but join in.

"Fahahaha! Queen!"

"Maybe We Can Do That Here Too / Anyways Noelle What Is It You're Looking For / I Can Probably Help Find It If You Want"

"...It's..." Noelle paused, then decided it would probably be fine if she told Queen why she was out shopping. "...It's just... I wanted to get something for... Susie. Like a gift. But I haven't had much luck..."

Queen grinned. "Oh Yes Susie / The Purple One / I Know Just What You Need / She Likes Skateboards / Preferably Ones That Have Defective AIs In Them"

"She... does?" This was news to Noelle, but it didn't sound totally implausible.

"Yes / Displaying Search Query: cool skatebord game online CHEAT / She Looks That Up All The Time Lol"

"Oh," replied Noelle, realizing Queen had misunderstood Susie's searches almost as badly as she had Noelle's.

"Unfortunately I Am Not Sure Where You Would Get A Cool Demon Skateboard In This Weird Little Town" Queen continued, sighing and looking around. "The Cafe And Bakery Would Certainly Not Help / And Those Funky Little Robot Guys Don't Sell Anything / Just Bad Taste"

Suddenly, she turned to look at the shop behind her, the one that Noelle had overlooked until then on account of having written it off as a battle equipment shop that wouldn't carry gifts for cool punk girls. Queen's visor flashed with a pixelated image of a lightbulb.

"Of Course" she said brightly, "If You Have No Other Ideas / You Could Always Try Seam's Seap Over There"

She pointed it out. It was noticeably different than the cafe and bakery- far less shiny and streamlined, instead made of what looked to be wood and piles of purple fabric. It almost looked like its own world next to the shiny bright red dojo.

"I saw that," said Noelle. "I thought it was an equipment shop. Y'know, for warriors. So I didn't look for gifts in it."

"Nonsense / I Mean It Is A Stuffy Old Battle Supplies Shop / But I'm Sure Susie Would Love A Nice Mace Or Something" Queen assured her, leading her towards the funny shop. "Girls Love Weapons Of Mass Destruction Trust Me On This / And The Cat Who Runs It Is So Wonderfully Amusing / Or Should I Say / A-Mew-Sing"

She broke into another hearty laugh, and Noelle couldn't help but join her, bursting into a fit of giggles as they entered the old shop. She wasn't usually big on puns, but Queen's laughter was infectious.

Really, Noelle thought, when Queen wasn't making her citizens fight each other for money or trying to replace people's faces with robot ones, she was a lot of fun to be around- a lot, but also a lot of fun.

"There You Go" she said brightly, pushing Noelle gently through the doors and ruffling her hair affectionately. "If You Do Not Find Anything Romantic Enough In There / I Would Be Happy To Help You Compose A Bitcrushed Computery Love Rap For Your Lady Love / Have Fun"

Noelle felt like she'd been caught stealing from the (Christmas) cookie jar. She wheeled around, beet red under her fur, to stammer out that her errand wasn't romantic in nature, but Queen had already disappeared.

A low, crackling laugh came from behind her.

"Hee hee hee... welcome, traveler."

She turned and found herself looking at a large purple cat with curious eyes- one button eye, the three holes in it seeming to dance when the cat spoke, and an empty eyesocket that turned up at the edges with their smile.

So this was that Sean person Queen mentioned. Noelle stepped forward.

"Um... Sean, isn't it?"

The cat chuckled again, and Noelle was suddenly reminded of the crackling of a warm fire on Christmas Day. "That'd be Seam, with an M. Spelled Like seam, pronounced shaw-m. And this is my humble seap. Heh heh heh..."

Noelle giggled. Their voice had a... not faded, but frayed quality to it, like a well-loved scarf that had been worn down from years of use. "Well, Seam... It's a long shot, but I was just wondering if... uh."

Explaining her errand to Queen was one thing. Explaining it to this strange old cat was quite another. She paused, choosing her next words.

"...Well, I have this... friend I wanted to get something for, and... none of the other shops in town really have anything that works, so... do you carry any..."

The problem was that Noelle still had no idea what Susie liked, besides chalk, and she was assuming there wasn't any of that in the Dark World. And Queen's "demon skateboard" idea was unfortunately off the table. Seam's grin widened.

"Well, now, would this friend be the second Hero of Legend, by any chance? The purple one?"

Noelle stared. "H-how did you know?!"

"I'm no mind-reader, miss. I only know you're a new Lightner, and that Queen mentioned a 'Lady love' just now." Their smile took on a mischievous quality, one that suggested a Cheshire Cat.

Noelle blushed, grateful for her fur for covering her skin. "Y-you've met her, then? Do you... have any idea what she might like?"

"Unfortunately, chatting with the legendary heroes isn't part of my business... but I would be glad to help you pick something out. If you think you can find anything, heh heh."

There was that laugh again. Was it a bit less cheerful this time?

"I'd be glad to look around," said Noelle, turning her attention to the shelves. "Thanks."

Seam's wares consisted, unsurprisingly, of swords, defensive charms, and a few snacks here and there. Noelle at least knew Susie was a warrior who liked to eat, so maybe she could get somewhere with that- she pulled a black and orange "SpookySword" off the shelf to inspect it.

As she looked it over, a queer feeling came over Noelle- a memory of her time in Cyber World with Kris, when, as they were walking through the cold blue streets of Cyber City, Kris had insisted Noelle equip a new weapon, and pulled it out.

It had been a long scythe-like blade on a striped stick, with a purple ribbon on it, the metal so polished Noelle could see her reflection in it, and as Kris handed it to her, Noelle Holiday could have sworn that just for a brief moment she saw the knife smile at her.

What had Kris called that thing? That's it- the Devilsknife. Noelle shuddered involuntarily at the memory, half expecting the SpookySword to smile at her too. It did not.

"Something the matter?" asked Seam, breaking her thoughts. "If you like the sword, you should bring it over to me to pay for it instead of just staring at it."

Noelle looked over. They were still smiling, unfazed. She forced a smile back.

"S-sorry," she said lightly, putting the sword back on the shelf. "It's just..."

Oh, well, it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Do all Dark World weapons... smile?"

A pause. Seam's eye(s) widened slightly. They looked amused.

"...Eh? Smile?... What a very interesting question. Why do you ask?" They leaned forward, propping their elbows on the counter, and for the first time, Noelle could see a large fluffy tail waving gently behind them.

"I... it's just... I was in Cyber World with my friend, and..."

Slowly, she found the words to tell them about the knife that had smiled at her for a moment, a mischievous, knowing smile, and as she told them, their own smile gradually disappeared.

When she finished, Seam simply stood there, staring blankly at the counter, drumming their paw-pads on the old wood.

Noelle looked at them, worried, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was trying to get a read on what they were feeling, but the absence of real eyes made it difficult. For some reason, she suspected they liked it that way. She stood with her own hands clasped together tight, as if she was holding onto something important.

Finally, Seam spoke.

"Well, well, well. An incredible story."

They offered up another smile, but this time it was far less warm, and far less befitting of a Cheshire Cat.

"D-do you know anything about the... the Devilsknife?" asked Noelle tentatively. Somehow, she felt as if just speaking its name might bring the whole seap crashing down around them.

Seam looked at her with their strange, patched-up right eye and their dark, empty left socket, and for the first time, Noelle felt as if she were truly seeing them for the very old, very wise being they were. It seemed an eternity until they answered.

"Do you believe in the devil, child?"

Noelle couldn't think of an answer to that.

"We once had a devil of our own in this land," they continued, stepping out from behind the counter and walking slowly through the shop, inspecting the shelves. "In the old Dark World. A funny little man- the court jester, and the only person I could consider a friend. One day, he... well. He went mad, to put it plainly."

Noelle said nothing. She felt as if interrupting this would bring bad luck.

"In the end, I myself was forced to lock him away in the castle basement... but then, your friends, the Heroes of Legend, came along."

They smiled again, and Noelle inexplicably felt as if something wrong in the universe had been corrected.

"It's partially my fault they set him free, I suppose. I helped them find the key. But I don't regret it. They defeated him. And that knife..."

They approached her, bent down slightly, and regarded her with excited eyes.

"Heh, heh, heh... I suspect you may have met him, then. My old companion, living on as that blade. And now the Heroes use him to defend themselves."

Noelle's throat felt dry all of a sudden. A person. Kris had been using a living, conscious person as a weapon. What did the jester think about that?

Seam must have noticed her worry, because they hastened to reassure her. "Oh, don't worry. I doubt he very much cares what they use him for in his new form. And it's not as if anything that happens, matters anymore." They were still smiling. Always smiling, except for that one moment earlier. Noelle wondered if their cheeks hurt.

"What do you mean, whatever happens won't matter?"

She forced herself to look them in their eye and socket. Once again, they chuckled. She felt she was getting a little sick of that chuckle.

"You'll understand when you're older. Yes, just like him, you will realize... how futile this world truly is. But that's not what you're here for, is it? What do you think of the sword? Would it work for your lady love?"

Noelle looked at them hard, trying to stare daggers at them but really only succeeding at amusing them. Everything seemed to amuse them, she thought- and then she remembered Susie, her Susie, who didn't care what their classmates thought of her, who laughed in the face of danger, and she decided finally that she liked the old shopkeeper. She unclenched her fists, swallowed, and let herself mirror their grin.

"Can I have a look at those burgers? They seem like something she'd like."

Seam's eyes softened. "'Course. Although..."

They paused. "What?"

"Do you really think a Darkburger's the way to go here?" they continued. "Seems to me that she can get one of those any time she comes down here. You'll want to give her something special, no?"

Noelle considered. "Like what?"

The three holes in Seam's button eye spun slowly in a circle as they thought, in a fashion reminiscent of a loading symbol that Noelle had a feeling was derived from Queen, then stopped.

"Wait there," they said with a grin. "I'll get you something."

With that, they disappeared into a back room behind the counter and reemerged a minute or so later with several scraps of old fabric and a needle and thread.

"I haven't properly sewn anything in many a moon," they said, setting the fabric down on the counter, "but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve that I can teach you. I'm sure our hero would appreciate a new coat."

"O-oh!" said Noelle, who was not good with her hands. "I don't know if I can sew an entire jacket- I've never done this before-"

"Well, I'll teach you."

"...But your shop?"

They frowned, wearily, for just a moment.

"I'm not much use to anyone here except the heroes... and they're not here right now. Anyway, as I said, it won't matter in the end either way."

Noelle looked at them for a long moment. She didn't like their "it won't matter" shtick, but she did like the rest of them an awful lot, and she still needed a present for Susie- one that was worthy of a hero of legend.

"Okay. I'd be happy to learn. So..."

She shuffled the fabric on the counter, looking through the colors. It was a good selection- lots of nice shades of purple, black, gold.

"You sew, then?" Noelle supposed it was a stupid question- their name was seam, after all- but for some reason she couldn't see this old fluff sitting by the fire and sewing. That was something Jockington did- somehow, even though he didn't have hands. He truly was amazing.

"Well, of course! I'm not called Seam for nothing," they said, rummaging through their drawers. "Though these days, the only sewing I really do is to reattach this old thing..." They tapped their button eye, looking for something in the cupboard.

"Ah, here we are," they said, satisfied. They reached deep under the counter and pulled out a giant weapon- at least, Noelle thought it was a weapon. It was old and worn, fitting the general aesthetic of the place, with a simple wooden handle, and on the end, instead of an ordinary sword blade, was a curious metal point with a second, shorter prong that ended in a small red ball. The metal shone dully in the dark seap- it seemed to be the only part of the thing that wasn't in a state of disrepair.

"This was my primary weapon in battle, back when I still had it in me to fight," Seam explained, their eyes twinkling as they looked upon it, turning it over in their paws.

"What is it? I've never seen anything like it!"

They smiled a large, toothless smile. "It's known as a seam ripper. Good for battles, and good for undoing mistakes in your sewing. Well, don't be shy, take it!"

They held it out to her, and she gently took it from them, fearing she would break it if she were too careless with this old piece of magic that gleamed dully in the faint light- just like its owner, she realized as she looked at Seam's eager face again.

That was what they were, she decided- a light in the darkness, once shining brightly, now just a shadow of its former glow.

For some reason, this image made Noelle think of her dad, shut up in a hospital room coughing violently through his laughter, and her grip on the seam ripper unconsciously tightened.

"Don't stare at it all day, now," chuckled Seam, bringing her back down to earth. "We've got work to do."

She looked up blankly. They were picking out a few scraps of purple fabric. "After we stitch up the coat, I'll enchant it with some protection charms- what do you say?" They looked at her cheerfully. "Give her something she won't find anywhere else?"

"Why do you keep saying nothing matters?"

The words left Noelle's mouth without her telling them to. She mumbled the sentence, setting down the seam ripper on the counter and instinctively folding her arms across her chest- something she was wont to do when she was cold.

Seam frowned, a frown more sad than anything else, and Noelle could tell people didn't often call them out on their pessimism.

"You keep saying things like that. You say I'll 'understand when I'm older'. But what do you mean?" She decided they weren't going to answer unless she pressed them. "Why shouldn't anything matter? You've got a shop. You've got friends, right? And Kris and Susie are going to save the world. ...Why don't you care?"

Noelle's persistence was surprising even her- she wasn't usually the type to press people like this, especially adults. But she fixed them with as serious a look as she could manage and stared them down, her fingers clutching her forearms.

Seam's ears twitched, like Catti's did whenever she was thinking. The hole where their left eye should have been drooped into a thin slit. Nothing was happening, and Noelle felt, as she often did, that she had gone and done something very, very wrong. She could feel the panic rising in her. Amazing what a simple lull in the conversation could do to a girl's self-esteem.

"S-sorry," she said quickly, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I just-"

"Oh, that's enough, friend."

She looked up, terrified, but Seam was smiling again, perfectly unflappable in their perpetual amusement.

"Hee hee hee... you're quite spirited, aren't you? It's just a little bit amusing... I suppose you have a point."

Noelle responded slowly, warily. This cat was the most bewildering creature she had ever met.

"I just... I feel like giving up a lot of the time, too. M-my dad's..."

She swallowed thickly.

"My dad's sick- he's been in hospital for two weeks now. I- sometimes I worry-" She couldn't bring herself to finish that thought. "...But he's strong. I go to visit him every day, and every day, without fail, he's there with a smile in his face. He talks to me, and asks me about my day, and laughs- he starts coughing when he does but he still manages to laugh- and sometimes I'm so worried about him that I just think, what's the point?"

Noelle was speaking more fluently than she had in a long time- since she stood up to Queen in Cyber World. She was never much of a public speaker, but somehow, her voice seemed to come to her when she needed it. She extended an arm to Seam, praying they understood her.

"You know? But... but I know I have to keep going, cause it's what my dad wants. And he probably feels hopeless sometimes, too! Everyone does! Me, my dad, Susie, even Queen! But... we're all still here, aren't we?"

Seam watched her with a thoughtful look in their eyes, and finally spoke.

"That may be true. But when you've seen what I have, it's much harder to believe that's a good thing."

Noelle frowned harder. At this rate, she'd have wrinkles by age twenty.

"I think it's a good thing. That you're here. You're... really nice... and you're going to teach me to sew. If you weren't here, I'd probably be stuck giving Susie a demon skateboard... or a bitcrushed... love rap."

She attempted a lame smile to go with her little joke, and after a moment, to her immense relief, Seam laughed- not the calm chortle from before, but a sudden, hearty guffaw that made them look like a kitten!

"Hah hah hah! Queen's suggestions, I suppose?"

"Pfft..." Noelle was so pleasantly surprised at their reaction, she found herself laughing too. "Fahahahaha! Yeah, she said if I didn't find anything here, she'd help me compose it! I couldn't tell if she was joking or not!"

"Ah, Queen..." Seam wiped their eyes, calming down. "This world certainly has changed with her arrival. Well, then..."

They paused, opening and closing their mouth a couple times as if deciding what to say next, their brow cleared and their button-holes spinning as they thought.

"...Hm... Thank you for the wake-up call."

Their old grin returned, and once again all was right with the world.

"I have seen many things that no Darkner should see- it's all because of my old companion. My knowledge has made it hard for me to go on believing anything matters.

"But perhaps you're right... perhaps I should try and keep my head up... and find meaning in the walls of this old seap."

They looked around at the shelves, covered in the same few items over and over. Noelle realized with a tinge of sadness that their shop was about the most basic in Castle Town, and looked at them encouragingly.

"You could make money sewing things for people! You know, freelancing? My sister and I used to make hand-painted Christmas tree ornaments for our church's holiday functions."

Seam tilted their head slightly at her, and Noelle thought she felt the faint glow get just a little brighter.

"Make my own purpose... what an idea! Well, my dear- heh- girl, I won't be able to make a living out of sewing unless I get a move on with my current project."

They leaned the seam ripper against the wall and held up the assortment of fabrics they'd picked out for Susie's new jacket.

"Aren't you going to help pick out the colors? Once you're done, I'll teach you the basics- and then enchant the finished product to make it a REAL piece of armor."

Noelle beamed. "I can't wait."

Noelle Holiday, as stated before, was not a shopper, so it was perhaps fitting that Seam allowed her to take the finished product- a coat of purple and red and black held together with golden thread- free of charge. No, shopping didn't seem to be in the cards for Noelle. Perhaps that was better, anyway- it was a tired cliche, but she found that Susie's affectionate "tch" and sideways smile upon being presented with her new coat was something no money could ever buy.

#deltarune #seam deltarune #noelle holiday #they should interact in canon. toby fox fucking hire me

[venicebixch]

My Second Half part 4

nothing but cotton candy fluff. enjoy!

“Are you awake?” he asks.

Her eyes flutter open, quickly trying to adjust to the low lighting and she turns to look at him.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, rubbing the tired look from her face.

He walks into the room, closing the door behind him and makes his way into the bed with her, climbing under the covers. He sees her tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes and gently sighs, pulling her close to him.

His arms wrap around her and she rests her head on his chest, finding comfort in his warmth and the soft beating of his heart in his chest. Her sense of guilt from before returns and a lump forms in her throat as she tries to hold back her tears. 

She clears her throat before speaking with a cracking voice. “I’m so sorry for how I acted last night, Vin.” 

He hugs her a little tighter and kisses the top of her head. “It’s okay, I’m not upset about it.” 

“It’s not okay. You were just trying to help me and I was hateful,” she frowns. 

“I’m not upset about it,” he reassures her again. 

She looks up at him with furrowed brows wanting to protest his kindness and tell him that he shouldn’t be so forgiving of her anger and outbursts; that he should hold her to a higher standard, that he should judge her - but she’s met with his sweet gaze and a soft smile and before the words can leave her mouth, all her chaotic thoughts are silenced and she can’t feel anything but gratitude for his patience with her. 

“I love you,” she says, resting her head back against his chest. 

“I love you too, sweet girl.” 

They lay in silence for a little while as he gently rubs his hand up and down her back. The feeling is subtle but sends little waves of tingles through her body, relaxing her. Her eyes start getting heavy again and she quickly drifts off to sleep.

He remains awake, listening to her soft breathing and smiling at her occasional hums as she gets lost in her dreams. He thinks about what he should do for her when she wakes up. A day at the beach maybe? Get her out of the house, help get her mind off everything. Or maybe it would be best for them to stay home. Maybe he can make her breakfast in bed. 

He entertains his options while he stares at the ceiling watching the room get lighter with the sunrise. Soon he feels himself starting to get drowsy again. He fights it for a while, not wanting to fall asleep until he makes his decision but looking at her sleeping peacefully soothes him and he closes his eyes, finally falling asleep again.

—

A few hours later, she wakes up to an empty bed and a quiet house. She sits up, rubbing her eyes as she looks around, noticing that the bedroom door is cracked and she hears the sudden rattling of dishes coming from the kitchen. 

“Vinnie?” she says, just loud enough that he would hear her. 

From the kitchen Vinnie hears her and quickly finishes making her plate. “In the kitchen! Stay there, I’m bringing you breakfast.” 

She lays back again, laughing quietly and right away she notices that she’s feeling a lot better than she did earlier this morning and the last few days. 

Vinnie makes his way back into the bedroom and she sits up again, with her back against the headboard. “Breakfast in bed, huh?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he smiles. He sets her coffee down on the nightstand next to her and carefully hands her the plate. “It’s hot, so be careful.”

“It smells good,” she smiles, taking it from him. Her eyes scan the plate - biscuits and gravy, one of her favorites. She purses her lips, thinking to herself that she’s sure they didn’t have a can of biscuits and looks up at him. “Did you make these from scratch?” 

He smiles and nods his head, looking proud. “I did.” 

“Wow, I’m impressed,” she giggles. 

“The kitchen… is a damn mess. But it was worth it,” he chuckles. He looks down at her, noticing that she seems happier today and feels a sense of relief for it. “I’m gonna go get my plate. Is there anything else you need?”

She looks around and shakes her head no. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She sets the plate on her lap and takes a sip of her coffee, waiting for him before eating. The coffee is perfect, just how she likes it, and a wide and uncontrollable grin spreads across her face at the fact that he knows these small things about her - how she likes her coffee, her favorite breakfast. And the fact that he goes out of his way to do these things for her fills her with such an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and safety. She’s never had someone treat her the way he does. 

After a few moments, he shuffles back into the room with his own food and coffee and sits on the bed beside her, crossing his legs. He hands her a napkin and immediately starts to dig in. She watches him, still smiling as he takes a few large bites. 

Lost in the meal, he finally looks up at her and sees her smile, stopping mid bite. “What?” He asks with his brows drawn together. 

“Nothin’,” she laughs softly. “You’re just… cute. And precious, actually.”

His cheeks flush a little and he smiles. “Cute and precious?”

“Mhmm,” she nods. “And handsome, funny, brilliant, caring, kind... The absolute love of my life.” 

His smile widens and he bites his lower lip, trying to contain it. “The love of your life?” 

“Yes sir. A godsend, the apple of my eye, my second half. My soulmate… I love you to pieces.”

He sits there for a moment looking at her, unable to keep his smile at bay. “God, I’m gonna marry you one day.” 

She laughs, feeling almost euphoric at those words. She can already see the rest of her life with him playing out in her head. “When you’re ready, I’m ready. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”

#vinnie hacker #vincent hacker #vinnie #vinniehacker #vincenthacker #vinnie fanfic #vinnie x reader #vinniehackerfanfic #vinniehackerimagines

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 15

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warnings: mild violence

Series Premise: With two weeks until Liam is to marry Madeleine – his pick during the social season – the guys throw him a bachelor party in Vegas. After a drunken night, he finds himself with more than he bargained for.

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for the beta read.

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

Supposedly, the more a person suffered in the name of love, the more it showed they really cared. 

At least, that's what Riley thought. 

After nightfall of this particular evening -- when she least expected it -- she never realized how much truth that belief held. 

Or how much it would hurt to sacrifice the one person who made her believe she was worthy of love and saw who she really was on the inside.

Her dainty arm -- a delicate bronze in color, sleek, with a glittering red strap across one shoulder -- linked through the arm of the man she had grown to love more than life itself as they entered the palace ballroom. Working tirelessly over the last week to ensure everything went off without a hitch had taken its toll on her. All she could think about, as she shook hands and charmed dignitaries with a sparkle in those twinkling brown eyes, was how much sleep she planned to make up for after the ball ended.

This ball was to introduce the King and his new bride to the Cordonian court for the first time. A show of solidarity and, hopefully, strength. A way to establish that what happened in a tiny chapel 10,000 miles away weeks ago between two strangers wasn't a careless mistake, and that she could handle the duties bestowed on her as a common American woman. 

Or at least pretend she could for now.

However, for the King and the "Jewel of His Heart" whom he escorted through the curious crowd of pretentious naysayers in extravagant gowns and tuxes, with their fake smiles and tedious posturing ...

It was nothing less than fate. 

Riley was the key that unlocked that safe space deep inside Liam's heart that had been sheltered for so long, waiting for the perfect person to come along and open it. This was the place where he kept his most sacred feelings: a genuine love, never-ending laughter, joy, romance, ecstasy, and every dream he ever held for the future -- one he presumed would never exist in any form he longed for. 

But she didn't just unlock it. Riley shattered it wide open, where everything came flooding out at once and consumed him like a raging wildfire. 

And it was the most remarkable, intoxicating experience of his life. 

Liam showed her off all evening as they mingled during their rounds, danced, and conversed with the variance of nobility. She was the sexiest woman in that room, and he'd dare say the looks of envy shot in his direction from high-class men as he proudly cavorted her around didn't bother him in the least. Not that that was her only quality -- far from it. There were so many things about Riley that were special. But he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride that she was all his.

And without question, he was all hers.

Seated at the head table, Riley swallowed a morsel of the veal medallion she wanted to be served for this occasion. When given a choice between fish and lamb, the fish never stood a chance. The memory of that smelly, god-awful lunch with Regina three weeks ago was not something her palate had forgiven her for yet. As wonderful and savory as this extravagant meal, covered in a light brown mushroom sauce and served with a side of broccoli rabe, was, it couldn't hold a candle to what she craved the most: a slice of white pizza from Carmine's back in Brooklyn.

Or a slab or two of the New Yorker.

With maybe some cheesecake.

Covered in chocolate.

And a sausage rice ball. A Frito pie smothered with sour cream. Definitely a rainbow bagel from The Bagel Store. Barbecue ribs and beans from the mom-and-pop diner hidden just off the strip in Vegas. 

Of course, her grandma’s country fried steak with white gravy sounded delicious too.

For sure, a fried Twinkie like the one she ate at the New York State Fair in 2013. 

"You've outdone yourself, sweetheart," Liam marveled while wiping at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "The meal was delicious, and our guests appear to be enjoying themselves." The others seated at the table looked up, adding their compliments.

Still dreaming about a fat slice of New York-style pizza, Riley smiled graciously back at him, until she noticed the server refilling Liam’s glass with merlot, causing her to do a double-take. 

Hot tears pooled in her eyes, and a heavy feeling of sadness swelled in her chest as she panicked. "I asked for the Pinot Noir. Not the merlot,” she rasped meekly. “You don't like merlot, Liam. And the Pinot Noir was from the 'C' place where Duke Hakim lives. He'll be so disappointed and think I'm slighting his duchy. They’ll all hate me forever and ... wait a minute." She trailed off as a realization hit her, and Riley quickly glanced down at her plate before scanning each of the dishes from those seated around her.

The anxiety intensified; she could no longer suppress the heartbroken sob that wailed out of her. "Where are all the potatoes? We were supposed to have the potatoes, Liam. They didn’t serve the potatoes. Now the whole night is completely ruined, and it’s all my fault. I'm such a failure as a queen, and you should just send me to the dungeon now and throw away the key. I apologize to all of you for my incompetence and the lack of potatoes with your meal." Riley’s red-hot face, full of tears, plunged into the palms of her hands, then quickly sprung back up as Liam hesitantly tried to place a hand on her shoulder. A strong urge to use the restroom ended her crying spell as if it never happened. “Oh, oh. I gotta pee so bad. I’ll be right back.” She gave a warm smile and excused herself as she pushed her chair back and scurried merrily toward the nearest restroom.

Liam, Regina, Leo, Maxwell, and Olivia watched with confusion as she happily took off, not knowing what to say or what to make of the sudden shift in her moods.

“What the hell was that?” Olivia scowled, her eyes fixed on Liam.

“Is she all right, dear?” a concerned Regina asked.

Liam scratched the back of his head, nearly at a loss for words. “I ... I don’t know. I’ve never seen her that upset … especially over potatoes.” He paused in thought. “She was a little on edge this morning. Still, she’s been working a lot on the preparations and everything else going on. It must have gotten to her.”

Maxwell shrugged. “Maybe she just finally snapped.” 

Leo shook his head, swallowing a forkful of beef. “Or maybe she has the premenstrual syndrome.”

“Leo!” The group admonished.

“What?” Leo bit back, taking in each of their disappointed glares. “Don’t act like it’s not true. Trust me, when I have cramps and bloating, I can go from a happy little Leo to a Bertrand, just like that.” He snapped his fingers, following it up with a frown. “It ain’t pretty, you all.”

Maxwell looked across the table at Liam and agreed, “He has a point.”

Wanting to shed his skin and slither away, Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not discuss something so personal and private, especially while several hundred people are dining around us?”

“I’m just saying, little brother, that you need to be understanding and gentle during this special time of your wife’s 'lady business.' You should speak softly and slowly to her because Shark Week messes with a girl's mind, man. Their brains short-circuit, and there’s nothing left up there but a couple of crickets and man-eating rattlesnakes. One second, you think she’s fine, but if you’re not careful, in the next second, you’ll find yourself with two venomous fangs rattling from your nut sack, dude. She will tear you apart and spit you out like a rabid dog. You can make it through these next few days, but only if you take my advice.”

“That is the single dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Olivia spat, boring her eyes into him. “And you’ve said a lot.” She turned to Liam, whose face was slightly pale and void of expression. “Don’t listen to his sexist drivel. Why you haven’t declared him insane yet is beyond me. You should have sent him away with that filthy hairball to Valtoria you had caged earlier.”

“IT WAS MONGO!” Leo erupted, causing the dishes on the table to clatter as he jumped to his feet and hovered over the redhead. Every head in the ballroom whipped around to see what was happening, and a deafening silence filled throughout. Even the orchestra stopped playing their classical tune.

A wide-eyed Regina smiled sheepishly as she glanced out at the quiet audience who were waiting to see what all the fuss was about. She thought fast before calling out, “We were just playing a little game of … 'It was Mongo.'” The former queen snatched Maxwell’s Sunset Rum punch from his hand, thrusting the drink up at her stepson, towering beside her, and instructed in a grandmotherly tone, “Be a good lad, Leo. You lost this round. It's time to chug-a-lug, my boy.” With his face burning, Liam slid down in his seat.

“Ooooo, I wanna go next.” Maxwell bounced excitedly while the guests resumed the festivities. "How do we play?"

“I think I want to go, too,” Liam replied, straightening back up before hurling his napkin on the table. “I’m going to go find Riley.”

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

Riley exited the ladies' room, clutch in hand and a fresh dab of clear gloss gleaming on her pink lips. She stopped walking just as the door closed behind her and smiled with a look of surprise at seeing Liam leaning against the opposite wall. "What are you doing out here?"

He pushed himself off the wall, closing the distance between them and meeting her in the middle of the empty corridor. They wrapped their arms around each other, indulging in the warmth of their lovers' embrace. "Would you believe me if I told you I just missed you?" he answered, placing a tender kiss on her lips that skimmed lower to her jawline. 

"I missed you, too," she moaned with each gentle pressure of his seductive lips, suckling and nibbling along the spot that trailed behind her ear that he knew drove her crazy. "But something tells me that's not the only reason you left the ballroom."

Their gazes met simultaneously. "Leo."

Riley chuckled softly. "Do I even want to know?"

Liam sighed, smoothing back a loose hair behind her ear. "You know my brother and his wonderful words of wisdom." There was no way in hell he would tell her what they really discussed after she left; he could only imagine her embarrassment. "Everyone was just a little worried about you, that's all."

"I didn't mean to scare everyone. I just wanted tonight to be perfect. Instead, so many things went wrong. I can only assume what the court thinks about me now." She lowered her gaze to the red carpeting where they stood. "I let you down."

"I don't want to ever hear you say that again. Riley, sweetheart, you can never let me down. Do you understand that?" Liam lifted her chin; her tentative eyes stared back at him for a moment before nodding. "Good. And just so you know, our guest are used to bombings, stabbings, kidnappings, shootings, and terror plots at most of my palace events --"

"Wait. What?"

" -- I assure you, just the fact alone, that none of that took place tonight, and they're all going to leave here soon -- alive -- will be huge for them. Not having potatoes with the meal or the right wine was the least of their worries. They will consider this night a success. And a testament to their new queen. You should, too. I'm so very proud of you."

"I have so many questions about everything you just said."

Liam smiled, caressing Riley's petal-soft cheeks and lowering his head to kiss her again. "All in due time, my love.”

Riley let out a deep, drawn-out yawn she lightly covered with her palm before stretching and rolling her neck. A couple of weeks' worth of planning and endless decisions had left heavy tension in her shoulders and overwhelming exhaustion like nothing she'd felt before. None of it went unnoticed by Liam, who placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly kneaded the taut muscles. 

"What do you say about heading back to our quarters, taking off all of your clothes, and I'll be up soon to massage this gorgeous body from head to toe? And hopefully, when I'm through, you'll massage parts of me, too … with any part of your body that you'd like." His lips curved into an inviting smile.

"Mmm, that's tempting," she purred, rubbing her hands over his ample chest. "But I can't just leave. It's the Queen's Ball. Without me, it's just ... The Ball." She chuckled, despite herself.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little panties over the ball. Just go upstairs and take them off. I’ll handle everything down here. Then … “ He squatted down to her eye level. “ … I’ll handle you.”

Her heart fluttered every time Liam spoke to her that way. The way he desired only her. She bit the corner of her lip teasingly. “I love you so much.”

Liam smiled. “You better. You’ve got one hell of a husband. I’d even venture to say you’re the luckiest woman on the whole damn planet right now.” Before Riley could respond to his jest, he put both of his hands on her cheeks to hold her head still and began placing playful, wet smooches all over her face, causing her to laugh riotously. After a few seconds of her squirming around and cackling at his antics, he paused to look at her. “You know I love you, too. Now go on up. I’ll be right behind you soon.” 

With a pat to her backside, they went their separate ways.

---------

Liam returned to the ballroom, having offered to finish what little time was left without her. He would offer his apologies for her absence, but in reality, the King couldn’t have cared less what anyone there thought. Since his bachelor party weeks ago, he had grown from a man who had no choices to one who made his own. His marriage and relationship with Riley came first. Her wellbeing was the main priority -- to hell with anyone who had a problem with that.

As Riley placed a hand on the elegant wooden handrail of the grand staircase and took the first step up, her thoughts meandered to where she had been in her life one month ago and how vastly it had changed in such a short time. For the first time in years, she was happy, and it felt so good to be in that place where she could finally let go of the past and move on. Liam was a game-changer, and she was thoroughly convinced he was the only person on the planet who could have gotten her out of her own head and to this level of blissful existence.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she reached into her clutch to pull out the key card to her quarters, exhaustion slowing her strides. Shuffling past a row of closed office doors and framed artwork, she made her way to the residential wing. 

The squeak of a door behind her and the click of heels drew her attention, causing her to stop and turn to see who was there. 

The color drained from her face as Madeleine casually stepped out, her hands behind her back and a devious, unsettling grin cemented on her face. 

It wasn't the fear that made Riley's heart pound with a sickening thud, but more shock than anything. No one had seen or spoken to the Countess since the confrontation in Las Vegas when she showed up unexpectedly after finding out Liam had married Riley the night prior. 

Now, suddenly, there she was, as if out of nowhere, a gleam in her eye, looking all too pleased to have this run-in with Riley.

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" Riley scoffed, taking one step back the closer Madeleine approached. "What are you even doing here?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about," she answered contemptuously. Her green eyes drifted to one of the cameras mantled at each end of the hallway. Riley placed a shaky hand over her stomach, letting out a low, relieved breath, hoping that was the truth. "Not physically, anyway."

"Well, that sounds promising," Riley replied sardonically. "Now, if you don't mind ..." She turned away, wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation and make it back to her quarters. 

Madeleine reached out and grabbed the Queen by her elbow, pulling her back and harshly twisting her around so they were now face-to-face. "You're not going anywhere until I'm through with you," she hissed with an icy glare. "I told you I would make you regret what you've done."

Riley jerked her arm, trying to free herself. "Let go of my arm, Madeleine!" 

"Not until you hear what I have to say."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say! Now LET ME GO!" Riley hoped someone heard her yell or at least witnessed what was happening on the camera. Where the hell is security?

While continuing to struggle to free herself, she reached up with her free hand in an attempt to pry off Madeleine's bony fingers that were squeezing tight grooves around her elbow, her manicured nails digging deeper into Riley's skin. "You're hurting me. I said to let me go."

"Very well, then." The woman, who had twice lost her chance at the crown, released her firm grasp, knowing that the momentum would cause Riley to stumble back as soon as she let go. 

Just as predicted, Riley planted a foot behind her for leverage before drawing her arm back as hard as she could, one last time. Her eyes grew wide, and she let out a sharp gasp that sounded well down the corridor. Riley sailed backward, tripping over herself and toppling to the ground. She finally landed with a hard blow on her backside, the rear of her head just inches from slamming to the floor.

A shockwave of pain coursed up Riley's spine from hitting so abruptly. Before she had a chance to respond or process what happened, Madeleine crouched down beside her, holding a DVD up and gaining Riley's attention. 

The pain had morphed into a throbbing ache that was soon forgotten as the Queen stared quizzically at the object displayed in front of her like a grand prize. 

"What is that?" her voice trembled.

"It's my ace in the hole," Madeleine stated, then wagged a finger. "Someone used to be a very naughty girl." 

Furrowing her brows, Riley responded. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know precisely what I mean, but just in case, please allow me to refresh your memory," Madeleine smirked before rising to her feet and prancing around as if she were having the time of her life. "I did a little digging after my brief visit to Las Vegas and came across a man who knew you very, very well at one time. I made some calls. We exchanged e-mails, a transfer of money or two. And he was all too eager to accept my offer of payment for any dirt he could give me on you."

There was no point in asking "who" -- she already knew; the thought made her nauseous. Riley closed her eyes and muttered. "Tyler?"

"Yes," Madeleine beamed, " Your ex-husband. He had a lot to say about you."

"I'm sure he did. Does it even matter to you that he's a liar and a cheat -- not to mention greedy? He would make up anything if he thought he could profit off of it."

"Oh, it matters. Personally, I don't believe a damn thing he had to say. Honestly, Riley ... even someone like you could have done better than that slime."

Riley cringed in pain as she pushed herself off the floor and turned to her oppressor. "Just get to the point, Madeleine. Clearly, he gave you something you thought was valuable enough to use against me, so just spit it already."

Madeleine smiled, "How very astute of you. You're correct. He did." She held up the disc as Riley regarded it suspiciously. "On this disk are several hours of the two of you ... together. Very graphic, if I do say so myself." Riley's jaw dropped upon hearing those words as Madeleine continued, "Now don't worry. I only watched it long enough to make sure the video was legit --"

"Give me that!" Riley reached out to snatch the DVD, but Madeleine pulled it away just out of her grasp. A burning sensation filled inside her chest and spread across her face. "You're lying. I never made videos like that."

"Oh, I think you did," the blonde countered with a mirthful tone. "You just didn't know about it. Your ex admitted as much to me ... an asshole move, for sure. But nonetheless, I purchased the copy from him for a hefty sum. And ... well ... here we are now. You're more than welcome to take this disc and see for yourself; I have it downloaded as a backup, knowing you'd want proof."

At that moment, all Riley wanted was for Liam to walk down that corridor where she now stood, pick her up in his arms, whisk her away to safety, and tell her it was all a bad dream. Not that she did anything wrong -- she was married at one time to the man, presumably on the video, and would have been a consenting adult. 

No, it was the fact that Tyler Brooks had taken intimate videos with her during their marriage, without her knowledge. Now Madeleine had possession of them.

God only knew what she planned to do with them, but Riley had a pretty good idea. "What do you want?" she whispered in defeat, afraid to hear the answer.

Madeleine grinned from ear-to-ear. "For you to leave Cordonia tonight and never return, or I release everything to the press."

Riley shook her head. "No. As much as I don't want anyone to see that video, I did nothing wrong, and I won't be blackmailed or intimidated by you so that you can get your grubby little paws on the crown."

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question so much as a remark meant to convey who was in control. 

Maintaining her position, Riley raised a brow, refusing to give in.

Madeleine was far from giving up, though; she had manipulation in her blood. "Very well, then. I'll release the video in the morning. It should be interesting to see how the world reacts to yet another scandal by this monarchy. Their Queen plastered all over the internet again, except this time, uploaded on every porn site on the web. 

"The news will run the story with your blurred-out silhouette in the background. Your father will see it, and his business will become a target.: Your friends. Family. Students. They'll all be inundated with your sexual proclivities. But the worst part will be the tribunal. The council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of queen on some American nobody, but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame that he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Do you genuinely believe you're worth all the trouble it will cause him?"

Riley froze. She knew Madeleine was taunting her with the people she cared about the most. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass each of them. But to possibly cause Liam to lose his legacy, his birthright, and the rulership of a country he loved so much? It was something she couldn't shake. 

Staring blankly, twisting the bands of gold that belonged to Liam's mother, she couldn't get the question Madeleine just asked out of her mind: Did Riley believe she was worth the trouble it would cost him? 

Nothing was damning on that video, aside from the fact that she never knew it existed. But she already had so much to prove; another video in the press' hand would tarnish Liam. Maybe the Countess of Fydelia was right: He would lose it all.

"Time is ticking," Madeleine reminded Riley as she tapped her watch. "What's it going to be?"

----------

@burnsoslow​ @dcbbw​ @ao719​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @jessiembruno​ @texaskitten30​ @janezillow​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog​ @mskaneko @callmeellabella​ @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @caroldxnvxrs​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @bebepac​ @kingliam2019​ @lovablegranny​ @cordoniaqueensworld​ @amandablink​ @liamxs-world​ @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography​ @txemrn​ @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren​ @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @princessleac1​ @kimmiedoo5​ @graceful-leah​ @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin​ @gkittylove99​ @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @neotericthemis​ @pink-diamond13​ @walker7519 @natureblooms24​ @yourmajesty09​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801​ @debmcg1106

Liam x MC: Cordonia-gothqueen

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​​

#liam x mc #liam x riley #prince liam #king liam #the royal romance #trr #choices liam x mc #Fools Rush In #bbrandy2002

[leggomylino]

Roses Are Red | Bang Chan

Genre: fluff, a little (ridiculous) drama, and a whole lot of crack

Pairing: Bang Chan x princess!reader

Au: royal / fantasy au

Word Count: ~11.2k

Warning(s): some censored language…?, author rambling on and on, some underdeveloped plot what can I say this is mostly for laughs and giggles

Summary: Royal Gardener Christopher Bang only ever wanted to make music all his life, but being orphaned due to a senseless war against the Fire Nation left him at the hands of the kingdom to decide his fate. When tending to some of the many royal roses one day, he happened upon the kingdom’s princess, Y/n, and love at first sight was quite the understatement. However, what they are both unaware of is that she may already be betrothed to another…

A/n: Requested by @hanniiesuckle17​ | Masterlist linked down below and in bio!!!

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17​ / @distrikt9​ / @hanstagrams​ / @hyunsunq​ / @smolboiseavey​ / @jisungsjheekies​ / @iluvlix​ / @straycozy​ / @stay-nctzen​ (Let me know if you’d like to be added! Comment, ask, or DM me! <3)

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

Howdy y’all

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything in this format…

I know many of you are still waiting for me to finish light switch and let me tell you it IS still...under construction ._.”

I can’t stay loyal to one story at a time and life gets hectic ya dig?

...But I promise that EVENTUALLY MAYBE SOMETIME SOON I’ll get around to carving the second half of it

N E way let’s get this ball rolling! ->

So once upon a time in a far away land…

...Did you just roll your eyes or yawn? >:(( Don’t do that this is totally exciting

Okay so once upon a time in a far away land

There was a princess named Y/n <3 yes, that would be you, sis

She was the cream of the crop, the bees knees, the peanut butter to everyone’s jelly

...Well maybe like 90% of the jelly

There’s always gonna be haters or skeptics nothing we can do about that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway you were basically loved by almost everyone in the kingdom, for your kindness, hospitality, forthcomingness, honesty, bravery, generosity, and sophistication

Also, you were quite beautiful <3 like now teehee

But there was only one problem

Besides the fact that 10% of the jelly jar had peanut butter lodged in their brain

And that was that your father, the king, refused to let you go outside. Like ever. The only time you saw the sun and felt the wind through your hair was from your highest-Rapunzel-tower window, during required festival appearances or during emergency evacuations because THE FIRE NATION WAS ATTACKING!!!! 🔥 (╯°□°)╯🔥🔥🔥

This, however, rarely happened...er, maybe just once, but it was a false alarm because your half-brother Felix had stayed up too late playing video games (YES there is technology in this medieval au sorry not sorry) and he was just...seeing things

He’d been really stressed because his mother, your actually kind and not at all wicked stepmother, had been lowkey pressuring him to find a lovely princess consort or young fletching maiden

He didn’t necessarily have a problem with that, except for the fact that the whole thing was a huge problem that was stressing him out...marriage??? What was that again??? He kinda just wanted to run around the forest practicing archery with his friends, Dark Knight Changbin and Court Jester Jisung (read: pizza and video games)

BUT THIS WASN’T ABOUT HIM, THIS STORY IS ABOUT YOU (ง'̀-'́)ง

...Which is what I was getting at

You see

Felix was a great brother regardless of his mistake of screaming about a false Fire Nation attack and throwing you out of bed at 4 am

Besides being fun and great support/company, he also had this...friend...

A boy named Christopher Bang (♥‿♥)

He often went by Bang Chan tho, and he was ALSO your kingdom’s royal gardener

You know this because you often enjoyed watching him tend to the roses outside your tower, and occasionally would hide in the closet when you were SUPPOSED to be at violin lessons but instead dressed Felix up as your stunt double to spy while Chan watered and changed out the soil of the daffodils in your room

Daffodils were your favorite flower next to tulips and cherry blossoms and sunflowers

And 

Almost every other flower in existence that Chan had anything to do with (♥‿♥)

...What could you say, you were hopelessly in love

But he didn’t know that

And the odd thing was

He felt the very same way about you

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

Can we finally get to some real-time story now?

Okay well

Channie’s pov now here y’all

Bang Chan had been the castle gardener for what felt like eons

His parents had disappeared to fight in the war with the Fire Nation and never came back…

:(((

So from a young age, before he was old enough to count, his mom and dad entrusted him to kingdom’s orphanage with care

The local nuns raised him well, and blessed him many times over

He grew up with two best friends there -> a shy boy named Han Jisung and a more confident one named Seo Changbin

The three of them were transferred to work under the kingdom after the local coming-of-age ceremony given to all children when they turn 15

And I totally didn’t steal half of that from an anime or anything...well, just a bit; 25%

So the three of them were whisked off to be given roles of their own to fulfill in order to contribute to society

Changbin was given the title of Dark Knight for his bravery and supreme combat skills

Jisung was awarded the title of Court Jester due to the fact he always made everyone laugh, despite his naturally shy and more introverted demeanor

And Bang Chan, as he preferred to be called, was granted the title of gardener...because...well, they actually denied his musician application, believe it or not

Now, before you get mad

I KNOW, RIGHT?!?!

ARE THESE GUYS FOOLS OR SOMETHING???

WHO WOULD DENY SUCH A TALENTED--

...Well, they were ignorant buffoons, unfortunately (｡•́︿•̀｡)

So he was forever stuck as a royal gardener because, he worked hard, the court knew it, and their predecessor gardener at the time was kidnapped by the Fire Nation

No one knows why and it’s not important (sorry random garden dude)

He’s okay though...we think

Anyway

So Bang Chan fit the role

And now at 23, to this day he still fit the role

It was the same mundane routine every day

W a t e r  t h e  p l a n t s

C u t  t h e  v e g e t a b l e s

S n i p  t h e  t h o r n s

T r i m  t h e  v i n e s 

C h a n g e  t h e  s o i l

U G H ! ! !

It got to be downright tedious and vexing repeating the same routine like a Zombie by Day6

Which is the song he often hummed with a lull in his eyes as he w a t e r e d and c u t and s n i p p e d and t r i m m e d

And c h a n g e d eua;bhuisahfvirs WAIT A SECOND

(Oh, we’re backing up to age 16 for a sec)

He’s outside the tallest tower s n i p p i n g the thorns on another rose bush when

He looks up to see what time of day it is and stretch his aching back

And he sees

Up in the window

A g i r l ? ? ?

……

Who is she

She’s GORGEOUS

WOW

HE HAS TO SQUINT BUT HE’S STILL GOT 20/20 VISION AND HE KNOWS A CUTE GIRL WHEN HE SEES ONE

HE’S GOT TEENAGE BOY RADAR

Wowza

She’s h o t 🥵🥵

Like the sun beating down on his face right now

Hot hot

Bruuuuuuuuuuuh--

OUCH! The thorns…

He can’t be getting lost in the waking daydream glancing out her window above him, he’s got a job to do

Flashforward to a few days later, when he makes an excuse to go back to Tower C and tend to the roses that don’t need tending to

She’s not there :((

Darn

He looks left and right before burying himself into the bushes so he can wait and see if she shows up

But this poor boy is so overworked that he falls asleep

Poor guy needed a nap anyway 😔😔

He’s having a peaceful dreamless sleep when a song enters his mind

It’s actually a song he wrote, when he applied to be a castle musician

He wakes to hearing the song above him

The sweet, sweet melody just wafting daintily through the air

It’s coming from somewhere above him

...But he’s snagged in the thorn bush and can’t get out 🗿💧

O o p s 

Rip

Maybe the bushes did need some work after all--

By the time he rips himself out and basically lost half of his shirt in the process, the song is almost over, coming to a soft decrescendo into a gentle pianissimo

That’s fancy music talk for slowly growing softer and more quiet and ending with a soft, maybe slightly breathy tone

Thankfully it’s cloudy that day so he doesn’t have to squint this time

And BOY IS HE GLAD ABOUT THAT BECAUSE GOOD GRAVY

IT’S HER AGAIN

THE LOVELY MAIDEN HE SAW TWO DAYS AGO

WHO IS SHE?!?!

“Oh, that’s Princess Y/n.”

JISUNG?!?! WHERE DID YOU COME FROM

Boy deadass just pops out of a rose bush like a weasel 🗿💧 what the what

His court jester hat has a few loose thorns in it, and it’s fallen askew to cover half of his face

“...That’s Princess Y/n?” Chan askes, totally in awe

You have such a lovely voice

And he’s bewildered as to how you know his song, seeing as it was a confidential piece he only played for a private group of royals once when auditioning

Jisung just nods, fixing his hat only to have a few of the bells bounce around and whop him in the face

One jingled all the way right into his eye…

But he carries on unaffected; must be used to it <_<

“Yeah, her dad is a total overbearing crazy-protective psycho. ...Well, maybe not psycho, but...he’s crazy protective of his daughter. He’s scared if she takes one step outside, some Fire Nation goon is gonna come popping out of a bush like Team Rocket in almost every old school pokemon episode and kidnap her like Pikachu.”

“...I thought Pikachu always got away.”

“...Oh yeah. 🤔 Bad example then.”

“You are a bad example.”

“Oh yeah?! Well you’re...a good example!”

“...Jisung that was a compliment. And thank you.”

“.........”

...Moving on

“What can you tell me about her?”

“OOOOOOO...Why? You got a crush on her, bro?”

“...I’m just...curious why the king would wanna keep her locked away in a tower like a Christian Anderson tale.”

Jisung sighs and places his hands on his hips like a lecturing mother. “Are you serious? I just told you, His Majesty is crazy overprotective of his only daughter...also, wouldn’t you wanna keep a beauty like that locked away if she were your daughter???”

Chan gives him a disgusted look. “No? Because I’m not an insecure psychopath?? Everyone deserves to be happy and free…” He glances up to the tower. “That can’t be healthy being held prisoner in a giant dungeon like that.”

“True, true...I’d still keep her locked away, though.”

“Jisung!!! Seriously?!”

“WHAT?” (ง'̀-'́)ง “I KNOW HOW TEENAGE BOYS ARE!!! THEY’RE GONNA CATCH THESE HANDS BEFORE I LET ONE OF THEIR GRUBBY LITTLE--”

Chan clamps his hand over his friend’s mouth. “I’m gonna stop you right there. Goodbye, Jisung.”

He looks at you one last time, marveling at your beauty with a hint of pity in his eyes before walking away

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

You hadn’t noticed that day, seven years ago, being too lost in a daydream over whether you wanted tea or a nice iced latte with your lunch...despite how loud they were being

It was one of the few enjoyments of your day

One the few things you got to look forward to: choosing what to have for a meal

Choosing what to wear that was within your parent’s standards

Choosing whether you wanted to wile away the hours reading a book or watching Royal TV or scribbling some poorly drawn comics of what your life COULD be like were you NOT a princess with an overbearing father…

S i g h

You’re hanging upside down on your giant canopy bed in a very unladylike fashion when Felix enters the room. You must have not heard him knock, and he’s like

😳😳💧

To which you “oop-” and quickly throw yourself over in an upright position

“...Sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine.” He laughs a bit and closes the door behind him. “So, whatcha up to?”

“......”

Did he have to ask you that? The question sort of burned. What were you supposed to do??? “Just...chillin.”

“Like a villain?”

“In the...millen.”

He laughed at your attempt to carry out the rhyme. “What’s a millen?”

You shrugged. He sat down at the dining table you normally ate at, crossing his feet over the table. “Well, I’ll do you one better. I came to ask if you’d like to accompany me to--”

“WHERE?!?!?!”

\(ಠAಠ)/

You’re right there in his face, shaking his shoulders before he can get another word out.

Felix, wanting to take you OUT OF THE PALACE?!??!?!?!?

THAT WAS HUGE

THIS WAS HUGE

OMGRAVY WHAT WOULD YOU WEAR?!

YOU DIDN’T EVEN CARE WHERE YOU WERE GOING, JUST THE FACT THAT YOU WERE GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE WAS ENOUGH

...You should still probably let him finish, though

Felix (@-@) <- was dizzy for a moment, but once he got his head back on straight, he explained that he’d ask your father if the two of you could go shopping together-- just for a few hours

Felix was the sweetest brother ;-; the sweetest BOY ಥ_ಥ

You were going to have so much fun browsing the shops that you’d only ever read about in novels and seen on TV

The two of you would get popcorn and ice cream and feed the pigeons and do rain dances around the park fountain

And you’d come back with so many souvenirs and nostalgic timepieces from your little journey (╥﹏╥)

It was going to be the BEST. DAY. EVER!

*insert that Spongebob episode here*

……

Or not

Because

Shortly after the two of you skipped hand-in-hand like Hansel and Gretel down to the Royal Throne room

Your father gave the two of you a big fat N O

Jerk…

His booming voice declared, “NO BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF MINE WILL BE SEEN BILLOWING ABOUT THE CITY STREETS!!! That’s like asking to be kidnapped and used as a means of war!!!”

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUASDFGHJKL;;SVBU;IABV;SIFABVIFARHVS

HE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING BUT WAR AND TAXES!!! IT WAS SO ANNOYING!!!

So, the two of you are forced back to your room alone…

And Felix comforts you and apologizes a thousand times over, words that should coming out of your father’s mouth instead

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

~LATER THAT DAY~

Well, it’s more like evening now

The sun is setting comfortably over the horizon

And Felix has just returned from his shopping trip without you 😔😔

Now before you get angry and call him a traitor, he actually had a fit and refused to go

He even came close to knocking over a table

But that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly and his mother was present

It was his mother that insisted he had to go in order to make a required public appearance for the kingdom and “hopefully find a lady that spotted his fancy” or whatever

Yeah, Felix rolled his eyes too

But he had no choice ://

If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t enjoy himself at all

He spent the whole time thinking about you and looking wistfully at the palace in the distance, to the tower you were most likely glaring wistfully back from

He was now tromping tired princely feet up the winding steps to at least give you a nice gift he’d brought back for you, and some flowers he’d gotten from a recently opened flower shop called Christopher’s Garden

A very nice not-yet-elderly couple ran the shop in honor of their lost son, who they hadn’t heard from since they returned from war

The story was quite sad and bittersweet

……

Shhh we’ll get there later it’s called foreshadowing（∩‿∩）

He’s about three-quarters of the way there when he’s suddenly ambushed by-- you guessed it-- Team Rocket!1!1

Jk it’s Jisung and Changbin

They’re the new Jessie and James of this story except they’re actually good

“Felix!!!”

“SH*T!!!”

Oop

They nearly gave him a heart attack!!! >A<

He almost beats them with the flowers, too, until he remembers last minute they’re for you

“WHAT DO YOU WANT NEVER DO THAT AGAIN”

“I CAN’T MAKE ANY PROMISES BUT WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING”

“WHAT IS IT”

Changbin sighs in his heavy, overzealous knightly gear. “Maybe the two of you can keep it down before you wake the princess?”

Felix shrugs. “Eh, Y/n is always up at this hour. She’s actually a night owl, but don’t tell the king that. Or her teachers.”

Bin smirks. “Noted--”

<_<

Felix has to smack him, which is a hard two second decision but you’re his sister and family comes first 😔😔 But he makes it up by giving Bin a flower, which he awkwardly accepts

“So what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Jisung nods his jingle bell hat all over the place like a bobblehead. “Yeah, okay, so-- check this out!”

He jumps a few steps ahead so he can have room to put on a one-man show. Changbin groans and crosses his arms, while Felix eyes him curiously

“I have this friend, right? Well, we do, actually! Me and Changbin!”

The Dark Knight tilts his head. “You mean Chan?”

“YEA-- I mean, yeah!” He starts bouncing around, mining walking around the garden surrounding the palace walls. “So...I never told you this, but a few years ago...more like seven, I was going for a walk when I spotted him outside the princess’ tower! And I stopped and went ten-thousand stealth mode!”

He mimes diving into the bushes. Changbin rolls his eyes.

“He’d totally fallen asleep in the rose bushes, so I--”

“Could you maybe not talk like you’re twelve?”

“......”

Before the two can start quarreling like a couple of twelve year olds, Felix takes on a responsible air, stepping between them

“Hang on...your friend? Was loitering outside my sister’s room?”

Jisung pops his head over Changbin, which really isn’t that hard. “Yeah, he’s the royal gardener! But like, I don’t think the roses needed tending to that day...and after I revealed myself, he was asking a LOT-- well a few...questions about her. Hint hint, my boy’s in love.”

“Love?”

“Love, bro. Like the real sappy stuff.”

“...Love.”

“...Yes.”

“Your friend. Is in love with my sister.”

“...That would be what I just told you, yes.”

“...Wait. Chan as in, Bang Chan? ...OUR friend Chan?!”

“That’s him!”

“Okay okay hold on,” Changbin waves his arms through the air. “Love is a strong word...and this is Chan we’re talking about. He loves just about everybody. He’s nice and empathetic to everyone. Just last week I had to turn away two maids and a palace chef who’d gotten the same mixed signals.”

Jisung shrugs. “Yeah, well…”

“Also this was seven years ago?!”

“...Yeah…”

Changbin deadpans. “So you got me all hyped about jumping Felix for some love story that probably isn’t even real. Seven years is a long time, Jisung. He may have forgotten about her already-- NOT THAT SHE’S SOMEONE TO BE FORGOTTEN.”

He had to finish that last sentence real quick from the look Felix was giving him. The boy sighs, shifting his gifts into one arm so he can run a small hand through his wind-blown hair. “...This is kind of crazy Jisung, even for you. Why are you bringing this up now of all times?”

“...Well…”

👉👈

“I overheard a royal meeting I shouldn’t have about an hour ago...and your dad was talking about having Y/n engaged.”

“What?!?”

“To the Fire Nation king.”

“WHAT?!?!”

“People often refer to him as Zuko, for reasons unknown, but his real name is Minho.”

“.........”

With fever and a newfound energy, Felix tries bursting up the steps to your room. But unfortunately, Team Rocket stops him.

“MOVE! I have to talk to Y/n about this!!!”

“Hang on! The whole reason I brought up my homeboy in the first place was to maybe stop this suspiciously dangerous and shady deal! If Y/n has already fallen in love with someone else, maybe the king will have a change of heart!!!”

Felix groans, glaring harshly in a manner that isn’t really like him. “Han, her father keeps her locked away in a plush-tailored dungeon and refuses to let her go outside, not even on a short shopping trip with her own brother. He doesn’t want her to be seen, and he certainly doesn’t want her falling in love.”

“Well--!” Han balls his hands into fists. “I WAS TRYING OKAY?! I LIKE Y/N TOO, SHE’S A TIMEPIECE GAL WHEN I’M ACTUALLY ALLOWED TO BE WITHIN TEN FEET OF HER!!!”

“Dang…” Changbin groans. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to ask her out this weekend?”

“......” “......”

The glare he gets from both men is a definite no

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

So what are we to do about a situation like this?

Well I’m glad you asked because we’re about to find out

IRONICALLY right at that moment, you were supposed to be in a late-running math session on how taxing the economy works but 

Instead you were blissfully hidden in the closet, watching Chan plant a newly discovered breed of roses on your balcony the author forgot to mention you even had

It was an indoor balcony of sorts; fenced in with mesh and curtains to keep the bugs and trespassers out

There was a cute little garden table with comfy chairs and a small bookshelf

As well as a mini bar and even a small stereo system B))

You’re the princess sis

This was your world since you weren’t allowed to experience the real one

To explain, you had a window right next to it that you often looked out, since your balcony was more or less closed off…

Hopefully that makes sense ._.”

Alright anyhoo

So Chan is planting some gorgeous purple roses that only ever existed in Animal Crossing until now

The most lusciously soft and purpley purple that ever was and ever would be

And here’s you, hunkered down in the closet like a stalker spying on him with one eye and a slit through the cracked door

 WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN

Bang!

The door flies open!

A wild Felix appears!1!1

Uh-oh

He’s probably looking for you, but given the equally wild look on his face

He’s probably not aware of Chan’s job, coming in to tend to your plants when you’re scheduled to be absent

Wait they’re friends right

So he isn’t gonna kill him...right?!

Or does this mean he was gonna kill him that much more?!

OH NO

FELIX NO PLS

You’re holding your breath and waiting for the right moment to pounce and topple your half-brother to the floor when apprehensively

He checks his surroundings quickly before shutting the door behind him

……

What the what is this about--

“We need to talk,” Felix starts, pacing to the dining table where he usually sits. Chan freezes, blinking a few times into the roses and the air above them before turning a blank stare the prince’s way.

“Okay,” he states back, “what’s on your mind?”

“About Y/n…”

About you?

“Princess Y/n? What about?”

Yes, what about you?

“...Jisung…” he sighs. “Look, I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked. Let me start by apologizing about that.”

“Oh, no need to apologize. You’re the prince, and I’m the gardener. We’re both quite busy with our—“

“Jisung told me you like Y/n.”

………

…………

………���…

I’m s o r r y

WhAT WAS THAT

WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?!

Okay okay hold up

Han Jisung was the court clown and notorious for pranks and lying his ass off

Surely this was just a (albeit cruel) joke…

...Right?!

…

Bang Chan’s ears are turning red

Redder than the roses outside your window

He’s biting his lip, like he wants to say something, but is trying hard to suppress said something

His hands are clenched down into the dirt…

“...Well?” asks Felix. “Is it true?”

“...It’s…”

!!!

WHAT WHAT IT’S WHAT

TELL ME FLOWER BOY WHAT IS IT

SPILL THE BEANS ALREADY

Haha get it…

Beans……

Like seeds……..

...Anyway

“......”

He nods, softly, barely. Bang Chan nods his approval at Felix’s proposed statement.

Is this even real right now…?

Is this allowed?! 😩

Instead of jumping the guy like you thought he would, Felix instead smiles, so brightly it would be enough to scare off the Fire Nation and save thousands of lives

“Oh wow. Oh f*ck. You like my sister. This is...shouldn’t I be mad right now?”

He begins to pace

“...But I’m not. I’m genuinely okay with this. Better than okay. It’s...weird.”

“Probably because Y/n may be saved from marrying Prince Hellhole of the Underworld now.”

The two of them (and you still in the closet) jump at the sound of a new voice wafting in from the ceiling. Looking up, a set of bells can be seen hanging out if the air vent

...Has that always been there?!

Oh my gravy what if Han Jisung has spied on you before

What if someone else has?!

EW

Felix scowls angrily at the vent before lifting a pen off your desk and throwing it with surprisingly good accuracy

It must have hit something because next thing you know Jisung is saying “ow!” and climbing down at the Prince’s demand

“What the hell were you doing up there?!”

“Detective work.”

“You’re banned from doing detective work anywhere near this room.”

“What about Changbin?”

“What?!”

“Oh uhhh...nothing.”

The clanking of heavy armor trying to escape travels across the ceiling…

And Felix huffs.

“CHANGBIN I KNOW THAT’S YOU.”

~~~

So I’m gonna do a mini skip right here to get the ball rolling

After Bin is dragged down and everyone (minus you) is accounted for

The four guys are sitting around your dining table, a sinister(?) plot coming to notion

“Okay,” Felix begins, “So what we know is, according to what Jisung overheard, this arms race war of sorts against the Fire Nation is coming to a rock and a hard place for both sides. And to resolve this issue, it would appear that Y/n is being offered as a bargaining chip. A wedding to unite the two kingdoms.”

…… 

Everyone is pretty silent

You included, not that you can say anything at the moment…

But just because you’re silent on the outside doesn’t mean you don’t have a million thoughts racing through your head

Let’s get to the most pressing one that’d likely catch your attention first: MARRIAGE?!?!

With whom?!?!

How dare some old geezers try and pawn you off without your permission?! To the enemy?!? To a man you didn’t even know?!?!

WHAT IF HE WAS REALLY OLD

OR GROSS

OR BOTH

OR WHAT IF--

Han suddenly has something to say

Then again when does the boy not

He lunges across the table to grasp at Chan’s hands. “PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO MARRY THE PRINCESS SO SHE WON’T BE SENT AWAY AND I CAN STOP AWKWARDLY CATCHING YOU SPYING ON HER OUTSIDE!!!”

!!!

OH UH

WHA?!

Chan’s ears are turning red again. He’s got a brow quirked like he doesn’t know what Jisung is talking about, but averts his gaze all the same in a guilty manner

Felix is tapping his fingers against his forearm in an attempt to ignore that confession

And Changbin is just sitting next to Chan half confused and half annoyed

“I- I can’t just… Jisung what you’re asking is…”

“It’s too much,” Bin cuts in. “Jisung you can’t just ask someone, much less tell them, to marry a person they have a far-longing crush on, but really know nothing about. They’ve never even spoken to each other before, I can assume, and you’re telling them to spend the rest of their lives in a commitment? That’s intense.”

Jisung pouts. “Yeah, but…!”

“What if we just faked a marriage?”

Three stunned faces (four if we’re counting you) turn eyes upon the eldest and only prince. He smiles warmly, sending a warily comforting shiver down your spine that you have trouble placing as good or bad.

“What do you mean?” Changbin asks.

“I doubt the king is going to accept Y/n’s wishes in all of this, so we can’t just have her or Chan ask to be wed. But if they’re already married…”

Jisung’s face lights up. “Then there’s nothing the king or Fire Nation fools can do about it!!! That’s BRILLIA--”

“But it would just be a ruse. We’ll have a fake license made, and I can supply the rings. I’ve got plenty of underground connections~”

You’re looking at Chan’s face to see what he thinks of all this, but unfortunately his back is to you, and Changbin is blocking 90% of your view…

You can, however, see that his ears are still a flushed scarlet, as well as the base of his neck

“Would you be okay with that?”

He jumps. Felix and the others blink expectantly. 

“...Huh?”

“...Are you okay with being my sister’s fake husband for a few hours?”

It’s gotta be the awkwardest question you’ve ever heard coming out of your brother’s mouth, but then…

“Yeah. If it’ll protect Y/n...let’s do it.”

……

It’s the first time you’ve heard him not refer to you as the princess, but rather, just yourself

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

OKAY WE’RE GONNA TRY AND START CRAMMING THINGS WITHOUT CRAMMING TOO MUCH BECAUSE HNNNNN I DON’T WANT THIS TO BE TOO LONG AND DRAWN OUT ಥ_ಥ

SO ON THAT NOTE

Meanwhile in a diabolical castle not too far away but still kinda far 

(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

We’ve got an evil firelord named Zuko over here

But he’s not really evil :(( In fact he’s not evil at all!!!

His name isn’t even Zuko it’s Minho

And he’s just kinda mean is all…

Just a smidge | |

“My Lord Zuko!!!” An attendant bows, groveling at the steps to the throne

He’s some weird guy with an eyepatch

Not important but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Fire King growls, swirling a glass of something strong

“I told you that’s not my name,” he states, tossing the glass after a single gulp. Dang. Intense.

The attendant :((, covering his face like a scared manchild. “PLEASE FORGIVE ME YOUR GRACE!!!”

Minho rolls his eyes. “If I do, will you man up and give me the details on the Nation of (Your Kingdom Name Here)?”

“Oh, yes, yes! Thank you, sire!!!”

“...S u r e.” He blinks a few times, only sparing the slightest hint of a smile when one of the three cats wandering the kingdom jumps onto his lap. “Well? Get on with it.”

“Yes, sire, right away!” Patchy pulls out an enormously large scroll that should NOT have been able to fit in his pocket similar to the mechanics of Animal Crossing (seriously how is it you’re able to fit a giant whale into your pocket and like a freaking tarantula and a hive of wasps like idk about you sis but I would NOT be putting those things in my pocket-) “It would appear that the Princess of (Nation) has given her consent to marry His Royal Highness of the Tallest Order Fire Nation King Zu-- ...L-Lee Minho of the Tallest Order of the Nation of Fire and All Things Cat Related.”

Minho is nodding, a pleasant smirk on his face. Things were just going swimmingly for him. “Perfect. Just as I thought they would. Seungmin? Jeongin?”

From the shadows, two boys stepped forward. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Please plan my arrival to the Nation of (Your Nation) at once. I’d like to arrive no later than the end of the week.”

“...Sire, with all due respect…” Seungmin swallows. “That’s in two days. Normally, I’d have to send a carrier pigeon to customs since you banned technology after that one disapproving cat commercial, and as you know, your cats are constantly eating both the birds and the notes…”

“......”

“......”

Minho shrugs. “And? So? Just write a new note and buy more birds. There’s no time to waste!”

Seungmin and Jeongin share a look. Arguing against the King would be suicide, so…

“...Yes, Your Unreasonable Grace.”

“Grea-- wait what?”

Comically, they both vanish before any more words can be said.

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

Moving right along here

That night, after the sun has fully set and you’re getting ready to tuck yourself into bed

There’s a strange sound coming from the window…

. . .

Creepy but probably nothing

It’s just the wind, right?

You choose to ignore it and continue organizing the pillows (and dolls?) on your bed in a fashion that suits your fancy when

Tap Tap Tap

. . .

It’s either an incredible coincidence that wind can tap in such a rhythmic fashion, and not so sporadically, or…

There’s someone at the window

...No, really

SOMEONE IS OUTSIDE SIS

THERE’S A FREAKY LOOKIN’ SHADOW RIGHT THERE

On the twelfth floor tho?!

…

Should you answer it

Survey says no

Are you going to?

The stars say yes

BUT FIRST WE MUST ARM OURSELVES BC WE AREN’T TOTAL DUMDUMS 😩

You grab an ornate candlestick from your nightstand and start heading that way

Slowly, carefully, one foot at a time

The closer you get, the more prominent the shadow outside the window becomes…

It almost looks kinda like…

...A tumbleweed? A scarecrow???

……… 

You’re scared

SOMEONE COMING THIS HIGH MUST BE SKILLED AND DETERMINED AND HAS TO KNOW IT’S YOU OR MAYBE IT’S A THIEF THAT--

“Princess? Princess Y/n?”

!!!

Gasp you know that voice

It’s… …

Without a moment to lose you ditch the candlestick and unlock the hinges, tossing the windows open to…

Watch your beloved…

...Almost fall and crack his head open ._.”

Chan is laughing nervously hanging onto the windowsill with a faint pink mark on his cheek from where the window popped him

You cry out nervously and with an effort on both parts, manage to hoist him inside

Where he clichely falls on top of you 🌚🌚 Teehee 🥴

You can feel the heat rising to your face and swirling around your head that’s already been spinning with thoughts for a while now

And Chan, catching his breath over you, practically mirrors that reaction

I Am You

I see me in you--

Okay sorry

Chan laughs the whole thing off and rolls himself off like Nishinoya performing his famous Rolling Thunder, and helps you up while profusely asking if you’re alright, if you need to sit down, you should probably sit down, oh I’m so sorry Felix told me you stayed up late so--

Ah wait

“He told you that? When?”

You’re now sitting on the side of your bed, and Chan is standing a few feet away with windblown hair that could easily be mistaken for a tumbleweed through the dead of night

The fact that you’re staring at it makes him a little self conscious, but really you were just thinking about how cute he looks

“Uh, he told me a few hours ago. We were just...chatting, and um…”

……

He cuts himself off and sighs into his hands

“I’m so sorry. You probably don’t even know who I am.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I do.” You smile. “You’re the gardener. Your name is…” You blush. “Christopher Bang. You take care of the roses at the base of the tower and you planted the purple ones on my balcony today. You’re also a friend of my brother’s.”

“Wow, okay yeah.” He smiles back. Seeing him smiling at you while acknowledging the other, the faint flicker of candlelight (Felix broke your lamp during a karate stunt to make you laugh)...it’s almost too much to handle. “That would sort of explain why you let an absolute stranger into your bedroom at night.”

………

Oop

He had a point there

Blame the author sis she’s got three other WIPs rn and wanted to get this done while doing a semi-decent job (｡•́︿•̀｡)💧

“I-I just...have a strong sense of adventure,” you lied. Kinda. Reality was, you really WERE longing for a chance to explore and have just a little excitement in your life instead of the same boring gray stone walls each and every day

Lucky for you, that’s exactly what Chan was here for

The next thing you see is his hand in your face (a still-respectable distance away), offering you quite the gentlemanly smile. He managed to fix that windblown hair of his in the seconds you spent spaced out over your longing to leave this place

“Come on. I actually came here to ask if you’d like to go somewhere with me.”

~~~

A little disclosure here

Normally, you should never, EVER let someone you don’t really know into your home (much less your bedroom) late at night, and you certainly should not agree to go somewhere with them

This is just common knowledge, I know

But, for crack, time, and in the spirit of classic fairytales, I’m going to allow it to happen :)))

~~~

AND SO, Y/n chooses to defy common sense, and takes the hand of the boy she really likes (▰˘◡˘▰)

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

To make things slightly less weird and insanely unnatural, Chan gives you a note from Felix. It’s got his secret seal of approval that he only uses when addressing letters to you, one that only the two of you know about, so it’s gotta be legit and valid

🙄🙄

Just pretend it makes things A LITTLE bit better for me, okay?

“Author do you know how illogical this all is and that, like, ANYONE could figure out--”

YEAH OKAY JUST GO WITH IT PLS 😩😩

The note says:

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒴/𝓃, 𝒴𝑒𝑒𝓉! 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃, 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 ;) 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇...𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉, 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃...𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓂, 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉? 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝓂 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒢𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓃𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒫.𝒮. - 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃, 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓅 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒴/𝓃!

𝒜𝓁𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓃, 𝓃𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝑔𝑜𝓉𝓉𝒶 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝒾𝓉. 𝒴/𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒷𝓎 𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. :)

-- 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝓀𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈, 𝐹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓍 (ℱ )

...Well, there you had it

Now, onto the date! …

WAIT DID THIS COUNT AS A DATE?!

uHHHHHH

ಥ_ಥ 💧

IDK SIS JUST GO WITH IT FOR NOW, GO GO GO!

Chan is about to take your hand and wisk you out the window like Rapunzel or some Romeo and Juliet au (hey btw??? That ain’t a bad idea someone request this from me)

He nearly forgets about the height difference and the fact that he don’t have any rope or long flowing locks to grab onto to :D so instead the two of you opt for an idea that comes to you after nearly tearing your room apart to look for rope:

THE AIR VENT!!!

You have to move some furniture around but it’s not like anyone is gonna come into your room or find out about you missing anyway

Reader: “Chan came into my room tho--”

SHHHHH THAT’S DIFFERENT IT’S CALLED PLOT CONTINUATION

Now

After getting lost for approximately ten minutes in the winding air ducts, Chan manages to get his poor sleep deprived brain together and leads you down the right path, coming to a purifying viel(?) he knocks out of the way to kick the door open to outside

AND THEN

IT’S THE MOST GLORIOUS AND MAGICAL THING

IT’S

（ つ﹏╰）

SIS IT’S OUTSIDE

IT’S THE OUTSIDE WORLD

YOU DID IT--

……

You can’t do it

Chan jumps out easily onto the grass to some East side of the palace, but you just sit there, hunkered down in the opening space of the vent

Just staring at it

The grass

The trees

The tumbleweed that is Chan’s hair blow by

It’s almost too much…

Your body won’t move. You’ve been locked away in the palace for so long now...something inside of you is telling you it’s morally wrong to change that now.

“Hey wait author I have a question”

I’m kinda in the middle of telling a semi-deep part of the story but okay sure

“If Chan and I were on the twelfth floor how is it that we made it to the--”

SHHHHH AGAIN JUST HUMOR ME AND DON’T OVERTHINK THINGS

Chan is watching you with some sort of softness in his eyes illuminated by starlight. He holds his hands out to you.

“It’s okay. If you need me to, I can carry you for as long as I’m able.”

…

But you refuse

You need to cross this bridge

And then you need to burn it 🔥

NO GOING BACK SIS

NO GOING BACK 😤😤

...Except you’re always open for an excuse to be close to Chan so 🤪💓

You jump in his arms without much of a second thought, and without thinking he spins you around, and a moment later

Both of your slippered feet hit the ground below

Soft earth enveloping your heels

Blades of grass tickling your skin

It’s so WEIRD BUT

It’s a good kind of weird

A kind of weird you’d love to get used to

Hand in hand the two of you slip off after that, out into that starry starry night that looks like a Van Gogh painting

It’s beautiful and blurred yet sharp and soft yet bright and you feel like queen of the world as you’re running through Central Park, riding on Chan’s shoulders

Dancing around the center fountain

Nearly blowing your cover when a racoon runs by

It’d be kinda bad if someone saw you, much less recognized who you were 😅

The two of you lay on the hillside, where Chan makes up stories about the stars and you smile at the sound of his voice, and the feeling of wildflowers against your cheek

You’re so enthralled that you scarcely notice when his voice trails off as he’s watching you, admiring your beauty as he often has in days gone by, only this time it’s up close and nearly surreal

The girl of his dreams lying in a bed of flowers

Not palace-tainted ones either -> wildflowers, flowers that are free to billow any way the wind takes them

And the moonlight casting perfectly angular shadows over your body

He has to get a hold of himself and tear himself away with a sharp breath

……

But he’s adding the image to a memory in his heart, that’s for sure

He takes a moment to mull over it a few more times before dusting himself off, standing, and reaching out to you. Something you also want to get used to other than being in the Great Outdoors. “Come on,” he says, “We’ve almost used up all our time, and I haven’t even been able to show you the town yet.”

SHOPPING~! (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

...Ah wait it was night time 😔 You’d have to settle for just seeing the sights and playing pretend

“We’re gonna do something called window shopping.”

“Window shopping?” You ask, taking your first steps down main street. “What’s that?”

Surprisingly, there were a few stragglers still out and about at this hour, so you had to keep your head down and wander as seamlessly as possible off to the side of the road.

“Window shopping is when you wander around a shopping district just to look at the stuff on display. You shop with your eyes and pick out things you like.”

That sounded kinda fun

Of course anything with Chan sounded like a good time to you (♥‿♥)

And so, still hand in hand, the two of you quietly walked the cobblestone streets, examining clothes and trinkets in the large glass windows of stores and commenting lightly on things you liked/disliked

And, over a short span of time, you felt a gentle shift as Chan entwined his fingers with yours

ƪ(˘⌣˘)┐ ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ ┌(˘⌣˘)ʃ

You wander the streets for a while longer, taking a left here, a right there, when after pacing a little ways down a side street connecting to a sleepy neighborhood, Chan stops quite abruptly

His arms and posture is rigid af, so it almost yanks you back a bit, and a little startled you look up to see what it is he’s gawking at

…

It’s a flower shop

And the big sign across the roof’s edge says, “Christopher’s Garden”

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

Christopher’s Garden was the name Chan’s parents had wanted to name the flower shop the two of them had dreamed of opening together

Chan knows this because of the letters he’d receive at the orphanage during the war

The last letter he received was when he was eleven years old; a simple “hello we miss you” update with a miniature bouquet of pressed wildflowers

Flowers he still kept in his small room at the palace, tapped to the inside of the box where all his letters are stored

Faintly, he reaches out towards the sign, like it’s the only thing around him; suddenly there is no village, no night time, and there almost isn’t a Y/n either

Not that you aren’t important…

He just simply can’t believe that…

…

This couldn’t be real, it had to be a coincidence

A cruel one, but still

A coincidence nonetheless

And he’d continue to think that had he not lowered his hand, and found the face of an older man staring back at him

A man with burn marks on his cheeks and the scars of war apparent in both his features and his eyes

He has to grip the doorway to keep himself from falling backward

For it may have been many years, but he could never forget the face of his own son; not even after time had aged him

The parental spark was just there, a father’s intuition

…… 

As if seeming to understand, Y/n lets him go

She retreats stage left, one, two paces

And watches with heartfelt joy as the two men embrace somberly beneath the moonlight.

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

You wanted to stay and watch

You really really did

You wanted to be that support beam for Chan, but

In a way, you also didn’t want to intrude on such an important family moment

...And you were more or less due back at midnight 🙄 Cinderella much?

You’re racing along the alleyways right now

Slippers puffing a muffled breath with each step along the pavement

Buildings casting shadows and jagged shapes of light along the way

A random cloth you borrowed from behind a grocery masking your head

You found it lying over some crates of produce; and you may or may not have borrowed a few plums for the road, too…

...You’d have someone pay them back with interest 🤷

You probably should have told Chan you were heading back, but

He needed his family, right?

This was really important to him, you could tell he obviously hadn’t seen his dad, uncle, or whoever that man was back there in a while

You could catch him up later, right?

He’d probably spend the night there and be back by morning or mid-afternoon

You’re just now reaching a fork in the road

You could keep going straight or make a slanted right venturing toward the front gate, which connects the pastures of hills (making up Central Park) to the palace

……

It would probably be better to stick the backways, but you didn’t know the area that well…

If you went back into civilization, although it was after curfew and despite your disguise, someone may still spot you

What to do what to do what to--

“So you’re the Princess of (Kingdom Name).”

!!!

Did

Did someone just--

ARE THEY TALKING TO YOU?!?

RUN?!

DO WE RUN ...

“You don’t have to be frightened.” the voice says, stepping closer. “I’m here to take you home.”

……...

🚩🚩🚩

:)))))))) 

Yes okay now we RUN 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️💨

You make a break for it down the straight path, letting your veil fly away from your body and temporarily blind whoever’s following you

You also make good use of those plums you stole, tossing them like bombs over your shoulder

“Argh--! Dang it, sh*t, I can’t sEE--” Your pursuers flail about before shredding the cloth to bits, whipping the fruit off their faces. “AFTER HER!!!”

!!!!!!

DID HE JUST SAY--?!

HHHHHHHHHHHH

The sound of heavy metal clanging against cobblestone bounces off the space behind you as you’re pounding, scrambling, flinging yourself in a zigzag pattern in case someone is trying to snipe you

IT’S WHAT ALL THE RIDICULOUS HEROES IN MOVIES DO, OKAY?!

IT’S MORE OR LESS EFFECTIVE

But alas there are so many boxes and wheelbarrows and junk in the way...

MOVE FASTER YOU CAN HEAR THEM GAINING ON YOU

But wait who even is “them” anyway???

Do you even need to know?! It was probably some councilman your stepmother or  father pissed off

You’d seen it all on TV and read plenty of horror stories in books to know there were endless reasons why someone would be targeting you for vengeance

...And, also…

……

Blast it all

You could hear your father’s voice echoing:

“NO BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF MINE WILL BE SEEN BILLOWING ABOUT THE CITY STREETS!!! That’s like asking to be kidnapped and used as a means of war!!!”

“A means of war!!!”

“A means of war!!!”

…………………………………...g u l p 

ಥ_ಥ

YOU JUST WANTED TO HAVE A GOOD TIME OKAY

THAT’S ALL

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN 😩😩

HE SHOULD TRY SITTING ON HIS ASS DAY IN AND DAY OUT IT’S MIND-NUMBINGLY BORING 🔥🔥🔥

But boy were you getting your fill of excitement now

If you could just make it back to the palace, maybe you could use this as an excuse

Say you were kidnapped and made a grand escape

...It wasn’t a TOTAL lie…

“Oh Princess~ Princess Y/n, slow down, won’t you please?!”

LIBSDIBVISAFBILSFIL

NOT ON YOUR LIFE BUDDY 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️💨

WE AIN’T ABOUT TO DIE

GOTTA

HURRYYYYYYY

~ t r i p ! ~

Oh-- ...

THUD

Owowowowow… (｡>︿<｡)💧

………………

……………………………

ಠ_ಠ

You slowly look up to the enemy

(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ❤️ “Guess who? ...Oh, wait, we’ve never met before.”

………………..

Crap.

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

The plan was going to be very simple: swoop in, rescue the princess, and take her back home to appease to the King and speed up the royal wedding of the century

Unfortunately, nothing was ever simple in the Fire Nation

That and, well, Minho had spies everywhere

He’d seen your photograph

He knew what you looked like

And when one of his minion’s squeaked saying they spotted a certain soon-to-be-and-technically-already-so engaged princess and coming-soon queen of the Fire Nation running around after hours with another man, well

He just couldn’t have that

It simply wasn’t allowed

The king had promised him your hand

And that’s exactly what he was going to get

“Tie her wrists tighter. Yes. Now a little closer to the left…”

He smiles at you from inside the back of the carriage. He was about to make this go his way faster than he could have hoped for.

He leans forward, now dressed in some ridiculous royal garb festive with plated armor and flapping ribbons, patting your knee with smooth-lined fingers that shouldn’t belong to someone ruling the Fire Nation. And he knows this, too. He was and still is the youngest king to ever hold the throne. “Don’t worry, Princess, I simply wish to escort you home. This is, however, a pleasant time for us to get acquainted. Since I will become your husband in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

To this, the Princess of (Your Castle) makes some sort of a scoffing remark beneath her cloth-covered mouth and fidgets herself away, as far back against the plush carriage interior as she can. Even beneath the pale moonlight and faint swaying torchlight outside, bobbing in the hands of soldiers, he can see the scowl of disapproval and hatred on her face.

That would have to change real’ fast. No way he was tolerating a disobedient bride for long.

A rapping comes from outside the window. Carefully, Minho opens the small glass door, pulling the curtain aside along with it. “What is it?”

Seungmin’s face appears in the open space. “We may have a problem. Two, actually.”

“Yes, yes, what are they?”

His first attendant licks his lips nervously. “Well for starters, Jeongin is going to have a mental breakdown if Doongi scratches his face one more time. Your pets--”

“My family.”

“...Your family is getting antsy being cooped up in the carriage for so long.”

A hissing can be heard in the distance, followed by Jeongin’s muffled scream. Minho sighs.

“Fine, Fine…” He glances tentatively at his soon-to-be bride. “We’ll stop at the next fork in the road and switch passengers. I will ride with the children and Jeongin can accompany Princess Y/n until we arrive.” 

“Very good, Your Majesty.”

Minho makes a face, suddenly. “...It shouldn’t be long now, yes?” ((After all, you and Chan did WALK into town.)) “What’s taking so long? How much farther?”

Seungmin looks a bit grave. “...That’s...the other thing I wished to speak to you about.”

“???”

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

You can hear the shouting from your new location inside a smaller (yet still quite plush and fancy) carriage that’s covered in cat fur...and a pitiful attendant with a bloodied face

“So we’ve been traveling in circles this whole TIME?!?!”

Oof

That kind of anger didn’t bode well for whoever’s plan this was

“Ahh…we’re so sorry, Your Majesty! But the guard won’t let us through! They refused to take us seriously when we proclaimed to be the Fire Nation escorting the Princess home…”

The Fire King let out a groan.

You zoom your attention on the boy before you, holding a dampened cloth of alcohol to his face and hissing as it makes contact with several wounds. Poor guy is young, and he couldn’t be too much younger than you. Give or take three to four years.

“M-mm-m, mm mm-mm mm m.”

He looks at you like you’re speaking in tongues. Which, quite frankly, you may as well be. “...What?”

“Mm mmm, m-mm-m, mm mm-mm mm m!”

“.........”

Peering left and then right, he makes sure both curtains are closed before leaning forward and pulling down the cloth over your face. You cough a bit, spitting out pieces of string and fabric and the dry taste in your mouth. “...”

“......” Jeongin seems to be admiring you in a new sort of light. It’s a bit weird, but flattering. “Um, what was it that you tried to say?”

You look him dead in the eye, which is somewhat hard to do, but your anger helps you manage. Jeongin winces backward, something twitching in his mind. “I said, if I were you, I would blow this joint.”

“.........” Jeongin glances down at his shoes, staring hard at the laces. He seems to be taking your words quite seriously, though you’d half meant them as a joke. “...I’m in no position to do such a thing. Just thinking about it is treason.”

“Treason? For having thoughts? You don’t have any mind readers in your country, do you?”

Slowly, he shakes his head no. It was kinda cute how seriously he was taking your words...and a bit sad, too. “No, we don’t dwell in psychics or anything supernatural. But the author of this story has been kinda thinking about making a supernatural au for some time now--”

“Huh?”

“Hmm?”

“.........”

A rapping comes at the carriage door. Jeongin acknowledges it with a nod. “...Never mind.” He opens the window. There, again, was Seungmin’s floating head alongside a ball of fire.

“His Majesty Pain-in-the-Ass is being difficult again. Imagine that. He wants us to make camp and then plans on playing the martyr card come tomorrow morning.”

“...He expects us to camp out in the woods?”

“That’s the order.”

Jeongin groans. He leans back in his seat, tossing the rag down in frustration. “...Maybe I really should consider running away…are you hiring, by chance?”

It was meant to be a joke. But you take it all too seriously.

“Why, yes, actually, I am.” :))))))))))

“....................”

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

And so that is how you have now ended up here

In front of a roaring fire

All comfy cozy in the new fleece pajamas Jeongin and Seungmin sewed for you out of one of Minho’s extra capes and some “spare” fabrics

Sipping some freshly pressed apple juice and flipping through King Minho’s edition of Royalty Daily

Seungmin, to your left, is fashioning you a new pair of slippers that you can wear both indoors and out and will feel as if you never stepped out of bed

And Jeongin, to your right, slowly moving an electric fan around your face, in a pleasant manner that wasn’t at all distracting

It was glorious, really ٩(˘◡˘)۶

You never imagined being so relaxed in an enemy camp held hostage, even if you were a Princess…

...The only thing sour was the sour look of King Minho brooding at the other side of the fire.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses, eyes flitting back and forth between his two former attendants and you in-between. “Why aren’t the two of you doing your normal duties?”

“We are doing our normal duties,” Seungmin explains, snipping the thread he was working with.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Are you defying me right now?!”

Minnie scoffs. “Defying? You? Wouldn’t dream of it, Sire.”

“......” Minho dramatically rose from his seat, snatching a slipper off the boy’s lap. “Then what is the meaning of this,” he demands, shaking it about. You notice from a new angle of lighting the cute white polka dots patterned along dark pink fabric. Adorable. “Why are you...restyling my slippers?!”

Seungmin gives a reputable glare, snatching the slipper right back in the sassiest way possible, and dusts it carefully, as if it were tainted by the mere touch of another. “These are not for you, dear King. They are for My Lady, Princess Y/n.”

O-O

Now surely you can imagine, the look on Minho’s face is not a good one. “They’re… They… Y-Your whAT?!?!”

“SHHHHHHH!!!” Jeongin chimes. “Lord Zuko, you must keep your voice down! The Princess is trying to read, and she has sensitive hearing!” >:((

“.........”

(✿︶‿︶)

*Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp*

You sip that apple juice like it’s the sweetest tonic out there

And Minho, stunned, can only watch...until he throws down his foot and starts having an unroyaly absurd hissy fit

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR PRINCESS?! SHE’S MY BRIDE, AND THE HOSTAGE!!! And what do you think the two of you are doing?! What are you saying?!? Have you...are you telling me you switched sides?!?!”

“Well…”

“We aren’t telling you, we were hoping you’d get the memo by watching.”

!? “ARRRGH!!!”

._____.

The three of you watch with second-hand embarrassment, along with a couple of nearby guards, until

The King has to pause mid-fit

For a rustling in the bushes pulls his attention aside-- along with the others.

Minho seems to gain his composure surprisingly quickly. With serious glint in his eyes, he pulls his sword, in unison with the surrounding army he’d brought.

Behind you, Jeongin respectfully pulls you close, Seungmin brandishing his own blade and standing protectively before you.

You’re confused, almost, at how high the tension had magically become

You can feel Jeongin’s heartbeat against you back, and the silence amid the rustle is deafening

A single bead of sweat rolls down your neck…

And then evaporates when a field mouse screeches at the glinting of sharp metal objects and flees. 🗿💧

“Oh...false alarm…” the Fire King sighs. His army groans, reupholstering their swords and spears

And then jump in surprise at the ambush that comes after

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

I know we’re 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ flying through this story kinda fast now but just hang tight

Cause a few familiar faces had come to save the day B))

Familiar faces known as Sir Changbin, Newly-awarded Knight Jisung, and brother who loved you a little too much, Felix

The way your brother’s sword clashed with Minho’s as your new attendants hurried you into the awaiting cart was a sight to behold

And you could still hear the screams of startled men even now :(((

Luckily Felix held a philosophy unlike your father to not cause any permanent damage at all costs, so no casualties occurred; just a lot of smoke-bombing and a few cuts and bruises

Then there was Jisung, who had to hang on to the roof bc he went flying during the ambush and landed in a tree and there just wasn’t enough time to get him inside so Changbin had to snap a branch and let him fall on top...but

You know

No casualties :))))

“Are you okay?!?!” Felix is demanding, checking you face, your neck, your hands. You sigh and shake your head, which at first he takes as a no and has a small panic attack but you give him a little shove followed by a hug

“I’m fine. I’m sorry I was gone for so long...but thank you for saving me.” <3

Felix hugs you back, though a grim look resides on his face. “I’m gonna have a serious talk with Chan. I can’t believe he just left you out in the city-- or the forest-- to find your own way home in the dead of night when you’ve scarcely left the palace before!”

!!!

You jump back, startling him a bit. “Chan didn’t leave me! Please...don’t be mad at him.”

“Wha?” He lists his head. “Then what happened?”

“......” Oops. “I...I left him. I thought I could make it back on my own.”

His arms cross. “And what the heck made you think that?”

>:((((((((

At this, you almost felt a sense of defiance. Almost.

Felix didn’t think you could make it on your own?! You?!? A twenty-something year old young woman?!?!?

...Well he was right because you had absolutely no sense of direction except where the shampoo was in your royal bathroom 😔

BUT HE DIDN’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN Y’KNOW?!?!

“I--!”

“You? Yes?”

“......”

“......”

“......” Sigh. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you...but first you have to let my friends go.”

The screen pans over to Seungmin and Jeongin, tied back to back with apples shoved in their mouths. Seungmin stared a hole into Felix’s head while Jeongin was actually making some decent progress getting a bite out of the apple to free himself...until some juice went down the wrong pipe and he started choking.

“RhUK--!!!”

“Your friends?” The prince huffs. “These are the Fire Lord’s attendants. I’ve met them on two occasions in the past. Trust me, they aren’t your...friends.”

You stamp your foot, to which everyone comically flinched. Outside, Han howled at the branches slapping him in the face and the dust in his eyes. “They work for me now, and they’re my friends!!! 😤😤 So let them go right now or I’ll push them out and roll out of here right beside them!”

“!!!”

Felix couldn’t have this, so

He gets to untying, and once freed, the four of you sit on the empty cart floor: you and your attendants on one side, Felix on the other. He exchanges a few words with Changbin up front and Han still on the roof before settling down for your story

“We should be arriving to the west gates shortly. Also, Han is fine, so don’t worry about him. Tell me everything that happened.”

You do. You start from the beginning, with Chan, and the wonderful time the two of you shared. Then you tell him about the village, and how lovely window shopping was, and the moment that all came to a halt. You explain Christopher’s Garden, the aging man who sleepily walked out the front door, the exchange that occurred between him and Chan...the way they embraced. You’d felt so happy but out of place, you decided to venture off and give them the privacy they very much deserved.

Then you come around to Minho. How you’d tried to run, but only made it so far thanks to your new mortal enemy, rocks. You’d become a hostage, and you quickly rush through the rival king’s evil(?) plan to lie his way to victory.

And, of course, you mention the proud and wise decision of his most loyal and trusted adversaries switching sides and how good you are at making friends (ღ˘⌣˘)♥ so that happened

By the time you get through the whole (short? Not really) story, the six of you have arrived at (Castle’s) West Gate.

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

M E A N W H I L E

In the past tense bc the author’s random switching is a meme

A certain evil(?) king named Minho was angry

You can understand, right?

I mean, his future bride had escaped, his former friends(?) betrayed him, and he got his ass beat pretty flawlessly by some punk prince who didn’t even injure him that badly...ON PURPOSE

This was a DISASTER

A TOTAL NIGHTMARE

😭😭😭

SCREW THIS HE WAS GOING TO BE VICTORIOUS WITH CHAMPAGNE POURING OVER US AND ALL HIS FRIENDS AND HE WOULD BE GLORIOUS NO MATTER WHAT

In fact, he was following the trail with a few uninjured guards as he spoke

“Keep following the tracks,” he demanded from the window of his carriage. Doongi, Soongi, and Dori all meowed in agreement. “I want those fools hand-tied and the princess back in her station before the sun rises. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, Sir!!!” They all cried. Minho scoffed, closing the window and falling back exhaustively in his seat

He messaged his temples...since Jeongin wasn’t there to do it for him

How did this happen?

How could he lose?

How could he let you and the others just escape like that...and fall for such a subtle, dumb trick?

Also…...there was the matter of his childish behavior from before

In front of the princess, his future wife

His friends

His army

……

That really hadn’t been like him at all

He just...was so stressed lately

And exhausted

Did he mention exhausted?

What time was it, like, 1 am???

That might be fine for you, but normally this king had his ass under covers by 11 pm

He could scarcely keep his eyes open were it not for all the rocks and potholes and--

…

And the curious young man that just stumbled out into the road.

Minho leaned forward, staring through the open front window, squinting in the darkness to make out a face; was that one of the boys? Was that Seungmin, or Jeongin perhaps?

It certainly didn’t sound like it-- the sap was calling out a name, and seemed to be dressed in tattered old clothes. Probably a peasant looking for his lost sheep or dog.

But then his men pulled the carriage closer, since that previous battle had spooked all the horses away, and Minho was able to make out a name: “Y/n!!! Princess, say, “here I am!!!””

…………

(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Gottem.

~ꕥꕥꕥ~

To be continued...maybe.

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

#skzwriternet #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfictions #stray kids oneshots #stray kids reactions #stray kids fanfics #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan oneshots #bang chan reaction #bang chan fanfics #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #stray kids royal au #bang chan royal au #kpop royal au #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids crack au #lee minho #seo changbin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz

[redhawtriot]

Caught in The Act (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Thanks for the patience concerning the links to vote!

As I am writing this right now there have been around 100 voters so thank you so much to all of you who participated, and to all of you who will:)

You guys really make this story so much fun to write with all of your comments and feedback! I really appreciate it. <3

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 2

After waking up the next morning your dazed mind tried to make sense of the stiff and bizarre feelings of your body—the most pressing being the cracking dryness of your mouth and throat. Your dense tongue felt like sandpaper as you made your way out of your bed and towards the kitchen.

In your groggy state, you thoughtlessly swung your bedroom door open.

“What the–?” you gasped. A sudden startle in your chest caused you to take a slight stumble backwards, ‘Oh yeah, that happened.’ The startle immediately died and transformed into something limp and heavy enough to weigh down your heart at the sight of unfaithful Satan himself– Katsuki Bakugou.

He was droopily propped up against the wall as he rest with his back against it— his sleeping form facing you from across the hall.

In most other circumstances this scene would be hilarious as Kirishima’s body seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground– his head uncomfortably jammed into Bakugou’s shoulder. His neck would be on fire when he woke up.

Yeah, this would be hilarious if it weren’t for the immense and sudden heartbreak you felt when you looked at Bakugou’s face. The calmness on his features made your stomach fold in on itself as you recalled just how contrastly expressive he was last night as he jammed his raw self into a stranger.  A shiver ran down your spine.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted a mass of chunky liquid, and upon further inspection, your esophagus lurched at the sight and rancid smell of vomit.

You had to actively fight the urge to throw your hand to your forehead for a heavy smack.

God, it was entirely too sad that you knew exactly whose stomach this bile belonged to.

You slightly danced on the balls of your feet and tried to decide on what to do next. Waking Bakugou up was the last thing you wanted to do—you were absolutely not ready to face him just yet, but you couldn’t just leave Kirishima in this pitiful state. He wouldn’t ever do that to you.

“Fuck it,” You gave a short silent sigh and shook the anxiety from your hands before making your way over to the pair. You pressed your lips together to keep from making any noise as you awkwardly raised your hands and caressed the air in front of you. As you  began to smoothly sway your hands, the air around Kirishima danced to your whim.

You made certain that a constant draft held Bakugou in the same position as you used your free hand to will Kirishima’s body upwards and onto your shoulder like a hug. You slowly released Bakugou to the ground before sharply grabbing onto Kirshima with both hands so that he wouldn’t slip away.

You had to fight the groan that almost escaped your lips as his full body weight rested against you suddenly, ‘Okay. Here we go.’ You cheered yourself on as you clumsily hobbled with him in your arms.

Making your way to his bedroom was easily the simpler part of your Kirishima heist, although you may have dropped him onto his bed a lot rougher than you had meant to, “Whoopsie!” you quietly squeaked as his ragdoll body flopped harshly onto his mattress.

As you made your way out of the room, Krishima was beginning to stir himself awake. He was already blinking his eyes open when you returned from the bathroom with a pot, hot cloth and ratty toothbrush in hand.

You just gave him your spare toothbrush last week, but it was already looking like a family heirloom passed from the dark ages. Both him and Bakugou brush so aggressively.

The thought caused an unexpected and painful jolt in your ribcage as you leaned over to wipe the vomit from Kirshima’s face.

“Hey… you okay?” his voice slurred.

How the hell was he still drunk? It’s been at least a few hours since his last drink. For some reason this thought caused your heart to flutter with hope. Maybe Bakugou really wasn’t in his right mind last night.

No. No.

No!

You immediately reprimanded this thought for existing as you pushed it into time-out in a dark space in your mind so that it couldn’t trouble you again. Drunk or not, he cheated on you. He completely disrespected your guys’ relationship—he completely disrespected you.

You looked down to Kiri with a stumbling grin and desperately tried to maintain this expression, “I’m not the one bathing in his own throw up,” you lamely retorted finally, causing him to reluctantly smile back at you before easing back into his slumber.

As soon as he closed his eyes again your smile faded out of existence and you continued to solemnly wipe him down with the cloth. You had always joked to Bakugou that Kirishima was great practice for when the two of you had kids. That was always the excuse that you had given him whenever he brought up ditching the redhead as a roommate.

But would the two of you ever even have children now?

All of the internal planning that you did; all of the dreams that you had built together seemed to reside on flimsy foundation, and they were all crumbling to dust right in front of your very eyes.

The weight of the situation seemed to finally lay fully upon you. You didn’t know if you could handle staying with a cheater. So, it really was over then?

Just like that?

You threw the back of your hand to your mouth as you felt an unexpected sob try to free itself form your body. You fought it back, but it seemed to run to your eyes for release instead. You lost this battle as a few tears fell down your cheeks.

“H-hey…” a hoarse voice suddenly snapped you out of your emotion. You snapped your head up to the open bedroom door and saw Bakugou staring at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes were slightly widened with his eyebrows coming in to meet each other. His typical scowl was present but seemed to be of a different flavor than usual.

He also seemed to notice his change of character and immediately corrected himself as he cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, “I mean uh—good morning…” he hardened his face as he threw his soft glare away from you and towards the ground.

You couldn’t reply to him as your mind could only focus on replaying the repulsing events that you had witness only hours before. He was certainly unable to feel the surge of emotions that collided within you, so he continued talking anyway, “I tried to get the idiot into bed last night, but he wouldn’t listen,” he pointed to Kirishima.

Tried to get him into bed, huh? I wonder how long it took that bitch to try and get him into bed.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him as your face slowly began to shrivel into itself. The sight of him made you sick. You calmly got up and moved past him to make your way towards the kitchen. You needed to eat something. Your stomach felt physically ill.

His face became more annoyed as you continued to walk without making eye contact with him, “So anyway,” he roughly continued as you moved past him, causing your stomach to lurch as the sound of his nearby voice. He followed you regardless, “I couldn’t- uh- sleep a lot last night so I…” his voice gradually became softer as he spoke, “I made you breakfast,” he finally blurted.

You gawked at the sight of your kitchen. The bar was filled with breakfast foods including eggs, bacon, fruit salad, waffles, coffee, potatoes and your guys’ favorite—spicy gravy and biscuits.

“Get outta the way,” he softly commanded as he brushed past you and into the kitchen, “Let me warm it up for you.” You could only blankly stare as he prepared you a plate and slid it in front of you on the bar. You knew that he liked to cook, but this was a lot much for you at the moment,

“Katsuki, I—”

“Just shut up!” he barked, “It’s not a big deal. I was just up.” He angrily snapped his gaze from you before his eyes slightly widened at his own words. You silently blinked a few times in shock as he hurriedly tried to fix his phrasing, “I mean– I wanted to do something for you so… just let me do that,” he tried to calm his voice through slightly gritted teeth, “So are you gonna eat it, or what?” he snapped.

You raised one eyebrow, before sitting down and grabbing a fork full of biscuit and reluctantly placing it into your mouth. Pleased, Bakugou threw you a nod before heading back out of the kitchen, “You go ahead and eat that,” he ordered, “I’ll go run us some bath water, you like bubbles and shit, right?” he awkwardly shifted his weight. You clenched your fork as your hands instinctively made a fist.

A small, painful laugh emerged from your sore throat, “Bubbles and shit? That’s what you think it takes, huh?”

Your laugh stung against your vocal cords as it became wilder. Bakugou could only quietly harden his glare again as you continued, “Why did it take so much for you to start loving me?” You laughed crazily.

“What?” he finally snapped a response.

You stood up from your seat as you slid the pate away from you, all jokes aside, “Did it really take fucking another bitch in front of me to get you to be nice to me for once?” you stormed up to him and roughly prodded an accusing finger into his chest.

Surprise befell your expression as he smacked your hand way from him, “Look, I fucked up okay?!” his voice became suddenly loud, “Can we just fucking move past it?”

Your jaw dropped as anger erupted through your open mouth, “Are you KIDDING ME?!” you tried to usurp his volume, “Move past it!? The image is burned in my mind. The way you were looking at her. I…” your voice began to crack as tears once again paraded pathetically down your face, “You don’t even look that way at me anymore. It completely kills me Katsuki, that it took her two seconds to do what took me two years to do!” you cried.

He suddenly seemed very unsure of himself for once, “T-that’s not fucking true I—”

“Is it not?! Do you know the last time you even told me that you loved me? Not in a ‘I love you too’ greeting kind of way! I sure as hell don’t,” you threw your hands up and shook your head incredulously, “I mean, Katsuki, I don’t even know why you’re with me! My quirk?! Is that it?! We both graduated the toward the top of our class, right?” you mocked, “Are you with me to stroke your ego? Huh? Being with the strongest girl at U.A.??”

Every ounce of reluctance was immediately wiped from his expression and was replaced by pure rage, “DON’T BE FUCKING RIDICULOUS!” He roared as hurt flashed across his eyes.

“Then what is it then?” you crossed you arms and bounced on your heels as you waited for him to reply. Your heart fell as he tried to form words with his lips, but nothing came out.

The unsureness on his face once again returned, leaving your heart in absolute shambles, “T-that’s…” you had to fight back a sob, “that’s what I thought.” You wish you hadn’t.

“DAMMIT Y/N,” he roughly grabbed you by the arms and shook you slightly, his eyes filled to the brim with desperation, “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?! It’s already happened. I can’t take it back!” You snatched yourself away from him and sent a gust of wind in his direction to keep him at a distance.

“You’re damn right.” You lowly agreed as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, “But you can take this back,” your voice cracked as you fiddled with the ring on your left hand. You finally ripped the damn thing off.

The man in front of you froze, “What…” Bakugou could feel his heart tighten at the sight of your bare hand– it was like his lungs had forgotten how to breath.

“Take your stupid ass, fake ass ring back,” you chucked the silver band at the man in front of you, “It obviously means nothing to you.” You croaked as you sent a weakened glare at him.

“Wha.. Y/N, baby,” he reached out to grab your hand but a barrier of swirling wind had tossed his hand aside and prevented him from doing so.

Bakugou watched in horror at your face as it contorted in utter hatred for him. You had never looked at him that way before twelve hours ago. No matter that dumb shit that he said or did, you always lifted him up.

Bakugou knew that he was a raging mess of a man. He knew that he didn’t deserve you, but he never wanted it to get to the point where you knew that too. Seeing you watch him with such resentment was his greatest fear coming to eat him alive.

Maybe it really was over.

No, he could still fix this. He wouldn’t loose. He wouldn’t loose you.

“No—Don’t go, dammit!” he screamed at you as you turned to walk towards the front door– his voice cracking, “Y/N, I-I just fucked up okay!” he desperately tried to excuse himself. As he fought against your wind, the tears that formed in his eye were immediately blown away,

“Wait!” he croaked out as his shaking arm reached into your tornado of a barrier. He finally pushed his way in enough to grab a hold of your arm. He yanked you to him as he fell to the ground on his knees, “Please, don’t leave me…” he cried through gritted teeth as he buried his face into your stomach,

“I-I am so in love with you,” he begged as he painfully gripped your waist, “Don’t give up on me…” tears finally could freely roll down his cheeks as he sobbed loudly into your abdomen.

Should Y/N leave him? Or should she try to stay and work things out one more time?

YOU DECIDE!

Follow this link to vote on what happens next! (It literally takes two seconds)

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha imagine #bnha imagine #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #interactive stories

[strongsassysexysloane]

Eleventh Day of Twelve - A Tired but Treasured Day

A/N - Look at that! We are second from the end! Thank you to all the comments and love! Really appreciate it, it's been a long week!

. . . .

Read previous drabbles below.

. . . .

You walked into the office clinging to your cup of coffee. It felt like you were just here and you were, only five hours ago. This time however it was your own doing. You'd found a tiny shred of evidence to go on and had to follow it before the trail went cold. Then it lead to Gibbs and Nick finding the killer in a warehouse in town and bringing him in at just after 0100. You didn't finish interrogating until 0200 and it was now 0730. Coffee, coffee needed to be pumped into you to wake up this morning and a constant flow throughout the day would be required.

To your delight there was a hot cup sitting on your desk as you walked into the bullpen. No note so you assumed this time it wasn't from your gift giver. Day 11 and no one had spilled the beans or gone looking at the cameras like they wanted to on day one.

"Gibbs dropped it off about five minutes ago before he went down to get a report from Kasie who wasn't pleased to be called in so early." Ellie explained while leaning back in her chair and sipping her coffee. "He brought one for all of us."

"Christmas miracles do happen." Nick grinned, dropping his small cup in the trash. "Done."

"It's not a race. You just slugged all your energy for the next three hours."

"Oh please, I've stayed up later and come to work more tired before. Remember the November incident." He waved off.

"I still feel hungover from it." Ellie grumbled, scrunching her nose at the memory of Tequila.

"Please don't remind me." Tim groaned. "Plus I'm not allowed anymore Tequila, Delilah's orders."

"She may be on to something." You ran your hand through your hair, smirking at the banter. Turning on your computer for the day, you saw the next gift hanging from your desk lamp. It was beautiful, a little teddy bear carved out of marble with a shimmering purple and green crown sitting on its head.

"Day 11, the gift giver strikes again." You rolled your eyes at Nick's words while holding the Christmas decoration in your hand, running your thumb over the intricate detail.

It was sweet, a cute addition to your small Christmas tree at home. You'd put it up on December one. That was your tradition and some years it didn't seem worth it but you made the effort. Being alone on Christmas sucked, there was no way around it but this year you were making an effort to not sulk about it. The secret gift giver certainly lifted the spirit as well.

Your tree wasn't over the top but a nice addition to your home. This would fit perfectly front and centre and you made sure of it.

The day was relatively easy. The office banter keeping the spirits going with a good supply of caffeine. It was really just a lot of paper work and then you were set free around mid afternoon to try and have that weekend off. This time Vance made sure the team wouldn't be called in. There were other agents to take the call after all.

You'd missed Jack most of the day and didn't want to interrupt her as she was head deep in evals for the end of year. Instead you decided to shoot her a text when you got home.

- Just wanted to say have a good weekend. Didn't want to interrupt your head mojo.

You knew she'd get a kick out of it and you weren't mistaken.

- Head mojo hey? Smarty in the evening just like you said. Missed you today, didn't realise how many evals I still had to do before I went on my trip. Now I'm back logged and still at work.

It was just hitting 1830 which was a late one for Jack on a Friday. She was always hurrying along at the end of the week to make sure by the time 1700 hit she was out the door.

- I hope you are either finishing for the evening or planning on having dinner while you work. It's getting late, Jack.

- No need to worry about little old me. I need to get these done, I'll grab a bite later. Enjoy your night.

An idea popped to mind, you grabbed your coat and car keys and headed back out into the snowfall with your blue scarf still wrapped around your neck.

Thankfully, you weren't too far from the Navy yard and the Diner was just a five minute detour on the route. You called ahead so the food was ready when you got there and still warm when you knocked on her door.

"Come in, y/n."

You huffed, opening the door. "Now how could you possibly know it was me?"

Jack was sitting on her couch, shoes off, legs crossed and glasses tugging her hair back and sitting on her head. "You didn't reply, you always reply. And you care too much." She got up, placing her laptop on the coffee table and walking up to you.

Those were a lot of compliments you weren't entirely prepared for. You thought Jack was the one that cared a lot, but never too much. "I think I care just the right amount but I can eat this all by myself if you'd prefer?" You smirked, pretending to walk back out but Jack caught your arm.

"I didn't mean it like that. I lo-ike that you care so much." She ran her hand up and down your arm a few times before dropping it away. Her warm comforting smile turned into a cute frown. "And don't you dare walk out on me now that youve made all this effort to come here." She took a deep breath in. "Is that two cheeseburgers and fries?"

The frown and the way her nose twitched at the smell was completely adorable. "With a side of gravy. Wasn't sure if you liked it on your fries or not." You shrugged, missing the soft and loving look Jack gave, you walked past her and sat at one end of the couch, unpacking the bag of food. "Come, sit." You urged, patting the spot beside you as she just stood there and watched.

With a soft smile curving her lips, she came around after a beat and sat exactly where you said to. She took the small pot of gravy and poured it over her fries before pouring the rest over yours. "Thank you."

You bumped her shoulder lightly. "Anytime. Can't have Jack Sloane Hangry and loose in DC." That got you a slap on the knee but it was worth it as her hand soothed the spot she hit and stayed there for a while until it was time to eat.

"Didn't mean to ruin your Friday night plans either." She took a huge bite of the burger.

Between bites you managed an answer, "You mean my big watching The Holiday movie while eating a cup of noodles or the one where I go to sleep at 7pm because im living on about four hours sleep right now."

Skipping over how tired you were she jumped at the mention of the movie. "That's my favourite Christmas movie! It's got the best of both worlds! The sun of LA and the cold winter wonderland of the UK. God, I haven't watched that in years! My mum and I went to the movies to watch it and then every Christmas after we'd watch it together, some people had Love Actually, we had The Holiday. Guess I stopped watching when mum passed." She ate a few more fries. "Wow, Jack, way to ruin the good mood. Sorry. Got lost for a moment there."

You liked it when she rambled. She always would say so many interesting things and you just loved to hear her voice. You prayed the day never came when you wouldn't hear it anymore. "Don't apologize-" You held up your hand to stop her from butting in. "- And, no it's not because of Gibbs silly rule. I enjoy hearing about your past about things you love or did. The Holiday is a sweet movie, my must watch in December along with The Grinch, Home Alone and many more. I try my best to keep the holiday spirits up when I'm by myself for them which has been the last many."

"I enjoy hearing you talk too." She smiled, taking a massive bite of her burger and filling up her cheeks.

There was no silence after that. The evals were put to the side and you talked for what seemed like hours. Talking about childhood Christmas' and silly stories to cringe worthy dating moments over this time of year. It wasn't until you couldn't keep your mouth shut from yawning that you said good night around 2300.

"Sorry you didn't get your evals done." You sing over the roof of your car as Jack unlocked her Mini.

"Don't be. I'm happy to come in tomorrow because tonight was fun!" Her genuine smile told you that she wasn't lying. You could read people pretty well and most times Jack Sloane was an enigma to you but right now you knew she was telling the truth.

"Good night, Jack."

She opened her car door before adding. "Enjoy your movie!"

You yawned with a laugh. "You're kidding right? I'm going to sleep, I'll watch it tomorrow now."

"Fair, good night y/n. Sweet Dreams!"

. . . .

Who doesn't want this to end? Me. But I also maybe, slightly want a break from writing every day. It's been fun but tiring. I've enjoyed it a lot though! I love this time of year, if only I wasn't working in retail.

#ncis #ncis christmas #ncis reader insert #ncis x reader #ncis 12 days of christmas #jack sloane #nick torres #ellie bishop #tim mcgee #jack sloane x reader

[sexyshakespeare]

Kurodai Day 5: Ass-assination

[Prompt: Locked in]  -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kuroo was woken up by the loud clangs of the cell door. What now. Jesus, can’t a guy get some shut-eye in here. Well, he should’ve thought about that before embezzling from the JVA. At least that’s the voice in his head said, for the first time that day, and not for the last. It had been 5 months in here already, and he was slowly settling into a routine. It was bad, but not quite that bad. He tried to keep his head low, not say much to anybody, mind his own business. He’d manage to keep out of trouble for months now. The only exception being that time he fought that fucker for getting his chocolate confiscated by blowing the cook or whatever he did to make it happen. Fuck that guy and his greasy hair, fork-tongued motherfucker.  

Kuroo sat up in his bunk, wondering who his new inmate was. Broad shoulders, brown hair, and ripped. Shit, he better not get on his bad side huh. He watched him quietly from his side of the cell, waited for the last pat down from the guard- who nodded towards Kuroo, handed him his cigarettes, and headed out, locking the door in place. The man sat down on his bunk. He looked like he’d lost a lot of sleep lately. Tetsurou looked him up and down, sizing him up for his crime. Most likely battery, maybe arson. He looked deadly enough to do it. Or maybe he was just caught at the wrong place at the wrong time- like him. A rich person’s worst nightmare- Kuroo liked to believe he wasn’t a criminal, just a businessman. That was probably why his sentence was still as long as it was. There was absolutely no remorse behind his sweet smiles and promises to live a good, honest life when he was out of here. Fuck that. He wanted that villa in the Caribbean. “What are you in for” Kuroo directed the question at the other man. The mysterious man built like a goddamn grizzly, looked him straight in the face, the look of a killer in his dark eyes. “This ass-“ . .

.

Tetsurou stared at him for a good minute watching him as he laid back in his bed, folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Alright. Alright, that’s how he was going to be?  Being in-mates and everything, hey, he’d hoped they could’ve been friends. Fine, fucker didn’t want to share? Fine, he’d be smoking this entire pack of cigs by himself, he thought to himself and laid back on his bed as well.

Weeks went by the same way as they always had- and rookie here didn’t need much help around the place. Funny. It was like.. he’d been to prison before, or at the very least, knew how they worked inside-out. Kuroo kept a close eye on him as he ate at his table with his regular group. It was purely a protective group he hung around, they weren’t exactly friends- definitely not anyone he’d keep in contact with once he was out of here. In fact, he was hoping to ditch his name altogether if he did get out of here. Big goals, big dreams. Before long, he’d learnt his name- since he hadn’t offered it on his own. He was lucky he was such good eye candy, and by default maybe had a soft spot in Kuroo’s generous heart. He even saved him some chocolate one time- offering it to him in the cell. “Don’t like chocolate” Kuroo’s eye had twitched when he said it, the way he said it. But the time he heard his name- was when they were receiving mail. Kuroo never got mail- his friends were ashamed to be associated with him. His dad had disowned him altogether. Well, Kenma did come visit him last month- telling him he’s done waiting and he’s moving on with his life. Which meant, of course, that he was finally going to admit to sleeping with Hinata behind his back. Kuroo couldn’t have cared less by then, he’d let him go a long time ago. Daichi. Sawamura Daichi was his name. And it was called out every week, sure enough- there was a care package of sorts, from somebody, that came through every week. “Daichi..”, he ventured one night when he was in bed. The man grunted in response, signalling that he hadn’t slept yet. “You really got into prison cause of that ass?” Not a moment’s hesitation, or any sign of his gruff, sleep ridden voice wavering as he said, “Definitely” And that was that, the days following that night, Kuroo was off at lunch time telling the story of how Sawamura Daichi got his ass thrown in prison- quite literally, for it being a goddamn menace. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday passed- and the rumors were flying- Did you hear? Sawamura smuggled coke into the country in his ass for months before getting caught- No no- Sawamura was the personal security guard for the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, who committed crimes against his country by allegedly tapping that ass, then flat out handing him the royal throne in marriage. Come Thursday and Daichi had finally caught on with what was happening. He walked up to Kuroo’s table where he was animatedly explaining the cause of his demise to his companions- and everyone hushed. Almost instantly looking a little pale when they saw the bearish man walk up behind Kuroo, who might easily lose a fist fight against him. Tetsurou stopped talking then- turning around to see the man, staring down at him. Then without another word, he put his tray down on the table next to him and sat down heavily. He nodded at Kuroo, then began eating his rice quietly. “Go on- tell them how it really happened-“, he said in a deep voice that would bring chills to anyone who heard it. The guys looked spooked, and Kuroo- well, he got less chills, more thrills. And he was happy to oblige.   With a little smirk on his face, he turned back to the table and continued, unfazed, “Sawamura was a security guard at the governor’s last speech- the one he died at-“ “Yeah, didn’t he get shot?” “Nah nah man- they cover all that shit up in the papers-“, Kuroo waved his hand at the guy, “Yeah the media guys getting their cocks sucked by the governor’s PR team to cover it up-“, Daichi answered without skipping a beat, nodding seriously as he slurps up his gravy like a hungry beast. Kuroo nodded, his hands coming into action as he hunched over the table conspiratorially, “Yeah so, he was head of security right- and the governor knew his face, he’d been in town for a while right-“ The silence around this table now. Kuroo felt like a star, his story was reaching hundreds- he was making history right now. “Daichi here, bless him, he bends over right- and what, you were going commando that day you said?”, a nod his way as Tetsurou feigned asking for confirmation. “Yep yeah- hot day, May’s just fuckin murder-“ “Yeah so my guy turns from the podium for a second to check if his deputy had the perimeter secure- he bends over to talk to the guy standing down the stairs- and his, will you believe it- his pants rip” At this point Kuroo gives a grin- not too big a grin, just a shrug of his shoulders like, ‘hey it happens’. “His pants rip- and he ends up mooning the governor- who was, looking DIRECTLY at him when he was giving his speech-“ Daichi smirks at this point, agreeing in full. “And the governor.. trips- over the wires on his podium- and falls-“, Kuroo’s strong fist smacks hard into his palm, “Head-first into the concrete 3 feet below-“ At this point, the entire table was staring hard at the two men- waiting for the punchline to this joke, waiting for a crack of laughter, a smile- a flash of tooth. They got nothing. Kuroo shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head at his tray and biting on his bread. “Damn tragedy- wrong place, wrong time, man..”, he finished in a low voice. Sawamura glared at them, daring them, any one of them to laugh. Not a soul dared. And then the man finished his meal, smacking his lips, slurping up the rest of his gravy and scarfing down his fish. And with that, the duo of Kuroo and Sawamura exited the scene, making it back to their cell in one piece. Once inside their cell- they exchanged one look, and were falling all over the floor, Daichi clutching at his stomach, Kuroo pounding the floor with his fist as they laughed their hearts out. “My ASS IS MAKING ROUNDS BABY” “FUCK YEAH IT’S MAKING ROUNDS- YOU SEEN THAT THING? YOU PACKING BACK THERE MY MAN” Hi-fives were exchanged- the two men slapping each other’s backs as loud as thunder- till they heard a loud yell from their floor guard, and tried to choke back their laughter, giggling like a couple of schoolboys as they watched each other. Each one with some wonder in their eyes as they did. “Man.. you’re alright-“, Kuroo said with a big grin thrown his way. “You’re.. brilliant- did your mouth get you into prison?”, Daichi leaned back on his bedframe, stretching his legs out in front of him as he asked. “You could say that-“ “Bet it could get us out of prison too-“ “I’m not blowing any guards again man-“ “..that’s not what I.. again..?” Kuroo took his pack of cigarettes out from under his blanket- waving them at him like it should’ve been obvious. “..you a lawyer?”, Daichi asked now. He chuckled at him, his body vibrating as he lit his cigarette with the lighter he would have to chuck down the toilet when they checked the cell this weekend. “You know, I could’ve made a great lawyer.. made more money like that too probably-“, he shrugged his shoulders, taking a long drag. “So- did you?”, Tetsurou looked back at him with teasing eyes, a smile on his face, “Did I what-“, he answered, his face was considerably softer on him now. He had a handsome face, especially when he smiled. Kuroo reckoned he’d like to see more of that over the next few months. “Get in here for your ass-“, he said as he stretched his arms above and behind his head, a little too suggestive a look on his face. He fully expected Daichi to close up again, turn a cheek- or maybe give him a hard punch to his exposed ribs. But instead, Sawamura looked him in the eye, a growing smirk of his own on his lips, “Why don’t you find out..”

#kurodai #kurodaiweek #kurodaiweek2021 #suggestive #excessive swearing #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo #sawamura daichi #daichi #haikyuu

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜 

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.                                                        

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”  

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.  

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.  

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.  

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

[launchpadthai]

Heliotropism [a Fethsteel fanfic] 1/?

Summary: Fethry finds Steelbeak in a bad state and gladly nurses him back to health. Genre: Fluff, bonding, platonic intimacy. Confident!Fethry and Humbled!Steelbeak I just want these two to interact so badly Q_Q Rating: G Word count: 1500ish

Notes:  AU where Steelbeak is washed to sea instead of saved by F.O.W.L from S3E3. Shout out to whoever posted that prompt first and to Mighty-Ant’s oneshot fic with the same prompt for the inspiration! I consumed all the Fethsteel I could find, a lot of other people’s head canons and ideas inspired this so if something looks familiar, it’s cause it is lol. There’s plenty more written roughly, just need to polish it up. I really like Fethry’s comic personality so I leaned more towards it. Also AU rules, the Sublab didn’t get blown up. **No beta and I haven’t written fanfic in years so if you see anything written weirdly feel free to correct me! I’ve been sitting on it for months but if I don’t post it now I never will okay thank u 

--

The absolute pure darkness of say, the depths of a cave or the middle of a forest during a new moon was something Steelbeak was use to. Dim lights in a hidden base, or the cheap lights of a jail cell were almost homey to him. Almost.

So when he woke up in an unknown dim room, he didn’t feel the need to panic. Though, his head did hurt more than usual as he sat up slightly and reached up to rub it and was interrupted by a small tug. He looked over to see an IV needle stuck in the crook of his arm so reflexively, he reached to pull it out. “It’s just water.” Said a voice, cutting through the dark. Steelbeak tried to blink the sleep from is eyes, only able to make out a small blob of a body walking towards him. With another bag of clear fluid, a duck with a red hat appeared. “I don’t have anything fancier than that.” His tone was weirdly upbeat, or so Steelbeak thought, considering his situation. He tensed and a sharp pain shot through his chest, making him groan and the other bird paused mid step. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He put his hands up and spoke in a casual, yet jolly tone. “I’m Fethry, we found you in the ocean.” “We?” Steelbeak meant to say out loud but nothing came out. Anxiety began to bubble as he realized he couldn’t open his beak. He grabbed at it, trying to pry it open but it didn’t budge. He cursed Heron and the duck at the lighthouse but Steelbeak knew it was the buzzards. What he didn’t know, was if it was a malfunction or if the remote had that kind of range. Either way, it was annoying.

He punched at his beak a few times before falling back into the bed roughly, immediately regretting it as more sharp pains exploded in his chest. Fethry openly winced, watching as Steelbeak curled up and grabbed fistfuls of blankets to ease the pain while trying to catch his breath as much as he could through a closed beak.

“Okay, so that isn’t normal then. I tried to get it open myself but thought you just had that strong of a jaw.” Fethry walked to the bed while chuckling. Steelbeak let him get closer, but knew he could still take the bird out if he tried anything funny, even in his current state. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a cracked rib, maybe broken?” Fethry spoke calmly. “You’re severely dehydrated too.” He switched the bags quickly, stepping back to give the larger bird room once more.

Steelbeak caught his breath, stopping the tunnel vision enough to scan the room. He was in a small bed that looked out of place compared to the rest of the area. Some kind of lab with big windows that were pitch black, save for some small dim lights that seemed to be floating around...Wait what? Were those Christmas lights? Was he in space? Steelbeak squinted and Fethry followed his gaze. “They’re bio-luminescent krill.” He said through a smile. “They were worried about you.” ‘They?’ Steelbeak’s expression spoke out loud. “We were the one’s that found you. You’re lucky you were so close to the lab.” He waved lightly, looked over to Steelbeak and tossed his head sideways a bit, motioning to the window. Without thinking, Steelbeak put his hand up and also waved lightly, a small gesture to the krill. They both looked into the sparkling, floating abyss in silence, the only noise coming from a generator. Somewhere down the empty halls, a light flickered and there was a groan, the sound of steel under pressure. The lab seemed to breathe, humming a metallic lullaby.

Steelbeak tried to fight off the exhaustion, his eye lids grew heavy but he lost the battle. Sinking back into his pillow, he fell asleep so fast he almost missed Fethry bringing the blankets back up to his chin.

--

Steelbeak didn’t know how long he slept. He was keeping track of the dream to nightmare ratio but lost the numbers when his eyes opened for the first time without a headache in...who knows how long? He was still in the same bed in the corner of the same lab but it was bright, like noon and Fethry greeted him even brighter, like the sun itself. Oh, that’s who knows how long. Steelbeak sighed but flinched slightly when Fethry got closer and jolted his arms out. “What’s your name?” He wiggled the marker and pad, a motion for Steel to take them. 

He spent a little too long writing his name and when Fethry got the pad back, he stifled a laugh at the wobbly lines of “STEELBEAK.” Steel furrowed his eyebrows, sat up straight, and immediately curled forwards from the pain in his chest. Not the first time bravado had hurt him.  “You seem more like a man of action anyways and I’m really good at Charades.”

Fethry was able to rig up a device that could fit through a small hole on the side of Steelbeak’s mouth so he could eat, but not before some convincing that Fethry needed to drill said hole. ‘I’m gonna kick this guy’s butt when I feel better.’  He thought through the vibration of the drill as it distorted his vision, making Fethry a fuzzy blur. It was quick, like a piercing, but soon he had the taste of something like gravy hitting his tongue and his body lurched, feeling desperately hungry. He swiped the tube from his hands with malice and Fethry just giggled as Steel poured another cup of the liquified food in the funnel and crouched in the corner, facing away from the small bird. “You’ll have your energy back in no time! I’ll run you a bath.” Fethry put a lid on the liquified food and left, humming a soft tune. Steelbeak brought his legs closer to his chest, trying to shrink even smaller, away from the whole world.  Fethry was the smaller bird, so why did he feel like he was?

--

As soon as he had enough energy to walk on his own without getting winded, Steelbeak did what every sane person who was held hostage did. He tried to break out. Every exit was met with loudly painted warning signs though and he had to talk himself out of swimming to the surface a couple times. Whenever he hit a dead end or his stomach started growling, he’d heave a sigh, go back to the designated lab room, crawl into the bed and ignore Fethry while he did...whatever it was he was doing. One day he was placing lab equipment in a big cart when Steel walked in after another failed attempt and collapsed on the bed. ”I can use a different bathroom so you don’t have to walk so far, you know, if you really need privacy.” Steelbeak’s face flushed as he sat up quickly, flung his head around and scowled at Fethry. He just cackled and pushed the cart out. “I’m just kidding!”

Steel felt confident when he finally found a room with what looked like escape pods on the outside of it. So he opened the nearest hatch, and almost drowned again.

As he floundered in the flooding room, his hands on the ceiling, he took what he thought was his last breath, when the alarms stopped blaring and a big metal plate slid over the hatch, stopping the deluge. The water drained quickly at multiple grated pipelines and Steel floated down, collapsing on his hands and knees, attempting to catch his breath through his nostrils. That had to be the most annoying part about his locked beak. That, and the fact he couldn’t eat, or talk, or do anything. He heard a door slide open and a pair of webbed feet met his vision. He kept his head down and prepared himself for a verbal assault. “There’s always the front door.” Fethry said, his voice playful. Steelbeak looked up, admiring his casual stance. A confidence shone from Fethry that Steel craved his own body felt again. One hand was in his coat pocket, the other held out a towel towards the crouched bird. “I can take you up to shore, you’re not a prisoner.” Steel hesitated, accepted the towel, then sat back on his heels and buried his face in it. He learned early on in life he had to take and fight for what he wanted, the simplicity of “asking” blew over his head. He felt silly. He was going to feel embarrassed for the rest of his miserable life, wasn’t he?

“Do you have a way to unlock your beak out there?” Steel shook his head in the towel. He could face F.O.W.L again, but his communicator was probably lost at sea. Any real reason to contact them was slowly flowing down the drains with the last trickle of the unwelcomed sea water, and having to beg for his spot back sounded more awful that usual. It actually sounded so bad, it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I did some research and studied your beak so I ordered some reverse magnets.” Steelbeak looked up from the towel at the smaller bird. “Stick around for a bit, underwater parcel delivery is inconsistent but they should be here any day. I can help you override that lock.”  All of Fethry’s weight was on one foot, both hands in his pockets and Steelbeak was baffled by the laid back stance. To place the cherry on top of Steelbeak’s confusion, Fethry shrugged nonchalantly, and said, “If you want.”

Steelbeak organized his thoughts. Fethry had yet to do anything to Steelbeak that warranted danger, he was just nice, right? This is what nice people did? With a lost expression, Steel looked back up to Fethry, who smiled again and reached a hand out. “Can I show you my favorite part of the lab?”

Part two

#fethsteel #Fanfic #fethry duck #ducktales

[ashintheairlikesnow]

could we mayhaps see chris as he just starts to get comfortable. tentatively interacting with people in the house for the first time, antoni being a nice roommate and helping him feel comfortable. jake trying to hold in his excitement that chris is properly coming out of his shell and interracting🥺👉🏻👈🏻

CW: Referenced drugging, neurodivergent character trying to “pass”, VERY vague referenced to past noncon, conditioned internal dehumanization/conditioned behaviors 

Takes place directly after Chris Gets a Name

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout

“Hey, Chris, you’re up.”

Oh, he forgot that his name is different now, that he chose one for himself. It felt like part of the fever, he hadn’t been sure if he actually chose a new name or if he just made that up.

“Chris,” He repeats, knowing he sounds like a parrot, and his eyes trail over to the curtains over the kitchen windows, gingham curtains, old-fashioned and homey like a family on TV that he watches with Sir some evenings, curled up with him, warm beneath Sir’s blankets and feeling perfectly, truly cared for when the games are over and he’s won or he’s lost and he takes the pill and is allowed just to be quiet and still and good and not scared-

“My name... is Chris, now.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good name. Everyone, this is Chris.”

He has met all these people at the table, but they look at him as though they’ve never seen him before, and he cringes back and away from their murmured greetings. 

The tall blond man, Jake - who isn’t an owner, Chris understands that now, and he’s wearing a t-shirt plaid sleep pants - is sitting at the table and the boy’s eyes go immediately to the plates of biscuits with white gravy layered over the top, the smell of frying sausage heavy in the air in the kitchen, although an open window lets in a soft breeze and the scent of lilacs from a bush at the house next door.

The boy feels his stomach flip, uncomfortably unsettled. Miss Nancy smells like lilacs and Sir likes biscuits and gravy, has them every morning once per week, the boy thinks of days in the food Sir eats. Biscuits Day, Omelette Day, Cheese Danish Day. 

Is it Biscuit Day here? 

The others are at the table, too - not the older woman with brown hair, the boy could hear her talking to someone up in the attic when he first left the room. 

He felt like standing for the first time in days, since he’d gotten so sick and hidden in the storage room. His legs wobbled, weak and weary, underneath him as he made his way downstairs but now, leaning against the doorframe and wrapped in a big fluffy blanket that smells like some man’s cologne but not Sir’s, he feels better.

“D’you want to sit?” Jake gestures at the table. There is one chair empty, the lady’s chair, but the other seats are taken by the other ones like him.

Not like him at all.

There’s one girl with a ponytail, wearing a big sweatshirt and sweatpants, looking at him with nervous wide eyes that seem a little too big for her face. The other girl has short dark hair in a bob and barely looks at him at all. There’s a boy, too, older than he is (they’re all older than you are) who has dark hair mussed-up and shadowed, faintly feline eyes that turn up at the corners just a little, a hint of a smile on his face. He looks at the boy directly, and gives a little wave with his free hand.

The boy lifts his arm just enough to give a wave back, then drops it again, curling himself even more tightly up in the blanket. 

“Do I... want to... sit?” He paces his words, careful and calm, just like training. Try to figure out the expectations and deliver on them. “Should I...” He hesitates, swallowing hard. “In your... lap, Sir?”

The dark-haired girl chokes on her food and jerks forward, coughing into one hand, while Ponytail pats her on the back, whispers something into her ear. Both of them look back up at him, briefly, and Chris can’t tell if they hate him or pity him but their eyes are shuttered closed and he cringes away, ready to run back upstairs to the bedroom and the stuffed puppy he’s been petting while he stares out the window and wonders if he’ll be allowed outside, sometimes, here.

Jake clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh... no, man. No, you don’t... no. We’re not like that.”

“You will never be expected to do that here,” The other Box Boy says, his eyes on Chris’s, warm and inviting. “Jake is offering for you to sit in the chair.” His voice is low and deep, his words soft and slow and gentle. 

They sink into Chris’s mind like the feeling of petting a rabbit’s ears, and he takes one step forward and then another. 

“In the... chair?” He looks around at them all, trying to understand. “But, but, but but but I’m not allowed-” He flinches-

silence is better than stammering, darlin’

-but when he looks back up no one looks angry, just... curious, still. Maybe nervous. Are they nervous, too? Chris is nervous, he doesn’t know what any of this means or who to be, here, how to be anything but what he’s always been, the only thing he remembers how to be.

It’s been days since he had a pill and his mind feels normal again, running on all his tracks, and he notices that the sausage gravy looks heavily peppered at the same time he thinks that Jake has lots of muscles and the girls are very pretty but one has a scar over her lip and eyebrow and the other one’s hands are shaking and are they shaking because of him?

“You are allowed to sit wherever you please,” The other Box Boy says, gently. “Whenever you want to sit there. There is no allowed, here.”

Chris’s eyes skip from him to the girls, who give him small soothing smiles, and then to Jake, who has pushed the chair out a little in an obvious invitation. Jake feels safe, he feels like maybe a good kind of handler, like he will be the one to teach Chris the things he needs to know and won’t even have to hurt him to do it. 

“I will... I will sit in the, the chair,” Chris says slowly, and moves into the room in a shuffle-step with the blanket still pulled tightly around himself. It’s a light blue downy fluff blanket that puffs out like the puffy vest Sir likes to wear on cold days - Southern affectation, I admit you can take the man out of the South but you’ll never get the South out of the man whispers his soft slick voice in the back of Chris’s mind - and he settles into the chair despite the bone-deep urge to slip to his knees, because he doesn’t get to use a chair unless it’s Sir’s.

“Chris,” Jake says, leaning over to squeeze his shoulder, and Chris closes his eyes at the brief warm touch that feels so good, so right. “You know I’m Jake. You’ve heard the other’s names but i’m guessing you probably forgot... this is Krista-” 

Ponytail smiles at him, a little more warmly this time. Her eyes roam over his face and whatever she sees makes her smile even warmer. Chris had expected her to go cold. The other ones never like the ones like him. He doesn’t know that he’s ever met one before but it doesn’t matter, they all know that, they always tell you don’t even bother, they’ll all hate you in the end.

But Krista only smiles at him and says softly, “Hi, Chris.”

She’s so pretty, with the ponytail that swings over her neck and her wide, wide eyes. He wants almost to kiss her, but he doesn’t want to kiss her at all.

What you want is no longer relevant. What are your options now?

Be g-good, or... or be in trouble.

He can kiss her, if he needs to. He can be good.

“H-hello,” He whispers back. Jake gets up and Chris flinches at the sound the chair makes as it scrapes along the kitchen floor. He still feels a little shivery around the edges, like the fever wants to come back and is lying in wait. He’s tired and weak and it feels like one of the nights Sir plays games, except he feels like they don’t do that, here.

He’s in a shelter. This is a safe place for escaped pets, he tries to remind himself of what he was told when they brought him inside. They call him a rescue, now, not a pet.

“And I’m Leila,” The girl with short dark hair speaks next, leaning over to catch Chris’s eye. Her smile is more impish than Ponytail’s, and he could definitely kiss her, too, but there’s also a distance, there. She seems... cautious of him. Or maybe of everyone. “All our names we pick ourselves. I like yours.”

“I am Antoni,” The other Box Boy says, smiling calmly at him. “Are you hungry, Chris? Jake made us breakfast.”

Chris swallows, hard, looking around at the plates of biscuits and gravy. He can almost feel Sir’s fingers wiping a bit of gravy from the corner of his mouth. “Can, can I please...” He swallows, hard.

Calm. Quiet. Careful. Slow.

“Can I... please just have something else?”

There’s a silence, as the three other ones stare at him, and Jake is quiet by the stove. Then, with nothing but the same genial welcome in his voice, Jake says brightly, “We have Pop Tarts, would you like those? It’s just strawberry, but Leila likes them, so Nat keeps them on hand.”

“What... what’s a Pop... Pop Tart?” Chris asks, hesitantly, then winces. Is this something he should have known? Will he be in trouble?

Leila’s eyes light up. “Oh, God, you don’t remember them. Oh, Jake, give him one of mine!” She looks at Chris, right at him, and he feels the urge to cringe away and lean closer, both at once. “You have to-... you’re going to love Pop Tarts, I promise!”

“‘Love’ might be a strong word...” Antoni murmurs, and Krista shushes him with a little giggle.

Chris discovers himself smiling, a little, as Jake opens a little rectangular foil package and lays what looks like icing-covered sprinkle bread in front of him. He picks it up - it feels hard to the touch, like it’s overcooked, but all of them are watching him, now. 

Sir has never fed him anything like this.

“Go ahead, man,” Jake says brightly. “Take a bite.” He drops back down into his seat, and Chris looks at him - strong and tall and muscular and nice-looking - and he thinks, I could be so good for you.

Chris picks up the thing and puts it in his mouth, takes a bite and chews. His eyes widen at a sudden burst of nearly chemical oversweet flavor, the crunch of icing and chewy bread part and then a kind of sweet filling like jam but it doesn’t taste like any jam Chris has ever had before. He chews and chews, it sticks to his tongue a little, but finally he swallows it down and stares at it, looking at the center full of a deep red something-or-other. It does look like jam...

Then he puts it back in his mouth and takes another bite. 

“See, I told you he’d like Pop Tarts,” Leila says, almost smugly.

“No, you told him he would like Pop Tarts,” Antoni answers, humor lacing his voice. “And so he does.”

“You owe me, Ant.”

“We did not make a bet!”

“I’ll tell Nat to buy some more,” Jake interrupts, and Chris looks over at him and smiles around his mouthful, and Jake smiles back. Chris pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged in the chair, blanket tight around him, and starts to tap on his stomach hidden by the blanket where none of them can see to stop him.

“I, I, I I-I feel better,” He says after he swallows. 

No one says anything about his words.

“I feel so much better.”

He really, really does.

#trauma recovery #trauma recovery whump #conditioned #conditioning #pet whump #memory loss #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #Antoni Sings Lullabies #Leila the Mermaid Girl #Krista Girl #recovering whumpee #oliver branch is gross #all comfort no hurt #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #tw: implied/referenced drugging

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~82

~*~Emma~*~

I awoke to see Sebastian laying on his side, leaning onto his elbow, with his head propped up on his hand. Diffuse sunlight filled the room and clearly showed me his face. He didn’t look sleepy. His face was relaxed with the slightest smile. Who knows how long he'd been watching me sleep. That thought made me smile.

He jerked his head up a little, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I like seeing you when I wake up and knowing you'll be the last person I see before I fall asleep. And I'm excited about everything in between."

"The Louvre, dinner on the Seine, cabaret. Fun day."

I shook my head with a frown, "No, not what we're doing. I'm excited to spend the day with you." Sebastian closed his eyes, smiled a little wider, and took a few breaths. I knew what he was doing. He was taking in my words, feeling them, believing them. Before he opened his eyes, I moved closer to kiss him. "Je t'aime."

"I know that one." His fingers ran through my hair, smoothing the morning disarray. "In how many languages can you tell me you love me?"

I gasped and held my mouth open, "Just three, but now I have a goal."

"Crazy girlfriend."

I rolled on top of him, "Just about you." I did exactly what you’re supposed to do when you're naked in bed laying on top of a naked man.

I tickled him.

Our tickle fight lasted until we were laughing so hard it was hard to breathe. That and when Sebastian pinned my hands to the bed. "Je veux te faire l 'amour." He kissed me and pressed his erection closer between my legs. "I have a good memory too."

I don't know how it gets better than this. Waking up in Paris, with a gorgeous man watching me sleep, making love, then sitting on the terrace in big fluffy robes having coffee and croissants.

The guide at The Louvre was knowledgeable but a little stuffy. We spent much of the tour hanging back with another couple laughing inappropriately. The museum was incredible and we stayed around after the tour to revisit areas and check out some places not included. Sebastian liked items where I was mesmerized by the vibrant colors of the paintings. Lunch today would become our go-to. Pick up something near to and find a spot to sit in the park. Food and people watching was always a good time.

We headed back to the hotel to fool around before dressing for dinner. On the boat, we were seated by the window. We headed to the upper deck with a glass of wine for sunset. Last night's sunset view was unforgettable for many reasons. Tonight's was more beautiful with the lights of the city and bridges. It was romantic in a more refined way. Last night was casual clothes sneaking kisses in the dark. Tonight was dressed up, high heels, and elegant stemware. Kisses weren't as sneaky in the wide open space. The food was delicious. We started with duck foie gras and Scottish salmon. My main was scallops with sweet potato risotto and seaweed cream. Sebastian promised to save me from the seaweed if it triggered me. He went for a filet of beef, pea pudding, and veal gravy. The aroma from the fresh bread with the cheese course was mouth watering. Sebastian enjoyed my excitement and took more pictures of me eating cheese than anything else except drinking wine. For dessert, we decided one decadent and one fresh. A white chocolate raspberry lychee sphere and lemon basil tart. I nearly had to stab Sebastian with a fork for hogging all the sphere. The return trip was dark. Only the lights of the city and running lights illuminated to boat.

The night included a visit to a cabaret. That the Moulin Rouge was more touristy led us to the Crazy Horse. Still famous, but not the most sought after. We'd been told the Moulin Rouge was over the top and Crazy Horse more subtle. That may be true, but one important detail was left out. The dancers at the Crazy Horse were often naked. Sexy dance numbers, visual effects, and vibrant light shows. At times the lights were the only clothes. Darkness was used strategically as was glow in the dark body paint. What I noticed was all the women were in Louboutin, which lead me to believe the lingerie was expensive as well. There was a part with a very good looking man stripping. It was more funny than sexy. The combination of erotic dance and risqué humor kept both of us entertained

We talked about our favorite parts on the ride back to the hotel. Sebastian opened the door, letting me walk by into the hotel, "Is it wrong that I asked where the lingerie was from?"

"I wondered, but didn't think to ask. I loved the black bodysuit with all the straps."

"So did I."

Imagine my shocked face. You'd have to imagine because I wasn’t making that face. I waited until we were in the room to ask, "Did you find out where this shop is?"

He pulled his phone out and went to maps. A slow smile formed, "About two blocks. Across from Dior."

I folded my legs under me and sat on the couch. "Fun."

He sat next to me. He was fiddling with the bottom hem of his shirt. He was nervous. "Are you running up a crazy credit card bill to amuse me?"

What a sweety. My recent shopping habits didn’t match my teacher salary. I guess we were going to have this conversation. "My grandfather has it set up where his stock dividends are split between the grandchildren. It's paid out quarterly and there's no way to know how much, so I've never factored it into my budget. It goes into a savings account. I have a rule that it's only for fun. I took Angie and Eli with me to Hawaii. After a horrible start to the year, Malory and I went to Key West." I grimaced, "I don't remember much of that trip. And if I want to go shopping I can. I do appreciate your concern." I leaned over and kissed him. "There is a trust fund, but I can't touch that until I'm thirty. That's partly why it was important to go off on my own. I grew up with money, so when Jimmy said I couldn't take care of myself I needed to prove it to myself, even though I know it wasn’t completely on my own."

Sebastian interrupted, "Don't diminish what you’ve done. You started over in a new place where you knew no one or even where to grocery shop. You've got a Master's and accepted into a Doctoral program. Anyone who thinks you can't take care of yourself is wrong."

This fierce defense was very attractive. Money can be embarrassing. I realize I'm privileged, and I try not to behave like a trust fund baby. I would never go shopping as I had with anyone but Angie. I know it was a splurge.

“I just wanted to check.” I wanted to ask what if I had been, but he kept going, and I didn’t feel the need to stop him. “Back to the fun stuff. Is it bad form to buy you a gift that's really for me?"

"For my birthday or Christmas, yes. Otherwise, no. I'm not sure that sexy lingerie that gets you hard isn't as much a benefit to me as it is you."

"You realize you in sweatpants and a t-shirt gets me hard. You in a bathrobe. You in a potato sack."

"I wonder who that says more about?" We laughed and I laid across him, counting on him to support me. "It does make us both lucky."

"Oh, don't I know it."

We spent the next day touring Versailles Palace. We jumped off the tour to explore as soon as we hit the outskirts of the city. When we were out of interesting places we jumped on the metro until we saw something new to explore. Dinner was at this Ping Pong cafe. The food was delicious and fortified us for the play to come. I am just as competitive playing ping pong with my boyfriend as I am on a volleyball court. There was a lot of trash talking. What made it more fun was how truly awful we both were. Neither was sure of the rules so we argued over and made them up as we went. In the end, I lost due to a combination of unsuccessful attempts at cheating and Sebastian being slightly less awful than me. Our overly dramatic antics did amuse nearby patrons and when Sebastian was recognized he was gracious in conversation and signing autographs. We made it to the Pont Alexandre III bridge just as the sun set. It was ornate and a beautiful end to the day.

Next up was a day of museums and checking out wherever in between. We met up with a guide in the afternoon for a walking tour of Art Nouveauarchitecture. On our way back to the hotel we passed by the lingerie shop. A quick discussion later we decided not to go in. It would ruin some of the fun if the other knew what we bought. I also decided I needed to find some sexy underwear for him. I checked; he'd wear them. Dinner was my responsibility tonight. I found a rooftop restaurant with a great wine list and an even better view.

Tuesday, the day before the fashion shows, was the day I was looking most forward to. It was an early start and long trip to Mont Saint Michel. Claire had hired us a car and we napped most of the trip. The town is a tidal island and when the tide comes in it covers the causeway, only cutting off access for about an hour, but still. We parked at the tourism office and took off our shoes for the half mile walk over the mudflats. It didn’t look like a dangerous trek, but apparently, quicksand was real here.

We weren't far into our walk when Sebastian asked, "Is this Hogwarts?"

Our guide laughed, "No, but yes. The movie was not filmed here but as you will see much of the architecture is similar and the street does resemble Diagon Alley."

Sebastian looked at me, "Did you know?"

I shook my head, "I love gothic architecture and castles. Versailles was incredible, but this is a hundred times better. Stonework, stained glass, the high pointed arches." I grabbed onto his arm, bouncing on my toes. "I'm so excited. This is surreal." I held my hand out toward the Abbey. "Look at this, I mean, look at this."

He was smiling at me, "Should take you home to Romania. Lots of castles."

"Don't tease me." I let go of him and walk to stand in a small puddle. The water was cool and the sand squished between my toes. I felt like I was in the bubble from my favorite guided meditation. I put my arms out with my shoes dangling off my fingers and twirled. I stopped facing Sebastian. He had his phone out, pointed at me. "What are you taking pictures of?"

"You." He laughed, "With a castle island thingy in the background."

I heard the guide say, "Your mademoiselle is much more beautiful than the background."

Sebastian nodded, "That she is."

I walked back to them and reached for his hand. He handed his phone to our guide to take a couple of pictures before we headed on.

I was in absolute heaven. Even more so when I saw Sebastian as in awe as I was with the narrow cobblestone streets and stairways that appeared out of nowhere. Our guide had stories and let us lead, only giving direction if we were missing something. He took the lead when we approached the Abbey and guided us through spaces as tiny as closets and large as cathedrals. The arches along the walkway did look like a scene off the bridge in Hogwarts.

Our guide left us at the end of the Abbey tour and after lunch, we walked the ramparts and worked our way around looking at everything and nothing. Talking and laughing.

It wasn’t long into the ride back that I realized my thighs were aching. "What is it with Paris and stairs?"

"There's a fuck ton of them." Sebastian smirked and leaned in to kiss the side of my neck. "I will be happy to massage your thighs when we get back."

"Stretch them out?"

"Definitely."

We both retreated into our phones for a while. Neither had paid attention to them since we got here. The return trip was good for nudging each other to show a picture we took. I texted my chosen family and sent pictures. Sebastian was doing the same thing. He showed me responses on his group chat.

Charles ~ You took her to Paris? Chace ~ You can't take a woman to Paris for a first vacation Will ~ Go big or go home Toby ~ That's it. I need to meet her. Charles ~ Find a date and take the last bedroom in the villa. Toby ~ Chace, wanna go to an island with me? Chace ~ Do I have to put out? Toby ~ What do you think? Will ~ Who has the lube? Chace ~ I bet there's some in Paris.

I'd lowered my phone while I read his. Sebastian pointed to my screen, "What is that?"

"It's that app we made the list on the train."

"You need to send me the list."

"I can do better than that. Can I have your phone?" He handed it over and I went into the app store, installed, and signed into the app under my user name. "Now you can see, edit, add." I kept typing while he looked around. There was more than a sexual to do list. I was currently adding to a notebook called "Moments".

"Can I add to this?" Sebastian was in the same notebook.

"Sure." I bit my lip, "I had a thought. You can say it's stupid or you don't want to."

He put his hand on my leg, "What?"

"I was thinking since we're going to be apart for a while, we could write to each other. Not like texts talking about our day. I'd write things I want you to remember or know. When I'm missing you, I could write a couple of sentences to you or go read what you've written to me. Not any expectation of how often. Just a place for sweet things, sexy things."

I'd gotten the idea while thinking about distance and time zones and insecurity. Perusing old texts is good, but a one-stop place for just love notes is better.

"I love it." He brought me to him and met me for a kiss. "Is this for me or you?"

I had no problem with him knowing I was planning for our time apart. "You saw my love notes from high school. I love them. Texts get lost in a hundred other texts. We can even copy texts over. Pictures. You keep a gratitude journal. This is similar."

"Did you make that up?"

I shrugged, "I doubt it." I showed him how to navigate and create new notebooks. Our first notebook was "Sex To Do" We'd done that together. The one I’d been in, "Moments”, was short form memories. "Holding hands for nine hours with food and conversation.", "Waking in Paris to see you watching me sleep”, "Me showing you architecture", "You showing me artifacts".

Sebastian immediately knew something he wanted to add, I showed him how to create space between limes so he could insert his words. He was going to write in burgundy and me in navy blue. He created a notebook for longer things. He liked to write and wanted a place for more words.

I waited until he’d gotten down a thought before showing him what I'd been most excited for. "Things for Sebastian." I’d already started.

· Te iubesc, Sebasti-an

· I was so lucky to find a lost boy in a grocery store

· You always make me feel cherished and safe

"This one is for battling insecurities. You can read my words and know what you mean to me. You've said you struggle with distance, insecurity, feeling emotionally cut off. I thought this might help keep a connection."

"You've made a security journal."

I thought a moment, "I guess. We've hit a couple of bumps and worked through them. I hoped this may help keep it away over distance."

I watched him switch notebooks and read what I'd written. "Anything I write shows up for you?"

"Yes, once the app refreshes.”

Sebastian looked over with the softest smile I'd ever seen on him. "I love you." The softest kiss followed. "I tell you I'm looking for the perfect moment to kiss you and you create it. I tell you I have confidence issues and you tell me everyone hears that voice. I have a panic attack and you push me to take care of myself. I lay out my anxieties, overthinking, insecurity, and history of shutting women out and you don’t even blink. Now you come up with this way to stay connected with old-fashioned love notes." He bobbed his head back and forth. "More or less." He kissed me. "You want me to feel safe and loved."

I took a deep breath, "Partly." I was telling him my plan to battle his stuff so it was only fair I let him in on mine.

He looked at me questioningly.

"I've never been away from some I love for six weeks. I'm going to miss you and it's going to be hard. This is for me too." I am not going to cry.

His hand went under my hair to my neck, "Are you about to cry?"

"I'm trying not to, but the chance of tears Friday about noon is one hundred percent."

I let him pull me close enough to kiss, "I better get busy." He retreated to his side of the seat, stretching out a leg over my lap, and turning where I couldn't see what he was typing on his phone.

"You realize the whole point is I can see what you write."

"Don't refresh yet. I don't think we should tell each other when we add stuff."

I nodded my agreement.

He stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth like he was thinking. He typed a bit then looked over, "If I miss you in the middle of the night, I can write you and it will be there when you wake up. I don’t know which I’m looking more forward to. Writing or reading.”

I didn’t either.

#sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x ofc #marvel actor fanfiction #three days