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rawdogmeharry · 4 years

Note

will you write something about reader and harry having a 12 year age gap, but fans and everyone are really supportive of their healthy relationship? like they’re so in love. lots of fluff and maybe a tinge of smut? 🥺 love your writing 🥺🥰

old man

or, the one where Harry’s family loves Y/N and he loves her even more.

]part 2: old bones]

sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy babe <3 and thank you very much, that’s lovely to hear!!

requests go here:)

masterlist

•

“What d‘ya say, baby, red or white wine?“ Harry ponders, leaning one hip against the kitchen counter and holding up the two dark glass bottles in his hands, showing them to Y/N.

“I dunno, I‘d say red but Anne‘s not really a fan of it, so let‘s just take the white,“ she shrugs her shoulders, little animated hearts dancing around in her eyes from watching Harry look so fucking effortlesly hot for no damn reason. His sheer button-up that shows his vast collection of body ink and the way his black jeans fit snugly on his juicy thighs are the reasons her panties are drenched inside out.

Little does she know, he‘s thinking the exact same thing.

She stands in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a tight, sand colored turtleneck, black bell bottomed pants and the pointed-toe nude Louboutin heels Harry had gotten her for her last birthday, looking like Harry‘s next meal. All he wants to do, is take those pants, shove them down to her thighs, bend her over their glass dining table and bury his face in her cunt and ass.

But, they‘ve got places to be and people to see at the Styles-Twist family gathering.

Dead puppies, grandma boobs, cow udders is all that circles his head because nothing else can bring his boner down.

“Hey, where‘d you go?“ Y/N waves her hand in his face, seeing his spaced out face and eyes weirdly zoned in on her tits.

“Huh?“

“Y‘zoned out on me, Har, y‘okay?“ she slowly walks towards him with her brows furrowed, her heels making a really satisfying noise on the gray kitchen tiles.

“Oh, yeah, ‘m fine, kitty, just thinking ‘bout how pretty y‘are,“ he grins and tugs her in close by her love handles, then gradually migrates his hands down to her ass and gives it a firm squeeze once she‘s fully enclosed in his arms. And about how hard I want to fuck you, you fucking Goddess, he thinks to himself.

“Let‘s go then, bub, don‘ wanna be late. Been a while since we last saw your mum, I‘ve missed her,“ she smiles up at him. “And, wanna get home as soon as possible as well, also been a while since we used those handcuffs, huh?“

Harry watches as she bites her bottom lip and feels her dainty hands stroking up and down his back, and just as he‘s about to ram her against the wall to spank her and remind her how daddy doesn‘t like to be teased like that, she quickly slips out of his embrace and spanks his firm bum, telling him “let‘s go, Har“ and giving him a pointed look as if to silently tell him that she knows exactly what he‘s thinking.

‘‘‘

“Oh, yeah, since ‘m on winter break right now, me ‘n Harry started re-watching Friends, but my old man can barely keep his eyes open past 11, so it‘s been goin‘ really slowly,“ Y/N giggles, and that‘s the only part of the conversation Harry hears as he‘s approaching his lovie and Gemma, the two of them talking alone on the outside bench of Anne‘s back garden.

He feels finally free after hearing his uncle talk about the new corn he‘s been growing and how the high fiber content has really helped with his digestion for the past half an hour, and all he wants to do is throw Y/N over his shoulder, go home and fuck the ever living shit out of her. Maybe they won‘t even make it inside the house, he thinks, maybe he‘ll just take her in the car in the driveway.

“Hey, is the old man you‘re talkin‘ about supposed to be me?“ he pretends to be offended with raised brows and mouth open in mock offense, throwing his arm around his lovie‘s shoulders and leaning against the side of the bench in a hunched over sitting position with his bum right at the edge.

“Well, I don‘ really have any other old men watchin‘ Friends with me,“ she shrugs, her eyes regaining the light they get whenever Harry‘s around.

“Better not,“ he says in a stern tone, expression softening once again as he feels her hand on his thigh, rubbing softly in reassurance.

Then, he hears someone else giggle beside his baby, completely forgetting that Gemma‘s been sitting beside Y/N, because all he sees, knows and breathes is Y/N.

“You guys are so cute,“ Gemma giggles again and Harry notices just how tipsy his sister is from the sparkly look in her eyes, no doubt from the delicious wine set out on Anne‘s kitchen island. “Can I tell you a secret?“

“Go ‘head, Gem,“ he chuckles, brushing his fingers through lovie‘s soft hair, “jus‘ don‘ be mad at me if y‘gonna be embarassed by it for the rest of y‘life.“

“Oh, shut up,“ Gemma rolls her eyes, “I may be drunk, but ‘m not stupid, it‘s nothin‘ embarassing. Jus‘ wanted to tell you both how glad I am you two ended up together.“

“We‘re glad too, Gem, thank you,“ Y/N smiles at her, a fond look taking over her face from the realisation at how lucky she got with her sister-in-law. Or actually, Harry‘s whole family, really, and she feels beyond grateful for how accepted and loved she feels in it.

“No, like, ‘m sayin‘ just-just how grateful I am my brother ended up with someone so amazing, so understanding and just—overall such a great person. Really, at first, me ‘n mum were a bit skeptical because of—you know—the pretty big twelve year age difference and all, and Y/N bein‘ only eighteen when y‘met. But over time when we got to know you, you‘re mature beyond your years and I wouldn‘t wish Harry any other person. ‘M really glad that all the negative comments, looks and hate y‘both got at the start of your relationship didn‘t break you up or put any tiffs between you. Y‘gained the fans‘ trust, didn‘t let them overwhelm you. Just proves that no hardships can separate you‘s, you‘re meant to be.“

And Y/N‘s got tears in her eyes at the end of Gemma‘s mini speech, because she couldn‘t imagine hearing nicer words from her boyfriends family. If everyone genuinely thinks all of this about her, she‘s quite literally the luckiest person in the world.

Harry watches as Y/N doesn‘t hesitate to give Gemma a big, fat hug once she‘s done talking and all he thinks is how right Gemma is.

How right she is by saying that Y/N is the most fucking amazing thing to ever happen to him, how nothing can separate them and how they‘re meant to be. That‘s all Harry thinks about all day every day, and to think that his sister and probably the rest of his family have the same outlook on their relationship is like putting in the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Y/N pulls away from the hug and subtly wipes at her undereyes, “thank you, Gem. I just-I don‘ really know what else t‘say except thank y‘so much.“

“No, but seriously,“ Gemma grins at the next part she‘s about to say, “jus‘ the other day me and mum were talkin‘ about the adorable little buggers you‘d make with your good genes and all an-“

“Okay, Gem,“ Harry chuckles and takes the almost empty wine glass from her hand, “thank y‘for the kind words, but tha‘s all for tonight, I think.“

Gemma pouts, “hey, why‘d y‘take my wine?“

“C‘mon, let‘s go find Michal, he‘ll know what t‘do with ya,“ Harry smiles at his sister and helps her up from the bench and watches as she uncoordinately trots towards the door, heading inside of the warm house where the rest of his family are chatting away amongst eachother.

He stays behind and quickly leans down to whisper in Y/N‘s ear, gripping her thighs in both of his hands, “bathroom upstairs. In five minutes. Daddy doesn‘t like to wait.“ And walks away, catching up to his sister and leads her away to her boyfriend. He wants her, and he wants her now, because he physically cannot contain all of the love and absolute appreciation he has for her inside of him any longer.

Y/N just sits there with clenched thighs and an irregularly beating heart.

‘‘‘

“Fuck,“ Harry pants against his lovie‘s neck, keeping her hands pinned to the wall above her head by her wrists, “how are you this fucking beautiful, huh?“

“Fuck, please do something, Har,“ she mewls into his ear, desperately wanting to grind against something and longing to feel his cock lodged deep into her pussy.

“That‘s not my name,“ Harry growls and grips her wrists tighter.

“Daddy. Daddy, please fuck me, just-please, do something.“

“God, bunny, y‘drivin‘ me crazy. Can‘t fuck you here, don‘t want m‘family t‘hear you screamin‘ fo‘ daddy to fuck y‘ass harder. Gonna make it home, first. Or halfway.“ He grinds against one of her thighs and his cock is leaking so much precome he‘s sure there‘s gonna be a wet stain on his dark jeans once they get out of this Goddamn bathroom.

“Just stop talking, Daddy,“ she pants out, not really caring for the consequences of talking back to daddy at this exact moment and slots her lips to his own, immediately sucking his tongue into her mouth.

And Harry thinks he‘s gonna let her off for this one, because they both need it so much that the bloody rules daddy made can fuck right off through the window.

He moans into her mouth and takes his tongue out of it, quickly pulling back and looking into her eyes, “put your hand into your panties and feel how wet y‘are for me.“ And let‘s go of her wrists.

She does as she‘s told, feeling so fucking thankful for the small amount of friction she gets from her fingers quickly brushing on her clit as she passes it to her weeping hole and rubs her her pointer finger at the entrance of it.

Taking her hand out of her pants, she shows Harry her shiny, slick fingers coated in her juices.

“Suck on them like you‘d suck my cock.“ He rasps out with his hands put on either side of her head.

She takes them into her mouth and moans at her own mouth-watering taste, sucking her fingers to the back of her throat and gagging on them like she‘d gag on Harry‘s cock.

Harry moans out from the filthy sight and locks their lips together for a final time, “five minutes to say goodbye t‘everyone and then I want y‘in the front seat of m‘car with your pants in the back.“

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry-angst #harry angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #fanfic

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quantumlocked310 · 3 years

Text

In the Bed of Love - Chapter 2

Moodboard by the incredible @flowers-in-your-hayr!!

It’s Chapter 2! This one switches POV to Hvitty’s favorite Gorgon.

Summary: Our intrepid Hero Hvitserk, burdened with glorious purpose to prove his godhood, takes the epic journey to slaughter the Gorgons, but stumbles in love along the way.

Warnings (so far): greek mythology inaccuracies, slow burn

Ratings + Word Count: [General - 1,765w]

Series Masterlist (contains extra notes about Greek words and some of the Gods mentioned) Now with more Gods!

Extra Relevant Note: Malakas means Asshole in Greek (according to Google Translate)

++++++++++++

The early dawn is quiet, with dew glistening off the statues in the garden, and you’re the first awake in the house. As usual you walk quietly to the dresser where you get the silk robe gifted to you from Dionysus. Enrobed you walk down to the kitchen where you take a small cup of wine and yesterday’s bread out to the garden for breakfast.

There are a few stumps scattered amongst the statues, and you sit on the one closest to one of your favorite statues. Malakas the goose, who thought himself brave one day as he bit the ankles of your sister, Sten. You and Marmor had collapsed together laughing at the swiftest of you being chased at length by the ornery goose. Sten had yelled and screamed at it, to no avail, before finally giving in and glaring it to stone, and proclaiming his name Malakas.

“Good morning, friend.” You greet the goose and pat it on the head, but notice there’s something different about him today. Inside its mouth is a piece of paper, slightly crumpled, with ink on it. You look at it puzzled, then look around the garden a little, but see no one. After dipping your bread in the wine and taking a bite, you put the cup on the stump and grab the paper. Only to immediately start coughing.

It’s a crude drawing of you standing in offense with your shield. Clearly, the artist has no skill, but it’s obvious the figure is yours both in size and you’re the only one of your sisters who can carry a shield as big as this one. You’re a little flattered, and a little suspicious. The gorgons train together every evening, but this paper wasn’t in the goose’s mouth yesterday.

After finishing the bread and wine, while staring at the drawing, a million thoughts run through your head. Foremost concern for your security, and who could be watching. The gorgons were fearsome creatures, and that attracted idiots who wished to prove themselves against a mighty foe. Hence the many armored statues around you. Then curiosity, and why this person would focus on you. Once your foes reached your gates, they usually focussed on the muscular strength of Marmor, or the svelt speed of Sten, not the chunky bulk of your body made for sturdy defence. It was useful in battle, being underestimated. But it was never an advantage for love.

Sten didn’t care about copulation or partnership, and Marmor had a sometimes-something going on with Haphaestus. You loved your sisters, and you loved your life in the Oikos, but there were days when you wanted what Aphrodite and Eros talked about or what you saw at gatherings with Dionysus. Pleasures within and beyond your dreams were always just out of reach, because you were a gorgon, a monster. The risk of loving you was too great.

Why would anyone find you beautiful enough to put on paper?

The feelings well up inside you, and burst. You crumple the drawing in your fist, a few tears escaping your eyes, and immediately regret what you’ve done. Slowly you stand and smooth the paper back out, then go back inside to place it in the drawer of your bedside table.

You put on your clothes for the day, then put on a chestplate and greaves. It’s decided, you will check the perimeter and see if you can find whoever is spying on the Oikos. On the way out you run into Sten who is weaving in the inner garden.

“I’m doing a perimeter check.”

“Would you like company?” Sten responds absentmindedly.

“I’ll be okay. Keep half an ear out in case another one of Philoctetes’ useless heroes is lurking about.”

“I dunno. The last one was cute. Maybe it’s time we had a mortal as a pet.”

You roll your eyes and counter, “I’ll be sure to mention that if I find one. I’m sure they would be willing to live under threat of getting chopped into tiny bits and fed to our snakes.”

Sten turns her head and raises an eyebrow, “You might be surprised.”

You scoff and turn to go, “I’m never surprised anymore.”

As you walk through the garden to the north side of the Oikos, you try to shake off this strange mood that the drawing has put you in. The edge of the cliff is your first stop, and you center yourself listening to the rushing waters of the Styx below. You see Charon in his ferry and raise a hand. As usual you get the most minute nod in return, and you make your way east along the forest border, taking light steps as Artemis taught you, and tuning into your snakes scenting the air.

Over halfway done, and you haven’t found anything of note. A few of the traps Sten maintains have caught small game, and you cut some of the excess string to tie them together and drape the catch over your shoulders before resetting the traps.

On the last leg of your check your snakes perk up. They sway further West and you follow, keeping your light hunting step, and making sure to draw your sword. You go further into the forest until you can no longer see the bright signal of the Oikos, and then you find it. There is a patch of disturbed leaves and earth where a small fire had been. The ashes are almost completely brushed away, and the leaves spread over to make it blend into the ground. If you did not have your snakes to guide you to the scent you would not have found it. Whoever had camped here knew how to cover their tracks.

Unfortunately, your snakes couldn’t help you track any further. They knew if something was prey, or different, but they didn’t have the skills of hunting dogs. Once you found the spot they had scented, they would not know where to track from there, and your meticulous circles around the ashes yielded no more results.

You huff to yourself and when you finally stop, your stomach gives a mighty growel and you observe the sky. You’ve missed the mid-day meal, and it was past time to start daily training. Marmor is going to be insufferable. In your haste to sate your hunger and get to training you neglect the last leg of the perimeter, much to the luck of the prowling Hvitserk who had no idea how close he came to being discovered.

When you reach the edge of the forest there’s a twang and a zing, and you twist behind the nearest tree, shield on your back, pressed against the bark. You watch the arrow dig into the wood of the tree in front of you.

“What the fuck, Sten?” You shout.

“You’re late!” Replies Marmor.

You groan to yourself then shrug the shield off your back and use its shiny metal to see where your sisters are. Slowly, you pull off your catch for dinner from around your neck, and get ready to throw them at your sisters. Raising your shield in front of your body to deflect Sten’s arrows, you launch the strung together animals over your barrier, then shove forward to put your whole weight behind your shield, in hopes that you will shock Marmor and throw her off her feet.

It works. Marmor’s annoyance has her getting thrown off briefly, and the training session really begins. You block and parry, attacking when you can, but mainly trying to cover your open spots when Sten shoots arrows toward you. You’re late, so they’re both going harder on only you.

But your head isn’t in it. The moves are harder to come into your mind than usual, your footwork not as instinctive as yesterday. An off day all because of some faceless enemy stalking in the trees. Who are you kidding, it could just be a traveller. But the way the ashes were buried has you nervous.

And the drawing. Marmor’s sword clangs against your shield just in time. How could you forget? Were they connected? Could you get away with telling your sisters about the perimeter check but not the drawing? You didn’t think so. Your gut is screaming that they’re connected.

But now your gut is screaming, because Marmor kicked you.

“Fuck you!”

“Focus up! What if an idiot hero comes here? You’re not going to win fighting them like this.”

“Oh. My. God. I know!” Your snakes start hissing as they pick up on your anger, and you keep hacking and slashing toward your sister, trying to disarm her even though you know it won’t get you anywhere.

All you want to do is stop and think for a few minutes. Plan your next moves. Figure out who is watching you and why. And why would they draw you? That’s the part that’s gnawing at you the most. There’s a weird fluttery feeling in your chest and you absolutely hate it.

You use your anger to back up your power. Attacking furiously where you would usually stay back and block. You’re reckless and Marmor gets in a few close calls with her sword. You’re trying to block a particularly vicious swing of the sword when you hear Sten call your name, the duck seems to happen in slow motion where you watch the arrow fly just past your brow, and feel the sting of a sword on your thigh. Marmor has pulled her sword down across the top of your shield and you hadn’t pulled your leg back in time.

“First blood!” Sten yells, and Marmor pulls up and stops, only looking a little apologetic.

The wound is just a scratch for you. It stings, and will heal in a few days, but first blood stops the fight.

You rest the edge of your shield on the ground and lean on it just slightly, staring at your sisters. “We have to talk. Inside. It’s not safe out here in sight of the woods.”

“You found something.” Sten remarks. You glare at her. If you’re being watched, you definitely don’t want to be heard.

“Then let’s go eat. You must be hungry, Y/N. You’ve been out all day.” Marmor says, her eyes narrowing and trying to covertly scan the treeline. She walks over and grabs the game you had thrown as a distraction earlier.

Together, you walk back to the Oikos. Quiet and a little sullen. Your sisters don’t like off days any more than you do, and they are anxious to hear what you’ve found.

++++++++++++

If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @artemiseamoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash @ritual-unions-gotme @pomegranates-and-blood @mrsalwayswrite @jadelynlace

#hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk x you #plus size reader #hvitserk x plus size reader #Hero! Hvitserk x Gorgon!Reader

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

what about reader having a allergic attack and sin reacting to that. I remember when I had one and my boyfriend couldn't find the vaccine that I needed and he started panicking and try to carry me to the hospital and I was trying to laugh but I was dying Hahahana a whole mood. I imagine how it would be with din.

Oh my stars, that sounds good hilarious and scary! I'm glad you're okay! I can't help but feel like Din would be very similar...

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner was going to be good. Delicious even. It was the first multicourse, warm, sit down meal you'd had in months.

You'd spent all day in the kitchen, working to prepare all of your and Din's favorites, with the small green bean under foot as he attempted to help.

It was a far cry, so different from your reality a few short months ago. Now you had a home, a stable home on the ground, one you could come back to every day and not have to worry about leaving, one with a garden, one with neighbors - normalcy. Now, you had an official husband, and your small son was safe and not at risk all the time. It was strange not to have worry and be on your toes all the time, but a life you were slowly being accustomed to.

"Cyare?" Din's voice was soft as he came into the kitchen, his armor still on, but helmet stripped off, "it smells delicious. I'm so hungry I could eat a bantha."

"Well, luckily, you don't have to worry about that," you turned to him, grinning at the sight of his bare face before reaching up and running a hand through his dark curls, "no bantha in sight. Just what the little one and I whipped up today and dessert from the neighbors."

"Apparently I had some excellent timing," he kissed you quickly, catching you off guard for a moment before you responded in kind. His aquiline nose bumped against yours before he laughed and bent down to scoop up the Child, "have you been good for your buir today?"

The little looked at him happily, cooing and chirping excitedly at the two of you before you nodded. He reached his small petal hands to Din's face as he leaned up to hug him. Din's smile was brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine as he bent his head to touch his forehead against his in a soft keldabe kiss.

"Go on and take him and shower and change," you gently nudged him with your hips in the direction of the upstairs, "dinner will be ready by the two you come back."

"Are you sure..."

"Yes," you promised softly, "go on, my love. I've got this all handled."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner was a quiet affair as you sat across from Din, his legs resting against yours, and the little one at the head of the table. It felt so normal, so natural, like it was always meant to be. You'd been playing at this for some time, playing at being a normal family, but now that it was here, your daily reality, you never wanted anything else.

"You're thinking awfully loudly," Din said softly as you gave him a sheepish look with a smol shrug of your shoulders, "come on, what's going on up there?"

"Nothing that should warrant any worry," you promised, setting down your fork and leaning back in your chair, "I am happy. Very happy....I just...sometimes it doesn't feel real. Like any second it could go away, I know its silly to worry about, but I just want this forever."

"Me too," he agreed as the little cooed softly, "nothing will ever happen - nothing bad. We're safe now. Safe and sound."

"I know," you agreed, a small contented sigh escaping your lips, "I love you, you know."

"I know," he laughed lightly, "I kind of got that feeling a long time ago but you know, I love you too."

"Good," you grinned as you stood up and gathered some of the now empty dishes. He offered to help but you shook your head, promising that you could handle something so simple. Besides, you'd leave the dishes for tomorrow, that way you could recruit your boys to help with washing and putting them away, "dessert?"

"Of course," he insisted as the Child cooed excitedly. You brought over the big, delicious smelling pie that your neighbor had set and it in the cent of the table. Passing a fork to Din, you picked up the green bean and sat down on the table to where he could easily eat some of the pie, "what kind is it? It looks amazing."

"I dunno," you admitted, "there was so much going on when Mrs. Tenche brought it over I didn't think to ask. But she did say it was a family recipe. So, I guess we just dig in."

"I can't argue with that," Din grinned as the two of you sliced into the pie and the little one grabbed a handful. It was silent for a few moments as the three of you took bites and tried to decide how you felt about the pie.

It was delicious - filled with a sweet, soft filling that contained some mild spices and a flakey, buttery crust. You could have easily eaten the whole thing by yourself in one setting.

"Good," Din mumbled between mouthfuls as you nodded. Even the little one seemed to enjoy, as he went back for another handful, making little sounds of excitement, "we should get this recipe. What do you think it is?"

"I don't know," you pondered as you coughed lightly, some of the crust crumbs getting caught in your throat, "some sort of fruit...and spices."

"I think maybe jogan fruit," he mused as you nodded. You set down your fork as you reached for your water, trying to clear your throat, "maybe some of the spices from the local market."

"Mhmm," you coughed, your throat starting to feel tighter and tighter with each passing second, "umm...spices."

"Cyare?" Din's eyes grew up as he set down his fork and studied you. He could immediately tell something was up, "what's wrong?"

"Umm," you could barely get down any water as you started to gasp for air, "spices. Allergic..."

"Kriff," he almost shouted as he jumped up and ran over to you, "I completely forgot. Do you know which ones? Your medicine...where is it?"

"I don't remember which ones," your hand was on your throat as you tried to slow and even the little breathing you managed, "its in the bedroom...somewhere."

"Stars," he anxiously ran to the stars but came back to you and then back to the stars, clearly in a state of panic, "s-stay here. I'll be right back."

"Okay..." you managed to squeak out as the little one slowly came over to you and plopped down in front of you. His inky eyes were wide with concern as he held out his hands towards you.

You could hear loud banging and slamming from upstairs as Din frantically ran around, trying to find your medicine. If you hadn't been trying not to panic, you might have laughed at him.

The little one made a sound to get your attention as you reached over to pick him up. As soon as you did, he put his little petal hands on your cheeks, studying you intently as he seemed to focus all of his energy onto you.

Slowly, as if by magic, which you realized it was something of the sort, he used his strange healing powers on you as your throat started to become less and less constricted.

Your airway started to feel normal again as your breathing slowly evened out and the rapid beating of your heart become less erratic.

"You..." you looked at your small son that was watching intently with his big eyes as he smiled. Picking him up, you held him tightly to your chest, holding him as close as possible, "thank you...thank you so much. You are my little lifesaver."

He made a noise akin to happiness before breathing in deeply and yawning. Although getting better at managing his power, he still easily tired after exerting such copious amounts of energy.

Din came bounding down the stairs, calling your name, and almost tripping over his down feet as he hopped off the landing, "I couldn't find it! But here, I'm going to take to the Healer and-"

"Din-"

"And we'll get you sorted out," he didn't even listen, so consumed with worry as he attemled to scoop you up in his arms, "it won't get long to get there-"

"Din..."

"Speeder bike is fast and-"

"Din!" the sudden almost bark of his name caused him to snap out of his stupor as he looked at you holding the little one, the color back in your face as you sat there calmly.

"Wait...what happened?" he asked as his hands went to your face as he studied you to make sure he wasn't making this up in his mind.

"I'm okay," you reassured him with a soft nod, "he helped."

As if on cue, he started to snore lightly as he had drifted off to sleep in your arms. Din made a sound somewhere between confusion and thankfulness as he dropped to his knees before you, one hand tightly clutching onto yours, "thank the maker. I don't know what..."

"I know, my love," you leaned down and pressed a soft to kiss to the crown of his head, "luckily we don't have to worry about that. Good thing we've got just a caring, helpful son."

"What if-"

"Shhh," you took your hand out of his and pressed a finger to his lips, "its okay. No need to worry about things that didn't happen. But I am glad to know, you'd drop everything to help me."

"You know I will," he promised, "always."

"As I would for either of you."

"I do have a few small requests..."

"Shoot."

"We'll find your medicine and keep it somewhere downstairs," he insisted as you nodded, "just in case this ever happens again...and second, I'm taste testing foods from now. Just the mystery ones."

"Deal," you grinned at him, "I'll have to get the recipe so we can figure out what the spices are and recreate it without whichever one that caused the reaction."

"Perfect," he stood up and reached for the child, "as good as the dessert was, I don't think its worth dying for."

"Jury's out on that one..."

"Either way, I'll go put him in bed and then come back for you. I'll find you some dessert that won't cause this," he took him gently from you, "be right back."

"Be right here," you promised, "thank you, my love."

"There's nothing to thank me for," he insisted, "just keep out of trouble for a few minutes."

"No promises on that..."

"Cyare..."

"Fine! Now hurry up!"

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the Mandalorian #the Mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Today Is A Wonderful Day

Characters: Arisu Ryohei, Karube Daikichi, Chota Segawa

Genre: General. Arisu is entering his own strange Wonderland.

5.2k words

Well, here it is, my self indulgent fic! I honestly had a great time just getting this out. Will I continue this storyline? Who knows, we'll have to see, won't we? Five hours of typing, my poor pinky~✨

Apologies if anyone seems off in characterization, this is again more self indulgence and a bare string of consistency.

The sun was bright, today. Perfect for a picnic, or to swing, or gardening.

It was such a shame he didn’t like going out much when he could spend all his days at his chair, headphones slipped over his ears, his grip around worn but well-loved plastic. Thumbs flick this way and that in accordance to what he needed to do with the avatar moving across the screen.

It was easier to not have to think about the outside right now. His father was always looking at him with disappointment that he wasn’t the son he wanted, but then again, was he ever the son he wanted? There was his brother anyways, the model of a smart, well adjusted man. Ever since they were young his father’s eyes weren’t on him, the first child.

But he shouldn’t complain, he did this to himself, being practically useless and not up to the standards he should have been able to achieve. He wasn’t worth his father’s attention, even if he wanted even a little bit, just for a fraction of his acceptance and pride to be for him.

But it wasn’t like he was alone in life. He had friends, two of them, and they were supportive of him, and he was supportive in return. He couldn’t ask for better friends, really. The tallest of the three, Karube, was a bartender, and willing to let his friends in to sit at the counter and chat their hours away, even if he was mindful of any alcohol they consumed. The shortest, Chota, worked in IT, although he tended to skip in order to come join them in their little adventures and hangouts, or to indulge in his own whims.

At the moment they were both busy, so he couldn’t meet up with them out on this beautiful day. It would be fun, maybe, spending their hours at the park, or maybe heading down to the arcade. A smile works its way up to chapped lips, and he instinctively licks at them when the skin tugs the wrong way, to alleviate the feeling. Yeah, that sounds great. Hanging together with them is great, being around them is such a wonderful feeling for him.

The screen flickers with a 1st place banner, and he quietly cheers, shaking his controller in his hand as a burst of achievement hits him, washed through his chest and makes him straighten his posture after who knew how long. It sinks back to a more relaxed posture as he starts a new game, and he starts all over again.

Hours pass, and the sun is lower in the sky, and Arisu remembers he hasn’t eaten since yesterday.He gets up, groaning a little as his muscles remember how to stand again, and he shuffles over to the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge. He glances at it, eyes flickering over the neat scrawl.

‘ Will be home late. Buy groceries. - Dad ’

Figured. Arisu opens the fridge, just to see if there was anything remotely edible before he would have to inevitably head out to refill the fridge again so that they could eat all week. There was only condiments, a half bottle of orange juice, and some other bits here and there that Arisu wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to do with. Shoulders slump, and he shuts the door and shuffles towards his bedroom door to get changed to head out for the day. It wasn’t an outfit worth taking time to pick, as it was only a grocery run. He grabs some simple jeans, comfortable and stretchy, as well as a t-shirt, light blue with the picture of a dog printed just behind the pocket on the left side of his chest, an illusion of it sitting there.

There was money on the table when he heads back out on the table he didn’t notice before, with another note on it, simply labeling it as grocery money. Arisu pockets the money into his jeans as well as his phone, and with a goodbye to an empty house, he leaves and heads into the open, warm world.

The walk to the grocery wasn’t long, but it still took some time, so Arisu was left to his own devices, in his own thoughts. They were simple thoughts, like how sunny it was, how people were walking by with their own lives in motion, how he wished he could hang out with Karube and Chota. He could always text them, they’d respond to him, but he didn’t want to bother them because he was being too selfish. So his phone remains heavy in his pocket as he strolls along the street, glancing around every so often to make sure he was going the right way.

There was a ping on his phone, and he pulls it out, staring at the new message. It was an unknown number, Arisu frowning a little at the text.

‘ Would you like to see something Wonderful? ’

It was a strange text, and way too ominous. Arisu ignores it, and he slips it in his pocket and looks back up, his stride never faltering as he continues onwards.

The text never left his mind though. As he stands in the aisle of the store, trying to find a decent box of cereal to put into the trolley cart, the thought filters back to him as he picks up a box, turning it in his head. Just what was that? It must’ve been a prank, or perhaps a text bot. Maybe even a sex bot, there were way too many of those, and he wasn’t interested in getting duped. But this one, for reasons Arisu couldn’t explain, this one felt…. different, somehow.

A ping startles him out of his thought. He looks down, and his hand trails back to his phone, stopping just before he pulls it out, fingers on glass and fabric. What if the number texted again? Arisu bites the inside of his lip. He was curious, that much was sure.

What did it want with him?

Arisu takes a slow, deep breath. He couldn’t do anything if he didn’t know. The phone slides out of his pocket and held in front of him, just high enough for the screen to register him and turn on.

Just as he thought, it was the same mysterious number again.

‘ Have you ever wanted to experience something out of this reality? ’

It was….. strange. Confused eyes flicker through the text — once, then twice. There wasn’t a sign of an attachment, where usually there could be a picture attached, trying to get an interested soul piqued. That, and there was no hint of a clickbait to be seen. His other hand, which had been on the handle of the cart, tightens around the cool plastic bar.

To be fair, he always wondered, just a little, if life was different. If he would ever see something, experience something, that wasn’t only contained in digital formation. He would joke about it with Chota and Karube, sometimes, thinking about fictional situations and what they would be achieving. But that was it, it was fictional, and nothing more.

The rest of the shopping leaves that text floating around in his brain, a puzzle that Arisu was itching to figure out what it held, all the way to him paying and making his way back. The trip was ordinary, only letting it gently warm underneath the sun, baking slowly and rising until it overtook any other kind of thought. “ I’m home.” He said, to an empty house. He slips out of his shoes and makes his way inside, dropping the bags of groceries down by the kitchen, planning to get to them later. At the moment though, he needed to get this thought out or else it would bother him for a while. He pulls a chair out and takes a seat, taking his phone out of his pocket in the same motion, and opens his messaging. The little notification for that mysterious number lingers, but he ignores it in favour for the group chat that he shared with his two friends.

Arisu: i have a question

He didn’t have to wait long for a response, as he watches the grey bubbles appear.

Karube: what’s up

Arisu: i got this really weird text

Arisu: and i dunno what to do

Karube: what does it say?

Arisu’s fingers lull above the keypad. Was it worth telling them? They’d probably share the thoughts of it being some sort of bot or perhaps some odd pranks. It was natural, something explainable.

But this was eating at him, and Arisu needed other thoughts.

Arisu: they were talking about seeing something wonderful and out of reality

Karube: definitely sounds weird

Karube: did it link anything?

Arisu: no

Arisu: its just the messages nothing attached

Chota: Maybe its a dick pic

That earns a small snort, Arisu rolling his eyes. He would hope not. Karube: wouldn’t they have attached it anyways then???

Chota: Ah yeah true

Chota: Maybe they’re asking permission?

Arisu: why though

Karube: dunno dude

Karube: just ignore it

Arisu: its been on my mind for a while

Karube: srsly?

Karube: hmm…….

Arisu stares as his screen as the bubbles flicker in and out. He didn’t know what he’d do. His phone pings again, and the notification slides in from above. It was the number again.

‘ Come experience the greatest encounters of your life! ‘

Arisu frowns, and he quickly exits the chat and stares at the tab for this strange number. Now that he looks at it, the number itself looked odd. At first glance it was numbers in a format of a normal phone, but now that he looked closely, it looked a digit too long for a Japanese phone number, much less did he recognize the area code.

He wasn’t all that much of a phone number whiz though, so he could be mistaken.

There was a new text from Karube, and he opens the chat again.

Karube: if it’s really bothering you, no harm in playing along right? just see what it is and then back out

Karube: no hamr done

No harm done, huh?

Arisu sits there, finger hovering above the option to text back, as he thought through his options. He could always just delete it, or send a text telling whoever this was that he wasn’t interested. He could follow Karube’s idea of playing along, finding what this was before leaving it behind, free of his insatiable curiosity.

The notification pings with another text again, and it was three simple words:

‘ Do you accept? ‘

Arisu bites his lips, and he sets his phone down, screen down as he approaches the grocery bags. He needs to think about this.

The familiar feeling of his phone in his hand was comforting yet so stifling at the same time, Arisu staring at the now opened chat log. The strange texts were there, without a single response from him. There was no links, no images, no anything to reveal their intents. Hell, the log didn’t even start with those cheesy greetings of a hello, diving straight into its offer of something ‘Wonderful’. What even was the meaning of that? The capitalization of that one world made it even stranger. The other texts that followed only built onto this strange, supposedly otherworldly thing, whatever it was. It was persistent and curious, and Arisu didn’t know why he was so interested in figuring it out.

His fingers hover over the bar, worrying the inside of his lip with his teeth. Is it really worth contacting it back? All for his curious mind to stop thinking? What if it was nothing to even worry about, and he just got himself fooled into some weird scheme for his credit card or his location?

Who even was this strange, unknown identity?

Arisu blinks, and he nearly drops his phone when he sees the bubble on the right side, his side, already pasted into the log.

Arisu: who are you

He…. didn’t remember writing that. His fingers move to delete it, but a response comes before he could press the trash icon.

Unknown: Who I am doesn’t matter! Are you interested in seeing something out of this reality?

Arisu stills, and he accepts his fate. No harm in finding out what this was. Worse case scenario, he has fun playing along and he can push this to the back of his mind, so it can’t be that terrible.

Arisu: that depends

Unknown: So you ARE interested! That’s wonderful!

Unknown: Are you willing to see something Wonderful?

Arisu: what even is it?

Arisu silently watches the bubbles, which appear, the disappear, as if there was really a person behind this odd number, this strange offer of something far too vague. But it was that kind of thing that still pulled him in, curious like a child watching something fantastical in front of their young eyes.

Unknown: Something only you have only thought couldn’t exist before! Something that will catch you and bring you along on a journey you would never experience any time elsewhere in your short life!

Unknown: Don’t you want something more than what you have at hand now?

Arisu freezes. Did it know….? He shakes his head. No, it couldn’t have, this was just some elaborate thing. There was no way it could have the slightest idea of how listless his life was going. It was a blanket sentence, something to catch a large group without pinpointing a singular person without it becoming a case of stalking.

That doesn’t stop Arisu from quickly glancing around his room before he slowly slides underneath his blanket, hiding from the world for just a little.

Arisu: why do you ask?

Unknown: It’s an opportunity of a lifetime! All you have to do is say yes, and you’ll see something Wonderful.

Arisu: and if I say no?

Unknown: That would be sad, but you can do whatever you want. You can continue on with your life, and see where that takes you.

Unknown: But you’re getting the offer that most people never are given the chance to take.

Unknown: Just say yes, and you’ll see something Wonderful, experience something Wonderful.

Unknown: What do you say?

Arisu knows, in the back of his mind, that this was a horrible idea. These were kidnapper words, words that parents and teachers and everyone tells others not to listen to because it only means bad things. These were way too odd to take seriously, and any rational mind would back out now, delete the log and continue on with their lives and talk about the strange encounter in the future, as if were nothing more than a funny story.

Rationally, Arisu should have said no. He should have said no, went back to doing nothing all day but play games on the computer, on his phone, on the television. He should have said no and went back to being practically shunned by his family, to only really hanging out with his two friends, to merely existing and drifting through life.

He should have just walked away and said no. He should have walked away like any other person would.

But his fingers slowly type out his answer, and he seals the deal in only a few words.

Arisu: alright.

Arisu stares at the screen, his breath held in his throat as the bubbles pop out, squeezing his poor phone as his thoughts flood in, regret and confusion and a tingling in his head and in his arms and in his everything.

Unknown: Wonderful♥️ Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.

Arisu takes a deep, shuddering breath, darkness in his vision. It’s hot, it’s stuffy, it’s-

He frantically sits up, and his racing thoughts get ahead of him as he looks around, chest heaving. It’s dark, where was he? What happened? He tries to take deep breaths, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the ringing in his ears dissolves until it was only quiet whirs of what might be the air conditioner running. He counts as he inhales, holds, counts as he exhales, holds, repeats.

His body returns to him after a while, and he opens his eyes to his room. It was just his room, with nothing out of place, with the AC slowly whirring in the background. Everything was okay, nothing happened to him. Arisu presses a hand to his chest, faintly registering the blanket. It was over his head, his brain supplies to him once he was calmer, that’s why it was so stuffy. He didn’t remember falling asleep, or what…..

The text.

Arisu searches around for his phone, hands swiping over the bed until it hits a solid object, and he fumbles as he picks it up, turning it on. There was no new texts, just the screen he was used to seeing. He clutches it anyways, swiping. It was only to prove it wasn’t just some dream. Arisu opens the messaging app, and his breath catches once more when he sees the text, that text with the heart attached, the number that was clearly not from a strange dream. He doesn’t open the log, the sight of it enough for him as it stares back at him.

He really said yes. To what exactly, he couldn’t say. It was far too vague and fantastical to explain, but something in him made him agree. Fingers brush against the edge of his phone, and Arisu wonders if he made a mistake.

The thought was making him feel strange, and he needed a distraction. Karube and Chota were probably asleep at this time, so that was out. He goes to one of his puzzle games instead, the shiny colours staring back at him. He starts, and his attention becomes absorbed in swiping that box left and up and right, zoning out his thoughts.

Sunlight peeking through his curtains was the only thing that pulls him out, and Arisu faintly realizes he was playing his game for hours. He rubs his eye as he sets his phone down to stare at the partially sealed window, and he sighs, flopping and covering his eyes with an arm. No use sleeping now.

Arisu gets out of bed, and he stretches a little as he trods to the bathroom. He doesn’t know what time it is right now, but it was probably early. Maybe too early, as when he gets out he gets a whiff of coffee, and the sound of someone else awake. It was far from the bathroom though, so Arisu continues on his way to brush his teeth and use the toilet. As mint hits his tongue Arisu remembers he forgot to eat, and he grumbles lightly under his breath. He completely forgot. Arisu leans over the sink and spits the foam out his mouth. No matter, he can eat breakfast and he’ll be fine. Being home didn’t expend that much energy anyways, and he could survive with a skipped meal or two.

Arisu walks out to the kitchen, and he gets a glimpse of his father and brother making their way to the front door, donned in suits. He waves as they leave, but he gets nothing in return, his hand dropping to his side. Figures, they wouldn’t bother looking to say goodbye to him when Arisu wasn’t consistent with waking up as they left like this. Still he could say that he made an effort. Arisu turns his attention to the fridge, and he opens it, grabbing some random item and popping it into the microwave for breakfast. He stands there as he waits, watching the thing spin. Once it was finished, he pops open the door and actually checks what he even put in there. It appeared to be some instant breakfast sandwich still nestled safely in its partially opened package, Arisu sliding it out of its rectangular prison and onto the counter to cool a little before he even attempts.

When it was, he slips it from its nest and held it in his hands, the only covering now being a paper towel as he eats, grabbing a bottle of water on his way as he wanders a little around his house. Just like always, there was nothing of importance for him to attend to, his only plan being gaming all day and perhaps texting his friends.

His body moves towards the window, and he takes in the outside as he sips his water, the sun shining in the sky, undeterred as always. It was such a beautiful day outside, and yet it was such a shame he didn’t have any reason to-

Arisu’s attention catches on something, and he pauses, lowering the bottle as he squints to something in the distance. It was faint, but it was there, disappearing out of sight as soon as he focused on it. Something white, but also pink in colour, disappearing into the trees.

Arisu blinks, and then he remembers he doesn’t really live anywhere close to a park.

So why were there trees?

His grip tightens around his sandwich and his bottle of water, and something tickles at the back of his mind that he should go down there. Eyes narrow, and then the memory of yesterday comes back to him, and they widen once more. Suddenly he’s rushing back to his room, scarfing down the sandwich. The burst of energy was new, as was this sense of urgency, and Arisu didn’t know what to make of it just yet.

What he did know is that this was it. He chugs the rest of his water, and he’s slipping on some comfortable pants and shirt and rushing out of the house, only barely remembering to lock up behind him. The only thing he had on him was his phone and the spare house key, but that didn’t matter right now.That urge to follow that white and pink something, to see if that strange bunch of trees that he didn’t remember before was that out of reality experience.

Why he was convinced to go along, even he didn’t know. There was nothing stopping him from this, from finding out if it was really real, and so shoes pound against ground as he runs towards where he swears he saw the trees.

When he gets there, it only answers him with green foliage and deep brown bark. The trees were real, and Arisu was standing in front of them, the smell of wood and something natural amongst the scent of artificial manmade livelihood. He looks around him, people continuing on their daily lives, packs and individual alike, and nobody paid the trees in front any mind.

Arisu looks back at the trees, and his chest pangs with what he faintly recognizes as excitement, as a rush of something else that he can’t put the words to at the moment. Trepidation, perhaps. But he wasn’t afraid, not in the least.

He takes his phone back out, and he texts something to the group chat.

Arisu: lets see where it takes me then

With one definitive, solidifying breath, he tucks his phone into his pocket and walks into the forest. The smell hits him stronger once he crossed the supposed threshold. The ground was still the same pavement as he was used to seeing, but the area around him was definitely new to him. Trees lined the road, and it seemed to only go in one direction. Clearly sketchy, but curiosity overtook him, and Arisu lets his feet carry him onwards, deeper.

It didn’t seem to end, he realizes as he watches the trees pass by him. It was fairly quiet, with faint sounds that at least told him he wasn’t alone, not completely. With how long he’s been going forward, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s walked through a building if this was any more real. The path was far too strange, far too simple and peaceful. The only reason he hasn’t given up now was the fact that it was so strange, and something kept beckoning him to continue forward on this peculiar path.

Come to think of it, he didn’t even feel tired, despite all this walking. His feet didn’t ache, his legs didn’t give up, his breathing was completely normal. Arisu was aware he wasn’t much of a healthy person and likely would’ve at the very least needed a break and a bit of water at this point, but Arisu only rationalized it being a side effect of this odd experience.

He doesn’t know how much time passed, but he finally stops when the path finally turns into dirt, dark and healthy. It didn’t look that well stepped on, and there were grey stones embedded in it, a natural rendition of the slate grey concrete stones Arisu had been walking across. Arisu stands there, and finally looks back, staring far into trees and the singular pathway. He squints, trying to see if he could see the way back into the city, but it was nothing more than a pinprick into nothing, and he turns back around to spot a glimpse of white and pink. He gasps, and from where he was, now upon more even, closer grounds, he could make out a human running away. “ W-Wait! Hold on, where’re you going?!” Arisu yells, and he pushes onwards, his feet racing across dirt and stones in an attempt to reach this mysterious figure. The white and pink remains in his visions, although far, and it was calling to him without uttering a single word. Words weren’t important here, just the urge that tugged at his chest that called him forwards, allowing him to run after this faraway figure. Arisu barely registers the lack of fatigue that should have taken to his body, strain from not getting nearly enough exercise to even make it this far. His attention was on that figure, which continued to run away from him, and he wanted to know who else was here with him, on this tree and dirt lined path.

Why was he so intent? Arisu didn’t know, but he continues until the pink and white gets closer. Only when he can make out the person clearly does he realize how odd the silhouette of this person was. Their hair was cut in a bob, and they wore a pink windbreaker with a white rabbit printed on the back, along with simple pants that looked rather easy to move in. From the back view, Arisu realized that it was a young woman, or at the very least had a slim and fit figure. Normal things, really.

It was the ears that caught him off guard, long and white and on the top of her head, bouncing as the same rate she she was running. Rabbit ears, just like the ones on her jacket, except she was definitely human. Maybe it was a headband, but her hair flowed and swayed freely, and Arisu didn’t think he could see any hint of any headband on her head. It was strange, and Arisu tries to pick up his pace.

“ Wait! Hold on, can I talk to you?” Arisu shouts at her as he chases the rabbit, and finally he catches her attention. Her runs slow to a jog, and Arisu slows in a less smooth manner, until they were both at a halt, the girl still meters away. “ Can we talk? Can I ask where I am?” Arisu asks, and he’s mildly surprised when his chest doesn’t heave like he expects, although he was breathing a little deeper as he expected.

The girl slowly turns around, and her eyes were a little confused yet calm as they lock with Arisu’s. She blinks, and she looks around, then back at Arisu.

“ You actually followed me.” She said, and Arisu nods in response. He didn’t know why she was so confused that he followed, there was only this one path after all. Was it because he ran after her? He looks at the ground in embarrassment. Hopefully she didn’t think he was weird for chasing her-

“ Hey, it’s alright. I was surprised you did.” Her voice was closer, and he jerks his head back up, and she’s closer. He sucks in a quiet breath when one of the ears twitches, his eyes locked on the white lagomorph ear. His staring was clearly evident though, as she gestures with a hand for his attention to get off, Arisu looking back at the girl’s face and bowing his head.

“ Ah- Sorry-“ He sputters, and her lip twitches upward.

“ No, it’s alright, I understand. It’s real, trust me. This is your first time, right?” She says, and Arisu nods. The girl copies him, as if to take that in, and her small smile drops into a thoughtful look, dark eyes scanning him briefly. “ What’s your name?” “ Ah- My name is Arisu Ryohei, it’s nice to meet you-“ Arisu bows again, this time in greeting, and she lightly chuckles.

“ It’s very nice to meet you then, Arisu.” She greets, and she bows a little in return. “ My name is Usagi.” Arisu looks at her again, eyes wide. Her name was Rabbit? A little on the nose, but Arisu wasn’t about to judge. After all, his own name was the same pronunciation as Alice. “ So….. where am I?” Arisu asks again, and Usagi looks to him.

“ This place has no real name, but if you want, people before you have called this Wonderland. Although… we’re not in the one you immediately think of.” She says, and she jerks her head to signal to him to walk with her, Usagi taking simple strides. Arisu matches her pace, and he nods.

“ Alright. Fair enough.”

The walk was just as peaceful as it was before Arisu even met Usagi, but it was just as comfortable as it was beforehand, if not a little awkward knowing he now had company. His gaze couldn’t help but occasionally look towards the lapin ears, curious. His hand comes up before he realizes what his brain unconsciously did, and they brush against soft fur. Usagi steps away in surprise, looking up at him as her ear twitches. Arisu backs away in return, and he feels his face heating up.

“ A-Ah- Sorry-“

Usagi frowns a little, but it wasn’t one that was really sad, just annoyed. Arisu can only bow his head and apologize again, and she lets out a soft sigh. “ Next time just ask, okay?” Arisu nods, and they continue onwards, Arisu holding his hands into his pockets to prevent another strange incident. At the very least he now knew that they were 100% real, and that she could feel them.

“ Where are we heading towards?” He asks after a particularly long stretch of silence and walking along the dirt and stone path. Usagi glances up at him, Arisu looking down at her and tilting his head slightly.

She looks straight once more, and she points to something Arisu doesn’t see. “ Somewhere you have never seen before, something that you won’t forget for the rest of your life, Arisu. Are you ready?” Arisu nods. He’s already made it this far after all, and she nods once, and she starts into a jog. Arisu blinks, and he picks up his pace, and he can’t help but smile a little, hoping what she said, what that strange text, really meant it.

He wanted to see this Wonderland for himself.

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #arisu ryohei #karube daikichi #chota segawa #usagi yuzuha #completely and utterly self indulgent where things are not quite what it seems now #oh and there's the barest cameo of arisu's family but so brief it doesn't matter #arisu needs a solid eating schedule #if i continue oh boy you're in for a strange ride #it's wonderland but also not at the same time #how does nobody question the appearance of trees? well.....

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docholligay · 3 years

Text

The Wild Iris

I love poetry. I love poetry, and yet somehow manage to forget this until I am in the middle of reading poetry. I don’t know why, I’m usually not the type of person to forget I like things, or activities. But in this particular way, I am a bit silly, and then I’m reading Goblin Market to Jewlet and remember, “Hey, I actually dig this stuff.”

Anyway, I owe @miscanthusroots an extra and she asked if I would mind doing Louise Gluck’s collection of poetry, The Wild Iris, and even agreed to send me a copy to use when I had difficulty finding a copy that wasn’t too spendy.

I don’t have to tell you The Wild Iris is good, because it won a goddamn Pulitzer, and if something wins the Pulitzer the very least you can do is sit up and listen, but technical merit does not necessarily make something beautiful on a personal or individual level. So I wasn’t sure how I was going to experience the book. I’ve read Gluck’s work before but not necessarily a great amount of it, and, so far as I recall, not an entire book of her work.

Anyway, I suppose I’m dancing around the fact that it’s in some ways extremely difficult to talk about a book of poetry. Do you take apart each poem individually? I don’t have the time to do that, for this four hour chunk of writing about it, and so the best I think I can do is offer up my thoughts on the collection on the whole. I should say, that I am not a specialist in poetry at all, and though I had to study it to some small degree in college, I certainly don’t have the breadth of knowledge that someone who is very involved in poetics would.

There’s a thread in the collection of the natural world and prayer, the natural and the divine, and I think to some extent, the idea of God as gardener, but also us as gardeners of the world ourselves, planting and creating like small gods, but ALSO God as the garden himself. I had to read this collection like four times before I really came around to this idea, and came to very much like it.. The Matins and Vespers poems are (obviously) us talking to God, and I think the not-flower poems are God talking back to us.

Honestly, if you read the collection in the way one would read a novel, a conversation comes out of it easily--the first time I read it I wasn’t paying attention to this, I was reading them a bit scattershot, all taken as individual poems--but it’s this tangle between us and God, and the complication of our relationship with each other.

In the poem Retreating Wind:

I gave you every gift,

Blue of the spring morning,

Time you didn’t know how to use--

You wanted more, the one gift

Reserved for another creation

One of many poems titled Matins:

...You want to see my hands?

As empty now as at the first note.

Or was the point always

To continue without a sign?

Field Flowers:

….Your poor

Idea of heaven: absence

Of change. Better than earth? How

Would you know, who are neither

Here nor there, standing in our midst?

Now it was the flower poems themselves that gave me pause, the idea of the natural world, acted on by both God and man, commenting on the nature of life and death and the relationship between God and man, they read at turns deeply critical of man’s striving for immortality, of the human way of defining weeds and flowers , and how they can never truly understand what it is to live and die and live again,

So I had to go find out if Louise Gluck was Jewish, based on the impressions I got from her writing about God, sure, but what actually made me think about it was the way “God” in the poems speaks about us--there are plenty of Christians that struggle with God, but there’s a very certain way of looking at God as desiring us to overcome him and become him that I really only ever see in Jewish writings and stories. When I first thought this, I immediately then thought, “Nah, couldn’t be, she’s used Matins and Vespers throughout the book” but then I considered that I have been known to use Cathlic imagery myself simply because so many more people are familiar with it. Far and few are the goyim who recognize shacharit and maariv as anything at all. Anyway she is! On a personal level, I dunno, but we can’t get away from the viewpoints we’re raised with in many ways, and I was delighted to find out I was correct. Retreating Light is I think the best and clearest example of what I’m talking about.

You will never know how deeply

It pleases me to see you sitting there

Like independent beings,

To see you dreaming by the open window,

Holding the pencils I gave you

Until the summer morning disappears into writing

Creation has brought you

Great excitement, as I knew it would

As it does in the beginning

And I am free to do as I please now,

To attend to other things, in confidence,

You have no need of me anymore

How many things are said in that line, “In the beginning?” This idea that God loved the creation of us, and watching us, but also, has tired of us, has tired of our questions and needs, and that it has become the work of the day to day, but in the beginning, it’s so exciting. WE crave novelty, and maybe God does too, and perhaps that’s the way we were created in his image, that God longs for us, this children to grow and become better. It reminds me of the story (which I recently told on my chat) of the Oven of Acknai, where the conclusion of the story is God saying, “My children have defeated me, my children have defeated me” and smiling. That we, too, are creation.

I’m getting close to running out of time here, and it’s frustrating because I could say so much about this, but getting back into the idea of this reading as a novel, it’s also very cyclical. It begins with birth, as a flower, and ends with death, as a flower. And it’s really in this bit, in the bits near the end where I find the most emotional impact. Some of the ideas and imagery she’s using here aren’t exactly new but maybe it’s in knowing them that gives them that emotional resonance, for me. The line

In what contempt do you hold us

To believe only loss can impress

Your power on us

I mean, how many times have we felt that, at least, those of us who are still talking to God, where it feels as if God can only speak in loss and in taking? Even when you can see the evidence of other gifts, it can feel that way so deeply, and I tink that’s the gift of Gluck’s work here, is that the poems see things both from the side of God and the side of man, the way that all love is a struggle and this love most of all.

ANd these lines on the nature of death, like this one from Lullaby that just floored me:

Time to rest now; you have had

Enough excitement for the time being

I wish I could explain why things like that, put so simply, affect me so often, much more than anything overwrought. Maybe I’m just getting old, but just that idea of, “It’s time to rest now” just SLAYs me, well done, and the whole poem is great in that way but I’m not going to quote the whole poem at you.

Also this idea contained in the poem The Silver Lily

After the first cries

Doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound?

I am rapidly out of time, but basically this poetry collection contains, especially in the back half, so much of what I love about the idea of struggling with life and death and God. Poetry can, at its best, have the gift of putting these complex feelings and ides into so few words, and there are brilliant moments in The Wild Iris where I feel like that happens for me, were a line sparks an idea, a feeling in my mind, lighting it like a match. I love when something can do that for me.

I need to remember how much I like poetry when I’m looking for books to read.

Oh also, before I go I have to point out this line that made me crackle because YES

Sometimes a man or woman forces his despair

on another person, which is called

Baring the heart, alternatively, baring the soul--

#thank you for giving me a chance to do something I don't do often!

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zwritestuff · 3 years

Text

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Kyara) - Epilogue

A/N: This is it homies. We've made it. I'm sorry it took me so long to post the epilogue, I hit writers block and tbh didn't want to let go of this fic. I tried to make the epilogue longer, but at the end of the day I don't think that's necessary. A big thanks to Emerald for being my biggest supporter during this ride and beta-ing every single chapter. Also, a huge thanks to the people that stuck around even after the season finished, I treasure all of you 💕 I have thought of a sequel focused on another ship that didn't get to shine here, but it's still a thought. I hope you all enjoy the epilogue. 💕

Find the rest of the chapters here | Read on ao3.

Kyne has no idea why she’s so sweaty.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be annoyed. Instead, she has Priyanka talking her ear off on one side, giving her one of her usual pep talks, while Bobo on the other is trying to get her eyeliner as sleek as possible. Bo has her head in her wardrobe, criticizing each and every clothing item she owns. That would gain a hundred eye-rolls from her—but then again, these are no normal circumstances.

She’s had dates before, despite what Priyanka might try to say, it’s just that they were never all that exciting. She was lucky if she was interested enough in someone to accept to go on a second date, and third dates were unheard of for her.

The fact she’s this nervous over her first real date with Kiara should be a surprise, considering she still swings by her office every day, coffee and cupcakes in tow, they still go out for lunch almost every day, they’ve been together just yesterday at work, not even 24 hours ago; but still, she can’t help the anticipation welling up inside her—it’s one thing to grab lunch together, to have movie nights and stay over at each other’s places when they think it’s completely platonic; but once they acknowledge the feelings meddling in the middle, it becomes harder to keep their cool.

It’s just a date with Kiki, she thinks, trying to keep her calm. It’s just Kiki, she repeats it like a mantra, because it’s really not that deep. She knows how to talk to Kiara, how to get out of her those throaty laughs that echo through the room and make her eyes crinkle at the corners. It shouldn’t be all that different from their usual “dates.”

Then again, if that’s the case, why does she feel like her brain has been replaced with TV static once the time for Kiara to pick her up arrives?

Kyne’s going to dig a hole through the carpet pacing back and forth. She doesn’t think she was ever this nervous, not even during her final exam to graduate.

“Don’t stress too much about it,” Scarlett yells out from the bathroom, possibly—definitely—smoking against the window. “She already looks at you like she wants to propose every time you open your mouth, a date can’t be all that bad.” Kyne’s cheeks heat up, not even bothering to yell out anything because she’s too busy chewing on her nails while she waits for a text from Kiara.

And then it comes through.

‘I’m parking, I’ll be up in a second,’ followed by a red heart. Kyne smiles unconsciously as she grabs her purse and jacket, and turns to Priyanka and Bo sitting on her couch, intently looking at her.

“Right. So, you two keep your hands out of my fridge, don’t let Bobo stain the whole place with smoke, and for the love of god, don’t blow up my phone every ten minutes,” she says, like she’s a single mother giving her children instruction before going out on her first date in years. She stops to wonder why she ever allowed them in in the first place, but considering Priyanka has a spare key, they probably would’ve entered anyway.

They nod with childish grins, and Kyne paces around for a little while before there’s a knock on the door and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

It’s just a date, she thinks one last time.

Then she opens the door, and she feels her cool fade away the moment she sees Kiara’s smile.

“Hey,” they say at the same time, eliciting a chuckle from the other.

“You look really nice,” Kiara offers as a compliment, the smile on her face never faltering. Kyne opens her mouth to return the compliment, when she hears Priyanka and Bo snicker behind her back, making Kiara cock a brow and look past the door. “Ah, nice seeing you guys,” she says awkwardly, waving at them.

“Looking good, Kiki. Have fun, don’t make stupid decisions again,” Priyanka calls out as Kyne shuts the door behind her, mumbling apologies about her friends as they walk to the elevator.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Rita and Tynomi came over to bother me before I left, too. I get it.” She rolls her eyes, scoffing with an amused smile, and Kyne feels the nerves melt away as she laughs, hooking an arm around Kiara’s biceps, letting her head fall against her arm.

“I have no idea why I ever thought giving Priyanka a spare key would be a good idea,” Kyne comments, chuckling slightly as Kiara recalls that one time she gave Tynomi her apartment keys so she could water her plants while she was away, and she has yet to return the keys.

Kyne makes a comment about not having noticed Kiara’s plants in all the times she visited, and Kiara just shrugs with an embarrassed expression. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I don’t have any right now—I don’t have a green thumb like you, y’know? My plants always end up dead one way or another,” she admits, as the elevator opens its doors and they step outside.

“I can help you grow some stuff, I think we have plenty of time ahead of us for that,” she comments, meaning it, but Kiara has that shit-eating grin on her face that makes Kyne roll her eyes right away.

“How are we going to grow a garden in just a few hours?” She asks, leaning in on Kyne, and she’s feeling generous tonight, so she doesn’t shove her off, saying how corny she is; she just scoffs and softly headbutts her.

“You know what I meant, dumbass,” Kyne says, the affection in her tone palpable despite the name calling. Kiara doesn’t seem to mind; she smiles cheerily as she opens the car door for her, and Kyne dreads the moment their hands let go, if only for a couple of seconds.

“I know, I know,” Kiara chuckles after a moment, fastening her seatbelt so the annoying beep will stop. She turns to look at Kyne with a smile as she turns on the engine, “I’d love to have a garden with you, babe,” she says, with a tone so soft Kyne can tell she means it. She gets the car going, searching for Kyne’s hand almost right away, giving it a small squeeze before lacing them together.

She’s not sure if it’s the fact she hasn’t had a proper date in a long time, that she’s waited a long time to be like this with Kiara, or just that all of this seems straight out of a romantic movie, one she thought she’s never get to live herself—but she feels like a teenager in love all over again, wanting to dive head first into what she has going on with Kiara without a helmet, because she knows she’ll be there to catch her when she falls.

A week after their first date, Kyne gives Kiara a pot of dahlias, and promises to help her not let them die. If Kiara catches the symbolism behind it, she doesn’t say anything, just gives Kyne a kiss and promises to take great care of them.

Red camellias come next, some weeks after the dahlias, when Kyne thinks Kiara is doing a good job with them. Then, a small arrangement of orchids—Kiara notices the pattern at some point, and just smiles and kisses her forehead when Kyne brings her a new plant.

The dates keep on coming, and so do the flowers and indoor plants; Kiara eventually runs out of space to put them. Kyne isn’t of much help, either, since her place is small and barely fits her own plants.

“It’s not fair,” Kiara childishly complains one day, while Kyne’s staying over. They’re cuddled up on the couch, not paying attention to whatever it is that Kiara randomly selected from Netflix’s catalog. “A flower shop opened around the block, do you know how much I have to contain myself to not enter and buy everything when I ride past it to work?” She pouts, adding a vocal fry to really get her point across.

Kyne just laughs, amused at her girlfriend’s antics, while five different types of flowers hang from the sides of the TV. Maybe getting her into gardening wasn’t such a good idea.

“If space was really the problem, you’d be throwing out stuff to bring in more plants,” Kyne comments, not really giving it much more than a second thought.

But Kiara bites her lip, fidgets with her fingers for a little while, and avoids Kyne’s gaze for a solid minute. Kyne knows that demeanor all too well.

“No, yeah, I know. But, like, I dunno, I’ve been thinking about moving somewhere else, somewhere bigger, obviously, where the sun actually can come through and I don’t have to haul a bunch of plants in the same five spots,” she explains, stammering over her words, visibly nervous. Kyne prompts her to go on, knowing there’s more to it. Kiara breathes in hard, looking at her straight in the eyes. “And - and I want to live with you, too.”

The world seems to stop during the seconds it takes Kyne to process what she just said.

When it dawns on her, the sun seems warmer, birds are chirping and the flowers are in full bloom—even if they’re in the middle of winter and there are no birds in the city. That’s just what love does, she suposes.

“I’d love to move in with you,” she says softly, pulling her in for a hug, and Kiara breathes out a long sigh of relief.

She’s ready to plant a long-lasting garden with Kiara.

#fake dating au #some things are bound to be fic #kyara #kyne #online kyne #kiara schatzi #rpdr fanfiction #my fanfiction

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

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🤔 what if his s/o got hit with the de-aging quirk instead of him

"...who?" Chisaki stared down at the child who reminded him much of his lover. Better yet, it was his lover.

"We brought the guy here; he recognize that we were from the Shie Hassaikai and aimed into us but it ended up hitting (Y/N)." Chrono said, still uncomfortable for the fact that you had fiund some comfort on him, grabbing not too tightly on his pants.

"The worst of all is that they have the mind of a brat Overhaul." Said Mimic before bringing his gaze to you where you only hide your face on Chrono's leg.

Chisaki didn't catch much after what both of them were saying while he stared down at you, having a small attack internally. Not only his angel were infected temporarily with one of those disgusting diseases but this one especially gave you a much more... adorable appearance.

He noticed how you shifted at feeling his stare on you and decided to return his look to Chrono.

"So why are they latching on your leg?" He asked with a hint of annoyance.

Chrono merely shruged his shoulder since he had no fucking idea either. Trying to even wiggle his leg to see if you let go... you didn't.

"Maybe because he was the one who was closer? I dunno." Mimic said while exiting the room, leaving both friends to deal with the issue.

"The effect wears off in at least one day I hope." Mumbled Chrono pushing you to be in front of him and Kai.

Your (E/C) met his golden ones as he stared you down before you suddenly just went to the front door and closed it.

"What?"

"I was never good with children." Kai sighed with a tiny hint of dissapointment and jealousy even that you felt comfortable around Hari but not with him.

"I... I will get them." Chrono said going into the yard in seatch of you while Chisaki only groaned to himself and made his way to his office.

A faint knock was hearded after some time and Overhaul gave the permission for them to enter and found you scooped up in Kurono's arms, making his blood boil.

"Chrono you my angel down this instant." Chrono lifted a hand asking for just a second before he approached your figurine to him.

He merely lifted one of his eyebrows irritably at his friend who only poked in your shoulder and indicated with his chin at Chisaki.

Then you extended shyly a bunch of flowers from the garden to Kai, catching him off of guard at the sudden action. Didn't you find him scary or something?

"They wanted to bring it to you, that's why the sudden left." Chrono smirked underneath his mask noticing the way Chisaki's eyes widened for a little bit as he stared dumbfound at the small version of his lover.

"You may leave Chrono." He comanded which Chrono obeyed immediately, leaving you on the ground and snickering when you wVed at him.

Chisaki lifted from his chair and got down to your level staring at you for a moment.

"You remember me (Y/N)?" You shook your head.

"Then why this?" He pointed at the small amoint of flowers you had picked.

He notice the way your cheeks seemed to blush at his question while you embarrassingly played with your fingers as you confessed it.

"Y-You're pretty and I like you."

Ah fuck there it goes his breath and heart. He already find you cute but now?

"I see." He mumbled monotonously while his eyes didn't show anything, but thankfull to his mask he could hide the smug grin he had planted on his face and ths slight pink that were splattered on his cheek.

The day followed quite smugly to him, he took the intere day to forget that work existed to keep an eye on you; since he death threatened everyone who even dared to got close to you. Your boyfriend was more like a bodyguard than ever...

Rappa made the mistake of yelling too loud while demanding a match between him and Overhaul and, consequently making your (E/C) eyes teary. That was the only time he let Chrono take you while he had a little conversation with Rappa.

Poor man died 7 times.

When it came the period of the afternoon Chisaki felt even comfortable enough to touch like some headpats here and there. The face uou made of pure bliss whenever his gloved hands came in contact with your head, even if for a fraction of seconds, made Chisaki air got out of his lungs.

Although one move you made that let him speechless was when you asked for him to be on your level for just a moment. He rolled his eyes in false annoyance but complied to your request anyway.

"What is it?" He asked when your eye kevel was almost identical to him.

You grabbed with your tiny hands his plague mask and kissed the beak of it slightly. Even if it wasn't directly at his skin the action himself was enough to leave him shocked and dare you say embarrassed.

You giggled up at him before doing the final attack.

"When I get older I will marry you Kai!" You said cheerfully running away from him in embarrassment but still laughing.

Unfair. This attack was fucking unfair.

He touched slightly the beak of his mask on hidden amusement as your words repeating on his head over and over again.

Until he saw that you were far too gone and he started to worry.

"(Y/N) WAIT YOU DONT KNOW THIS HOUSE NEITHER THE PEOPLE IN HERE GET BACK NOW BRAT."

When it reached around the night time you were completely exausted as you layed on the arm of the couch. Chisaki noticing your lossibly discomfort grabbed a pillow to put over his lap to bring your little head to lay on.

Thankfully for him you didn't gave him too much work. And he was slightly thankfull for the day had almost ended but yet he couldn't help but look down at you and smile a little.

"When you get older?... maybe it will be soon angel. You'll never know."

He woke ul on the following day, scolding himself internally for falling asleep on the couch and cursing the pain on the back of his neck.

"Fuck my head... what happened?" He heard you whining while your hands covered your now back to normal face.

He only scoffed before bringing his gaze to the ceilling.

"You were quite an adorable little one my angel. I have to admit it." He couldn't contain his chuckle at seing your mortified and confused expression.

#overhaul x reader #overhaul scenario #fanfic overhaul #chisaki kai imagine scenario #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha imagine #bnha characters #bnha villains #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha villains x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #my writing #zuffer writings

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

and he called her love amongst the snowflakes

Summary: Being a princess is no guarantee of a perfect Christmas. Spending the next two days snowed in with her brother's hot bodyguard just might be, though. Rated T for language. ~6.8K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Merry Christmas, @owlways-and-forever! It was an absolute delight to be your @cssecretsanta2k19. I hope you’re having a wonderful time with your family - in the meantime, here’s a little bit of a modern royalty AU for you!

Super thanks to @snidgetsafan for her last-minute beta skills, and @let-it-raines for her help with a title.

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff, @ohmightydevviepuu, @scientificapricot, @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @stahlop, @teamhook

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

“What do you mean, you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas?”

“Now Emma,” her mother sighs. “I never said that. I just said we won’t be home on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, like that’s better,” she grumbles under her breath in a manner very much unfitting of the Crown Princess of Misthaven.

“Emma.”

“Ok, fine,” she concedes with as much attitude as she thinks she can get away with. “What do you mean, you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas Eve, a totally separate thing that’s not at all like Christmas?”

Her mother - Queen Mary II of Misthaven, if you want to get official, though Emma doesn’t quite want to when she’d rather act childish about Christmas - doesn’t even bother to respond to that particular bit of sarcasm. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but there’s nothing to be done about it. The snow’s just coming down too hard, and it’s supposed to keep up tomorrow too. As much as we both want to be home with you and your brother, neither of us can control the weather.”

What’s the damn point of being Queen, then, Emma thinks, mostly jokingly. Mostly. She still has a small self-preservational instinct, however, so she does not voice this out loud.

“We knew this was a possibility when we went,” her mother continues. “We knew the weather might turn. We hoped it wouldn’t, but we had to go anyways. We couldn’t miss this hospital opening, Emma, not when they named it after your grandmother. At the end of the day, we are here to serve our citizens.”

Emma mouths the last words along with her mom, having heard them many times. It’s not quite a catchphrase in their family - that distinction goes to her father’s very sappy “I will always find you”, the one thing that can reliably make both his children gag - but it does get repeated an awful lot. Call it their motto, or something. The lines just get more blurred when your family life and your professional life is so entwined.

“I’ll miss you,” Emma finally says after letting the line sit silent for a moment. That’s what this all comes down to, after all - as much as Emma understands why her parents had to fly across the country, and as much as she knows that they can’t control the weather, it’s Christmas time, and she wants to spend it with her parents.

“We’ll miss you too, sweetheart, and your brother too. Dad and I will be home as soon as we can, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.” What else is there to say?

“They’re waiting for us, but I’ll talk to you later. Give Leo a kiss for me. I love you, Emma.”

“Love you too. Say hi to Dad for me.”

As comparatively well as Emma holds it together on the phone, that evaporates as soon as the call disconnects and she lets out a screech of frustration. It’s immature. She doesn’t care. She’s allowed to want her family on Christmas… Eve. Eve.

(It’s technically still the night of the 23rd, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

Barely seconds later, a dark head pops into the room. Killian Jones - her brother’s security officer. Emma wouldn’t say she has a crush on him, but… she kind of has a crush on him. He’s just so goddamn handsome and charming, and she’s only human, even if she is the princess. They don’t cross paths very often - just on summers and school holidays, when Leo was home from boarding school and now from uni - but when they do, Emma can barely tear her eyes away. Damn, can that man wear a suit.

(Mostly, Emma just blushes a lot whenever he’s around, embarrassed by her own lustful thoughts. It’s a miracle no-one has called her on it yet.)

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, craning his neck towards all the corners, as if some kind of assassin might have made it through multiple layers of security at the palace just to crouch in the corner of a private sitting room. Just doing his job, she guesses. “I thought I heard some kind of shriek from the hallway.”

Emma colors a bit at being caught. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just —” She abruptly cuts off. “Is that an entire tub of cheese puffs?”

It’s Killian’s turn to turn a bit pink. “Aye. Your brother is playing one of his games, and you know how he gets. Likes his junk food.”

“Spoiled rotten, you mean.”

“I’d never say that,” Killian protests.

“Yeah, says the man bringing a tub of cheese balls up from the kitchens when His Spoiled Highness still has working legs!”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re deflecting, Your Highness,” Killian points out. His eyes still manage to twinkle with restrained laughter, even if his ears are still red.

He’s caught her, too. “Just a bit frustrated, is all. You know the stormfront going through up North?” Killian nods. “Mom and Dad got caught in it. They won’t be home tonight after all, and probably not even tomorrow. So… it’ll just be me and Leo for Christmas Eve, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, lo — ma’am,” Killian says softly. He does that, sometimes - start to say one thing, before quickly course correcting back to propriety. She’s always wondered what he’s trying to say - she’s never quite figured it out.

"It's not your fault," she shrugs. "Unless you've got some weird weather powers you've been hiding from me." It would just figure that Killian was the one who could control the weather; just one of the many secrets she doesn't know about him. "When are you heading home? You didn't get the Christmas shift, did you?"

Killian scratches behind his ear as just the tip of the cartilage flushes red. She can't imagine what he has to be embarrassed about; regardless, it's kind of cute.

Not that she's watching. That closely. (All the time.)

"I traded shifts with Mulan," he explains, referencing Emma's own security agent. "She's got... something with her girlfriend's family. Kind of a last minute thing."

"Looks like you're stuck with us, then," Emma comments, trying to tamp down the excited little butterflies in her stomach and the voice in her head that screams score! Very dignified.

Killian grins back. "Looks like I am." They smirk at each other for a minute, some camaraderie simmering between them with an undercurrent of something more. "Well, I'd better get the prince his cheese puffs," he finally says, shaking the container for emphasis. "I'll see you around, Your Highness. Let me know if you need anything."

(It would be horribly foolish to tell him you, so she doesn't say anything at all.)

———

By the time Emma makes her way down for dinner, the snowstorm has started in earnest - big, fluffy flakes that accumulate as soon as they hit the ground. In the little sitting room overlooking the gardens where her family takes informal meals, the swirling flakes make her feel like she lives in the little house in the middle of a snow globe. As much as she wishes their parents were here with herself and Leo, she's simultaneously glad that they're not out in the middle of this.

Leo flings himself into a chair with all the grace of a nineteen-year-old boy. Emma tries not to sigh too loudly at the way his limbs fly every which way, banging against the table and rattling the dishes; she's not willing to turn into her grandmother yet, thank you very much. She loves her brother, but somewhere along the line, he's developed an attitude that's hard to live with. Probably something about the independence of university going to his head, making Leo think too highly of himself. Maybe some girl out there will find it attractive - with their mother's hair and eyes and their father's strong jawline, he'd be a catch otherwise.

(She really must be turning into Grandma Ruth, if she's thinking that kind of thing.)

The one thing that's noticeably absent from Leo's little display is Killian. "Where's Lieutenant Jones?" she asks as the kitchen staff bring in plates of chicken and potatoes and asparagus to place in front of the pair of them.

Her brother shrugs. "I dunno. Probably having dinner somewhere."

That would make sense. It also brings into stark evidence that he's probably doing so alone; around Christmas, the palace always operates with a skeleton crew of staff so that as many people as possible can spend time with their families. There's no reason he couldn't just eat with the two of them. "Did you invite him to join us?"

Leo flushes red and mumbles something at his plate as he reaches for a dinner roll - not really an answer, but at the same time, more than enough of an answer.

“Leo…”

“I didn’t think of it, alright?”

Emma sighs heavily, before standing from the table to track down her brother’s security agent. It doesn’t take much searching; Killian is right outside the door, thumbing through his phone. He hurriedly stows the device away when he sees Emma, practically snapping to attention. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Nothing, really,” Emma says. “You can stand down, or… whatever. I just wanted to see if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s really unnecessary —” he protests, but Emma’s determined.

“I know, but still. It’s kind of weirdly quiet around here, and there’s more than enough food. You don’t have to, obviously,” she hurries to clarify, “but it’d be nice to have you there. I’d appreciate the Leo buffer, at least,” she even jokes.

“Well when you put it like that…”

He follows. And of course there’s enough food, and of course he’s perfectly charming, and of course he has the presence of mind to suggest watching a Christmas movie after dinner to get them just a little more into the spirit of the season. Killian fits like that - unobtrusive, the way a good agent ought to be, but also charming and seemingly super-aware of how to cut through some of that sibling tension that always inevitably exists between Emma and her brother.

The movie is an old classic - one with dancing and singing and two reluctant people falling in love. Emma wouldn’t have expected Killian to like this - would have pegged him more for an action movie fan, or something like that - but he smiles and bobs his head along with the music. Leo is a different story altogether - after not even an hour, he’s already deserted the lounge for his room and video games, leaving Killian and Emma alone together.

“So what would you be doing tonight? If you weren’t here with us.” Emma’s clarification isn’t necessary in the least; however, she’s sitting close enough to touch Killian on the couch, and the thrill of it all is making her babble.

He’s gracious enough not to mention it, at least. “I’ve got a brother,” he explains, “and he and his wife have a little boy. Max. Really cute kid; let me dig out my phone, I’ve got so many pictures on there.”

The little boy on the screen can’t be more than four, with a wide and silly grin on his face and a dinosaur shirt to complete the picture. He’s just as cute as Killian promised.

“That was at his birthday last month,” Killian smiles fondly. “Four years old - growing so fast. Anyways, I usually spend my holiday with them. My sister in law has a huge family, and they’re always happy to let me tag along. Too kind, really.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to miss that,” Emma replies with genuine regret.

Killian shrugs; Emma has already proven she wouldn’t be nearly as gracious in the same situation. “There will be other years,” he explains. “All things considered, it’s not so bad, spending the holiday with Leo and your lovely self.”

“I think you’re the first and only person happy to be spending Christmas with that ball of teenaged attitude,” Emma jokes.

“It’s not so bad,” Killian deflects. “I’ll admit, the constant quips and eye rolling can be a bit much some days, but he’s a good kid underneath. Did you know he paid for all his roommate’s books for the coming semester?”

“No, I didn’t.” Emma shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. She’s gotten so used to the snarky terror her brother acts like around their family that it’s shocking to hear that it’s not always the case.

“Like I said - he’s a better kid than he lets on.” They watch the screen in silence for a few moments; they’re coming up on the finale. Perhaps Emma can convince him to watch a second movie with her afterwards. “I suppose he didn’t tell you about his girlfriend then?” Killian asks with a laugh.

“Leo’s got a girlfriend?”

“He would if he’d just ask her,” Killian snorts. “Her name’s Britta. You’d like her, I think - she doesn’t put up with any of his nonsense. Which, just between you and me,” he says from the side of his mouth like he’s confiding a secret, “he sorely needs sometimes. Anyways, she lives one floor up in their dorm. They have Intro Geology together.”

“He’s really doing alright?” Emma asks softly. Leo is, more often than not, a little shit, but he’s still her little brother. She still just wants the best for him, most of the time.

“He’s really doing alright,” Killian confirms. “Don’t worry - I’m keeping an eye on the boy. For all of us.”

The warm feeling that leaves in Emma’s soul carries her through the rest of the night.

———

Christmas Eve dawns much the same as the evening before - cold and snowing to the point of a whiteout. Emma isn’t particularly pleased about that turn of events, especially since it means that there’s almost no chance in hell of her parents getting home that day.

At least it’s a good opportunity for her to get a lot of work done. Being the crown princess means commitments to various charities and foundations and plenty of reading to come along with them, not to mention the never-ending stream of correspondence. A day just to focus on the things that have been accumulating on her desk will be good for everyone involved.

At least until the power flickers out.

It’s midafternoon, just when the light is starting to dim, and she’s been working on editing a proposal someone sent her via email. She technically can do it in the dim light, but it’s… not fun. Emma doesn’t particularly enjoy squinting. There’s generators at the palace, of course, but they’re directed towards the most essential functions - security, heating, and minimal kitchen operations. Lighting, for better or worse, isn’t included on that list - nor is wifi signal. She’s stuck.

On a hunch, Emma wanders down to the kitchen, to find Leo and Killian raiding the cabinets for candles and snacks. She should have figured; two young-ish guys, food was obviously going to be the priority.

“This sucks,” Leo gripes. “First, Christmas gets screwed up, and then this. Unbelievable.”

“To be fair, the electric company can’t really help the snow,” Killian points out as he extracts a roll of cookies from a cupboard. “A lot of electrical infrastructure is still above ground. It’s easy to get knocked out.”

Emma shoots Killian a sidelong look before swiping the same cookies. “How do you know so much about this?”

“You pick up a few things when you read, Your Highness,” he winks back.

“Are you guys done?” Leo interrupts. “Not everyone wants to watch your thirsty asses flirt all night. I’m not that desperate for entertainment.”

“Oh my god, Leo,” Emma groans back. It’s much more fun to watch how Killian turns bright red to match Emma’s own embarrassment.

“Look, just because the TV is out, doesn’t mean I want to deal with this.”

“Ok, what would you rather do then?” Killian asks in much more measured a tone than Emma would have been able to muster. Probably the benefit of not being related to Leo.

The younger man shrugs. “Scrabble?”

Killian snorts at that, though Emma doesn’t quite understand why. “Are you sure?”

“I like Scrabble,” Leo defends. “I’m going to kick both your asses.”

It’s as good an idea as any to spend a snowed-in afternoon.

———

A couple hours later, Leo is singing a different tune as Killian plays the last of his Scrabble tiles.

“Make sure you mark my latest points, lad,” he prods with a grin. “I want to make sure my lead is really cemented.” Killian has proved to be an invaluable ally in Emma’s personal quest to knock her brother down a peg; unfortunately, Leo is less enamored of the effort.

“Whatever. This is so lame,” the prince says, pushing back from the filled board. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Oh, c’mon, Leo, it’s just a game —” Emma protests, but her little brother is already out the door.

“I thought he said he liked Scrabble?” Killian asks, starting to collect the little tiles back into their bag.

“Oh, he does. He just likes winning, and usually he can beat the rest of us. Finally met his match with your fancy words, I guess,” she jokes, though it kind of falls flat. It’s hard for the punchline to land when its subject has already stormed out of the room.

“Ah. Well, I apologize for that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma excuses. “Though if you don’t mind, I’m not sure I’m up for a rematch - at least not of Scrabble.”

“You got something in mind, Your Highness?” Killian smirks.

“Have you ever played cribbage?”

“Once or twice. I could be persuaded.”

“I’ll get the board then.” Emma stands up, but pauses before actually leaving to do so. “And call me Emma.”

She leaves the room before she can see him react, but barely catches the soft trail of his words as she passes through the door.

“As you wish… Emma.”

———

It turns out, Killian is lying about having played “a time or two.” Either that, or he’s extraordinarily lucky.

(Cheating isn’t fully off the table, either, but she’s trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not that he makes it easy.)

“So that’s fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, fifteen ten, fifteen twelve, fifteen fourteen, pair is sixteen, and three pair is twenty-two.”

Emma groans as he moves his red peg around the outer curve of the board. They look like such a cliche - Emma in her pajamas, Killian with his tie loosened, sitting in front of a roaring fire with candles scattered on all the flat surfaces as they play cribbage on the floor. The typical picture of two people caught in a power outage. Touching, really. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the proof right in front of you. A damned good hand, if I do say so myself. What’ve you got there?”

“Utter shit,” Emma proclaims, tossing her cards down on the carpeting. “Run of three and a fifteen for five, plus a fucking useless ace. Absolutely jackshit.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Killian cranes his neck to see where her cards are strewn on the carpeting. A nine, an eight, a seven, and that stupid ace. Nothing. “Never mind, it really can,” he laughs. “Tough luck, love.”

That little word - just a small endearment - hits her like a brick. That’s what he keeps trying not to say, all these times. Love. It just took a few permissions from her, and several more drinks than either one should have indulged in, for him to let it slip.

(She just might like it - being called love.)

The real question is what he means by it. It could be a verbal tic; it could be something more. Emma knows how she feels, her persistent crush, but it’s hard to tell how Killian feels behind his unflappable professionalism. Or maybe it’s not professionalism - maybe it’s just how he feels? God, she just can’t tell, and it’s about to drive her crazy.

Emma spends a lot of time studying Killian for the rest of their game. She doesn’t really discover anything new - she already knows the way that he laughs and smiles and teases - but it cements, somehow, that he’s a really good guy. She already knew that, really, but tonight has really driven that home.

The longer she watches him, and the stronger her conviction comes, the more she wants to do something about it. Maybe it’s the rum; maybe it’s the ambiance. Whatever it is, Emma wants to know just how he feels too, and hears herself talk without thinking.

“Hey, Killian, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Emma,” he smiles.

She shouldn’t continue - should just keep her mouth shut and her dignity intact. Drunk Emma doesn’t agree. “I was just wondering —”

By some miracle, a face-splitting yawn interrupts her sentence, saving Emma from herself. Because she was definitely about to say I was just wondering if you, like, like-like me. You know, like middle school.

“I think it might be time for bed there, love,” he laughs, seemingly oblivious to the butterflies he just set swarming in her stomach. Love. God, she’s a sap, and one who reads too much into things at that. “What were you saying?”

“I… can’t remember. I think the yawn knocked it right out of my head,” Emma lies with a laugh. “You’re right, I should get some sleep. You too - you know where there’s a guest bedroom, right? You’re totally welcome to use it.” A stupid thing to say, all things considered, but Emma has progressed to babbling to cover herself.

“Aye, I do,” he assures her. “Now come on, love, up you get and off to bed you go.”

Love.

Emma goes to bed floating on a happy cloud made of rum and his endearments, certain the pairing will only bring her the sweetest dreams.

———

The dreams are sweet. The morning is decidedly… not. The room is too bright where sun seeps through the shades, and her mouth is too dry, and she can already feel the beginnings of a killer headache encroaching behind her eyes. Revenge of the rum, or something.

A glass of water helps a bit, as do a couple of painkillers, but Emma is still less than pleased to hear the knock on her door. She’d much rather spend the day in bed, Christmas together-ness be damned, but there’s traditions in this family she can’t run away from, and every year since Emma was very young, they’ve passed out holly sprigs and candy canes to the visitors at the gate.

Killian smirks when she opens the door, apparently finding some sick amusement in the death glare Emma shoots in her groggy state. God, it’s just patently unfair that he still looks so attractive while she’s so hungover - even in yesterday’s suit and shirt. He’s not quite all buttoned up yet - still a bit of chest hair peeking out the top and his tie hanging loose - and it only makes him look even more delectable.

(Is that still a way that people describe hot guys they have chemistry with? Truthfully, Emma is a little too foggy to know or care.)

“Well don’t you look festive,” he teases. “Is this what they call high spirits?”

“No, that was last night.”

“Touche, love,” he laughs. “Do you think you’ll be ready to greet the people at 10:30? That should give you and Leo an hour or so for the meet and greet. Your mother’s speech is scheduled for noon - though I suppose you’ll be tackling that if she doesn’t make it back in time?” He phrases it like a question; it’s not.

Emma groans at the prospect. “Don’t remind me. And don’t jinx it!”

“Sorry, sorry.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles at her - an extra little detail Emma hadn’t noticed before, but now can’t stop seeing. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not have to be.” And it’s true; Emma’s perfectly capable of giving a speech, and has done so on multiple occasions, but her mother’s annual televised Christmas address is something else entirely that Emma would rather avoid at all costs and if at all possible. That all depends on her parents being able to make the flight, however. “How’s the weather today? Any better?”

“Have you not even looked out your windows today?” Killian prods gently. Emma isn’t quite sure when they switched to this teasing relationship they’ve apparently established, but she thinks she likes it.

“I was a little busy trying to avoid all trace of sunlight,” she shoots back.

“Well, it’s a lovely, crisp day,” he promises. “I don’t see why your parents shouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

Just to hear it out loud is a huge relief, even if she has enjoyed their little bonding exercise the past couple of days. No matter how much fun she’s had with Killian, it’s still Christmas, and she still misses her parents.

“I’ll see you at breakfast?” Emma asks tentatively, hoping he’ll say yes, scared that he’ll say no.

“I’ll have the kitchens whip up something particularly greasy,” he winks back.

———

The morning is cold, but just as clear as Killian had promised. As much as Emma had grumbled this morning, she actually likes this bit of Christmas tradition - shaking hands, giving their visitors well-wishes, making sure to hand out candy to all the children. It feels like the true spirit of the holiday - giving not for the thanks, but for the smiles, and because it’s the right thing to do.

Still. It’s cold, and as much as Emma had appreciated how wide Killian’s eyes had gotten when she had emerged after breakfast in a full-skirted green coat dress, her skirt and hose don’t offer much protection against the weather. Pants would have been a much more practical choice, but there are expectations for days like these, and a skirt is part of that.

Her relief is palpable when they finally make it back inside. God only knows where Leo gets to - he’s off the hook, at least - but Emma treks back to her mother’s formal office as soon as her winter wear is sorted. As much as Emma hopes it won’t come to that, her mother’s annual Christmas speech is scheduled in twenty minutes, and if Queen Mary is still on the road, Emma will be expected to fill in. It’s not something she’s looking forward to; spontaneity like this never is, though she knows she’ll only have to read from a prompter.

Killian beats her there, somehow; by the time she arrives in the antechamber outside where television cameras and lights are already set up, he’s crouched under the tree, fiddling with the lights and offering an excellent view of his ass. Nice.

He catches her staring, of course. “Anything I can help you with, Your Highness?” he asks with a smirk.

“Nah, just taking in the view,” she winks back. Any fears she might have had about last night only being a product of the outage and the rum are largely quelled by the way he’s acting today - not quite just like normal, but not in a bad way either. Closer. More intimate. More… something.

Emma’s face settles into something more contemplative as she reflects on the change - something Killian, of course, doesn’t fail to notice. “What’s on your mind, love?” he asks, tilting his head in concern and curiosity.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma hurries to say at first before reconsidering. She still wants to make a move, to see where they stand; more than that, she wants him to know just how much these past few days have meant to her. With that in mind, she takes a deep breath and tries to be a little brave. “I just… I guess I just want to thank you, Killian.” Emma makes sure to look right in his eyes as she says it so he can see how much she means it. “This wasn’t the Christmas I expected to have, obviously, but it’s been… wonderful, really. And you’re a big part of that.”

“Oh, Emma, you don’t need to —”

“Yes, I do,” Emma interrupts. “I know this probably wasn’t how you planned to spend your Christmas - not when you’ve got your brother and his family to spend time with. But it meant a lot that you were here, even if you didn’t want to be.”

By the time Emma finishes, Killian has flushed a brilliant red - even more than just his ears. “About that, love…” he says, tugging at his hair. “It really wasn’t quite as out of my hands as you believe. Please believe me - there’s no reason to thank me.”

“I don’t understand.” He had switched with Mulan, of course - she knew that already, he had told her as such - but that didn’t change that he’d ended up here for much longer than he should have been, thanks to the storm.

“You know that I switched shifts… but not when.”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, it matters because when I told you that I’d be around, that I’d switched… I hadn’t, actually. I arranged that with Mulan afterwards. There was no conflict with her girlfriend’s family, I just… I wanted to be here.”

As surprised as Emma is by the revelation, she still feels like there’s something she’s missing - whatever would make him want to stay when he could have avoided it. “Why?” She asks softly, taking a step closer into Killian’s space. This feels like the kind of conversation to require close proximity - foster emotional intimacy, or something like it. As Killian proved in scrabble last night, he’s the one with the words.

Emma can see Killian swallow as he stares down into her eyes. “I wanted you to have a nice Christmas, love,” he replies, just as softly. Tenderly, even. “I could tell you were frustrated, and upset, and… I know it was the height of hubris to think that I could make that better, but I wanted to try. If I could help make it a happy Christmas for you, love… I wanted to try.”

“For me,” Emma breathes - more a realization than a question.

“For you.”

It’s impossible to miss the earnestness and truth in his words and gaze. That desire Emma felt last night to kiss the daylights out of him has been simmering on low ever since they parted for separate beds, but it flares up again at his confession. He did that for her, because he wanted to make her happy. Carefully, Emma takes that last step into his space, so close that their bodies nearly touch. Slowly, she trails her hands behind his neck and up into his hair to draw him down, lips mere inches apart —

A commotion in the hallway barely gives them a moment to break apart before Emma’s mother bustles into the room. As much as Emma has spent much of the last three days wishing her parents were here, now feels like the worst possible time.

“Mom, you’re home!” she manages to gasp weakly. Killian discretely steps away again; though Emma understands why, she’d much rather continue what they’d started - without an audience - than watch him retreat back into professionalism. Especially when moments ago, she’d just gotten a preview of what his hands might feel like against her skin.

“I couldn’t miss Christmas, now could I?” her mother asks, hugging Emma tightly. “I didn’t want to leave you to take care of the Christmas speech either; I know that kind of thing isn’t your favorite, and you’ve had no time to prepare besides… but oh! It’s just so good to be home again! Your father went to try and track down your brother…”

The queen keeps rambling as she strips off her gloves, but Emma doesn’t pay much attention. Sometime in the last handful of minutes, Killian slipped out the door altogether, leaving only Emma, her mother, and her mother’s security head. She missed her chance, it appears.

(And after all they’d shared these past days… Emma could just screech with the frustration of it all. It’s becoming kind of a habit.)

———

Emma hopes to talk to him after their interruption - tries to talk to him, even, searching for him across rooms. But it’s Christmas, and her parents are finally home, and it’s so easy to lose track of time and get caught up in the hustle and bustle of things. By the time Emma can break away from the festivity for a few minutes, Killian has already slipped out, quietly replaced by Mulan. She knows that he won’t be back for several days - more than earning a vacation and time with his family after giving up most of his Christmas with her and Leo.

She should be able to talk with him once he’s back at work, too; after all, he’s only got three days off (she knows this for a fact - she asked Leo, any hit to her pride be damned). But by the time Killian is back at work, so is Emma, with charity appearances and daily meetings and everything else her usual schedule entails.

Maybe it’s fate that they don’t meet again until New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s just fortuitous scheduling. Whatever the case, Emma doesn’t get a chance to speak with Killian until the annual New Year’s Diplomatic Gala, of all places.

It could be for the best, maybe; Emma can’t deny that she looks fantastic. Her dress tonight is silver and drapes elegantly across her body, creating a kind of vintage aura, topped with pinned waves, a rich burgundy lipstick, and long white gloves. The diamond and sapphire tiara is just the topper of it all, the icing on the cake.

(Emma’s always liked sapphires, but tonight, the stones don’t seem nearly as blue as his eyes, no matter how much they catch the light.)

She sees him across the room the moment she walks in, along the wall in another tailored dark suit, and she could swear that his eyes follow her too. Killian has a dress uniform, she knows - he wore it to the Armed Forces charity ball last year, and looked quite dashing at that - but tonight’s not the time for that. Tonight, the idea is to be as unobtrusive a presence as possible since he’s on duty, not that it’s going well. It’s hard for Killian to blend in with that face and that suit - or maybe Emma’s just attuned to noticing him.

Regardless, it’s still not the time to talk anyways - she’s still being escorted into dinner on the arm of the Ambassador to Glowerhaven, and there’s still a banquet and dancing to come. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can steal away later; maybe, with even more luck, she’ll be able to pull Killian along with her.

(They’ve got unfinished business, and Emma still wants to learn how he kisses.)

The garden balcony off the ballroom isn’t exactly an ideal location in late December, but it’s the only place Emma knows she can get a few blessed moments away from the crush of people inside. It’s cold out, nearly trying to snow again; a few rogue flakes drift from the night sky to land on her bare skin. There’s a handful of heat lamps scattered about, but they only do so much, as do Emma’s gloves. This hadn’t been one of her brighter plans, Emma knows, but she and Killian had been making eye contact all night across the room, and she simply couldn’t wait any longer to slip away and hope he follows her.

Just as Emma’s preparing to abandon the plan and head back inside, a warm weight drops on her shoulders - the faux-fur wrap she’d discarded at the dinner table earlier as it got in the way of her eating. Killian smiles at her when she turns her head to meet his gaze.

“I thought you might be cold, love,” he explains. “We can’t have you catching a chill.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think much about the weather when I came out here - I just wanted a little time alone,” Emma admits. “With you.” The last part is added hurriedly when a flash of embarrassment streaks across Killian’s face, and he looks like he might make an utterly unnecessary run for it.

“We never finished our conversation from Christmas, did we?” Killian almost looks a little bashful about the subject, ducking his head and tugging at the hair behind his ear. It’s adorable, truly, not to mention a little fascinating - the way he shifts back and forth so rapidly and confidently between seeming like a smooth master of seduction and a bashful boy who isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but is happy to be there. Fascinating, in the best of ways.

“Oh, I thought that conversation was plenty finished,” Emma teases. She even sways into his space flirtatiously to underline her point, finding some kind of boldness within her that she wasn’t certain she possessed. It must just be something about Killian that brings it out in her. “If I remember right, we were about to move on to… how would you put it? Much more pleasant exchanges, or something like that?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles back. “If I crossed a line the other day… I’m sorry if I overstepped, Your Highness —”

“It’s still Emma,” she corrects with a smile, reaching out to lay a hand on Killian’s arm. “And you didn’t overstep. I was right there wish you.”

“I’d just hate to think that I pressured you into something —”

“Killian, did you want to kiss me on Christmas?” Emma interrupts.

Killian pauses. Emma wasn’t aware a human person could turn that red. “Yes,” he finally admits - just one simple word that sets her heart a-flutter.

“Well, that’s lucky, because I did too. Still do, honestly.”

“You do?” Killian looks like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“I mean, yeah. Christmas could have been… honestly, straight up depressing. But you made it better. And I… I like you. I mean, I’ve been attracted to all this —” she waves a demonstrative hand — “for a while, but I like you. It’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s stupidly picturesque, and I want to kiss you at midnight. If you still want that too.”

Killian breaks into a wide smile. “What if I don’t want to wait for midnight?” he asks, moving so close into her space that she can feel his breath on her face. She twines their fingers together where their hands finally meet. “What if I still want to kiss you? Now?”

“Then I’d say…”

Emma never bothers to finish the sentence, opting instead to lean forward and meet Killian’s lips with her own. Her high heels put her at the perfect height to just barely need to tip her head upwards to find a perfect angle. Killian’s lips are soft against her own - gentle and teasing at first, almost like he’s just trying to learn the shape and feel of them before anything else, but he’s more than happy to deepen the kiss when Emma sinks her hands into his hair to pull him closer. He tastes a little minty, like he just popped a mint before coming out to speak with her - a fact that seems impossibly endearing, even through the pleasurable haze of their kiss. She can feel his hands through the fabric of her dress, firm and warm at her hips, like he’s keeping her safe even now. The kiss is tender, and passionate, and perfect.

(Then Killian tilts her head with calloused fingers at her chin to adjust the angle and sweep his tongue into her mouth, and she gladly stops thinking much of anything at all.)

“That was…” he breathes when they finally separate, breaking apart just far enough to rest his forehead against her own.

“Well worth the wait,” Emma finishes. And then laughs, unable to hold it back. “You’ve been holding out on me, Jones.”

“Call it the magic of Christmas,” he teases back. Fireworks start going off around them; though Emma hazily wonders for a moment if they did that, somehow set off literal fireworks to match the metaphorical ones bursting between them, before she realizes it must be the new year. They completely missed the countdown - not that she cares.

“So how does one go about dating the Crown Princess?” Killian asks, already leaning in for another round of kissing. “I think that just might be my New Year’s Resolution.”

“Stick around, and you’ll find out.”

She’s got a lot of plans for them.

#captain swan #cssecretsanta2k19 #cs ff #captain swan ff #modern royalty au #my stuff #and he called her love amongst the snowflakes #princess!emma #bodyguard!killian #and one hell of a snowstorm #merry christmas!#my writing

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awkwardlittlepringle · 4 years

Text

Queer ‘n Crazy

Hello fellow Fanders! This is kinda my first sanders sides fanfiction, and my first fanfic on Tumblr! The layout will most probably change over the course of this, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. 😊

Ships : Analogical, background Royality.

Blurb thing : To say Virgil Black hasn’t had the easiest life would be an understatement. Considering all he’s been through, it’s no surprise that he has a few mental illnesses. But that doesn’t mean he appreciates being thrown into some government experiment, even if he does have a gorgeous roommate.

THIS WILL CONTAIN MENTIONS OF AN ABUSIVE HOUSEHOLD, MENTAL ILLNESSES INCLUDING DEPRESSION, ANXIETY AND BI-POLAR DISORDER, AND SUICIDE/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE SUBJECTS, I WOULD ADVISE YOU NOT TO READ THIS. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, so stay safe, buddies!

Next Chapter

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Virgil Grant sighed as Set It Off began to play over his headphones. Wincing, he lifted his hand up to brush the side of his face, where a patch of his skin was flaming red. Judging by the stinging, it was definitely going to bruise. Not that Virgil wasn't used to bruises, he'd had his fair share. And not just from testosterone fueled jerks, either.

Despite the music blasting in his ears, Virgil heard a faint shout of " Hey faggot!" come from the neighbors garden. He kept his eyes on his shoes as he walked, too tired to bother dealing with the snide-comments made by the neighbors kids. While he knew he was safe, he couldn't help his heart from picking up the pace.

The comment was usually associated with a fist to the face.

He dragged himself up his doorsteps, shoulders sagging. Humming along to Hourglass, he reached into his coat pocket for the small key that would permit him entry into the brick house in front of him. A few moments later he unlocked the door to his foster parent's home. Comforting cinnamon-scented warmth enveloped him, a welcomed change from the strangely chilly air outside.

"Janice?" His voice rung through the empty corridor as he made his way down. Despite the fact he was wearing a coat and his hoodie, Virgil shivered at the heavy silence that seemed to have set over the house. "Virgil? We're in the living room, honey." Virgil made a beeline for the door, for a distraction from his troubled thoughts. He moment he stepped through the doorway, he was attacked by a swirl of auburn hair and green shawls. Virgil grinned as he returned his foster mother's hug.

"Virgil! How was school?" She drew away, before gasping. "What happened to your face?"

Virgil frowned, before bringing his hand up to touch the still stinging bruise on his left cheek. "Oh. It's nothing." "Was it those boys again?" asked her husband Mike from his spot on the couch. Virgil nodded. "Yeah. It's no big deal though, they got detention from Mrs Black afterward."

"Still, Virgil. Are you sure you don't want us to complain?" Virgil broke himself out of his foster mum's grasp before heading to the kitchen in the corner of the open-plan room.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The teachers know already, it won't make much of a difference." He started as he caught sight of the silent figure sitting on the couch opposite his parents. Fuck, a warning maybe?

"Virgil!" reprimanded Janice. "What?" he replied still staring at the man. "Language!" He'd said that out loud? "Sorry. Um, who are you?" he said, the question coming off harsher than he intended. "No problem, Virgil. My name is Steven, I'm a social worker. I'm friends with Jess?" The name of the old social worker brought a small smile onto the pale teen's face.

"How is she?" "She's fine." said the man, smiling. "If you wouldn't mind sitting down, we have something to talk about." Virgil shot an alarmed look at his parents, panic bubbling up in his chest. They weren't getting rid of him, were they? Sure he'd only been in two foster homes, but he really, really, liked this one. Sure, school wasn't the easiest, but it still worked!

"Virgil, it's nothing bad. We promise." said Janice smiling. The teen glanced at her skeptically, chewing on his bottom lip. Still, he followed her into the center of the room.

The social worker watched this exchange with interest, directing his attention to Virgil in particular. Once Virgil had taken off his coat, leaving him in his hoodie, the conversation began.

"So you are Virgil, correct?" Virgil blinked. "Yes...?" "And you suffer from depressive anxiety and PTSD?" The names of his disorders put a sour taste in Virgil's mouth. He nodded. "How have you been coping with those lately?" Virgil shrugged. He was liking this less and less by the second. "Um..." "Virgil, darling, please answer the question." To be honest, that made Virgil want to answer it less.

"Uh, the PTSD's okay...?" He looked at his foster father, who nodded encouragingly. "Um, my therapist says I need to try trust people more... The anxiety's alright too, no big issues really." Steven hummed, flipping through a familiar yellow file.

"I spoke to your psychiatrist-" Shit. "He says that he's had to give you a new type on anxiety medication?" "Yeah." "Why is that?" Why? What type of stupid question is that? "Because the old one wasn't working." mumbled Virgil, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Any particular reason?" "I dunno! Because it wasn't, okay?" he snapped. "Virgil, calm down-" "I can't." said the teen through gritted teeth, wishing desperately that he could flip up his hood. Steven looking at him concerned. "My apologies, Virgil. I did not mean to overstep my boundaries." Virgil felt quite sure Steven was aware of what he'd been doing. "S'fine."

"Alright, down to business then." That wasn't business?

"Virgil, I do not mean to say I know you more than you do, but it is clear that your mental health has not been the best as of late. Staying with the Wilson's has improved it, certainly, but you might need a bit of extra help." Extra help? What, are they sending me to a nuthouse or something?

"For the past few years, a certain social experiment has been under way. Well, not exactly an experiment, but-" "Virgil, there's this school. We think it can help." Virgil felt like a shard of ice had pierced his chest.

"A-a school? So what, you're going to ship me off to some school for crazy people?" Virgil felt his hands clamp into fists as he stared around at the adults in the room. Mike looked away, uncomfortable, while Janice took his arm.

"Honey, no! We have no intention of shipping you off. But Steven's been talking to us about it, and we think it can help!" "So you're sending me to a nuthouse."

"Virgil, hear me out. Yes, it is a school for people, primarily adolescents with mental health issues. But in no way is it a nuthouse! Think of it more like a rehabilitation center. It teaches young people how to deal with their mental illnesses in real world situations. Kind of like Hogwarts."

Virgil looked at his foster parents, wide eyed. They couldn't actually be considering this, could they?

"Virgil, just give it a try. It could be good for you, you know. Just one term. If you don't like it, you can come right back. It'll be a chance to start over!" "I think I've had plenty of chances to start over." said Virgil, his tone suddenly cold.

"Virgil," he turned to face Steven. "The concept of the school is hard to convey, but everybody who's been sent there in the past few years have all come out better. Most enjoyed it, actually. I now it sounds dodgy, but it works. And it improves the mental state of almost everyone who goes through their system.

"I'm sure you'll have more than a few doubts about this, but it will help you. I say this with absolute certainty. I have to leave now, but take this." He reached into his carrier bag and pulled out a green zip-up folder. "It's information on the school. It can explain more than I can. Janice and Mike already have a copy, but unless you agree to it, we won't take any further steps." Steven flashed him a reassuring smile.

"If you do wish to enroll, however, contact details are in the book. It would be appreciated if you could send your verdict to the school before Monday." Steven stood up, snapping shut the manilla folder in his hand.

"Until next time, Virgil. Mr and Mrs Wilson." A nod of acknowledgement later, and Steven was walking out, accompanied by Janice.

Virgil turned to Mike, who gestured to the folder in his hand.

"Go on, son. Janice and I have already read it." Virgil looked down at the folder, unzipping it quickly. Sure, he liked where he was now, but a change in schools would be appreciated. It's not like he enjoys being beaten to pulp daily.

Virgil scanned through a small booklet titled Queren Institute of Mental Health. Virgil could understand Steven's comparison of it to Hogwarts. The school was comprised of five sections. Not houses, but different categories of mental illness. It seemed that these categories shared dormitories and had similar schedules.

It didn't seem that bad.

Janice walked into the living room and locked eyes with her husband. She walked over to Virgil cautiously, as if trying not to startle him. After sitting herself down, she broke the silence.

"So, what do you think, Virgil?" The purple-clad teen's eyes flickered up to meet Janice's, and he made a nonchalant motion with his head.

"It's okay." he said. "Seems kind of odd, though." "Steven described it as a community," began Janice. "You would go about with normal lessons from nine 'till two, and then you would go for a therapy session. The rest of the day is yours, apart from one elective." By this point Virgil couldn't say he wasn't interested.

"I'll think about it."

Both his foster parent's faces broke into large smiles.

109 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 76

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle enjoy some time in the countryside once more, talking about something that has been on Tom's mind before celebrating Tom's birthday.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom looked around the house, wondering where Danielle was, the fact that Mac was hiding under the table looking less than pleased caught his attention also. "Where is she?" The dog only gave a small groan in response. "Where is she gone?" His answer came a moment later when a loud engine roared and Mac's ears went up, his attention to the back garden as he did so. Tom walked out and watched as Danielle mowed the grass on the small patch of her garden that was green. It took only a moment before it was done. "A woman of many talents."

"And yet a master at none," She smiled looking over at him. "Come on, I am going to do your mum's while I'm at it."

"Okay?"

"Open the gate," Danielle instructed.

"Where is she gone?" He asked, doing as he was instructed, noting his mum's car was gone from her driveway.

"Shopping, she said she wants to grab a few bits in town."

"Don't you usually go with her?"

"If by that do you mean 'Danielle, you usually play chauffeur, why not today' then the answer is because I am doing this housework, and I want to get everything here sorted." she smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "So I was thinking…"

"Oh God," Tom chuckled as she swatted his arm. "What were you thinking, Darling?"

"A walk after lunch, you, me and a particular canine?"

"The woods?"

"Yep."

Tom wrapped his arms around her, "I think that is a wonderful idea." He leant down and kissed her. "I hate not being able to walk around with you in London."

"I do too, until you go out and are photographed going to Sainsbury's or going for a jog and am reminded that as soon as we are out, they will harass you again like they did when they were trying to get you to talk about Swift."

Tom's brow furrowed. "What about when they start harassing you, why would you be worried about when they are harassing me, I am used to it?"

"Well, I am working on me, so I know I am getting there, so I am worried about you," she explained before getting ready to mow Diana's lawn.

"I should do that." Tom edged forward towards the lawnmower.

"Do you know how?" Tom looked at her, insulted at her insinuation. "Okay," she backed off before turning to look at him again, "Don't forget to prime it though." She stated before going to get the bag to tidy the cut grass so that they could minimise the time it would take.

Tom looked at the lawnmower, wondering what she meant by priming it. After a few seconds of looking at the machine, he turned to see her looking at him expectantly. "I…"

"Never used a petrol one?"

"No, just electric." He admitted, relieved she was not using a ridiculing tone, but one of comprehension.

"Right, well, it is fairly simple." She dropped the bag down in a corner and walked over to him. "The primer is this red button under here," she bent down and showed him the button in question. "You push it three times to send petrol into the engine to start her up, then, you pull this lever here," She pulled a lever. "Keep it pulled, and you yank this rope back and it will start the motor." She explained, showing him by doing it. The motor roaring to life once more as she did so before she let go of the lever and it died again. "Now you try."

Tom slowly went through the steps she told him again and got it, for a moment, before leaving go of the lever. "What happened?"

"You let go, you kill it when you do that." She explained.

Tom smiled down at her. "How do you know all of this?"

"My dad told me to never depend on other people to do house chores, plumbing, electrics and tiling aside, every girl should know how to look after her house."

"I saw you fix mum's sink once." Tom corrected.

"That was cleaning the U-bend, that isn't plumbing, that is basic hygiene."

Tom leant down and kissed her again. "You are an incredible woman Danielle."

"Because I know how to use a lawnmower?" She stared at him as though he was mad.

"No, because you are so independent and strong." his smile fell slightly. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she joked, before nodding slightly, noting his slight change of tone. "Sure, ask away."

"Would he have approved of me, your father?"

Danielle did not answer for a moment, not because she did not want to hurt Tom's feelings, but simply because she was assessing the question properly. "I think so."

"Really?"

"He would have joked about being thankful you're not a vet, he always was at me to never marry a vet, my life would be hell putting up with him. He would love how much respect you have for your mum, that would have been something he would focus on, and your sisters, that really mattered to him. That would have him approving in a second, hands down."

"My career?" that was where Danielle looked at him awkwardly. "Please, Elle, be honest."

"He would have worried. He didn't want me left raising a family by myself while my husband would be working as a vet, out a few times a night, or pretty much be a single mother in Springtime, so I can't imagine you going off for a few months would be something he would have been too pleased by, but that being said, my career isn't stationary either, I mean we are effectively in the same industry, so I think he would see that as a plus and badger me, and you too, to take jobs together."

"Do you think we ever will?"

"What, work on the same set?" Tom nodded. "Dunno, I mean there is a chance, but until I get a bit bigger, I am not sure, you are usually on big jobs, Marvel, Kong, that sort of thing, but who knows, the day might come."

"Would that bother you?"

"Yes, I mean how am I supposed to work if I have to try and function with your sexy ass nearby?" Danielle joked. "Before we make this public, if we were working together, yes, it would, because I would have to listen to every female and probably a man or two too, going on about how sexy you are; at least if it happens after, I can laugh at them saying I only got the job because of you and get to walk around knowing that for all their staring at your ass, I am the only one that gets to have it."

"Most definitely." Tom grinned.

"What about the other way around. How do you think you would feel me working close to you like that, barking orders at construction men and having directors angry that I am costing shooting hours because the set isn't to my standard?"

"Well I know you are a very meticulous woman of very high standards of quality in your life Ms Hughes, and regarding seeing you in action, telling those men what to do, I fear we would come to have an issue." He grinned.

"And what issue is that?" She asked, her brow raised.

"I would be very much inclined to find you the subject of daily lust that I would have to endure torturously before sating myself with you nightly."

"You are a fiend, Tom Hiddleston." She swatted his arm as she looked at him, her own lust rising at his words. "Now, enough dallying and mow the lawn, it will be your fortieth birthday before you are finished this, much less your next one if you keep trying to avoid housework."

Tom smiled as she walked around his mother's garden to pick up some plant debris as he did as she instructed and started the lawnmower.

"What about your mum?" Danielle looked at him as they walked through the woods, watching Mac sniff and mark nigh on every other tree. The leaves finally starting to consider coming out of their hibernation on the chilly but dry overcast February day. "Would she have approved?"

"Can I ask why this even matters?"

Tom's pace faltered slightly. "She wouldn't have?"

"No, I think she would, but why does it even matter, they are not here, they cannot have an opinion on this."

"Is it wrong for me to want to know if my partner's parents would like me?" Tom asked. "You know what my parents think of you."

"Your parents make it very clear what they think of people and to be honest, that's not a bad thing either."

"Elle?"

"Look, Mam would have thought you a gentleman, she would have fawned over you and dare I admit it, giggled like a schoolgirl at you saying you love things in the house and probably get smitten," she stated factually before looking at him again. "Now, why does this matter now?"

"Mum asked me yesterday was I going to Ireland for your grandmother's anniversary, I said no and mentioned what you said about your aunt not approving of me, which led to mum making a comment about her opinion not being the one that would have mattered, but your parents and she was sure they would have approved of me, but of course, we have no way to know that," Tom explained.

Danielle thought over his words for a moment, glad to understand why he had asked such a random question. "My aunt is a battle-axe. Literally, you could have two Oscars, four Golden Globes and a couple of Grammy's and she would think you not good enough for our family, she cost her daughter a marriage to a guy she really loved because of her notions. But Dad wasn't like her, they were from the same house but he was a farmer's son and he never forgot it. He earned more than his dad ever did, he had a bigger, nicer house, he had fancier things but he was a farmer's son and no way would he forget it. It doesn't matter if we had a dining room as well as a kitchen, it was the same food on fancier plates as my grandfather put it that was served. Bacon and cabbage, stew and all that, no fancy posh meals. I remember Mam served him some pizza once, he asked what the fuck squashed his quiche." she laughed, Tom quickly joined in. "My aunt acts as though they were landed gentry and not from 'knee-high in cow shit' as my dad used to say."

"I see where you got your love of swearing."

"Stop, Mam used to give out to him for swearing so much."

"Was she the rock of sense?"

Danielle looked at him bemusedly. "Tom, I swear, her way of saying 'stop swearing' was, and I swear this is the truth 'watch your fucking language'." Tom erupted in laughter at that, so much so that Mac stopped sniffing a plant and looked around at them.

"You're not serious, please tell me that's the truth," Tom begged.

Danielle raised her hand as though she was about to swear on a bible. "I solemnly swear, that is what she used to say. And dad used to give out to her for it then and blame her for my foul mouth, both using expletives in doing so and with Mam bearing arms with some form of kitchen utensil in her hand."

"That is brilliant." Tom chuckled.

"Yeah, so that is my parents."

"I wish I could have met them."

"Well, if you had, I would not have been in England, so you would not have known who they were." Danielle pointed out. "But yes, I wish you could have. Dad would have loved you, a fellow Jameson man. He'd have hammered the GAA into you though."

"Did he not like soccer and rugby?"

"Nah, he had no time for them 'foreign games'," she explained. "I mean he'd watch them yeah, on the telly, but not in an 'oh great, the soccer's on, stop what we are doing and pop it on' sort of way." She explained.

"So he didn’t follow a team?"

"Ireland in major tournaments, obviously, but his brother lived near Highbury as a young man, so Arsenal." Tom came to a halt. "What?"

"You had family in London?"

"Pretty much everyone in Ireland has someone who came over to work for a while."

"Where is he now?"

"New York."

"That's a far cry from a farm."

"Yeah, and the farce is he went all the way to America to marry a woman from Mayo." Danielle laughed.

"I am afraid that means nothing to me."

"Mayo is the county next to Galway, he went New York to marry a woman from seventy kilometres away," She explained, Tom laughed at that. "So yeah."

"Okay, that is very funny," Tom admitted. "So your parents, they would have been happy with me?"

"Well, since I am a short-arse, Dad would have been harping on about you giving any kids we have some height, important in a good hurler, and Mam would think you too thin."

"If it meant more food like yours I would have been happy enough." Tom chuckled, putting his arm around her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little sad I never got to tell them about you, to get to bring you over and show them that I am actually able to get a decent guy, that's all they wanted."

"I'm sorry, Darling."

"Don't be, they'd tell me to cop on to myself and be happy."

"It's done?"

"It's done." She smiled, extending her hand to him.

Tom looked at it for a moment, Danielle was never one to be overly affectionate in public in any manner, he had heard her scoff at people who were overly affectionate, but considering that she had just spoken of her parents, he knew she felt somewhat vulnerable and took her hand in his, bringing hers to his lips. "Are you scared of being seen?"

"It's a woods, besides, I am more scared of losing you for something so stupid as not showing you how much I care about you."

Tom's eyes lit up at her admission, insisting on having his hand in close proximity to hers for the rest of the walk when he was not holding it, close enough for her to feel it occasionally brush against it as they did so.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Thomas, Happy Birthday to you."

Tom hid his face in his hands as everyone sang to him, his mum holding his shoulders as Danielle laughed as Tom's face began to redden. "You know what to do," She joked, "You've had enough of these things by now."

"Sarah, Elle's calling you old," He joked.

"Oi!" Sarah swatted Danielle, who laughed more.

"I did not!"

"I am older than him," She pointed out.

"Crap," Danielle commented. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," Emma whispered in her ear with a big smile.

"Shh," she giggled back.

Tom watched as they acted as they always had before the conflict before Christmas. "Can I eat this now? Mum, as usual, you bake the best cake."

"After you blow out the candles," His niece's tone was scolding.

"Of course, how silly of me. Will you help?"

"Because everyone loves saliva covered cake." Danielle laughed.

"She is just trying to help." Tom admonished.

"I am talking about you spitting and dribbling, old man," Danielle commented, as his sisters, their husbands and his mother laughed, Tom rose to his feet. "Eep." Danielle used that moment to scarper around to the other side of the table.

"Are you sorry?" He demanded, trying to get her to go around the table towards him.

"Not really, no." Danielle laughed while remaining on the far side of the table.

"Actual children." Emma scoffed.

"The five-year-old is more mature than the two of you combined," Sarah added, but the smile on her face showed how elated she was for her brother to finally appear to be genuinely happy.

"He started it." Danielle pointed to Tom.

"How did I start it, you are the one calling me old."

"You spent your morning looking for grey hairs and checking your hairline." She laughed.

"Right," Tom thought strategically for a moment and used Jack as a barricade to keep Danielle pinned while he took the other direction.

"What, no." Danielle used her small height to her advantage and slipped through the Brother-in-law barricade and rushed for the door. "Woohoo."

"How is she nearly thirty, no really, how is that woman your best friend?" Jack asked Emma who was too busy doubled over laughing at Tom who was still seemingly trying to compute how Danielle had gotten out. A moment later, her phone went off. From where he as standing, Jack could see the message, which he read aloud. "I win, someone owes me cake."

Tom stormed out of the room and towards the sitting room, having not heard Danielle go upstairs. "Where are you?"

"Not here." She replied, her tone light.

Looking around the door, he saw her looking at him cautiously. "You are a terror," he grinned, looking down at her from his far taller frame. "I am going to have to get you for that."

"But then you won't get your present." She threatened.

"I told you not to get me anything, the breakaway for Christmas was enough." He scolded. Danielle bit her lips together. "What is it?"

"You don't have to."

"Elle?" She pulled out an envelope from her pocket, folded over from bring shoved in there. "What is it?"

She handed it to him. "It's not Rome, and I don't have a private jet." He gave her a look to tell her to cease talking like that. "I just thought, after our conversation the other day."

He opened the envelope to see a small piece of paper inside, which contained two dates for after the Kong tour. "Where is Shannon?"

"An airport."

"Where?"

"Clare, Ireland."

"You want to bring me home with you?"

"I have no one to really show you to, well my aunts and them are there, but since you asked about all of that."

Tom looked at the paper in his hand and thought about it, a small smile coming to his face. "It's better than Rome."

"Okay, there's no need to lie, it's not but it's home," Danielle smiled.

"No, Elle. It is where you are from, I get to see what moulded you, it is better." He confirmed. "I cannot wait to see it."

"You were in Ireland before."

"Yes, the other side of the country, I always wanted to see the part of the country that inspired the great scholars there."

"You're in for a treat with Connemara and all that so, but we also have to go to West Cork."

"What's there?"

"My mam's lot."

"What are they like?"

"Nice, country stock as well, there's just one issue..."

"What?" Tom asked worriedly.

"Remember those two brothers that won the silver medals in rowing for Ireland in the last Olympics?"

"Yes," Tom looked at her, elongating the word as he spoke. "They are from around there, aren't they?"

"About forty minutes from my Mams."

"Wait, does everyone there speak like that?"

"Not usually as strong, but broadly similar."

"Oh God, this will be hilarious." Tom chuckled.

"They won't have a clue what you are saying."

"The feeling, I can assure you, is going to be mutual," He smiled, kissing her. "I am going to get you for the old man comments."

"After cake?"

"After cake," He confirmed before kissing her again.

"Euch!" they turned to see a disgusted face of regretful curiosity before the Duchess fled the room again. "They're kissing."

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 76 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

15 notes · View notes

seenashwrite · 5 years

Text

Some Dean

Word Count: 4K Category: One-shot, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Creature Feature, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant, Teamwork, Friendship… and, to hell with it: Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas Warnings: None Anti-Warning: There’s no images or links to anything creeptastic below the cut, those of you with squicks/phobias need not worry, I’m not that big of an a-hole Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; if you’ve no knowledge of the children’s story “Charlotte’s Web”, this may not be for you; more post-story Overall Summary: Sometimes good things come in small, albeit eight-legged, packages.

Dean had always liked spiders.

Well, “like” may’ve been overstating; Dean had always held an appreciation for spiders. They weren’t nasty like rats or sneaky like snakes, with spiders you knew where you stood: in his experience, anything supernatural aside, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. Plus, they were badass - spiders packed a lot of intimidation into a small package, could be killing machines when they wanted to be, and mostly he appreciated that they were efficient and effective when it came to dealing with the annoying bugs that occasionally popped up. He did live in a basement, after all; the world’s tiniest were not deterred by any amount of warding or weaponry.

So when he’d notice small, barely-there wisps of webs in far corners or between the bottom of a bookshelf and the wall, stretching from the carved wood to the sticky bricks, he’d leave the homemade traps be for a week or two if they were empty, and sure enough, they’d have captured some crawlers next time he made a run-through with the vacuum. It was an amicable relationship - Dean never saw the spiders, just their handiwork, and the webs seldom popped up in the same space twice. Plus, they seemed to know the kitchen was a no-fly… spider… zone, so all was well.

And then came Charlotte.

Charlotte - as Dean had eventually started calling the garden spider, much to Sam’s dismay - did not have any regard for the out-of-sight, you-don’t-get-the-boot arrangement, nor did she have any regard for giving Dean his space. The day they met, he’d sauntered into the garage, popped the Impala’s trunk, tossed in a bag and a shotgun, yelled at Sam to hurry up, then went to reach for the driver’s side handle, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and froze. And he wasn’t the only one.

The web was thick at the edges and delicate in the middle, stretching from the side mirror to the handle, upon which Charlotte perched, her crafting put on hold. She wasn’t terribly small, but not remotely large; she would’ve easily fit on the pad of his thumb. And she was clearly of the brave - or stupid, perhaps - sort, because she didn’t immediately scurry off. She took in the sight of the giant creature before her - technically, there was eight of him, what with her four pairs of eyes and all - and she opted to see what would happen.

What happened was that Dean turned, grabbed a shop rag, and began cursing under his breath as he whipped the web into nothingness; by the time he stopped, Charlotte had skittered to places unknown.

Dean tossed the rag away, gave the handle a good eyeballing before he grabbed it, opening the door and saying in a low voice through grit teeth, “Not. The. Car.”

“What not the car?” asked Sam, bounding up the garage steps.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

This nothing continued for six weeks.

Charlotte was a determined artist, it seemed, not to mention a fast one. She spun webs of all sizes and shapes, covering the license plate in quilt-panel squares, weaving long, ropy trails around and between the wipers, and at one point obscured the back window in a lacy pattern that Castiel noted looked like a fine guipure. She liked to travel, too, as more than once the brothers would exit a given roadside motel room to find Charlotte had been busy during the night, Sam’s personal favorite being when she’d decorated a hubcap in a complex Fibonacci design, though he’d never have let on to Dean.

On the initial occasions following such a discovery, if Dean happened to spot her, he would scold her with a sharp “NO!”, walk in her direction briskly, and she’d retreat, slipping into the trunk or under the hood, but it wasn’t long before she’d stay put, even edge closer, cutting the distance between them, eventually so bold as to crawl onto the roof of the Impala, watching as he dismantled her webs.

“Really?” he asked one morning after the latest wipe-down, bending slightly so they were eye-to-eyes.

She calmly extended one leg to the side, held it out til he got the hint, turning his head, following what he’d presumed was a point, and sure enough, he’d missed some cottony puffs that were still stuck on a tail light.

Looking back at her, he said - begrudgingly - "Thanks.“

Dean had dealt with stranger things.

"One day I’m expecting to come out and see ‘terrific’ in a web,” Sam commented during a return trip from the latest hunt.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You know - the kid’s book. Charlotte’s Web. You read it to me when we were little. About the farm, and saving Wilbur the would-be bacon?”

“Charlotte’s anti-bacon?”

“No, I don’t think— it was— it— she was just pro-pig.”

It was after this conversation that Dean took to calling their frequent tag-a-long Charlotte. To be specific, it was after he’d brought a BLT with him into the garage while working on the car, and she’d happily investigated a bit of bacon that had escaped his plate. A point to the pro-bacon column, he thought.

Dean informed her that he was fine with her hanging around, he was even fine with her fancy webwork, but she needed to cool it when it came to the car, explaining with lots of gesturing to make sure the message got across, just in case. He’d looked it up. Spiders did not have ears.

He’d also looked up things on spider life spans, and arachnid health in general. Sam found him in the library one evening doing just that, frowning at his laptop screen as he scanned. Castiel was nearby, returning some books to their places on the shelves.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked in a hushed voice, and Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke, diverting their attention.

“Did Charlotte look pale to you earlier?”

Now Sam frowned. “Dean… what?”

“I mean, she’s light brown, but she looked a little yellow earlier,” Dean explained, scrolling further down a page, but then closing the window with a huff and turning in his seat to face Sam. “Can’t find anything.” A pause; a thought. “Hey, I should put out a devil’s trap drawing for her, maybe a new pattern’ll perk her up.”

Sam was, in a word, startled. “Do you think of her as a pet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I dunno - because a spider is stalking us, and you’ve named it, and you talk to it, and—-”

“What, you got a thing about spiders to go with your thing about clowns, even though your imaginary friend was a clown?” Another pause. “Come to think of it, that explains a lot.”

“Sully’s not a clown, and no, I do not have arachnophobia, what I do have is a worry that - if it is a female - it may lay a bunch of eggs, then we’ll have an infestation. Is that what you want? Bunch of spider babies in your Baby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Did she pinky swear?”

“Would you like me to have a look at her?” asked Castiel, and the concern in his voice was less for Charlotte and more for Dean, and less in the sympathetic way and more in the tiptoeing around someone who’s slipped into psychosis way.

Sam crossed his arms. “Taking it outside hasn’t worked, neither has trying to leave it wherever we’ve been hunting - this is getting ridiculous, will you just kill it, already?!”

Dean stood, walked over to him, defiant. “We not been doing enough killing for you lately?”

“It’s just a spider, Dean!”

“I know that! Maybe I just don’t wanna be scraping moist spider guts off my boot.”

“Does this spider communicate with you?” Castiel asked, the concern still floating under his words.

He was ignored.

“It’s not your pet, it’s a tiny insect - you don’t even know if it could be poisonous!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not an insect, genius, and Charlotte would never bite us—-”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Have either of you considered the possibility that this is no ordinary spider?” Castiel suggested.

“Gee, thanks, Cas - no, hadn’t noticed that this is weird,” Dean shot back with a look.

“So you get that this is weird?” Sam checked.

“Our life is weird, what’s some more? And at least this is fun weird, is that so bad?” Dean replied, and the touch of melancholy in his voice caused both Sam and Castiel to stay quiet for a few moments.

The silence was broken by the ring of Dean’s phone - a case awaited them.

And, of course, Charlotte.

Dean looked up from the map as Sam came back into their motel room, six pack in one hand, phone in the other, kicking the door shut as he spoke.

“Jane called. She says a container ship from the UK was bringing in illegal cargo, for some rich people who wanted exotic animals for canned hunts—”

“Douche move.”

“—and apparently when they went to unload, the crates were all busted up. The hold was covered with what was left of the bodies of the animals. All except for one. Three guesses.”

“Big bad bacon?”

“Yup. And she thinks we’re looking at… ah….” Sam trailed off and chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“A cryptid. It’s called The Beast of Dean, a.k.a. the Moose Pig.”

“Why do I think that somewhere, somehow, whatever’s left of Crowley just got a chub.”

They were in a rural area of Virginia, not too far from Portsmouth, and had been for a week, tracking what sounded like a rabid boar, but there was enough of a bump-in-the-night bend to the word on the street that they’d been confident it fell in their wheelhouse. Now that they had confirmation, after a night of research and weapon prep, they were ready to knock out the most recent mission and get back home. The Dean-Moose was large, and it was anything but subtle. The hunt should be an easy one, wouldn’t take long, nothing to it.

Well. One thing. One sort-of big thing. Even though it was also a small thing. Sam’s pro-pig storybook spider and their companion, they’d come to find, had more in common than just a name.

STOP

There, stretched across the Impala’s grill the next morning, was an undeniable message, and given Dean’s jaw-dropped state, it prompted Sam to speak on his behalf.

“Um, Charlotte? Listen, I don’t know if you… you seem nice, and… really smart, but… look, this thing isn’t like that pig in the book.”

“Because she’s read the book,” Dean said sarcastically, breaking out of his stupor and stomping over to the car, sharp eyes looking for the sassy spider; no joy. “Hey, guess what?” he said loudly. “I’m gonna drive so fast that by the time I do stop, your web’s gonna get shredded, how do you like that? I told you my car was OFF LIMITS!”

With one last glare at the web, Dean got into the car, and Sam followed suit. They put on the radio and chatted about anything but spiders and pigs for the better part of an hour as they bumped along the winding back roads. And after parking at the edge of the woods where the most recent sighting of the beastly hog had occurred, they opened the trunk to find another message, one that unfurled neatly, springing open as the lid of the weapons compartment lifted.

REALLY! STOP, STUPID.

Punctuation, and all.

“You know…” Dean began, but trailed off with a shake of his head, snatching up the shotgun and pocketing a handful of the shells with the special filling he and Sam had cooked up the night prior.

Sam removed the freshly-etched-with-symbols machete. Dean slammed the trunk shut. Charlotte did not emerge.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

“When we get back, I’m calling Cas. This is out of control, Dean. The spider’s obviously somebody - or something - dicking around with us. Maybe that’s been the plan, keeping us from killing this thing.”

Dean didn’t look at him, rather kept scanning their surroundings as he responded. “Maybe. She… it… came around before that ship got here. But, yeah. Maybe something’s up.”

Sam reflexively sighed in relief, and at that moment Dean stopped, extended his arm to stop Sam’s progress, as well.

“Shhh. Listen.”

The growl was only audible for a moment before the foliage began to stir.

The hunt, it turned out, did not last long. The defeated brothers wearily tossed their dented weapons into the backseat and practically fell into the front. Dean immediately turned off the radio - the chanting of Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” had come screaming through the speakers.

“It does kinda sound like they’re saying 'wild boars’,” Sam noted.

“Shut up.”

After they’d returned to the motel and showered, cleaned up their scratches and cuts, swapped torn clothing for intact, Sam went back to researching, while Dean went out to the Impala, damp washcloths in hand, and opened the trunk. It was barely even six o'clock, and there was still enough sunlight that he could see every trace of the webbing was gone. But he wanted to check that his little - former - friend hadn’t done anything else.

She had.

Sitting in the driver’s set, Dean’s eye was drawn to the thin, nearly opaque message across the radio, anchored by the knobs and an ejected tape.

BAD JOB

Dean swiped it away without a word, uttering a small groan and clutching his bruised ribs as he climbed out. He took a few steps, but then pivoted. He opened the door again and leaned in, voice tense as he spoke.

“Tell you what, how’s about I bring you some toothpicks and you join in tomorrow, help us out, get in a few stabs? Be useful, show us how it’s done?”

Dean fell asleep wondering if he’d completely lost his mind.

THIS IS DUMB .

Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes - he’d been out the door first, so the newest message, covering the entirety of the hood, immediately made him brace himself for what was coming next.

But, surprisingly, Dean kept his temper in check; he merely set down his bag, returned to the room for a towel, and briskly wiped down the hood.

“Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile that was likely more unsettling than intended.

Sam kept quiet, answering with a thumbs-up.

Their Everything’s Fine! charade was short-lived.

As with the prior morning, Charlotte had chosen to reinforce her message, wrapping the steering wheel so thickly it was barely visible, and her stance on their mission came through loud and clear.

THIS IS ACTUALLY DUMB .

Sam thought the choice of having the final “dumb” in bold italic for emphasis was a nice touch. And he noted the copious amount of webbing wound around the gear shift with raised eyebrows. And he gulped when he spotted more strands of said webbing emerging from the ignition. He cut his eyes over to Dean and, upon seeing his expression, took a step back.

This time, Charlotte did not hide. She’d positioned herself on the dashboard, right near the puffed-up wheel, standing with what could be described as quite the petulant posture. And much like the day the spider and the hunter had met, Dean froze.

Charlotte held her ground.

Dean’s nostrils flared.

Charlotte crossed her front legs as if they were arms.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Charlotte tapped a back leg, as if to say Well get on with it.

Dean was still unmoved, and so Sam said, “You know, when you freeze like that, it’s really not as intimidating as you might—-”

“CHARLOTTE!” Dean bellowed.

She turned and sashayed to the glove box, crawling inside without the first indication she felt in any danger whatsoever.

Thankfully, the motel was just shy of a mile from from a modest gas station-diner combo. Sam talked Dean into a breakfast - with extra bacon, a thumb of the nose to both the beast and its defender. After they easily convinced the owner to loan them his truck, explaining their car’s fuel gauge was apparently broken, buying a can of gas for show, they promised they’d have it returned to him by morning.

As they drove back to grab their gear, Dean asked, “You hear from Cas?”

Sam nodded. “Reception’s crap, though - I can only hear parts of his voicemail. He found something about Charlotte, at least, I think. But he didn’t sound upset, like she was dangerous.”

“Let’s just roast the pig and get the hell outta here.”

“I’m sorry she’s not… you know, fun-weird anymore,” Sam said.

Dean lowered his foot, gunning the engine. “Yeah, well. Story of my life,” he muttered.

The truck was returned way before morning, this encounter with their newest foe having gone as well as the first. Then they found that Charlotte had removed all the web from the Impala, though the door to the motel room held some snark:

NICE HEAD

Dean barely glanced at it - possibly a little hard to do with the near swollen-shut, a breath away from blackened eye - and didn’t even bother to clean it off. There was no message from Charlotte the next morning. Dean did bother to wonder if she was gone.

The sound of the tree cracking sent both of them diving behind a small knoll, gasping for breath, cringing as it crashed down just where they’d been not seconds earlier.

“I’m empty,” Dean said, returning his gun to his waistband. “You?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Sam answered.

The beast’s growls now turned into a piercing scream, a most furious howl, angry it couldn’t find them. They heard it turning up earth with its tusks, sending rocks flying, then ramming its head into yet another tree, the trunk buckling under the strain. Dean had managed to send a bullet into its snout, likely preventing it from sniffing them out, if the occasional gurgling snorts were any indication. Sam had earned himself a minor goring to his calf, but otherwise they were intact.

“Think you can run?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bandanna-wrapped wound.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That the plan? Just make a run for it?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“On three?”

“One… two…. three!”

They dodged trees, though the beast didn’t bother, taking out the smaller ones along the way, picking up speed with every moment that passed, while the brothers were losing speed at the same time.

Dean noticed a large branch in their path up ahead and started to veer off from Sam, pointing to it and yelling, “Keep going! I’ll try to knock Porky out!”

“No!” Sam yelled back, grimacing each time his leg made contact with the ground. “It’ll kill—- HUUUURMMPPHH!”

Sam went down, Dean not far behind, something tripping both of them, causing them to fall with such force that whatever air they had left in their lungs got knocked out. Disoriented, they raised their heads only to immediately duck them, covering up with their arms, as the beast was still plowing ahead. Its hooves hit the ground in between them, tossing dirt everywhere, its speed too far gone for it to stop on a dime. They expected to soon hear it reversing course, so Sam opened his eyes, trying to spot a place to hide, Dean doing the same, trying to spot the branch.

Instead, the sound of the most meek squeal one could imagine reached their ears, prompting Dean and Sam to turn their gazes directly ahead.

They were at the bottom of a small incline, and they watched as the boar’s head rolled their way, their heads slowly turning as they observed it leisurely passing by. It came to a sudden stop against something near their feet. They shared a look, moving in sync onto their knees.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said.

Dean looked up from inspecting the severed head to find Sam with his hand extended, pushing under something that Dean couldn’t make out, but a shift in position and a tilt of his head allowed him to see the bright moonlight glint off the surprisingly thick, iridescent rope running across Sam’s fingers.

Another look, another in sync movement as they stood, then tentatively walked forward til they reached the body. This time, Dean spotted it right away when he crouched, the finely-wound strands that were stretched between two trees, at just the perfect height to relieve a squatty hog monster of its head. He flicked it with a finger, as one would a string on a guitar, and it was just as taut.

“She clotheslined it,” Sam said, awestruck. “She tripped us so we wouldn’t… That could’ve clipped us at the knees. She… she…”

Dean looked up at Sam, and a slow smile spread across his face. "She’s awesome!”

Sam shifted his weight off of his bad leg, and grinned. “Think she’s any good with stitches?”

How Charlotte managed to spin their salvation in such little time, they’d never know, and they also had no idea how she beat them back to the car, but the evidence was there, across the driver’s side window. .

SOME PIG .

They laughed, Dean saying, “You ain’t lying.”

But before he could say anything else, Charlotte crawled out from under the handle. She scurried up her web, and as they watched, she whipped the “P” into a “D”; the “I” went “E” in a few short passes; the “G” was partially dismantled, then spun into an “A”; and in mere seconds, there appeared an “N”. .

SOME DEAN .

After a quick hop from its tip, a slide to the outside of one of the long connecting end pieces, and a drop of a new line of silk, their eyes followed her as she leapt, letting the momentum swing her clean up onto the roof. And then - Sam would swear to it, many times over the coming years - she curtsied.

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You, too.” With that, he opened the back door, gestured for her to climb inside.

Which, she did.

“Yes… yes… that’s very kind of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were standing outside the bunker, the former waiting patiently - and occasionally impatiently - as the latter had a conversation with Charlotte.

Castiel looked to them. “She says she likes my tie. The material meets her standards.”

Dean’s expression was completely flat, causing Sam to snicker.

“There any reason you didn’t tell us you could’ve been talking to her this whole time?” Dean demanded.

Castiel shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

It turned out that Castiel’s message had been to inform them that Charlotte was indeed a most special spider, more so than what they’d already divined. She was an emissary, an information-gatherer, a spy of sorts, though not a nefarious one. And because she herself was quite the accomplished hunter, she chose to spend time with other hunters whenever her journeys brought her to them.

And now, it was time for Charlotte to start her next journey.

Castiel was nodding his head as Charlotte, who was on his collar, near his ear, told him one last thing. “She’d like you to know that Sam was correct - she does need to prepare to lay her eggs, though she would not have done so in the car,” Castiel related.

Dean shot Sam a smug look.

“And she says she’ll name them Dean.”

Dean blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How many we talking?”

A pause as Charlotte answered, and Castiel replied, “Anywhere from fifty to sixty.”

“That’s… a lot,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Not really,” Sam commented.

Another look from Dean - actually, he cycled through several.

“Fine. So maybe I did some research, too,” Sam admitted.

“It’s time for her to go,” Castiel announced. “She says she’s enjoyed your company immensely. And she apologizes for the web you’ve yet to find. It seems she was in a cranky mood that evening.”

“That’s okay. Tell her it’s okay,” Dean said, walking closer. “Tell her that, um… it’s been great knowing her. Don’t be a stranger. All that.”

Castiel smiled. “She knows.” He raised his hand to his shoulder, and Charlotte climbed onto it. “I’m going to give her a boost,” he explained, and then to Charlotte he said, “Please do give Mr. Anansi the Winchester brothers’ warmest regards.”

They watched as Charlotte prepped a silk balloon, and after a gentle wave of Castiel’s hand, off she flew.

“It would be… cheesy of me to comment it is angelic, their flight, wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Sam answered in unison.

They began to walk back inside.

“What was that at the end? About Anansi?” asked Sam.

“Networking,” Castiel replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about us ever having to tangle with him,” Dean said. “I mean, not with Charlotte on our side. She’ll talk us up. She’s a talker.”

“Plus, there’ll be all the Deans,” Sam added.

“Yup. Exactly. We are cool with the spider kingdom,” said Dean, and with great confidence.

Dean was incorrect on this point, as he and Sam would later learn, during a case involving a young lady by the name of Muffet.

But that’s another story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2 - The Jane mentioned is a character from my story Supernatural: Revelation, which you can find linked on the master post -or- just go straight to AO3, same author name SeeNashWrite 😁

Author’s Note #3 - This also included a prompt which had languished in drafts - albeit with the note “Anansi” from the get-go, thankyouverymuch! - which was from the cringeworthy submissions:

You can find all the #Nash300 Follower Celebration Master List of Madness stories (wherein I asked followers to send me prompts consisting of three words to make me cringe) via the Master Post.

Author’s Note #4: The beast of Dean mentioned is actually a thing, give it a google! And so is Anansi, check that out, too. If you don’t get the Muffet reference, well, I can’t help you with that. 😉

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #fluff #Dean Winchester #Nash Writes

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 5 years

Text

Of Hortensias and Sunflowers

A ML Ship Fleet discord server Valentine Exchange gift for @whatarubberchicken . Happy Valentine’s Day!

Summary: On Valentine’s Day Marinette receives two bouquets from her two not so secret admirers. As her colleagues tease her about her gifts she realizes the time has come for her to make a final decision. A choice about hortensias and sunflowers.

AO3 / fanfiction.net

Marinette was in the middle of a designing spree when the first messenger appeared carrying a basket of blue hydrangeas. All eyes turned to her desk as she opened the little note, and the light blush that warmed her cheeks didn’t escape their attention.

It was Valentine’s Day and Marinette, being officially single, though not for the lack of eager suitors, made for the perfect topic of office gossip. But when the second bouquet arrived, composed entirely of miniature sunflowers, the whole department buzzed like a beehive.

‘Someone’s going to have an interesting evening,’ Angela, one of the other designers, said as she poked her head into Marinette’s impromptu garden, making her jump as she was about to open the second letter.

‘So? Who’s going to get lucky tonight?’ the woman teased. ‘Mr. Cover Boy?’ she ran her hand over the sunflowers, ‘or Mr. Blueberry Rocker?’ She sent Marinette a sultry wink, sniffing the hydrangeas.

‘That’s none of your business, Angela,’ Marinette snapped, hiding the envelope behind her back. She just noticed it contained more than a note and her colleague would probably choke on her own spit if she knew it was a silk blindfold. The first envelope included velvet gloves. Both contained instructions and a time, but no locations. The evening indeed might prove to be interesting, she thought. Butterflies danced in her stomach in anticipation.

‘Come on.’ Angela never gave up easily. ‘They’ve been trying to woo you for how long now?’ She nudged Paul, another designer.

‘Dunno,’ he replied with a sly smile. ‘At least since she started working here, so two years?’

‘I want to know how you do that, Marinette,’ Jessica, the office secretary piped in. ‘Staying non exclusive for so long, and with those two guys chasing after you nonetheless.’

‘Wow,’ Angela whistled appreciatively. ‘So, who’s it gonna be for you tonight, Nettie?’ She turned to Marinette with a truly predatory grin. ‘Mr. Sunflower or Mr. Hydrangea?’ She snickered at Marinette’s frown. ‘Once you take your pick, let me know.’ She got back to her desk swinging her hips on the way. ‘I’ll gladly comfort the poor runner up,’ she winked lewdly.

Marinette shot her a dirty look, but Angela was already busying herself with her computer so one of the finest Ladybug’s glowers went to waste. She sighed and turned to the designing board, but the mood had been spoiled.

Getting back into the zone took the better part of the afternoon and before Marinette noticed, she was alone in the dark, abandoned office. Her eyes drifted over to the two bouquets that brought a hint of spring to her desk five weeks before the actual season began.

Four years.

That’s how long this has been going on. That’s how long they had been patient with her. Angela might have been a mean, jealous witch, but she was right about one thing. It was time to make a decision. Marinette really shouldn’t keep them waiting longer.

She glanced at her watch. There was still time before she needed to be ready for the evening. With one decisive swipe, she scooped the flowers from their containers, thankful for the empty office. It was time do something about her relationship status. And that time would be tonight.

Engrossed in her last task she inevitably lost track of time. She barely made it home to change and refresh her make-up and she already needed to leave. The Town Car waited outside her building, the chauffeur looking rather surprised that Marinette arrived on time. Just as if he’d been warned she might be late. And he probably had been. Marinette hadn’t grown out of her poor time management habits, and anyone who knew her well was aware of that.

The car rolled over the Parisian streets, passing cafes and restaurants thick with red hearts and Valentine’s decorations, and just when Marinette thought she recognized the neighborhood the chauffeur asked her to put on the blindfold. That was part of the instructions she’d received, so she didn’t hesitate.

Just a few moments later the limousine stopped and the door opened. A warm hand clasped hers and guided her outside. She caught a sniff of a familiar cologne.

‘Where am I?’ she asked and earned a chuckle in reply.

‘Be patient, dear,’ a low voice murmured into her ear and a pair of lips brushed over her neck. ‘This is a surprise after all.’

Not as big as you think, Adrien, Marinette giggled under her breath.

His fingers entwined with hers and she felt the weight of Adrien’s other hand on her lower back. His touch prompted her to walk forward until the rough crunch of pavement under her feet yielded to smoothness. They were no longer outside, they must have entered a building. Their footsteps echoed in a vast empty space, Marinette’s heels making click-clack sounds over something that might have been marble.

She dressed warm, as per the instructions, but the sting of cold air still caressed bits of exposed skin. A bit odd, since she had expected the air to warm up once she escaped the outdoors. She smiled to herself as the scent of frost filled her lungs. Despite the blindfold and the secrecy, coupled with the small clues she gleaned so far, she already had a strong suspicion as to where she was.

‘Mind the step, M,’ Marinette felt Adrien’s grip tightening as if he wanted to make sure he’d keep her from falling. Her shoes touched against an obstacle - possibly a threshold - in front of her before stepping over it. ‘There’s a chair behind you. Please, take a seat.’

She reached a hand back, her fingers brushing over cold, hard plastic. She grasped for a sturdy hold before Adrien's warm hands eased around her, anchoring her as he helped her down into the seat. It further confirmed her suspicions as to her current location. She’d be seriously surprised if this wasn’t Phillipe’s ice rink.

‘You’re finally here, love,’ a second voice crooned near her, accompanied by loud footsteps. Another pair of lips brushed hers, but this time she gave chase. Her kisser’s lips quirked upward against hers and he replied with fervor. Luka was always eager to steal a kiss or three.

‘Hey! Knock it off, you two!’ Adrien’s voice echoed from a lower level now. ‘We’re on a schedule here,’ he chided.

A classic Agreste, she thought and almost snorted into Luka’s mouth at the thought.

‘Fiiiine,’ she heard Luka’s deep sigh as he withdrew.

A hand rested upon her knee a moment later. ‘We need to change your shoes, dear,’ Adrien explained. ‘Can I?’ The hand slid lower in a soft caress before reaching the hem of her boots. She nodded in silent agreement.

He slid her boots off and soon something that could only be a pair of skates enveloped her feet. At the same time, Luka pulled gloves over her hands, taking extra care in kissing each and every one of her fingertips before hiding them under the material. He had picked up that habit from Adrien, as the blond always had a soft spot for her fingers. Of course they might have switched places, but Marinette was quite certain Adrien was the one currently busying himself with the shoelaces and… ah… appreciating her legs at the same time.

‘New design?’ The model asked, confirming her surmise. ‘I don’t recall seeing these on you.’ His hand climbed up her calf over the thick material of her red pants and squeezed it appreciatively from time to time.

‘My Valentine project,’ Marinette giggled. ‘Are you done?’ She arched her brow over the blindfold. ‘I’m quite sure tying shoelaces does not require feeling up my legs.’

‘Fiiiine,’ Adrien whined in a manner similar to Luka’s. ‘You’re good to go.’

‘Let me just…,’ Luka grunted and she heard quiet sounds of pressed keys. ‘Something for the mood,’ he explained as music filled the air. A duet of soft piano, definitely Adrien’s performance, accompanied by Luka’s acoustic guitar. Marinette smiled. They rarely played jazz, a genre so distant from their preferred styles. Such a waste, she thought.

‘Ready?’ Adrien asked and Marinette nodded.

One set of hands pulled her up, another landed on her hips, helping to balance her as they led her to the ice.

Marinette wobbled unsteadily. Standing on two blades on a slippery surface while being blindfolded proved to be a rather difficult task, even after years of moonlighting as Ladybug.

‘Can I take the blindfold off now?’ She asked, teetering in their grasp. ‘I’d rather end the evening in one piece and preferably with nothing broken or bruised.’

‘Sure, you can take it off now, dear,’ came Adrien’s reply and she removed the blindfold, taking care not to smudge her makeup.

The sight in front of her stunned her to silence. She must have visited the ice rink hundreds of times in the past, but the way it had been transformed for this evening took her breath away. The space was bathed in a subtle glow. Candles burned around the barrier and in little globes placed on the ice, too. Flower petals were scattered around the cold surface, adding color to the soft light. And in the center of the rink a huge heart flickered with red and glitter.

‘Wow,’ Marinette breathed in awe. ‘You’ve outdone yourselves on this one,’ she whistled as she slid on her skates to admire the decorations. ‘This is absolutely amazing!’

‘Happy Valentine Day!’ Adrien cried after her. He still stood next to Luka in front of the heart, while Marinette circled them squealing in delight.

Something flashed in Luka’s eyes as she neared them. Suddenly he caught her waist and spun her into a pirouette. When she stopped spinning he wasted no time pressing his lips to hers.

‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I couldn’t help it. You looked so lovely skating in the candlelight.’

‘Hey, I’m getting jealous,’ Adrien grumbled next to them.

‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ Luka chuckled. With a sly grin he gripped Adrien’s hand and with proficiency that came from years of practice he dipped the blond into a passionate kiss.

‘That’s much better,’ Adrien smiled, as he was returned to standing position. ‘But something’s still missing.’ He looked around only to find Marinette hiding behind his back. Without hesitation she swung him into a similar dip and planted a giggly smooch on his lips.

‘Thank you for a lovely Valentine surprise,’ she praised once the blond got his fill of kisses.

Adrien smirked at her. ‘How do you know it was me?’

‘Because I don’t know anyone sappier than you, cat dork,’ Marinette nudged him and skated away with a wink.

Luka and Adrien followed her closely, covering the ice with myriads of trails. The three of them brushed hands and exchanged smiles and kisses occasionally as they explored the rink. Adrien looked proud of the decorations but he seemed a bit anxious.

‘So… did you like the sunflowers?’ He asked Marinette after a while.

‘I liked them very much, Sunshine,’ she bopped him on the nose, while she passed him.

‘Sunflowers?’ Luka gasped. ‘You sent Mari sunflowers? AlI got was a bouquet of daffodils,’ he pouted.

Marinette giggled, while Adrien blew him a raspberry. ‘Daffodils are your favorite flowers, Luka,’ he deadpanned.

‘Yeah, they are,’ Luka burst into laughter. ‘And I loved them. Thank you,’ he tilted his head and stole a quick kiss from the blond. ‘And did you like the hyacinth I chose this year?’

Adrien and Marinette winced in unison.

‘What?’ Luka asked stopping abruptly.

The other two halted next to him.

‘Yeah, Nathalie took it over immediately,’ the blond rubbed the back of his head.

Luka was still staring at him, dumbfounded.

‘He’s terribly allergic and hyacinths are actually toxic,’ Marinette whispered to Luka’s ear. ‘Especially to cats,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ll be lucky if Gabriel doesn’t consider it a death threat.’

The musician paled in an instant, his brows shooting up in concern.

‘What? No!’ Adrien waved frantically, narrowing his eyes at the girl. ‘She’s teasing you. Nathalie intercepts all the things I’m allergic to. There’s never been a problem with that.’

‘You can have some of my hydrangeas, Sunshine,’ Marinette offered.

‘Awwww,’ Adrien sighed, ‘hydrangeas are so nice!’

‘See?’ Marinette winked at Luka. ‘You can just send him a pot of catnip next time,’ she added sliding away, followed by two indignant “Hey!”s.

‘You mean little bug!’ Adrien called after her, breaking into chase with Luka at his heels. ‘I’ll give you catnip!’

‘You’d have to catch me first,’ she teased speeding up.

Skating over candlelit rink was quite funny. The speed was nowhere near what she was used to while gliding with her yoyo over the Parisian rooftops, but it was more than enough for Marinette. Being chased by her two boys added a pleasant thrill to the exercise. Unfortunately the flower petals, though lovely to look at, once mixed with ice slush from their skates, made for a surprisingly effective obstacle. Marinette’s foot hit one such trap, instantly losing traction. It was enough to throw her off balance and after a set of spectacular acrobatics she ended her ride on her butt in the middle of a flower heap.

‘Ouch,’ she rubbed her backside. So much for no bruises.

‘Are you okay, love?’ Luka was in front of her in a second, extending a hand.

‘Do you need help, bug?’ Adrien was already next to him and reaching for her.

Marinette blinked at the deja vu played out in front of her eyes. Two hands offered by two boys, a scene identical to what had transpired in this very rink ten years prior. All that was missing was one pissed fencer. For a long, quiet moment she stared at the hands, then at the faces above her. Luka and Adrien caught up with what she must have been thinking, because their lips stretched in amused smiles. They still waited for her reaction.

Finally with a snort of laughter and a shake of her head Marinette grabbed each of their hands in her own and allowed them to pull her up.

‘I can’t believe we had our first date ten years ago,’ she chuckled.

‘That was way before you realized you had two hands,’ Luka ruffled her bangs.

‘Before any of us realized,’ Adrien supplied helping her to get rid of the frost from her clothes.

‘Still, it would have been funny if I did it then,’ Marinette reached for them and pulled them both into a hug.

‘Kagami would have pulverized you on the spot,’ Adrien muttered.

‘And whose fault was that, Agreste?’ Luka squeezed his side. ‘Roping up the loves of your life to help you date another girl? A perfect plan!’

‘Oh, come on,’ the blond whined. ‘It was ten years ago! How long are you gonna make fun of me?’

Luka pursed his lips considering this question. ‘I don’t know. What’s the life expectancy for a 24 year old French male?’

They loved to bicker over their first experiences. Their teen years had been quite a ride, before the three of them realized with whom they really belonged. It took even longer to accept it before an agreement was reached. And now all that was stopping them from going out of the closet was Marinette’s hesitation. She knew she’d hurt them in the past and for a long time she’d been terrified of doing it again. But they waited for her. Each day they reminded her this was what they wanted, what they were excited to commit to. Neither Adrien nor Luka were afraid of the consequences, and they were the ones in the public eye, not Marinette.

She had known for a while it was the right choice and now she finally understood this was the right moment.

‘I’m ready, guys,’ Marinette said, interrupting their banter.

‘All right,’ Adrien smiled. ‘We can head to dinner now.’

‘No!’ Marinette cried startling both boys. She backpedalled immediately. ‘I mean, dinner sounds wonderful, but I wasn’t talking about that.’ She took a deep breath and stepped back, wanting to see them both for her confession. ‘I’m ready to go official, and to move in with you.’

Adrien vibrated with excitement, as he caught Luka’s hand.

Luka’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you sure? You know we don’t mind the wait.’

‘Yes,’ Marinette nodded reaching out for them. ‘I’m ready. I don’t want to wait anymore. I love you.’

‘I love you,’ her boys echoed, trapping her in a celebratory hug.

It was dawn when Marinette finally drifted to sleep, comfortably sandwiched between the two loves of her life in an apartment she was about to share with them. In just a few hours, the first of her coworkers would start to fill her office. She smiled, thinking how they would react to her subtle statement.

On her desk one huge bouquet of hortensias and sunflowers greeted the first lights of morning.

#lukadrinette #fluff #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ot3 #ml fic #perdita writes #valentine's day

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 years

Note

Parent au : Beth and seal

They Just Seem A Little Weird || -

Who cried when they brought their child home for the first time:

“So ah....d'at's happenin'.”The phone shakes in Luka’s hand as he tries to get a good view of the back seat from over his shoulder. The video captures Beth, wane and frailer than she normally looks, but somehow more radiant than ever as she fusses with the tiniest of socks on the tiniest of feet sticking out of the swaddling blanket wrapping the sleeping infant up inside the newborn car seat.There’s a rousing and tinny chorus of shouts and whoops, whistles and other celebratory noises that he’s sure won’t be delighting the rest of the two hundred men crammed inside the Quonset huts that are home for his unit, as Boss and the rest try to crowd around the crappy old computer setup. It may be 4 in the afternoon in Hawai’i, but it’s only 6.30 the next morning where they are.“Could say ‘wishin’ ye lo’ were here’, bu’....be bi’o’a’loi’e.”

She half grins but no one can tell if it’s at Luka’s comment or the baby.One of them asks the obvious question at hand.“Dunna have o’ name ye’... stars dunno be o’loi’ned or some shite.”House is sobbing when the camera cuts out, the video call interrupted by terrible satellite internet, the time ran out, someone farted the wrong way, a dozen other reasons that don’t seem to matter at the moment.“No’ true, Lulu. Her name is Po’okelamakanahawikahepualaha’ole.”He gives her the same look he did when she said that in the hospital. It’s got to be the drugs still in her system if she thinks he can even begin pronouncing that name.

Who would wake up in the middle of the night to check on the kid(s):He’ll never tell Beth that she snores. Not loudly, not even really noticeable if not for these moments when he’s awake and everything else...isn’t. She sleeps on her side and curls around the baby, protectively. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. That’s when he notices that Éire is awake too. Staring up at him with big hazel eyes and little spit bubbles at her mouth. It feels almost like theft when he gingerly gets out of bed and scoops her up, careful not to wake mommy shark.They go out in the garden where he sings snippets of his mother’s old lullabies he can barely remember. Faery tales older than his blood. Offers her coffee since they’re up early as he moves past the gate and out onto the sand, introducing her to the sea and the moon in ways her mother can’t.

Who changes the kid(s) diapers:

“No...d’at be o’WMD...”He’s holding the folded up diaper at arm’s length as far from him as he could get.“...Geneva be makin’ conventions against d’is sort o’d’ing, luv.”She can’t help but laugh. She was the reason why they used cloth over disposable. While he goes to put it in the special and thankfully smell-proof container, Beth blows raspberries on Hawika’s belly. She wonders if he grumbles when she’s not here, or if its just a show because she is.

Who makes the bottles:She’s completely unaware that he’s standing in the doorway. Her back is almost to him but at this angle he can just barely make out Hawika’s auburn curls glistening in the dim nightlight. Beth insists on breast-feeding, pumps when she has to work, because she hates the idea of not bonding enough with the baby. He’s tried to tell her that it doesn’t matter if she was created outside of the usual way, but Beth won’t hear him. He can’t know that she worries the little girl will somehow think less of her because technically she isn’t Hawika’s real mother. Andy had always disliked Iwalani for the same reasons and she...she can’t bear the idea.

Who stays up late at night to rock the kid(s) to sleep and sings them lullabies:Éiredozes in his arms as he rocks gingerly in a chair not designed for someone of his height. One blunt-tipped finger traces each of her tiny ones, then each of her ears. She stretches and grasps at his hand with her own and latches on, curling her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a suckling gesture that has him reaching for the bottle tucked at his side. The nights that Beth works, an arrangement worked out so that at least one of them would be home any given time, are the ones he likes best. It’s quiet and the fragrant breeze drifts in through the nursery window, carrying the scent of the sea and the greenery surrounding the house. He couldn’t have imagined that a few short years ago when all he had to look forward to coming home to was an empty apartment and the next ship’s call, that a new life was waiting. And now that new life was small and warm, and settled into his arms more perfectly than her mother does.

Who is guilty of spoiling the kid(s):

“Oh my gawd, Cerise. Look at him!”“Definitely not local.”“Definitely.”“Y’all are some thirsty bitches.”“Well, he can ride me any time he wants.”“Shhhh. He’ll hear you.”It happens twice a week. The lot of them, some married and some not. Cerise is new to the group and doesn’t know what a joy it is to see Lieutenant O’Rian out on the ranch with his little girl. They know he’s married, that he bought the horse that his daughter rides and is only JUST taller than her father when she stands in the saddle. That he’s Irish. The rest is rumour. That he comes from money. That he’d been in some kind of accident in the field. A few years ago Karen had managed to get him to buy her a few drinks, almost got him to go home with her.“Da! Go! Go!Luka couldn’t care less about the rumours. The stares and awkward attempts at flirting while he walks the horse across the field. Though if he were to tell the truth...after this he does have a date. He’s taking Éire to breakfast, then the beach. Then back home for a bath before they go shopping for new clothes. Tomorrow the biggest gift is coming into the airport, and she wants to look her best for Grandma.

Who would give the kid(s) cookies in the middle of the night:

When she noticed that there was no sound coming from Hawika’s room, Beth crawled out of bed, wrapping her robe around her. Not because she was cold but...it had been a while since she’d lived in New York. A quick check showed the little girl’s bed was unmade, the covers thrown back, and her stuffed seal pup conspicuously absent. She pads down the hall, passing the guest room, passing the living room where she’s a hundred percent sure Andy is oblivious to anything but his head phones and his whiskey {and for once, taking the ban on smoking seriously}.

The kitchen is illuminated by the bulb above the sink. At the island in the middle of it are two backs. One tall and broad like miles of empty country, boots hooked on the lowest rung of the stool. The other is tiny, covered in pinks and purples, with two pigtails hanging down her back. The memory it brings up takes her back a little. Both of them have glasses of milk in sight and both of them turn in eerie unison. Hawika’s little face is covered with cookie crumbs and toffee chips and a gap-toothed grin.“Hey Apps,” Baz greets her, unclear on the concept that it’s after midnight. Beth folds her arms across her chest and fixes him with her new found power: the Mom stare.“What? S’a’cookie. Ain’t gonna kill’er.”Apparently, Wanda Barton she is not.

Who always takes the kid(s) side:

“O’i-”“We.”“We-”“Mahalo.”“Dunna feel ye apriciate d’ situation-”“Keiki, wha’ Uncle Lulu is try f’ say...if ya don’ give her back dat swing… he gonna rip ya arms an’ legs off like one wookie.”“Be’d!”“What? Got da lil hannabaddah off, din’it?”Despite the look Luka gives her, she watches as her daughter climbs up into the now vacated swing.“Da! Push me! Push me fast!”Who would wake up early to make breakfast for the kid(s) before school:Two eggs. Two strips of vegan bacon which...no. No, he doesn’t want to think about it. Then it’s pancakes. Then porridge. Then…“Can ye jus’ pick one, luv?”And she does. Takes one bite of everything before she’s dancing across the kitchen floor, her tiny backpack glittering and casting rainbows from the sequins catching morning light. The fake-on is being used as floppy bunny ears as she sings a song that only bats in Honduras can hear.Beth is running late, normally this is her part of the job.“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Hurry uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup. I’m gonnna be laaaaaaaate.”

Who gets the kid(s) ready for school in the morning:He’s got half her hair done, her shoes are by the door, her lunch is packed, breakfast eaten, face washed, and they’re practically matching in uniforms. He’s not sure why Beth insisted in an all girl Catholic School, but the resources and academia almost make up for the ridiculous tuition. If he doesn’t leave soon though, he’s going to be late, and Luka...cannot be late. He’ll make it up to her with a Saturday afternoon just the two of them, he promises.Just as he hears her car pull up into the drive way.“M’sorry… go’ah go, luv. Be good.”Éire smiles with angelic sleepiness.

Who takes the kid(s) to school:

Beth has run the Boston Marathon and regularly surfs the pipeline. She’s worked in the Congo. She survived over ten years in New York City, and knows how to navigate the subway. But never has she come face to face with a child who doesn’t want to go to school before. It’s creeping closer to to 7:15 and her shoes are still by the door. Her hair is half in and half out of her braids. Her backpack and all of its contents are strewn all over creation.“Hawika! C’mon. We goddah go.”Silence meets her.“I know ya can hear me. Get ya stuff an’ get ya little bottom in da car. NOW.”“O’i dun wanna!”She intentionally sounds as much as she can like Luka. “Dat’s too bad, we all do da kine we don’ wanna, jus’ da way da world works.”The evil glare she gets is breath-taking, and Beth, at the end of her rope, snatches her cell-phone off the counter. It takes almost another ten minutes on hold to bring Luka in from the field and whatever he’s doing with his new little tadpoles.A few quiet words later, Hawika is picking up her things and pretending that nothing happened. Beth has no idea what he said but they are going to have a chat later.

Who goes to the parent-teacher conferences:They present a unified front, even if they have to have an advance schedule of the conferences. They try to make every performance together, every open house, luau, sporting event. It doesn’t really matter how tired they are. How busy their schedule. The teachers drone on and on and they smile and nod. It’s on the way to the car that they finally break ranks. “We NO are buyin’ her a bike f’ her grades, Lulu.”He grins. He’s got the ten minutes driving home to talk her into it, because he spent all night putting that thing together. Who will be the first to suggest to have the “Talk” with the kid{s}.

“She’s only d’irteen, Be’d. Ta young.”“Yeah, an’ Panda wait til I was sixteen an’ caugh’ him red han...well. Ya know wha’ I mean. An’ she no like me a’ dat age. Wen go pick her up t’day from class, an’ she was sittin’ on da hood of her friend Janette’s braddah car. One of da younger boys from Kamehameha had his arm ‘round her, an’ he wearin’ her lip gloss when I pull up. So I t’ink it’s time.”“Oh. No. No’ it. Oi’ be an oak an oi’ canna be moved. But aye...go for’d an’ conquer.”

Who would choose their child(s) prom outfit:

“Mom! Lindsay Stewart is such a bi-”Beth looks up from her laptop, and the article she was writing for Nursing Quarterly. Brow rising above the upper rim of her glasses at the chosen word.“I mean...well, no. You know what I mean! She stole my dress!”“Stole?”“Well, bought it before I could! And I’ve been saving for months.”Beth smiles softly. She remembers this age, and all the ones that come after it, and this isn’t the worst lesson life could teach her daughter. But she also needs to know that they’ve always got her six. “K, den. So wha’ we do is...you an’ me ...we go shoppin’. Calista’s firs’ den Bijou’s if no like. Shoes, dress, every kine, an’ we put it on my black card. Mebbe after we get some shave ice or some kine a’ Leonard’s, yeah?”

Who would cry when the kid(s) go off to college:

“So dat...dat happened!”The phone shakes in Beth’s hand as she tries to get a good view of the front of Wilmont Hall, the dorm that Hawika’s already mostly moved into. The video captures Luka, strong and tall as ever, a little more silver in his hair than the few years before arms around her dainty waist. Hers are wound around his neck, lifting her a solid foot off the ground. She’s always been a Daddy's girl, and even now, about to start her freshman year, none of that’s changed.Her brother and Baz make comments that are both sweet and snarky, toasting Hawika with Fireball boiler makers which she doesn’t even want to think about. Because it won’t be long before her daughter is going to start experimenting on her own, far beyond the reach of her parents and Beth still remembers what college was like. Notre Dame is far away from Hawai’i and far away from New York and everything is changing. The house is going to be quiet. There won’t be a constant state of everything. It isn’t going to be the three of them any more.“That’s why they call it growing up, babe.” Of course Andy’s right. He almost always is.She catches Luka in her own reflection and sees wet on his face, from both eyes, which surprises her. “So. Hey. Goddah go, wan get my alohas in too. We’ll see you in a couple of days.”She hangs up the call and slips her phone into her pocket, turning to face the other two. She blinks back the moisture in her own eyes and fixes a bright smile. The air isn’t quite chilly yet and the sky is blue, clear, crisp. There’s trees everywhere and dozens of other kids milling around with their parents or gathered in groups scattered over the quad.Maybe twenty more minutes is all she has to give them before Éire’s pulled away by the call of student life. Luka’s arm wraps around Beth’s waist, hers woven behind his back the same way and they walk back to the rental car slowly.“Were o'fair play, luv. Ye want ta troi'y again?”Beth tilts her head up at him, nostrils flaring, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and her lips tremble at the corner. Another entire life flashes in her green gaze as she seriously considers it. Then comes a deep hug, her hand coming to rest against his abs. A little laugh that’s sweet and soft.“I...I think I’m good, Admiral O’Rian.”He grins back, presses a kiss to her brow, and sweeps her off her feet.

#Mahalo!Luka <3 #Wave over Wave|Seal Luka O'Rian #Sea over Bow|Luka and Beth #Letters from Home|Travelling Soldier AU #cw: LONG POST #Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #whosxafraid

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head-hopping · 5 years

Text

What’s In a Name...

As the paved road wound through the Florence countryside, a sole car took its turns smoothly, only the purr of the Maserati engine filling the interior. Three young girls, all about thirteen in age, canted to the side window behind the passenger casting occasional smiling glances at the man driving. The car hadn’t been silent since they left the city itself, but the moment they’d turned off the main highway, onto the drive leading off the main path, an almost reverent hush fell over the car, brimming with barely contained excitement.

One girl in particular, whose auburn curls were bound in a brightly colored scrunchie, practically pressed her face to the window glass, the fog of her breathing spreading and vanishing along under her nose and mouth.

At the mere peek of white stone flashing through the trees, one of the other girls gasped, swatting her arm. “Look! Look!”

“Yeah, I see it, geez!” she complained, but there wasn’t any bite in her tone at all. No, she was too consumed with not blinking in case the missed the sudden full appearance of the villa as they finally took a final turn, slipping from the tree cover. A curved drive spread before them, standing old guard before the slightly faded face of the wide structure. “Oh man…” she breathed, now her hands pressed to the glass as her dad slowed along the gravel driveway, eventually coming to a stop in front of the now empty home.

“People would live here?” one of the other girls asked, in utter awe. “It’s so big!”

“Um, hello,” the dark-headed girl scoffed, flicking a careless glare over her shoulder, as if everyone should know this. “They had staff and vineyards and stuff. It wasn’t just the main family who lived here, but a bunch of other people too. Right, Mama?”

The woman hummed an affirmation, but any further explanation was lost as the car doors audibly unlocked. “Girls, mind the gardens in the back!” the woman called over the spill of gangly limbs all trying to unbuckle and clamor out the same door at the same time. “They haven’t been tended in a while! Rosa!”

“I hear you, Mama!” the girl called, though she hardly paused as the giggling trio rushed towards the massive front doors waiting up the steps.

---

“Wow, Rosa…” Stella muttered to herself. The girls, once the front door was unlocked, had all but flew through the foyer to explore, eventually ending up in a ballroom that appeared long out of use. Some hints of renovation could be seen, and even some left-behind boards lay against the wall, untouched probably for years. The chandelier that once hung in this room had been sold a long time ago, apparently by Rosa’s great-uncle in order to pay off some sort of debt. Course, she didn’t know what it’d been, but she quietly wished she could have seen this room in the height of its use. Pretty ladies in dresses and handsome fellows in suits, drinking fancy drinks and chatting, some dancing. Maybe even something bad had happened here, like a fight.

After all, the distant DiRusso side of the family, now apparently long-gone, hadn’t been up to much good back in those days.

“Wow,” Stella muttered again, now standing at the back ballroom doors leading to a balcony outside, where much of the family property stretched, now somewhat overgrown. “This place is so pretty.”

Rosa bumped her sneakered foot against the door frame, but the balcony was still locked, so all they could do from here was look out through dirty glass. “If you think this is great, you should see that cottage out in the woods,” she sniffed, reaching up to tighten her ponytail. “It’s where like, one of my great-great uncles stayed for a while after World War One, I think. Something like that. Anyway, it’s kept in better condition last I remember.”

“I thought your mama said the last time you came here was when you were three,” Angela intoned, shooting Rosa an almost withering sort of look, like she was telling her stories yet again.

Rosa only shrugged. That much was true, though. Last time she came here, she was three, and her great-grandmother had been about to die. But that didn’t mean she was clueless. “Have you seen our family tree records? No. Great-grandma put together this huge family history. Even some stories of what happened.”

Stella turned wide, gullible eyes on Rosa, practically begging to hear something interesting—or romantic. “Like what?”

“Well—”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Look,” Rosa snapped, though Angela didn’t seem all that phased by the glare, but rather snorted at her best friend. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here if all you’re gonna do is poke fun at my history.”

Angela pressed her lips together and pivoted away, but both she and Rosa secretly smirked over the whole thing while Stella looked on with a touch of concern.

“Anyway,” Rosa sighed, flapping her hand in the air. “Let’s see what we can find out back.”

---

“So what were you gonna say before?” Stella asked, sounding just as eager as before. She trailed alongside Angela while Rosa teetered along an old wall partly surrounding one of the old winepresses on the property. This whole visit, one Rosa begged to go on, was so her dad could examine the older buildings and see what he could do to restore them. Being an architect sort of ran in the family, and there were plenty to be found in some degree all through her family tree—at least, it started up about four or five generations ago.

Rather than just sell the property, or hand over the manor to the local government to make a museum, Papa wanted to try his hand at sorting things out on his own. To him, it just didn’t seem right to pass on the place just yet, even if they lived in the city.

“Say what about before?” Rosa asked, wheeling her arms a bit when she momentarily lost her balance. The wall wasn’t all that tall…but it was also kinda old, so she had to be careful. And make sure Mama didn’t see her up here.

“About the stories!” Stella insisted, her laugh a touch nervous for insisting so much. “You said there’s a whole bunch of them about your family.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Rosa hopped off the wall, tripping a bit when she landed, but she just brushed the dirt off her hands when she stood up again. “Like…the time when apparently this whole fight happened over like a great-great-great-grandmother that happened hundreds of years ago or something. Can you imagine it? The guy shows up and is all ‘NO, you’re not marrying him, you’re marrying ME’ and I dunno, maybe someone got shot.” She sounded so flippant that Stella actually looked distressed.

“But…that’s so romantic,” she breathed, hands clasped tight and pressing against her heart.

Snorting, Rosa tugged her denim jacket off her shoulders and tossed it over the wall, her shirt collar a bit off center as she propped hands on her hips. “I’m with Angela on this one, Stella. It’s probably not even true. I bet the real story is so boring and bland.”

“Mhm,” Angela added from where she crouched, prodding with a stick after she’d upturned a loose stone in the walkway. “Booooring. Didn’t happen. I bet it was all arranged. They did that all the time back then.”

“Can you imagine!” Rosa threw her arms up. “Being stuck with some gross dude for the rest of your life? I. Don’t even like boys. They’re gross.”

Even Angela lifted up from her inspection to toss Rosa a disbelieving look and rolled her eyes. “Sure, Rosa. Because I didn’t see you kiss that American guy on the cheek the other day. He was only in school for a day.”

Rosa tossed her head a bit, a haughty sort of expression of neither denial nor admitting anything all over her slender little form. “Anyway, like I said, who knows about that one. But we do know that’s probably about the time that the property changed hands, in a way. By a bunch of legal records and whatever. Bottom line is, this place has been in the family for yeeeeeears.”

A sudden call caught all of their attention. Rosa’s mama, probably in the overgrown garden area, calling for all of them to leave. Stella expressed her disappointment only with a sigh, but Angela pushed to her feet and wiped off her hands.

“Time to go! But we should come back again, I think. Once your dad’s gotten a lot of work done here. This would be an awesome winter home.”

“Maybe,” Rosa shrugged, starting off back towards the house, the two of them following along. “He hasn’t decided anything yet. But…I hope he does decide to keep it.”

As they made their way along the house, Rosa stopped suddenly, turning back to run and get her jacket draped over the winepress wall, telling her friends to go on ahead without her. On the way back, though, she spotted another small building sitting off to the side, jutting out from just beyond yet another section of gardens. Curiosity got the better of her, despite knowing she needed to hurry, and she followed a dark, overgrown path to a small white building that might have once been pretty. Looking around, she froze upon seeing the grave markers in the ground, going back around to the other side of the small building. Despite how creepy that was, Rosa shuffled a little closer. Trying to read whatever was carved above the locked doors. But instead she startled so badly that she yelped.

“Rosalinda Barozzi!”

And that sounded like her dad. She darted off, forgetting all about the mausoleum for now.

The name above the locked doors of which, in bold script, read BAROZZI even though the structure stood among the much older graves, all of which instead carried either names too marred to read, or the faded last name DiRusso.

Hidden mostly by the flowered vines now well overgrown, yet still readable if the greenery was pushed aside, was the script carved in a more flowing nature:

Per il campione, chi è l'amore.

#V: Phantom #short story #(( i dont feel like i did this justice AT ALL ))#(( but here it is ))#(( my heart on a plate for all to see ))#(( i love this fictional family ))

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mydearestreaderfanfics · 6 years

Text

Fondness at the Fair (Lance x Reader)

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2,188

Prompt/Request: Fourth day of the October Special: State Fair.

Summary: Lance asks you out on a date to the state fair. Cute date events ensue. 100% pure unfiltered fluff.

Author: Mod Alex

Lance had burst into your apartment one afternoon, waving two slips of paper in his hand. He had pulled you close in a side hug before peppering your face in kisses. You giggled, trying to catch his lips with your own. “Lance, mi corazón, what’s got you so happy?” “Well, mi vida, you’ll never guess what I’ve got.” “What did you get?” He held up the hand with the slips of paper in it. Two tickets to the state fair. He grinned at you, melting your heart just as much as he did when he asked you out on your first date years ago. “So?” “That sounds great! Thank you so much.” You finally managed to press a kiss to his lips, smiling all the while.

That’s what led you to where you were now: the ticket booth to the fair. Lance was swinging you around in a little dance while you waited, making your heart soar (and making the lady behind you roll her eyes). “Lance, baby, we gotta stop dancing.” He pouted. “But why?” “Because we have to give them our tickets.” His mouth formed an ‘o’ and he let go of you long enough to give the ticket taker your tickets before pulling you through the gates.”Where to first, mi amor?” “Hmm, can we go to the petting zoo?” The words were barely out of your mouth when Lance wrapped his arm around your waist and began walking.

After getting temporarily lost (in hindsight you really should’ve grabbed a map) you found yourselves in a barn-shaped building. “Oh my goodness, look! It’s a baby pig!” You shook Lance by his shoulders, pausing long enough to point towards a tiny baby pig that was running about in the corner with his siblings. Nobody seemed to have noticed them yet meaning you got to hog the baby hogs. You kneeled down next to them, scooping the one the that had caught your eye up into your arms, cooing as he oinked. “Who’s the cutest little piggy, you are!” The other piglets had taken a liking to Lance, they’d taken to trying to climb into his lap. “Aww, they like you.” You snapped a picture of him, making note to post it later when you weren’t distracted by cute baby animals. After the piglets, you and Lance made your way to alpacas, ponies, goats, and sheep. Several of the animals had started following him, making you laugh. “Hehe, I think you have company.” “Wha-?” He turned only to come face to face with the alpaca. He hopped backward making you double over in laughter. “Hey, don’t laugh.” He walked over to you and the alpaca obediently followed, successfully causing you to laugh even harder. “Sorry, sorry. You just looked so startled.” He gave you a pouty look and you waved your hands apologetically. “It’s not my fault you looked cute. But maybe we have pet enough animals for now.” The alpaca tried to follow after, bothered that it couldn’t reach Lance. At least until some kid started petting it, effectively distracting it. A sign on the wall on the way out showed a picture of prize cows and the giant pumpkin weigh in. Lance looked at it curiously. “Sweetheart?" “Yes, honey?” He turned to you, stars in his eyes. “Can we go?” “Anything you want.” “Really? Yay!" He took your hand, intertwining your fingers and gently swinging your hands as you walked toward the contest winner’s displays.

You two had briefly looked at the cows, but you were both curious to see the giant pumpkin so you didn't stay too long. On the way to the giant pumpkin you saw the prize-winning flowers. “Hey, Lancey, if I had a rose for every time I thought of you, I would be walking through my garden forever.” “Sunflowers are yellow, dahlias are pink, my love, you are my missing link.” You blushed, kissing his cheek. “Aww, that was really sweet.” “It’s true, you know.” Best boyfriend ever, truly. “I love you.” “I love you too.” The flower arrangements soon gave way to produce. “We're almost to the pumpkin, come on.” It was glorious. It was the size of a small car and, according to the sign, weighed 1,388 lbs. “Do you wanna take a picture with it?” “You bet your fine ass I do.” Lance laughed, taking out his phone. You both posed in front of the pumpkin, faux shocked looks on your faces. Your stomach rumbled as you were taking a regular picture. “Huh? Guess I’m hungry.” He checked the time. “Me too, we’ve been here for a while.” “We passed some food trucks on the way here, some of them looked really good.” “Then lead the way.”

After a ridiculously long line, you and Lance sat down at a picnic table you’d been lucky enough to find unoccupied. “So what do you wanna do after this?” “Um, well there’s the carnival over there, but it’ll light up later, so maybe we should wait till then…” “We could play some games?” “Yeah-” “Come one, come all! The great Hira requests your presence! Do you want to win a rose for your sweetheart? Or perhaps you just love the thrill of winning a race? Either way, come join us in Tent C in ten minutes for a barrel of laughs and fun!” The promoter for the show continued on their way. “(Y/N), mi cielo, can we go?” You grinned at him. “Oh, I dunno.” “Don’t you wanna see me win you a rose?” He winked at you and you waved him off playfully. “Who says you’ll win?” “You don’t think I'll win?” “Oh, I don’t know, baby, we don’t even know what the race is.” You were barely containing your smile, teasing him was just too much fun. “I’ll prove it to you. I promise you’ll be leaving this fair with a rose.” “I guess we can go,” you giggled, “but I want to finish eating first.”

You grabbed a bag of cinnamon almonds before heading to Tent C. “Hello all! I am Hira and this is my show! I will need three volunteers from the audience.” Lance stood up along with a handful of other people. “Ah, this crowd is so enthusiastic, how wonderful!” She clapped her hands together. “My assistants will go out into the crowd and choose three of you.” The assistants wound through the crowds, stopping in front of standing attendees, one of which was Lance. His grin was brighter than any of the sunflowers you had seen earlier. The assistant led the three volunteers to the front where they stood on stage in front of Hira. “Fantastic! Now, my dear volunteers, you will be competing against each other to win your beloved a rose.” She explained how they were going to be going through an obstacle course. You and the other significant others cheered for your respective volunteer as they spun in circles, hula-hooped across the stage, riffled through a ball pit to find large foam puzzle pieces, hula-hooped back across the stage, and assemble the puzzle heart. Lance had started off in last, having gotten dizzy, but having hips to rival Shakira’s, he took the lead during hula-hooping. The race evened out at the ball pit. “Come on, mi corazón! You’ve got this!” Lance looked up at you briefly to blow you a kiss before resuming his search with renewed vigor. He and one of the other competitors had found all of their pieces. It was neck and neck, all they had to do was assemble the puzzle. You were on the edge of your seat. “It looks like we have a winner! What’s your name?” “Lance.” Hira held up his hand. “Lance is our winner! Good job to all of our competitors!” She handed him a rose and he took it, jogging back over to you. The crowd watched with admiration in their eyes. “Here you go, sweetheart. Just as promised.” You took the rose, smiling at it before setting it down and smooshing his face between your hands, pulling him into a kiss. “You are the sweetest. I am so lucky to have you.” “I’m the lucky one.” The crowd gave whistles and “awww’s”. “You all were a great audience, thank you all for coming! If you’d like to tip, I’ll have the assistants at each door. Thank you again!”

It was starting to get darker, but you still had a couple of minutes before the rides turned on their lights. “Hey, it’s a balloon pop. I used to be pretty good at those.” “Look there's a blue stuffed shark.” He pointed at the large prize. A look of determination settled on your face. “I’m gonna win that for you.” “But you have to pop three balloons with a green circle behind it.” “Easy peasy.” He laughed. “If you say so.” You paid for five darts. The first one popped a balloon in the corner. “Green.” “Yes! Only two more.” The next dart resulted in an orange circle. The one after that hit an empty space. You sighed. C’mon, was it too much to ask that you could win your boyfriend a comically large plush toy of his favorite animal? You carefully aimed at another corner balloon. Pop! “Green.” One more. You threw the final dart and it hit a balloon in the bottom center. It was green! No way! “You can get three small prizes, one medium and one small, or one big.” “The big blue shark, please.” You hopped on the pads of your feet, excitement radiating from you. As soon as the shark was given to you, you shoved it at Lance. “For you~!” He grinned, pulling you into a hug, smooshing the shark between you two. “Thank you.” “Anything for you, honey.”

You played a few more games that were nowhere near as successful as the balloon pop. They were still loads of fun, though. The sun had finally gone down and the carnival lights had finally turned on. “Where to first, baby?” “That looks fun.” You pointed to the tilt-a-whirl ride. “Sounds good.” On the ride, you and Lance spun the wheel in the middle as fast as you possibly could. The momentum caused you to slam into Lance who then put a protective arm around your shoulder. “My hero.” He kept the wheel going with one hand, effectively keeping you close to him by keeping the cart spinning, not that you minded. After stumbling out of the ride, Lance pulled you over to the Haunted House. It was cheesy and the scares weren’t all that scary, but the excuse to snuggle up to Lance was still nice. Your dizziness had since passed and you both decided to get on the carousel. A slow paced ride was nice and it gave you both a chance to talk and decide where you wanted to go next. “The fair is gonna close soon, with the lines we probably will only have time for one more ride.” “How about the Ferris wheel?” The height of it made you a bit nervous, but it did sound like the perfect ending of the perfect day. “That’s a great idea.” The line moved as slow as you had expected, but you were up soon enough. You and Lance climbed into the small cart, sitting close like you had several times throughout the night. “Thank you for this. It’s been a lot of fun.” “I’m glad you’ve had fun. I thought it would be a little different from our usual dates. And to be honest, this ride is kinda the reason I wanted to bring you here.” “Oh?” “Yeah, I thought it would be the perfect spot.” “The perfect spot for what?” You were almost at the top, but funnily enough, you didn’t feel nervous at all. Lance stood up. “Honey, what are you doing?” The Ferris wheel stopped at the very top, just as Lance got on one knee. “(Y/N) (L/N), you are the light of my life. I knew you were the one since the day we met. You’ve made me a better person and I can’t imagine my life without you. I love your eyes, the way you laugh, the way you dance in the kitchen when you’re making breakfast, how you smile when you see a dog. I love everything about you. You are my world, mi vida. Would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” You could barely see Lance through your tears. You shook your head, yes, not caring whether or not you looked super eager, because you absolutely were. “Yes, oh my god, yes!” You wiped at your tears, holding out your hand so he could slip the ring on. Once he stood up, you lunged at him, smothering him in kisses and “I love you’s”. “I love you so much, oh my god.” Your eyes darted between the ring on your finger and your now fiancee. “I love you too. I love you so much.” You kissed him again, smiling all the while. Yeah, definitely the perfect day.

#voltron #lance x reader #fanfictions #lance mcclain #swearing #mod alex

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