#cold war spies au

[the-warmesthello]

ok but i would love to see something where one of tatiana's siblings was working in the facility when the banana incident happened. when she finds out, how does she react? when she mentions it and curt doesn't bat an eyelid about the workers he killed until she tells him that one of her family members died because of him, how does that call her feelings about her friendship with him and the concept of 'moving on' into question? how does curt evaluate his own morals when he sees how she responds?

thinking this because in a sequel au, owen can say all he wants that curt doesn't really care about human life, just certain people, and curt wouldn't listen to him; in part because he's too clouded by ideology to see it (and projects that onto owen) and in part because he thinks owen would just say anything to be hurtful (true but he's right). but if tatiana, his friend, someone on his side, pointed it out, would it even be different?

i kind of think he'd be too stubborn to go back on it, he's so fixated on being the best and being the good guy that he couldn't stand being this wrong about such an important thing.

#this time on a leftist writes about cold war themed propaganda-adjacent media: sometimes the good guys are bad people #aus #headcanons #meta #? #curt #tati #owen #agent curt mega #tatiana slozhno #owen carvour #tin can bros #spies are forever #im right #(note on calling saf propaganda: i dont think tcb went into it thinking of it as such. they just didn't examine their biases or think throu #gh what they were implying about american exceptionalism and power structures - which they inherited from the spy genre as a whole) #btw owen definitely is also clouded by ideology he's just right on this one

[halemerry]

The thing is. When people look at Book Omens and Show Omens there are a few different things that can happen. Sometimes you get people who try and shove them into one universal true canon. Sometimes you get people totally dissociating them from each other into two separate entities. And, to be clear, I don’t think either of these options is inherently bad to do - I myself defaulted to the latter for quite awhile after season 1 aired - and I always think folks should choose to view these characters in the way that makes them happy. For that matter, I think that there's nothing wrong with disliking a version or preferring one over the other or even ignoring one exists. But, I do think a lot of analysis I have seen has a tendency to remove the characters from their context in a way that does them a bit of a disservice. Because their context matters quite a bit.

Book Omens and Show Omens were made in two very different worlds facing two very different problems and two very different futures stretching out in front of them. The Book belongs in the context of a world on its way out of the Cold War while the Show belongs to a world starting to buckle under the weight of capitalism’s pressure. The evils in the story reflect these two world states - which I think is a good thing. As much as I love the book, if the show had just done the Cold War allegory, I don’t think it would’ve hit quite the same way and could've easily felt dated.

The most notable impact narratively from this shift is the fact that Heaven and Hell both have a more constant presence. Show Aziraphale and Crowley feel far more watched and actively monitored than they do in the book, especially in Aziraphale’s case. His relationship with Heaven especially is far more ‘boss checking the quarterly numbers’ or ‘oppressive family head checks in on their younger sibling’  than it is ‘spy reporting his findings’. And this shift is a huge one as far as what it means for our characters and their context.

Take for example, a small exchange of dialogue in the book where Crowley and Aziraphale do something that we know for a fact would never happen in the show - where they discuss the admittedly slim possibility of each other’s side granting of each other asylum. This is dialogue that works quite well if you’re looking at them as two spies with wavering loyalties but does not work for the show version of our protagonists, because the pressures they face from Heaven and Hell are different. The same thing goes in reverse for the Bandstand scene - a scene that is not in the book at all because it works far better in a show interested in a character facing pressure from a toxic family than it would in a book where Heaven’s presence is a very distant one.

And this right here is where we end up with the question of character consistency. There’s traits that each version of Aziraphale and Crowley have that the other does not, which leads to them feeling like two sets of characters in a way that can make them feel like the show is occasionally out of character. But it’s not really that, I don’t think. I think that's just a side effect of viewing them out of context. And I think a lot of those differences and the ways they manifest make a lot more sense if they're viewed like aus - because that's what they are in a lot of ways. The Book is a Cold War au and the Show is a modern au. They’re different, yes, but still undoubtedly them.

#good omens #book omens #crowley #aziraphale #show omens #good omens season 2 #rambles #just been rotating this in my head for a few days #one of these days ill ramble about crowleys optimism but for now have this

[thealogie]

Need someone whose character interpretation I agree with completely to write a Cold War AU where they’re undercover UK vs Soviet spies trying to stop the Cold War from ending so they can keep hanging out in London and having dinner at the Ritz

#I can’t do it myself I have to spend 3 hours of my free time every day dissecting David Tennant’s career choices. it’s a contractual thing

[foursaints]

berliner remus thoughts 🤲🤲🤲🤲

yes yes that man is sitting by an open window in freezing weather eating a single hard boiled egg and flavorless pasta salad, and he can unwittingly come across as quite unsentimental or rude or blunt, and his jokes are awful and overly literal (“a werewolf? he’s sitting in my chair!!11!1”) so remus is a damp paper towel, i agree. but these same things also make him a really stereotypical berliner schnauze

in terms of modern au it's just a funny detail that makes a lot of sense (remus is in a knit turtleneck but still stomping his way through Friedrichshain in crustie doc martens), but its more interesting to me in my personal view of canon?? like this is the 70s. it's before the fall of the iron curtain, remus is growing up in a postwar city halved by the Wall, isolated from the world by the cold war, and filled with spies and punk music and poverty

in my headcanon, remus was separated from his (bavarian) family by the wall and grows up alone as a muggle in kreuzberg, west berlin. i like the idea of remus as a penniless lycanthropic preteen at the very height of Deutschpunk, cynical but still young, going to all the shows covered in scars just looking for a place to sleep. he grows up collecting gutter cigarettes and not eating enough and sharing a filthy flat with a rotating cast of sometimes-benevolent older teens with drug problems. he sees things pragmatically and he sleeps too much and spends his full moons in the abandoned train tunnels under Potsdamer Platz and he shaves his head to fit in and he loiters, eating peanuts off the bar at all the music clubs down Oranienstraße, thinking his life is dull and lonely and monotonous and grey and wishing it could maybe be something more. and then, of course, he gets his Hogwarts letter

#remus lupin #also I think this is funny in context of Sirius's bowie obsession. doesnt even faze remus as something noteworthy #hes like Yeah that bowie guy played at Hansa last year I met him 😐 do you listen to weltaufstandsplan 😐 #I just think remus is so neutral to and unfazed by all music because the most iconic punk shows of the last decade were like #the noisy backdrop to his growing pains. once again hes sitting by the bar sighing & moping (he has safety pins in his jeans) #meanwhile sirius is fucking AGHAST. OBSESSING #t #a #german remus

[chogiwow]

your memory, my love | lee minho

pairing: lee know x gn! Reader

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

wc: 8.4k

au: 25 lives au; based on poem '25 lives' by tongari.

consists of: college au, office au, hurt-comfort au, spies au, hospital au, high school au, established relationship au, unrequited love au, meet cute au, war au, tattoo artist au, forbidden love au, break-up au, strangers au etc. to name a few :’D

warnings: blood, sickness, death, car accident, guns, lack of communication, suggestiveness, lots of kissing, mentions of food, mentions of not eating, fights. pls lmk if i missed any :>

a/n: minho centric, mostly from minho’s pov. was this just an excuse to do 25 small drabbles and link them together without any cohesiveness? yes.

fun fact: poppies are flowers which are known to grow on battlefields, amongst rubble and decay. just a tiny tidbit because it holds significance in the story later.

when i saw you first, i didn’t know i already knew you.

minho doesn’t remember a lot when it comes to his childhood.

not the first day of school, not his first tooth falling out, not the first time he ever fell and learnt that some scars are permanently ingrained on your skin in dark patches even after twenty five years. not the first time he cried, laughed, walked, danced or sang.

he can’t remember most of his firsts from that phase of his life, but the later stages remain in his mind; some through a lens of grainy filters and some of them pristine. he remembers the grandma on the train from seven years ago who handed him a rosy apple with a broken smile, he remembers his student orientation in university and he remembers how he met his cat for the first time by the sidewalk, snuggled under a cardboard cover and crying.

he remembers some strangers who manage to leave a lasting impression on his mind and yet he can’t remember the people he passed by on the streets this morning while on his way to work.

yet, his gaze only briefly flickers at your figure passing by his cubicle, your face partly hidden behind the white spots that dance in front of his eyes, and he’s almost certain he knows you. or has seen you before.

he chases your figure as you disappear in the corridor, away from the IT department and he only finds out later that you didn’t even work in the same department. in fact, you had only joined a week prior and from what he can recall, he’s never seen you nor heard of you.

it’s incredibly frustrating and minho finds himself struggling to keep his balance on the thin line separating the vices of recalling and remembering.

he’s caught sight of you since then, and as much as he’s tried to place you in his memory, find a you shaped puzzle hole, it hasn’t been fruitful. occasionally, he would find you in the cafeteria – on days they would serve corn soup – and sometimes by the coffee cart at the intersection minho preferred over the office cuppa when he wanted to get away from the establishment.

it’s three months later, on the second week – minho remembers clearly, your flushed face peeks out from the thick green scarf around your neck – you’re both waiting for the bus home. it’s past seven, way beyond minho’s working hours but he was adamant on using this last week to finish up pending work so he could come back after christmas to a fresh start.

you’ve huddled yourself to a corner of the bench, pressing yourself close to the glass screen while you wait. minho can’t stop his gaze from finding you through the cold air, though nothing stands between you two. should he go up to you?

it startles him when you meet his eyes and he looks away hastily, a sudden warmth crawling up his neck on being caught.

“hello,” you call out and minho whips his head around so fast, he might as well have ended up with a broken neck.

you stare up at him shyly, waiting for a response. in fact you don’t know why you greeted him in the first place, he probably doesn’t even recognise you.

“hi,” he says, and his voice is soft. it makes your chest swell inexplicably, a certain warmth in his hidden kindness you would later find out.

“i’m (y/n), we work in the same company,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of your company. you feel more nonsensical by the moment.

“i’m minho…and i know that.” minho tries to smile and not let on the fact that he was a creep who had indeed noticed you. well, minho wouldn’t like to believe himself to be a creep, but if he had been looking for you unconsciously…that was on his wandering mind.

yet this feeling was…unfathomable. the more he observed you without trying to be a freak, the more he grew attached to the familiarity in your face. it’s when he spots the smallest mole right above your lip – so small that he would have missed it, it’s like he had been searching for it since the beginning – he finds himself suddenly comfortable in your presence.

was this what people called ‘meeting your soulmate’?

minho isn’t sure what it was, he still isn’t, but he can attest to being the happiest when he’s around you. it seemed like you were of the same opinion, kissing him on the cheek three years later before walking off to your respective departments.

the second time, i knew.

you dyed your hair red.

it was bright, almost blinding, and minho’s wash basin was stained with the same dye.

“guess what,” you smile from where you stood, cowering playfully behind the door. red drops of water drip down your short hair andonto your neck, disappearing into the white towel strung across and dissolving into a diluted pool of light pink in the fabric.

“i don’t know, maybe the fact that my partner is now a traffic signal?”

“oh come on!” you thrust your hand out, nuzzling your chin into his chest and looking up at him through wide eyes and an innocent smile. minho loves it when you do that; look up at him like he’s your entire universe. he swallows the smile threatening to burst out of his lips.

“do i look good?”

“are you going to clean up the basin?”

another drop of red slithers down your wet hair and falls on minho’s shirt.

“you don’t like it,” you pout, pushing yourself away from him but he’s quick to pull you into a hug, pressing his chin on top of your wet head. his neck is wet, but he doesn’t care.

“of course i like it.”

“you do?” 

“i do.”

“i think you are very whipped for me.”

minho can feel you smile into his chest. you were so simple, and he was so in love..

“don’t act like you don’t love it.” he seals this moment with a kiss, heart swelling when you smile and pull him closer.

“i love you.”

loving you became so easy, i didn’t realise you wouldn’t love me back every time.

he’s different, you say.

minho begs to differ because you’re always saying that only to end up like he predicted. it’s not like he likes being accurate about it, but who can blame him for not trying to stop you?

in this life, you love people. and you love them so hard, with so much passion, minho finds himself watching quietly and grieving that you would never love him like that. it’s almost cruel, he thinks, but he’s spent so much time with you in love, he never thought that he would have to live through a life where he couldn’t show it.

he watches from the sidelines, waiting to speak up but every time you end up with someone else before he could.

“come on minho, i swear you’ll like hyunjin.”

you‘ve been badgering him for a week to grab dinner with your new boyfriend. mino retorts every time with no motivation to meet someone who would probably end up breaking your heart again, but the voice in his head tells him that it wasn’t the real reason.

he knows hyunjin, they’ve met before. he also knows hyunjin is a good guy. so when he says he doesn’t want to meet him, it’s more for his sake – he wants you to be happy, but he doesn’t want to see you happy with someone who will genuinely love you back.

he’s being selfish, he knows.

“minho, please?” your voice softens, and minho knows that you’re not doing it on purpose like you do when you want him to buy you coffee or order your favourite takeout or watch the same movie for the hundredth time on movie nights. you truly want him to meet hyunjin, maybe even like him; assure you that this was certainly the one.

minho doesn’t want to do either of those but your imploring eyes plead to him silently. he gives in, because it’s so easy to love you.

dinner turns out to be a pleasant affair and hyunjin is anything but the worst of what minho had pictured and manifested. he was a decent human being, enjoyable and certainly kind. and his eyes…they followed you and mimicked your smile lovingly. he knows that look; he’s been in love with you too. he is in love with you.

“listen hyunjin,” minho starts once you’ve left the table to go to the washroom, “i think you’re a great guy.”

“am i going to get the talk now?” hyunjin lets out a nervous laugh.

“no, i’m pretty sure you’re aware of that talk. but i want you to listen to me and listen carefully,” minho breathes in shakily, fisting up his fingers under the table, “(y/n) is my best friend and i love them a lot. i want you to love them wholeheartedly too. they don’t like their coffee too bitter and hate eating peas. they are hard working but tend to neglect their health in lieu, so take care of them, okay? don’t take them to the poppy exhibition during spring, their allergies act up the most during that time, even if they tell you that they can endure it – they can't and end up sniffling all season. they have a green scarf and it’s very dear to them, but it barely does anything when it’s too cold. layer them up in another scarf because they’ll get upset if you tell them to change. never let them order the spiciest thai takeaway, it makes them sick the next day. they love watching howl’s moving castle, it’s their favourite movie – never argue against it because well, there’s a ninety nine percent chance you’ll end up watching it anyway.”

a shuddering breath escapes minho’s lips as hyunjin listens attentively.

“don’t ever hurt them, okay?”

hyunjin nods earnestly, about to reply when you slide into your chair with a smile, looping your arm around hyunjin’s and the boy instantly melts, mirroring your smile. an understanding look passes between minho and hyunjin and the former is assured that he understood.

minho watches later, standing by the restaurant as you and hyunjin walk away into the night.

maybe in his next life, minho thinks, that will be him.

but i’m happy as long as you are.

the screen crackles, freezing for a second on your smiling face and minho frowns.

“hello, minho? can you hear me?” your voice comes on, ringing out pleasantly in his dark room. the city below him glitters with lights, honking cars distorted against the glass windows.

the video unfreezes and you’re there on the other side, grinning widely. it’s infectious and minho forgets about the exhaustion creeping into his bones. the time is 3 am, he should be asleep, he has an early meeting tomorrow, but this is you. and you’re seas apart, so the least he can do is grant you the shitty video call.

“yes, i can hear you. why have you called me at the ass o’clock, you spawn of satan?”

you know you can hear the smile in his voice, if not see him clearly illuminated only by the city lights.

“love you too,” you snort, “but guess what?”

you sound excited, and he can feel himself relaxing at the sight of your big smile and jumpiness. something good must have happened.

“i’m getting married!”

you bring up your left hand and without a doubt, a silver band rests around your ring finger. it glitters when it catches the light from your bedside lamp. your smile is infectious, minho reminds himself as he forces his lips to remain curled up.

“chan proposed this evening and oh my gosh minho, you won’t believe what he did–”

minho doesn’t quite remember much of what you said, only that you looked like you were on the top of the world, you were marrying the love of your life and that minho was invited and you wanted him to officiate the wedding.

minho doesn’t even consider this cruel anymore. the universe could hardly be called that when it treated you so kindly and with so much love.

he officiates the wedding in a field of poppies – a spring wedding – a small number of people gathered to celebrate the occasion and as he watches you walk down the aisle while your cousin plays a beautiful piece on the piano.

hand in hand with your husband, beautiful and glowing and so happy that he feels like he’s drowning in soft puffs of cloud at the look of joy on your face, he sends a silent thanks to the universe.

because i’m glad you’re here, by my side, through thick and thin.

"minho," you groan, dragging yourself across the rubble to where he lay on the ground, sprawled across rocks and ashes with his head resting against a decapitated shield.

"minho," you're barely able to keep yourself alive as you call out to the man, "wake up, love."

your whisper falls like the ashes you were sparales across, clothes singed and tattered, face bleeding and limbs tired.

the grey dust carries your whisper across him, his eyes cracking open to a white sky and your beautiful face.

your lips crack and bleed when you smile at him, eyes tearing up when they find his.

"are you okay?" minho croaks through the dust in his throat.

you nod weakly, breath faltering when the pain in your chest pricks you like needles.

"you did a great job." you say quietly.

around you, people started waking up, the ones that were left behind at least, by mercy or by luck or sheer willpower. the war was over. the will to cheer out is quietened by silent mourning.

minho feels you quiver by his side and pulls you closer weakly. your head rests against his arm, dreary and tired.

your hands are rough across his cheeks, colder by the second but comforting all the same.

"i'm so glad," he whispers. he doesn't mention your bleeding head or your heaving chest. he lets your warm tears fall on his skin, washing away the dust and grime and missing with your blood that drips down your head. your breath falters again, his weak limbs clutch you with his leftover strength.

you press your chapped lips against his neck.

"i love you."

minho's gentle confession receives no response.

i appreciate it a bit more, your quiet presence and comforting hands.

"minho, relax, i'm almost at your apartment so open the door for me, yeah?"

minho woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air. he had a terrible dream and you died in it. he scrambles across his bed, cursing the low battery in his phone and calling you first thing, the 8% of his battery be damned.

now you're saying that you're almost at his apartment. which means you crossed a whole two blocks in the middle of the night just because he called you in a frenzied panic. it’s too late to slip on his shoes and rush out of his house, because he’s extremely scared something bad might happen to you – he knows it’s his past life, and yet he cannot ignore the way it feels like a premonition – because you’re already ringing his doorbell.

the door opens with such abruptness, it makes you jump out of your skin but you don’t waste time in pulling minho into a hug when he stares at you with teary eyes. he’s never been this vulnerable before and you’ve never seen him so distraught.

he melts into your arms the second you hold him, as if checking to ensure that you were legit. that you were here, alive.

and if he tells you that he loves you late into the night while you sit by his side, running your fingers through his hair to help him fall asleep, he’s not lying and he means it from the very bottom of his heart.

“i feel like this was a ruse to get me here,” you chuckle sleepily, eyes fluttering and fingers slowing their pace against his hair.

minho simply gazes at you quietly in the dark, his throat seizing up when your fingers trace against his cheeks and rest there. your hands are warm, not cold. you were here.

“you’re being serious.” you remark, “is it because of the nightmare? you know i won’t leave you right?”

it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. but how does minho tell you that? so he nods, because he does love you.

you kiss the corner of his mouth. his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and his head.

“i love you too, minho. a lot.”

your lips on his lips, your warm hands across his tear stained cheeks. your heart beating against his chest.

but i hold you still, close to my heart, even when you’re not here.

minho looks for a familiar face through the blur of faces.

he searches for you for years till his last breath. but he accepts this time, that you would only reside in the deep crevices of his heart where he would etch your memories and learn to live without your presence.

he’ll learn to live without you.

and sometimes we’ll miss each other by a year.

high school, the most important time in a student’s life.

minho did not expect much to change from last year, he’s always been on the grind and stuck to his college preparations religiously. but something about the way all his relatives and friends kept reminding him of the importance of doing it right or losing in life, had him worrying in anxiety.

“if i don’t get into a university in seoul, my parents are gonna kill me,” jisung sighs beside him, doodling on his maths workbook.

minho hums, solving the equations unlike his deskmate who seemed least concerned about his self proclaimed threats.

“dude, are you seriously studying on the first day of school? lame…”

minho doesn’t pay attention, not now when he’s adamant on ignoring the label of being a nerd for the sake of a better future. he’ll find out later, when him and jisung get into the same university in seoul, that he didn’t need to try so hard all the time and that he deserved a break too.

jisung leaves during lunch, skipping to the cafeteria, complaining about how chemistry seemingly sucked the soul out of him. minho hangs back to go through his notes one last time and pack away his belongings.

he notices the scratchy lines on the wooden desk, it’s previous owner’s initials carved into it.

‘L/N Y/N, you can do it!’

minho runs a finger over the name, his heart suddenly hollow.

jisung hollers from the hallway and minho leaves for lunch.

later, he’ll have scratched his name under yours and added:

“hope you made it”.

there will be times i need to watch you from afar, but knowing you’re here makes me feel safe.

you play so beautifully, stringing your bow with such emotion, minho feels himself tear up.

the auditorium is quiet, holding their collective breaths as you reach the final part and remain still till the last tunes of the strings fades away.

minho claps along with everyone as you wave to the audience. the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you bow thankfully, retrieving your violin and leaving the stage. the smattering applause doesn’t cease till the announcer comes up.

minho follows you along the stage, gracefully making your way behind the wings before disappearing. you’re so far away. minho was but a simple commoner, lost in a faceless crowd for you.

he takes his time walking through the crowd that dissipates after the performance,the last one to hang back and read the brochures for next week’s performances. he’s so engrossed in reading the brochure, sitting on one of the benches in the lobby, he doesn’t notice you until a multiple bouquets of flowers quite literally drops onto his lap.

startled, his eyes flick up and you’re right there, standing in front of him, apologising as you make to retrieve the flowers.

“i’m so sorry,” you say, clearly struggling to hold your bag and violin case and balance the bouquet in your arms all at the same time. your black outfit glitters like diamonds up close, and if that doesn’t put minho in a daze, your tired smile turned upon him does.

“oh that’s a good performance,” you state, pointing at the brochure in his hands as you bend to pick up your flowers. as if only coming to senses when you’re on the ground, does minho scramble to help you out, his cheeks flushing.

you’ve always been pretty, but it’s been so long since he’s seen you so up close. you smile and he’s suddenly awestruck.

“you should watch the show on thursday,” you state, finally collecting everything in your hands in a bundle. minho hands you the last flower and your fingers brush.

“i will,” he promises, “and…i loved your performance tonight.”

you chuckle abashedly, hiding a shy grin behind your hand.

“thank you,” you mumble and minho bites his lips, swallowing the smile of adoration.

you pick out a rose from the bouquet with some difficulty, handing it out to him.

“thank you for coming tonight,” your shy smile is endearing itself, but so are your cheeks flushing when he accepts the rose. your fingers brush again, and maybe minho lingers for a second longer than he should. than he could.

minho keeps the dried petals of the rose inside an old journal.

but it’s always better when we’re together, because with you i'm fearless.

“left wing’s armed, take the third right straight down the hall and go into the utility room.”

the earpiece crackles inside minho’s ears, your instructions clear and brisk, a last moment unfortunate encounter you were saving his ass from. for better measure, he cocks his guns and keeps it ready just in case as he hurries down the hall and promptly shuts himself inside the utility room.

digging through a pile of janitor’s clothes, minho strips down and starts changin, your voice clear in his ear when you speak again.

“wait there, there’s three men with guns headed down all three halls. do not expose yourself,” you warn, predictably accurate as minho scoffs.

“min,” you growl into your mic, assessing the situation through the hacked cctvs, “don’t you dare come out of that damn room until i tell you to.”

“i’ve got a flight to catch babe, can’t have three nutjobs delaying me.”

“i’m catching the same flight as you!” your retort is an angry outburst. you’re honestly sick of him disobeying your instructions and doing whatever he likes. you’re both supposed to be a team, but he’s more intent on being a brat.

“you can’t get delayed either then,” he says, and the last he allows you to say on that matter, because next thing you know, he’s out of the room in some janitor clothes and a huge trolley. the man with the gun is suspicious, you can tell, approaching minho doubtfully and you hold your breath as you watch quietly, almost as if he would be caught if you inhaled too loudly.

as if on cue, yells break out and minho charges towards the man, ramming his trolley into him and sending him flying. the gun misfires and almost misses minho.

“fuck!” you hiss loudly, on the edge of your seat. there’s nothing you can do from here.

“have i ever told you,” minho struggles with a faltering breath as he tackles another man onto the ground, “how hot you sound when you curse like that?”

the third man doesn’t take too long to go down, giving minho a bit of a hard time too as he does, and you’re secretly happy that he did. serves him right, that brat.

fifteen minutes later, you’re both speeding towards the airport, minho changing in the back of the rundown van which you were going to abandon before leaving while you drove, stubborn on ignoring minho’s attempts at apologising.

“come on, don’t be mad. here, i got you a present,” he says.

you ignore him yet again, but find it hard to turn a blind eye at whatever it was he was shoving right under your nose. glancing briefly, you find a sparkling ring in the palm of his hand.

you silently contemplate whether you should accept it.

“come on,” minho whines again, pulling your left hand away from the steering wheel at the next red light and promptly slipping on the ring on your ring finger. it sits snugly around your skin, a small ruby carved like a rose glittering when it catches light.

before the light can turn green again, minho holds your palm up to his mouth and kisses it gently. his lips burn on your skin like a searing scar and you struggle to keep the heat from crawling up your neck.

“that looks nice on you,” he says and you quietly accept it.

i know loving you is easy, but it still scares me sometimes.

minho knows you can find someone better than him.

he knows you can drop him whenever you want. his love comes easily, but he’s had his share of losing and letting go. it’s tamed the ferocity of his affection, his quiet longing is like a suffering under his hidden vulnerability.

he hates it when you’re upset at him. and you’re upset at him now, shutting yourself in your room to work; not eating, not talking, not even responding to him.

“(y/n), please talk to me.”

you’ve finally come out of your room after hours and minho has been waiting patiently but anxiously, pondering and rehearsing on what to say. except, when he sees you, all his words disappear like ashes in the wind, leaving him remorseful and regretting what had transpired.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks out, head bowing down shamefully, “i shouldn’t have made you feel that way.”

your forgiveness is, if anything, like fuel to the fire burning inside him. you shouldn't forgive him so easily! but you do, and minho is certain that his fear will engulf him in its flames.

except, he hears your voice, clear and calming through the inferno, a cool balm across his searing chest.

“i’m sorry too,” you whisper, hands cradling his face as you pull him close, “i know it’s hard for you, i promise, i love you. no matter what.”

your words are like a soft breeze, pleasant and tranquil. your lips mold against his and he finds himself giving in to you – to your bodies melting into each other and breaths tangling like butterflies swirling around in a whirlwind.

minho learns yet again, to love and to let it burn him. he didn’t mind the flames licking his cheeks or singing his skin, you would be there at the end of the day to hold him close and heal his wounds.

with you the pain of trying was worth it.

because there are times that love can hurt.

minho points his gun at your head.

you’re tired, watching him through your hood but you’re smiling through your bloodied lips.

“are you really doing to do that?”

no. minho won’t, he can’t.

‘you already know,” he seethes through gritted teeth, tightening his hold around the gun.

“your answer, or you?”

you set flame through his body and it seeps through his veins like melting lava. loving you can sometimes really hurt, especially when he’s holding your life in his hands. he wonders whether it was worth the trouble of remembering all his past lives.

the clouds rumble and the skies start crying. he burns brighter, hotter; engulfed in your eyes, torn between a past lover and present murderer. your eyes…they’re always the same. the mole on above your lip, you have it this time. he tries searching for the coy person inside you, but you’re broke. battered and cold, you don’t have love for him in you.

not in this lifetime, at least. maybe that will make it easier.

the gun shoots with a bang.

and i’m reminded of my mistakes once more.

the tattoo parlour is quiet in the summer afternoon.

changbin is resting in the back, getting a good hour’s nap while minho waits for his next client who’s due any moment now. the table fan whirs noisily.

the door opens with a small creak and before minho can even turn around, he knows. his gut twists. sure enough, you’re standing there with uncertainty plastered over your face, as if you were having second thoughts about this.

minho doesn’t remember as much this time around, but he knows, there’s an inkling of recollection. of a rainy day and cold eyes.

“hi, you must be (l/n) (y/n),” he states with a comfortable smile, the one that is supposed to ease first timers who stand there in doubt, “i’m lee minho, we talked on the phone.”

he stretches his hand forward and you take it shyly. your fingers are nimble, fitting in his so well, he almost doesn’t want to let go. he can’t remember.

“hi, i’m here for my appointment?” you squeak out and minho does his best not to smile. he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

“of course, i have a few designs according to your choice, why don’t we sit and discuss?”

talking to you was easy. you knew what you wanted and had worked out all the tiny details to some extent as you could. but then again, talking to you had always been easy.

“where do you want to get it?” minho asks, finalising a few sketches and stacking them away in a separate pile.

chewing your lips, you slightly lift your shirt. the faintest blue - almost greyish - birthmark right above your abdomen peeks out. minho’s eyes scan your skin, to where you point right below it over the side of your waist.

he nods, fingers shaking as he collects the designs and walks over to the counter. the fan whirs loudly.

minho remembers. 

but you always forgive me. you say it’s because you love me.

“(y/n)....i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

the car reeks of oil and gas. minho’s cheek stings with millions of shattered glass pressing against his skin like tiny kisses. your eyes are closed, head rolled forward.

“(y/n) please,” minho’s voice cracks and he’s not sure whether he’s crying because of the pain or because you won’t answer him, “look at me.”

his plea falls on unconscious ears. you don’t even stir, laying with your eyes shut tight and glass in your hair.

the world goes black and then it returns, sirens and wails piercing through his ears like an incessant buzz. where are you?

you’re lying beside him, your eyes cracked open while you stare at him. the oxygen mask on your face fogs up slowly, your lips mouthing at him.

“It’s okay…i love you.”

minho tries reaching out but his hands refuse to move. he’s on the ground, he’s hurt, he’s bleeding. he’s crying, but not because it hurts, not because the scars and wounds across his body threaten to tear him apart.

“don’t leave, please.”

your oxygen mask stops fogging up.

as if you sense i’m being too hard on myself.

“minho, just ten more minutes,” you pout at him, folding your hands in a plea.

“no, your father wants you home back by–”

“oh boo hoo, my father doesn’t even care what i do,” you scowl, crossing your arms across your chest now. the low cut of your outfit reveals a spot of skin and minho has to look away. he’s better this time, concealing his feelings and emotions.

“you know i can’t disobey–”

“i just want to have fun, it’s like i have any friends to spend time with.”

minho sighs, straightening his crisp black suit and regarding you with indifferent eyes, but deep down, minho understands that all you craved in this life was companionship. he doesn’t like your father anyway, but he like you. he cares for you, and he doesn’t want to see you upset. but he also doesn’t want you to get hurt.

“ten more minutes,” he says, putting his palm up when your lips morph into a wide grin, “but no drinking.”

he’s stern but you nod eagerly anyway, looping your arm through his and pulling him inside the club. he will probably let you drink anyway, or you’ll sneak some when he’s momentarily distracted (he’s not, he just lets you have your way sometimes under the pretence of not noticing.) and he’ll have to carry you back to your room and maybe get an earful tomorrow morning for your drunk state.

whatever, as long as you’re happy.

“you know, minho?” you slur through the ride back home, nuzzling into his side drowsily, “you should take it easy sometimes. life’s too short to not have fun.”

you have no idea.

“and besides, i like you more this way.”

minho doesn’t answer, calming the thudding against his ribcage as he hold you close and covers you up with his blazer.

it’s all worth it when you kiss his cheek lazily, a murmured goodnight falling off your soft lips and onto his skin like a tiny part of your heart.

and even though i know i’ll find you each time, i still wonder if you’ll find me first this time.

“mr. lee minho sir!”

the voice gets carried away the large lobby, people turning to stare at you as you stand behind the automated entrance barrier, waving your arms at the said man to gain his attention.

minho looks back in shock, momentarily forgetting about the call he was on as he regards you through wide eyes.

you’re grinning and calling out his name, the zip of your handbag open and your contents falling out, but you stumble to grab them messily before stuffing them inside unceremoniously, much more important stuff at hand.

“mr. lee, please, give me ten minutes, i promise i’ve got an amazing proposition,” you say, dodging the security guards who try to pull you away. people stare and murmur in shock, you were making quite a scene.

you look a bit clumsy, but you’re light on your feet. and you definitely don’t seem to care about what people thought of you.

“what’s going on?” he asks his secretary by his side, both walking towards you.

“that’s (l/n) (y/n), they’ve been trying to get an appointment with the PR team for ages now. apparently they're the founder of some small company looking for finances.”

“and why have they not gotten an appointment yet?”

his secretary doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at him in confusion. why would a million dollar company like his waste their time on a nobody like you?

minho disregards the obviousness on his secretary’s face, approaching you with a warm smile.

“i believe you called me?” he asks warmly. the silent whispering thickens.

“i did, sir….lee minho sir. i mean–”

“why don’t we take this to my office?”

you squawk in surprise and minho offers you another smile. it’s familiar to you, his warmth and kindness, and you immediately feel guilty for causing a ruckus. but minho doesn’t treat you any differently, doesn’t mock your business nor finances. he doesn’t look down on you, and yet, there’s something underneath all that kindness that feels like he owes it you, so much so, that he may as well have been in debt to you and was now paying you back however he could and you wanted.

months later, you’d be lying on your bed, your legs tangled together and faces close and he would tell you the reason.

“it’s because you found me first.”

if you’ll be happy without me.

the train windows are foggy, the city lights a distorted kaleidoscope of red and yellow blending into each other.

minho blows warm air into his scarf, tucked right up to his chin and rubs his hands together before stuffing them inside his woollen coat. the train rattles on through the cold night, the gentle to and fro almost lulling him into sleep.

his body shifts to his left when the train stops at the third to the last station and minho lets out a sign between the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll soon be home and the disgruntled realisation that he would have to walk for ten minutes to do that. at least, he’s closer to the warmth of his home now.

the doors open with a swish, cold air blowing in and minho huddles against the corner seat, pulling his legs closer and almost doubling on himself. twenty minutes more, and he’ll be in the comfort of his home and his cats.

from his peripheral, he notices someone taking a seat beside him. the end of their long scarf gently touches minho’s arm under his thick coat. they cough into their hand and sniffle, clearly shivering from what he could tell by the way they draw into themselves, shuddering.

the train moves again, overhead lights dim enough that they were easy on the eyes but not too dark either. a long stretch of tunnel comes into view and the lights outside disappear, a black canvas staring minho back in his face. he catches sight of his neighbour, breath hitching in his throat when the warmth of their presence suddenly seems to heat him up.

he feels like a high schooler again, flustered when his crush sits beside him.

your face is gaunt in the black mirror, eyes drooping like you were fighting sleep and head gently lolling about. it doesn’t even take long before he feels your head on his shoulder. he stiffens, holding his breath in case you wake up, fingers curling inside his pocket and heart beating steadily against his chest.

even now, he thinks, even now, you make him feel this way. and you were simply a stranger to him in this life.

the train jolts again, the lights outside merging out of the black fog and staining the misty glass. your head on his shoulder, the fragrance of your shampoo lingering under his nose and the tingling sensation on his arm where your scarf lay gently. when the cold wind blows in, you move closer to him, soft snores tumbling through your lips and falling on his coat like a memento of your existence.

only one stop left, he gets to spend five more minutes with you. the warmth of his home is alluring but so is your sleeping figure next to him.

he wishes this train would go on forever. 

but i always end up wishing that we would be together this time around too. 

“i love you!”

“minho, we can’t!”

“what does status matter in front of love?”

“you know well enough exactly how much it matters,” you sigh, sliping your hands through his placatingly, softening your tone, “it won’t work. you’re from a noble family, and i’m just…plain old me.”

“you know i don’t care about that stuff.” he brings your hands up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles gently, his pillowy lips searing your skin like fire.

“they won’t care about banishing you from the court either if they find out.”

minho is so close to you, he can feel your breath on his lips. he’s kissed you so many times now, felt those lips against his and across his skin countless times, but every moment he spends with you, it’s like he cannot get enough of you.

“what if we run away? from these people, these…expectations and restrictions.”

“min…”

his name on your tongue, it sits there like it was always supposed to.

“you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

sometimes you can, but minho always chooses to fall in love with you. he doesn’t have to try hard; he’s never fallen out of it in the first place.

call me selfish, but there’s so much i need to tell you. show you. so many ways to love you.

the soft tunes of the jazz band floats in the air, men and women in silk and satin, dancing with each other through the cheerful night.

minho holds you in his arms, pressing quiet kisses in the crook of your neck and you giggle, swaying along with him on the dance floor. the night is still young for the two lovers and music quite a ways before it stops.

“wouldn’t have taken you to be the romantic type,” you say, looping your hands around his neck.

“wouldn’t have expected to be dragged to the dance floor so early,” minho teases back, pulling you just a little closer.

but minho would be willing to do so much for you. he would read it all in your eyes and from its depths, draw out his heart and carve it whichever way you wanted him to.

“i thought you wanted to dance!” you hit him  lightly on his shoulder, pouting at his smirk.

“i only accepted because the bartender was eyeing you,” he gestured behind him, tilting his head slightly so you could see. and sure enough, the bartender was indeed looking in your direction.

“oh, do i sense some jealousy?”

“don’t i have the right to feel that way?”

he twirls you to a lazy tune from the saxophone, only to pull you close when he realised that even the miniscule absence of your presence did not suit him. maybe he was drunk, he could definitely feel the burn in his throat and the liquid courage pulsing through his brain and you were so very beautiful.

the fabric of your dress under his fingers was soft, your rose painted lips puckering up ever so slightly and your tinted cheeks glowing warm under the dim golden lights. and your eyes; it’s always your eyes.

minho always searches your eyes everytime, to gauge whether much had changed but save for a few unfortunate lives, they remain pristine and eternal. yet, they seem to speak to him with a teasing lilt in somes life and in others, they’re like stars twinkling back his reflection.

minho doesn’t want to believe he is the romantic type, but he admits, he would always be willing to lose himself in your eyes.

even with all my lives combined, i wouldn’t be able to do it all.

undoubtedly, minho has learnt various ways of loving you throughout all his lives, and unsuspectingly, he expects to learn many more.

but his favorites persist to be the little undocumented moments only shared between you two; hidden in a small room where nobody is privy to it.

when you amble into the kitchen wearing nothing but his hoodie – which was too big on himself too – your thighs exposed and your fingers rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, his world stops for a whole minute.

you don’t take notice of his naer breathlessness, trodding up to him and planting your face in his chest. in this life, minho is a bit distant. his ability to express himself hidden in small acts of services. in this life minho worships you differently, and your reciprocal puts his anxiousness to rest.

“i cooked your favourite,” he mumbles on the top of your head and you nod into his chest, slowly backing him into a corner.

“you’re my favourite,” you smile slyly, revelling in the way his cheeks heat up and his gaze averts. you press a finger under his chin and turn his head towards you. your eyes…oh.

he feels your lips against his, your nibbling teeth and your wandering hands.

in this life, your love is passionate, a little fervent. you love so shamelessly and its fire consumes him whole till he’s right in the middle of a burning pyre. you burn brighter than him now and his love shines brighter under your flames, but minho merely considers himself the moon, silently borrowing the light from the faraway stars you carefully sew into his heart.

it’s like the universe is always balancing you both out, apologising for the times it messes up your time together.

all i know, is that i’ll surrender to you. everytime, unrestrained, with all my sincerity – because there’s no one else but you.

there’s a soft knock at the door.

“minho,” your voice is veiled and hesitant, “it’s me. can i come in?”

minho can’t bring himself to answer, but he hears the handle being twisted and seconds later a sliver of light slithers down the dark floor of his room. you find him sitting on his bead, with his head between his arms, knees tucked and unmoving.

“he’s been like this all day,” chan whispers beside you, the look of concern on his face breaking your heart, “please, help him.”

shutting the door behind you, you slowly manoeuvre your way to the bed, reaching out with your hands to feel for the soft sheets. eyes growing accustomed to the dark, you can vaguely make out his figure, scooching closer to his side.

“want a hug?” you whisper, scared to break the tranquillity and scare him away.

his response is throwing himself in your arms and clutching your waist like a child. soft sniffles get buried in your shirt and his shuddering shoulders send a wave of tears through you. the silence is broken by his sobs that shatter you and make your chest twist into knots. 

you fall asleep with his head buried in your chest and your warmth around his body.

even in a thousand lives. i’ll always be yours.

minho has assured you a hundred times in a hundred ways, that you’ll never be a burden to him.

not even when you spend half your life in a hospital bed, barely capable of doing anything by yourself. even when you cry and pretend to be mad at him, even when you yell at him to leave you and get his own life. even if he has to dedicate himself to take care of you.

you will never be a burden, not when minho was persistent on being by your side willingly.

“how long will you stay here?”

“for as long as it takes you to fall asleep,” he says, wiping your hands with a wet towel. your fingers twitch in his palm, weak and frail but so comforting in his gentle hold. you wish you could ask him to stay, but how can you chain him down to your crippled self? and for how long before he realises that this was a lost cause; that you were a lost cause and all his time and efforts were going to waste cooped up in this tiny hospital room where nothing ever happened.

“you know what i mean…”

your voice is soft in the night, eyes teary as they gaze at his face illuminated by the bed lamp he gifted you for your birthday.

minho doesn’t answer, concentrating at the task at hand. he knows you’re crying, and while any other time he would gather you in his arms and wipe your tears, he can’t right now. he can’t see you cry right now, because he’s scared he’ll really leave if you ask him to looking like that.

“we don’t know what the future holds,” his fingers close upon your smaller hands, squeezing them gently, “i want to stay here for as long as i can.”

his eyes glaze over and you slowly lose the fight in you, letting him cradle your soul and carry it with him. if that’s what he wants, 

months later you’ll walk out of the hospital, the staff congratulating you and handing you flowers and you’ll smile at them, but you’ll smile the brightest when you spot minho waiting for you at the end of the hall, cheeks shining with his tears but his lips curled up, mirroring your smile.

you’ll take your first steps all by yourself in years, it will tire you but minho will be waiting. he’ll always be waiting and when you reach out to him, he’ll reach back and let you fall into his arms.

i’ll chase your memory from dawn till dusk.

a block of light plasters the wall and falls on the table.

the last rays of the waning sun trying its best to peek at your beauty one last time before setting – that’s what minho thinks it is.

you say something, smiling through your words and sipping on your drink through puckered lips and then laugh at what you say. minho realises he’s not even listening, but he can hear your voice. he somehow feels like this may be the last time he remembers.

he drinks in your face, but there’s no hurry. you’re sitting right there, munching on your food and talking animatedly, face painted with sliced sunlight, orange and warm on your skin, eyes glowing when it catches the light.

the ketchup stain above your lip doesn’t bother you, but minho smiles fondly as you continue, laughing uncontrollably now over some lame joke he assumes would be funny if he actually listened.

leaning forward, he wipes your mouth, your eyes widening at the act, but they immediately soften and lean towards him too.

then it’s quiet, only the silenced chatter of the people around you. it’s like you’re both trying to etch this moment in your memories, like this was going to be your last time together.

and when there’s nothing left to be done anymore, i’ll sleep with you under the stars. 

the band of silver glimmers on his finger when minho stretches his hand out toward the sun.

the grass is dry and tickles his ears whenever he shifts about, the wind ruffles his clothes like butterflies. minho basks in the late afternoon sun, shutting his eyes and breathing in the sweetness of the honeysuckle air.

beside him, the arrangement of flowers lay carefully over the smoothened stone.

the first few stars appear like newborn dots of light, shining weakly in the orange sky slowly bleeding into purple and blue.

he smiles happily, the tears long appeased by your memories in his heart. the scent of poppies lingers somewhere in the back of his mind, your smile like a ray of hope on days he can’t find you, a piece of your soul in the crevices of his bone like a single entity of his own self.

minho searches for you now and sure enough, you’re there beside him, in the gentle caress of the wind and the playful tickling of the grass and the twinkling smile of the stars above.

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids minho imagines #stray kids lee know imagines #lee know imagines #minho stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #skz x you #stray kids x reader #skz x readerstray kids fluff #stray kids angst

[aphspain-pure]

"He who once was King" [Part 1]

Title: "He who once was King"

Category: Fanfiction.

Pair: EngSpa, UkSpa. Other minor or implied pairings

Words: 7.566

Genre(s): Cardverse AU; Drama, Romance; enemies to lovers. 

· · · · ·

Entering the grand ballroom, the explosive lighting and festive atmosphere made Arthur's face twitch in almost disgust.

Having made the long journey from the Kingdom of Spades to there, the Kingdom of Clubs, his body was feeling particularly resentful from the exhaustion of an interminable trip. The journey had been long and disastrous, and Alfred's thinly disguised excitement had ended up getting on Arthur's nerves in more than one extreme situation. He would had been on the verge of throwing himself out of the train's luxury compartment, had it not been for Yao's strict insistence and Matthew's sympathetic and kind intervention.

He sighed, trying to erase the horrifying memories of his journey.

He didn't even know why he had agreed to take Alfred with him to this ceremony. If a marriage within the royal family —or even general nobility— took place in another realm, the moral code of the aristocracy mandated that the corresponding royalty of each kingdom should come to pay their respects, as a mere bureaucratic, symbolic formality.

They had therefore been more or less obliged to attend the wedding.

In any case, it was no secret to anyone the palpable tension and seething hatred between their King, Alfred F. Jones, and the current King of Clubs, Ivan Braginsky. It was so damned obvious how little they tolerated each other's political ideas and presence, that the Four Kingdoms had been fearing that the peace that had managed to last for almost 300 years would be shattered by the bursting of this Cold War bubble.

Therefore, no one, really NO ONE, would have cared if Alfred had not shown up at that exact ceremony —which, leaving the King aside, would star the current Queen and Jack of Clubs.

Thinking about it, Arthur's head went far away again, plunging back into his usual musings and reasoning.

The Kingdom of Spades was the greatest power of knowledge and education among all the kingdoms. Therefore, it was not difficult to suppose that Arthur, as a representative of such a Kingdom, was the very fruit of all that supremacy. It was therefore only logical to assume that his knowledge of history was, frankly, excellent.

For that very reason Arthur began to wander into historical questions as he replayed in his mind the marriage that was to take place.

It had been only some 50 years ago that the old tradition of royal marriage was Heaven's law. And no matter what other characteristics aside from the letter —that is, regardless of the gender, age or even parentage of the two involved— always, in all circumstances, the King and Queen were to be married. By then, thank God, times had changed; and, thankfully, it was no longer a total obligation to consummate the marriage by the role of the Card alone.

It had become generally agreed that, in reality, the titles of King and Queen were just a bureaucratic formality and did not represent a true "couple" relationship, but a simple turn of Destinty pickpointing the next generation of rulers. Thus, that old habit of tying the representatives of the royal offices into a marital relationship had broken down, and situations like the one that was to take place today began to occur: legal marriages between Queen and Jack, for example.

Although, anyway, the Kingdom of Hearts, which was generally the most religiously observant and traditional, still chose to prolong the royal union. Thus, the monarchs Ludwig Beilschmidt and Honda Kiku were married by Church and were loving to each other as a front for their people —even if Arthur knew from his spies in other courts that it was, in fact, a chaste marriage and that the King had a thing for his Jack, but well…—.

On the other hand, the King of Clubs actually had zero interest in things like love affairs, so he had ruled out marriage long ago; ironic and somehow conversely, contrary to him, the King of Diamonds had perhaps too much interest in that sort of things, so tying himself to a single mate happened to be out of the question.

Again, Arthur thanked God that the laws had been modernised, because the Queen of that Kingdom was a poor creature, still thirteen years old, hastily risen to power after the premature death of the previous Queen. A sweet little child who did not deserve to go through the torture of being the wife of such a frog.

So, as much as he might have respected the Ancient History and laws of his great Kingdom, Arthur was indeed glad to the core of the modernisations that had been forced to make in the marital sphere nearly half a century ago. And as much as he loved Alfred, Arthur didn't even want to imagine the conjugal scenario. He hadn't questioned Alfred about it, in fact, but he was pretty sure that in the idiot's straw head there were only hamburgers, superhero comics —mostly produced in the Kingdom of Diamonds— and warships. So he was pretty sure that he had never even considered the idea; which he prefferred.

Indeed, he envied him. He really did. It must be comfortable to be so oblivious and idiotic all the time.

He was brought back to reality for a moment when Yao, his Jack, shouted 'I don't know what two-aru' things at him and he had to understand over his thick Oriental accent that Alfred had caused a mess again.

A vein bulged in his forehead and he could almost feel his blood pressure rise to frightening levels for any doctor. All the while, in the distance, he caught a glimpse of his stupid King thrusting his chest out and facing Ivan, the one and only terrifying King of Clubs, who was looking at him with a cold smile and clenching a pipe with restrained tension.

Arthur would have panicked and probably sweated like a poor wretch on any other day, but this time Alfred had pushed his patience to the limit with the little train journey —he'd told him to behave himself and not pick a fight with the Clubs, for God's sake!—. Between the gnashing of her teeth and a distinct twitch in one of her bushy eyebrows, he ran up to him to grab his ear.

— AUCTCH! H-hey, but what!? ARTHUR! —Alfred had begun to shout once he had been stopped in his attempts to threaten him—. What are you doing - ow, ow…! It hurts, stop it! —but Arthur didn't stop and even pulled harder on the imprisoned ear, forcing the other to whimper like a child.

At the same time, he turned to look formally at the host King and gave him a polite little salute, apologising in advance for what had happened.

— Long time no see, Your Majesty Braginsky. Congratulations on the marriage of your Queen and Jack and, I'm sorry, but I beg your pardon to our King for his lack of manners. —he said, with such poise and quietness that Yao, hiding behind a pillar, had to thank the Heavens that at least one of the royal duo in his charge was able to do his job properly.

Ivan visibly relaxed to give him a polite bow in return.

— Don't worry. Many thanks to you for coming all this way, my lord. —he responded, cold yet elegant and respectful—. How are you enjoying the ball in honour of the bride and groom? Is it to your liking?

One of the specialities of the Kingdom of Spades, actually, was feasts, celebrations, balls and so on, and every year they held dozens of events that were beyond imagination how beautiful and impressive they were.

With that in mind, the modest, quiet ball —far shabbier and far more underfunded than his own — had not suggested the slightest praise in the quiet walls of his mind. Still, cynical and pragmatic, Arthur had said, patronisingly.

— Charming in his own way, indeed. —in a flattering tone.

That seemed to be enough for Ivan who, after a soft smile and a last tense glance at Alfred, decided at last to do a last gesture with his head, and go on his way to visit the rest of the guests.

Once he had vanished, Arthur gave the other lingering fool a cudgel.

— Autch- HEY! —he shouted, sulking at being beaten like a brat, but Arthur refused to listen to his retorts.

He called back to Yao who ran up to him and thanked him for putting the brakes on the other, and Arthur simply told him to keep an eye on him so he wouldn't get into trouble again. The Jack nodded.

When he had checked that everything was in place, he went back to a less crowded area and became self-absorbed again, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Few… people knew it, but he was supposed to have been the King of Spades.

When a member of the royal family is born, God grants him or her a symbol.

This person can be born in the same nobility or in the house of a humble cobbler, as well as in the same street, only God knows if there is a special reason for this. This person, determined from the very first of its days directed to be part of the royal court of the country, shows a mark with the corresponding letter, together with the symbol of the Kingdom. Likewise, there was a subdivision within the nobility, between the lower aristocracy —made up by numbers from 2 to 10— and the upper class —King, Queen, Jack and Ace—, who are the real rulers amongs them all.

Few people knew it —among them, the most senior of the nobility of the Kingdom of Spades and the King of Diamonds— but, at his birth, on Arthur's collarbone there had been a "K", not a "Q".

He had been chosen to be the next King, and he had been trained to be so during his early youth. He had been instructed in all the arts of dialectic, rhetoric and combat, in those that the King would require throughout his life; and had been preparing himself, as fate dictated, to be the next leader.

Or at least he had been doing so until his tenth year.

Overnight the "K" on his skin had disappeared.

It came as a real surprise throughout the court because, much to their regret, such things usually only happened once the King had reached an advanced age and was no longer able to fulfil the role of the Card. But never… all of a sudden. And, strangest of all, not only did his previous mark disappear, but another one appeared. A "Q" marked his skin and, although he understood nothing at the time, all came together for the 10-year-old Arthur once the newborns Alfred and Matthew were placed in his arms, with their respective "K" and "A", and he was told that it would be his duty to instruct them.

Then he understood, he understood that God had put him on the back burner.

But don't misunderstand him, Arthur never had any great attachment to the title of King —at least not as Alfred had, who had always clung to his royal nature as if it had made him one of his much-loved heroes—. He, from the very beginning, accepted his new position, because he knew that if he played his cards right, being Queen would serve him just as well. He had rank enough to set in motion his plans for the future of the country, to make it great and prosperous; rich and powerful.

So, without much ado, he became the one to oversee the education of the Ace and, above all, of the future King, who was basically raised as Arthur's own younger brother —all the more reason why Arthur would never have put up with the royal marriage—. And while Arthur would have many things to criticise about Alfred's personality and tendencies as a monarch —namely that he was young and inexperienced, too impulsive and lacking in logical reasoning, and with belligerent tendencies to boot— he could tell right away that he had the makings of a King.

He was friendly and used to interact a lot with his people —something he had never really done— and he had a certain natural charisma that had charmed Arthur, Matthew and the rest of the Kingdom as a leader since a young age. Arthur had never blamed or resented Alfred for changing his destiny.

A soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts again.

— Good evening, Kirkland-dono. I was looking forward to our meeting today. —he turned his head to smile softly and give a slight bow of his head.

— I couldn't agree more, Your Highness Honda. It has been a while since we last spoke.

In front of him Honda Kiku, the Queen of Hearts and a person he held in high esteem, was dressed in the traditional regalia of his Eastern region within the Kingdom of Hearts, with the mythical red national colour. He was smiling elegantly behind a delicate fan, with kindness in his dark eyes.

They chatted for a while about trivial matters and matters of state, and even invited each other to drink while they waited for the newlyweds —since, as far as he knew, they had been married in the privacy of their private chapel a couple of hours ago— to arrive and they could all celebrate together. He had never had a relationship with any of them, except for some clash with the Jack on business, but his position compelled him to be there to offer them at least a respectful "Congratulations".

Kiku's company —in his thoughts Arthur dared to call him "Kiku", his dear friend— made the situation pleasant until they were forced to part by a girl from Hearts, who came to warn them that they should join their respective clansmates, because the bride and groom had just arrived. The pair of Queens leisurely said their goodbyes and Arthur sought out Matthew and then joined their King and Jack.

Once they were together and in their seats, Arthur could not help but notice the change in Alfred's countenance, who was now looking more relaxed, more grown up.

Now 18 years old, he was a tall, handsome man, arrogant when he needed to be and more relaxed when the situation called for it, and he shone with all the brilliance a King should have. Arthur felt proud to have practically raised him, agreeing with the part of himself that had always thought Alfred's blue eyes had even fairly matched the colour of his Kingdom better than his own.

The front door of the ballroom opened and a pair of people entered, holding hands and sweet smiles on their faces.

Roderich, the Jack of Clubs, wore a rather light and sweet one, while Elizabeta, the Queen, beamed with a huge one on her face. As soon as they entered, cheers poured down upon them, and people, especially from the Southerners of the Kingdom of Hearts, who rushed to give them their blessing. Then, little by little, representatives from each Kingdom came to give them their congratulations and words of encouragement.

First, everyone from the Kingdom of Clubs arose, leaving a special appearance for Ivan who, without further ado, shook hands encouragingly with both of them with a smile. Next, the Kingdom of Hearts stepped forward and Elizabeta was embraced by the Jack who, being someone close to the couple in their childhood days, had taken these liberties. The King of Hearts, utterly embarrased, tugged at his clothes and apologised to them both, causing the couple to laugh softly, not giving the matter too much thought. Then it was their turn, and he and Alfred exchanged encouraging and respectful words with the newlyweds. A cynic like Arthur found it hard to believe in such frivolous things as love, but he could tell that these two loved each other deeply and dearly.

Once they were back in place, it was the turn of the splendid Diamond Kingdom to approach the couple. At this specific fact, Arthur allowed himself to snort like an annoyed child.

Stunning, elegant, glowing like the sun itself, the yellow colour that was the face of the Kingdom of Diamonds predominated in the clothes of those present, in different shades and intensities. Leading the way, hair soft and silky like that of the finest model, rich and ostentatious clothes that left one speechless, and a simple and loving smile, King Francis Bonnefoy stretched out his arms as if he were the young couple's greatest friend. The newlyweds grimaced as he approached them, even more when he kissed them both on the cheeks —a custom that typical of certain parts of the Kingdom of Diamonds and the Kingdom of Hearts— and then began to speak honeyly to them with his thick French accent.

Arthur had to suppress a retch as he pitied the poor fellows.

He had known Francis since the two of them were little more than half a foot tall and had gone through the first steps of training to be future Kings together. One could even somehow say that Francis had even been… something of a teacher in some areas of his education, being a couple of years older than himself. Still, they had never put up with each other, and had a cat and dog relationship most of the time, which they had always tried to camouflage under a mask of professionalism. It didn't usually work, and they often came close to gouging each other's eyes out.

Anyway, when Francis turned away, the next pair came to congratulate the couple. The adorable little Queen of Diamonds, just turned 12 and looking like a little doll, spoke a few quick, nervous words to them while her older brother, the Jack, stroked her back and gave her encouragement. The latter, for his part, was talking politely to Roderich and congratulating him quietly; and though Vash would probably have preferred to hide it, Arthur clearly saw the appreciation of an old friend in his gestures and words. Arthur smiled sideways, very full of himself, amusing himself by reading between the lines and getting into the minds of others. As the Queen, he had a certain talent for seeing things that others could not. The pair of siblings withdrew and suddenly Arthur caught a glimpse of one more person, so he blinked, quizzical.

In the Diamond Kingdom he had only known those three members of the high nobility for all those years, but he didn't recognise this guy at all. The bridal couple, on the other hand, had jumped at the sight of him, and after a brief moment of shock, they had smiled broadly and hurried over to him, the Queen hugging him tightly. Arthur found Roderich's face especially curious, who until then had been maintaining a quiet, thin smile, and was now smiling broadly, as if he were truly happy. When the woman turned away, it was the turn of the unknown man to step forward, and kiss her twice on the cheeks. A moment later, he was repeating the same action with the elegant Jack, kissing him as Francis had done earlier.

The reaction, however, was totally different.

— We've missed you. —Arthur had managed to hear from the Jack's mouth, disconcerting him. Words that elicited a sound that, to his ears, sounded almost like a spring breeze.

A frankly charming laugh came from this unknown individual who was showing his back to Arthur, who immediately took the hands of both bride and groom and brought them to his lips to place a light kiss of devotion upon their knuckles.

— I always knew you were made for each other, Rod, Eliza.

The sound of a male voice, not too deep and not at all raspy, charming like no other, dulled Arthur's senses for a moment.

The guy kept talking, but Arthur didn't understand the content of his words, more interested in intercepting the vibrations of his voice and his accent in his ears. And he was so lost, so far gone, that he didn't know where he was or what was going on until Yao brought him back to the earthly world with a couple of finger snaps. He growled at him, annoyed, and a moment later he apologised, remembering he was supposed to be a gentleman.

But as soon as he regained his self-possession, he craned his neck around in a desperate attempt to find the guy with the dreamy voice who had caught his eye. He asked Yao, his Jack and therefore who was in charge of external affairs in his Kingdom, to see if he had any record of who he was. The Chinese frowned his lips, mumbling.

— I… don't know him aru. I was surprised to see him too, I don't recall seeing his face ever before. —he had replied, to which Arthur realised that he had not, in fact, seen his face.

A heaviness in his stomach and a child's impertinent determination made him pucker his lips and come to the conclusion that he had to face this guy head on. Matthew probably noticed the glint in his eye, because he began to sweat uneasily for no reason.

But before he could go on any kind of intrepid adventure in search of the said man, the lights went out and music started to play. A single spotlight illuminated the starring couple, who prepared to begin dancing to the classic Viennese waltz that was playing.

After a couple of minutes the rest of the lights were dimly switched on and gradually people began to join in the ballroom, dancing. The first pair, as expected, were the King and Queen of Hearts; Ludwig, tall and elegant in his formal attire, being orthodox and polite in asking his husband to grant him this dance. Kiku politely accepted and they joined in the dance; Arthur, out of the corner of his eye, watched the reaction of Jack Feliciano, who was smiling happily, while behind his back his hands were clasped together, trembling.

So, little by little, other couples from different Kingdoms began to join the dance and even Alfred, who had been a little pressured by the situation, extended his hand to him offering him a dance wearing a stupid expression. Arthur shook his head, saying that he didn't feel like it, and pushed him to go ask Yao or his brother to dance. As Matthew had symptoms of social panic, Yao went out to dance with Alfred in the end.

It could be said that he had zero to no interest in dancing until his keen eyes caught something that left him stuck in place.

There, among the dancing couples, the curly, tousled brown hair of the guy who had caught his eye earlier appeared like a mirage. But it was not the apparition itself, but rather his company that left him still and petrified as if he were a poor idiot.

There, waltzing perfectly, the brown-haired fellow who had earlier let out such a charming voice found himself being grasped round the waist by the fro- Francis, by Francis. They were dancing together, and Francis, from his stupidly calm and happy expression, seemed genuinely delighted with the situation.

He didn't even quite know why, but a freckle popped out of his forehead from the strain of his eye contracting in pure irritation.

He honestly didn't know why, but the stupid face of the frog, so happy and debauched dancing with this guy who had caught his eye, gave a rather significant plus to his usual bad mood. He gnashed his teeth when, after a particularly awkward turn, both men laughed a little and hugged each other, then continued dancing as if nothing had happened. The twitching of his eyebrow was merely collateral damage from his boiling blood.

He relaxed himself as he realised that he was acting in a totally irrational manner.

He took a breath, leaned against the column behind him and glanced again at the King of Diamonds and the brown-haired guy dancing along with the rest. He felt uneasy for some reason, yet he chose not to make a big deal of it. Still, he couldn't stop his questioning from coming out in a sigh.

— Who is this guy…?

— That "guy" is Antonio, eyebrows.

A voice next to him startled him, causing him to put his hand to his heart in shock. A second later, he turned shudderingly to collide with the only red eyes he'd ever met.

The Joker.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the older brother of the King of Hearts and the only current Joker. Some would correct him because there was, in fact, another current Joker; but Arthur preferred to be specific and correct in these matters, and preferred to maintain the status of Peter, the boy under his custody and care, as only a 'potential Joker'. After all, he was still only a child, so he couldn't use his powers, leaving this albino guy in front of him as the only current Joker.

He looked him square in the face, recovered from his initial shock, and asked. — Antonio? —with slight curiosity.

Gilbert, who —Arthur was absolutely sure— probably hadn't even been invited to this celebration, looked back at him with those blood-red eyes that used to make people nervous. He had an arrogant smile plastered across his face, as if he felt superior just knowing that.

— Yes, —he had responded—. Antonio.

The guy's repellent attitude frayed Arthur's nerves a little, who, trying not to get nervous, pushed a little harder. — And who is this "Antonio"?

— The amazing Ace of Diamonds, of course!

And with that Arthur's green eyes expanded to widen beyond their confines.

— The Ace…? —he had been thinking all his life that there was no Ace of Diamonds at present, that since the previous one died some thirty years ago there had been no successor! He was literally certain that apart from the Swiss brothers and Francis there was no one else in the Kingdom of Diamonds belonging to the high nobility, for there had never been any talk of a successor! He was literally sure that apart from the Swiss brothers and Francis there was no one else in the kingdom belonging to the high nobility, for he had never been spoken of, never been named, and certainly never appeared there. And he had known Francis since he was a little boy, so how was it possible that this guy…?

But then it dawned on him, and the muscles in his body seemed to relax.

— Ah… —he said, and unwillingly his mouth escaped—. So he's not that frog's lover, thank goodness. I was beginning to feel sick.

— Oh, if that's it, they probably are by now, zwar.

He choked for air, shocked.

— What?!

He glanced quickly back at the happily dancing couple, then turned to look at the Joker. — The King and the Ace?! together!? —Gilbert shrugged his shoulders.

— Well, these are modern times. And I'm sure you know Fran well, that's not especially something that would stop him when it comes to "l'amour". —he remarked, making inverted commas with his fingers and looking disinterested. His eyes, however, instead of looking at Arthur, were looking beyond, towards the duo—. Besides, Toni is beautiful. And Fran has always been after him like a hungry hyena. So it's not actually that surprising.

Pathetic as it was, Arthur couldn't help but resent the pretty brown hair that had so often prevented him from seeing the much-lauded face of the subject in question.

The comment about the King of Diamonds' apparent extreme interest in his Ace was, in any case, unimpressive. If anyone had ever told him that Bonnefoy drooled over lampposts, he would have put his hand in the fire without a second's hesitation, believeing it without a second thought.

Now fully recovered, he looked at Gilbert and noticed the strange, heavy look in his eyes. He narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

— I'm sorry to be indiscreet, but you speak of them in a very familiar way. What exactly is the relationship of the Joker, someone who should be completely neutral with respect to the Four Realms, to the King and Ace of Diamonds? —the question seemed to catch the albino's attention warmly, and he immediately smiled softly.

— We are childhood friends. I spent my early years as a Joker in the mountains of their realm, gathering my magic; they, of course, were something like my overseers. —and the blond drew his eyebrows together and twisted his lips.

He didn't like to be out of the loop on something. He was fairly well known for being efficient and a born gatherer of information, certainly seconded by his long system of espionage and investigation, so the news that was reaching him that day surrounding the mysterious figure of the Ace of Diamonds was beginning to irritate him. To irritate him as a personal matter.

He looked at Gilbert proudly, and then made a decision.

— Good. As the representative of the Kingdom of Spades I have to meet all the representatives of the other Kingdoms, so now you are going to introduce me to this Antonio. —at which, for a moment, Gilbert's face froze in a comical and strange grimace.

— Y-you want to meet Toni? Look, Kirkland, I don't think that's…

— Do you want our dear Queen of Clubs to know of your presence in her wedding reception?

Gilbert's face turned white and almost immediately blue, and a moment later he began to walk forward, leading the way to where he had been sent, almost in despair.

As he did so, and without turning to look at Arthur, who followed him calmly with a victorious smile of superiority, he said.

— Then later don't tell me I didn't warn you.

That sentence could not have mattered less to the monarch who followed in his wake with the air of grandeur typical of the Spades.

…

Circling the dance floor where the people continued to waltz, the pair reached the area closest to where Francis was still dancing gracefully. Gilbert called out to him, who, without paying much attention, winked and continued dancing as if nothing had happened. This time not only Arthur, but also the Joker had a shuddering spasm, annoyed.

It wasn't until the piece was over that the blond broke away from his partner and approached them, holding out his hands in a way too much dramatic gesture, as he was used to. With zero politeness, both Arthur and Gilbert rejected the greeting kisses the other was about to give, turning away sharply and looking disgusted. Not that Francis looked offended, by the way.

A princely smile on his lips, he spoke. — What a… pleasant surprise that his Majesty the Queen of Spades would honour me with his presence! To what do I owe such a gratifying pleasure? —with a wry yet syrupy and irritating tone that made Arthur's temper flare.

— Cut the crap, asshole. —He spat, somehow forgetting everything about etiquette that he had hold dear due to his status. Instead, he tried to look behind him insistently, frowing—. Why did I never know you had an Ace?

Francis played dumb.

— You… never asked?

He would please expect that no one would blame Arthur for wanting to kill that incorrigible fool.

And maybe he really would have jumped on the other one to hang him or something, if it hadn't been for the Joker's intervention.

— Kirkland here wants to be introduced to Antonio, Fran.

Francis' blue eyes paused for a moment, before looking directly at Arthur who looked, frankly, unconcerned on the subject.

— What? —stated Arthur, unmoved yet irritated—. Does it surprise you that I want to meet an important member of another country's high aristocracy? Well, you shouldn't be. In fact, you should be grateful that I'm not going to accuse your shitty kingdom of high treason for withholding such valuable information.

The other monarch did not seem particularly intimidated. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

— This wasn't really a matter of withholding information, don't make up things, Arthur.

— Oh no? And then what is it, because I still don't understand how is possible that the rest of the Kingdoms did not know about the existence of your Ace.

— You are wrong there, mon ami. The only ones who didn't know about it are you, the Spades.

He was answered almost instantly by a high-pitched cry of incredulous 'what!?' from the other. Francis tried to calm him down by waving his hands.

— Wait, calm down, that's not relevant now, it's really not as serious as it seems. And if I haven't been particularly interested in publicising Antonio in general, it's because… Because… Well, I suppose a picture is worth a thousand words.

And, leaving Arthur a little too curious, he turned gently to direct his gaze to the dance floor.

There, in the crowd, his former dance partner was gently guiding the steps of the young —and highly impertinent— Ace of Hearts. In a calm voice, Francis called out. — Toni! —and then, the said man turned.

Then Arthur's world stopped, just as his jaw gave way and he dropped to the floor, eyes wide and wide as headlights.

The sudden sight of deep green eyes was like a burst of spring.

As if he had wandered into an untouched jungle in the tropics, or plunged into the dew on the grass at dawn. Like the most beautiful of gemstones and at the same time the most terrible of curses, the greenish gaze fell in his direction, causing Arthur, holding his breath as a clumsy child, to almost choke himself.

The formerly peak of auburn curls framed the youthful face of a man about his age, with sun-tanned skin, healthy cheeks and a straight nose. From where Arthur stood he could not admire in all its fullness the rosy hue of the friendly lips which, locating Francis there in his direction, stretched to show a veritable wonder of the world.

The infinitely stretched smile, cheerful and carefree, which caused two dimples to sink into the defined cheeks, was another thing that made Arthur's brain gears explode, and his guts to simply churn.

And when this guy, grinning like an idiot, began to approach them and spoke, all the functions of his brain came to a screeching halt.

— Ah, Fran! —the young man had merely said, in a voice as masculine as sweet and charming, but that was enough for Arthur, his mouth unhinged, to be abandoned by his spirit.

The foolish incarnation of a god of art and passion began to approach them leisurely, his face lit up by a smile, while Arthur listened to Francis comment.

— I hope you understand me for being a little selfish in keeping him for myself.

....

As the brown man caught up with the group of three, his friendly face wore a quiet but certainly puzzled smile. As soon as he had arrived, he had positioned himself next to the King of Diamonds so naturally, with his own inertia, that it was more than clear that this was as normal and basic to him as breathing. Once at his side, Francis reached out his nimble arm to rest his hand on the newcomer's lower back, as naturally as the aforementioned. This was basically his usual modus operandi, while Gilbert, with a complicated expression on his face, watched the action with questioning eyes.

Arthur, on the other hand, continued as before. Quiet. More than silent…, gone. With his mind flying away, perhaps in some imaginary place or who knows where.

Francis could only take pity on him who, like a Spade, must have suffered some kind of culture shock after seeing his Ace's aura.

— What did you call me for, Fra- Oh, wait! I suppose at this point I should refer to you as Your Majesty. —and laughing awkwardly for a moment, Antonio rubbed the back of his neck, correcting his appellation—. If it is not too much of an inquiry, what is the purpose of your call, my King? —Francis, looking conflicted, somewhere between rushed and excited, gently stroked his companion's lower back as he gently shook his head.

— A simple trifle, my lord, a favour I ask of you as your humble servant. —the blond then replied, smarmily, as Antonio laughed, seemingly unaffected by the other's apparent devotion, and Gilbert snorted, hissing through his teeth. The King smiled for a moment, and then his smile devalued a little to a polite, emotionless one—. I wanted to introduce you to a fellow monarch and good old friend of mine. —he then held out his arm in a show of affection and addressed the man who had hitherto been left out of the conversation—. This is Arthur I of the Kirkland Clan, currently Queen of Spades.

And it was at that moment, when the splendid and devastating green eyes as big as stars, bright as the sun itself, and deep as the greatest abyss, turned and rested upon him, that Arthur came back to life to become, as he had never been in his life, red and redder, and even redder.

Knowing the fate of the greenish gaze that had so disarmed him, Arthur could do no more than stand petrified as he watched the man in front of him look at him intently. The colours rushed to his face as, somehow, the blood drained out of his brain. What was wrong with him, why was he acting so…?

Incompetent, stupid.

He felt like a elementary school child in front of some kind of divine creature.

Perhaps by the hand of those last thoughts he had truly lost his sanity, embarrassed to the core as he was 100% aware of the effect this man was having on him.

He managed to shake himself out of the stupor that had assaulted him when Francis, having taken the role of presenter, pointed to Antonio and introduced him.

— And, Arthur, this is Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the Ace of my Kingdom. —he said, smiling at his companion. Arthur was somewhat curious about the fact that Antonio had two surnames, remembering somewhere in the back of his mind that this was a tradition in some parts of the Diamond Kingdom. He turned his attention back to him when he opened his mouth again—. My beloved Ace here has been far away for a while on a research assignment in a distant land, across the ocean, so it is only natural that you two have not met before. This is, if I am not mistaken, the first time he has set foot on our continent in more than five years. —he was surprised, dismayed, and dismayed by this.

It surprised, dismayed and otherwise amazed Arthur, all at once.

He, a lover of wisdom as clichéd as it was from the people of his Kingdom, had always wanted to go beyond the Great Blue that stretched from the shores to the horizon. He knew that there was something beyond, but very few people and very few ships were limited to going and, perhaps, never returning from those distant lands.

He had always been drawn to such adventures and legends, and he was sure that, had it not been for the fate that fell upon him to impose the safety and welfare of his people, he would have taken to the seas to discover, to breathe, to live. Unleashed to run and be surprised by the strangeness of the world beyond his borders. In freedom.

This guy smelled, felt, like freedom.

And his eyes were so crystal clear that he felt the sea was right there for him.

If Yao were in his head, he probably would have called his attention to how shamelessly self-centered that had sounded, as if this Antonio had appeared now and there for and because of him.

Without skimping, avoiding letting a single second pass, he made an elegant but measured bow and formally introduced himself.

— Arthur Kirkland, the Queen of Spades, here to serve you always, my lord.

And he held out his hand so that the Ace could extend his own, to make possible for Arthur to give him the formal, elegant kiss on the hand that, in a way, he longed to offer.

His lips stung in anticipation.

Though his intention was immediately thwarted when, rather abruptly if Arthur were asked, the other fellow's eyes widened slightly, his gaze averted, and in a curt tone he mumbled, cold as ice. — Ace of Diamonds Fernández Carriedo. It's my… pleasure.

The sudden rejection and the coldness that, from what little he had been able to observe, did not seem to go well with his warm and effusive character, made Arthur, not a little self-conscious and annoyed, pick up his own outstretched hand. His brows furrowed, which only seemed to be accentuated when he saw the same gesture reflected in the other's forehead.

Gilbert and Francis didn't look the least bit surprised.

Equally, he was not at all surprised himself when he deepened his voice and, trying to maintain his composure, said. — Forgive my outburst and I do apologise if my behaviour might seem out of place, but I would like to point out your attitude. —that caught the attention of the green eyes, which turned to look at him fiercely—. Are you always this lackadaisical, or do you just have a problem with me? Please don't beat around the bush. I can't stand levity.

The Joker jumped up, overwhelmed. — Kirkland!

But Francis cut him off, calming him down. — Gil, leave it to me. I'll explain. Look, Arthu-

— The latter. —he melodious voice dictated, responding to his kind of rethorical question, and they all turned to look at him, as he turned from glaring at Arthur, somehow fiercely. Then, he closed his eyes and turned away—. I simply have a problem with Spades, it's nothing …"personal", my lord.

…

Arthur's fists clenched, and he gritted his teeth, poisoned by the humiliation.

How could…

How could he pretend to tell Arthur that his entire Kingdom was a problem, but still pretend it was nothing "personal"?

He reached out and tied the man's arm, squeezing it tightly to stop him, and exclaimed.

— You're crazy if you think that-!

— D-DON'T TOUCH ME!!!

The scream reverberated through the room, and the music stopped.

The cold fell on Arthur, and he panicked. In a moment he was away from Antonio, and suddenly the Jack of Clovers Roderich, the groom on this occasion, obstructed his view and acted as a wall between them as, elegant as ever, he remarked non-important things to divert attention. His hand slipped off the arm where it had been, and suddenly the sounds melted into the background and he went still, catatonic. No, he…

He hadn't meant to scare the guy, he…

I mean, yes, he'd felt insulted by him and had wanted to show himself as a proud and capable leader in front of him, but… He'd never intended to unleash such a…

He hadn't… found words to define what he had seen in the other man's eyes for a split second.

There was hatred and rejection, yes. But most of all there was something else, something that made his throat dry and made him want to vomit.

Before he could name the nature of the mist in those eyes that, he was now sure, weren't exactly looking at him, Antonio had been pulled away from him, and the natural noise of the room had been organically restored. Roderich kept saying something to him, at least until he saw Gilbert, and the two of them started to argue, but Arthur didn't listen too much. He was only able to see Francis giving him a complicated look, before he, too, disappeared into the crowd.

Nothing else worth telling happened during the rest of the evening. Not that Arthur, in the pale state of his mind, could recall, at least.

…

But that same night, in his blankets, Arthur couldn't sleep, he was tossing and turning. The saw green freedom-eyes suddenly darken under a veil of unknown feelings every time he thought he was falling asleep. And then he would open his eyes and look up at the ceiling, thinking.

Who was really Antonio? Why hadn't he known about the existence of someone as important as the Ace of Diamonds? And how was it possible that he had been out of the Four Realms for so long? Why… What for did everyone seem to hide and treasure him so much? And, above all,

Why did such cheerful eyes as his only exude pure anguish when they looked at him, a Spade?

That night Alfred's snoring in the next room and the tinkling of the glass decorations in the guest room accompanied him in his wakefulness. Partly caused by the anxiety in the back of his mind that was warning him of something unknown; partly, too, by the tingling in his arms and in his soul that numbed his senses when he thought of Antonio, his hair, his voice, his eyes and his smile.

All night he thought of nothing else, in fact.

[To be continued… ]

#hetalia #aph spain #aph england #aph france #spuk #engspa #ukspa #hetalia cardverse #queen of spades england #ace of diamons spain #king of diamonds france #joker prussia #this is an enemies to lovers don't let it get to you #why am i like this

[cryptidcorners]

on my knees begging for more of prince! Danforth, ;0; gnawing on the iron bars of my enclosure for part 2

Horse Riding — Prince!Derek Danforth x GN!Reader [ Part 2/? ]

Pt. I .

Description: It's been about a week since you last seen Prince Danforth, your childhood sweetheart, spill dark secrets about his House. As if you weren't worried enough, Derek reveals some life changing information — the possibility of a conspiracy between Kingdoms.

# Request: "on my knees begging for more of prince! Danforth, ;0; gnawing on the iron bars of my enclosure for part 2"

# A.N: more prince Danforth!!!!!! I'm absolutely amazed by the amount of love my writing got! thank you! also I may be posting this on AO3 ! So stay tuned :3c

Media: The Beekeeper [ AU ]

Character: Derek Danforth [ AU ]

Tags: DND/Fantasy Inspired AU, Royalty, PLOT, Lore Dumping, Friends to ? ? ?, Romantic Implications, Horse Riding, Nature Walk, Fluff, Slowburn, Childhood Friends, Character Reveals, Flirting, Catching Up, Sweet Talk + Reader is !GN.

Warnings: Mentions of War/Isolation, Conspiracy, Childhood Trauma/Abuse, Assassination, Mentions of Substance Abuse

TOS. Derek Dandorth Master List {TBW}.

It had been a fortnight since you had seen Prince Danforth. You had enjoyed your time with him more than anything, that kiss was still lingering in your mind and lightly kissed your skin with warmth. Yet, the haunting discovery that he had revealed beneath the isle of paintings detailing his ancestors had left your bones rushing cold. 

You couldn't daydream about his lips against your skin, or fingers intertwining together underneath a veil of moonlight, there was a possibility of him being mistreated — how he confessed he felt like a humming bird tethered in a gold cage with disloyal eyes around every corner — and your mind couldn't abandon the thought. It was almost feverish; it hurt to even scavenge a nightmare that raw, but you couldn't betray him that way. 

"I promise, I'll tell you everything." He said, his forehead gently brushing against your own, he was so close you could remember his breath soothing your jaw, your lips. There was something so tragically intimate a lot that moment. How Derek had so many secrets and this was one of those rare, naked occasions where he was being faithful to himself. Where he had trusted you. Alas, he bit back everything. Derek was not only afraid for himself, but for you, and you only. 

He swore under his breath with that twinkling smile that could soothe even the deadliest of vipers. Then, he had pulled away and part of you still craved that closeness, "I love you too much to let you get hurt because of my ignorance. Time will tell, just be patient." Derek's obvious attempts to shy you away from your worries didn't work.

You were still driving yourself mad thinking about him. Thinking about those secrets. Thinking about your kingdom. So many people you cared so deeply for could possibly be in danger. 

"Pardon me, Noble Talis?" your secretary tip toed across the overflow of documents and books scattered across your floors. He stiffened, clearing his throat and dove his gaze into his papers. "The Danforth House has arrived for your date? By the Weeping Woods." 

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten." You answered as your eyes searched through what used to be your bedroom. Your treasury, statues and silk coated mattress were blooming with rogue papers. You had forgotten you had been busy these last few days researching as much as you could. With no leads, it went as frustrating as you could expect. "I'll be down in a moment," you stumbled through the floors. It was hard not to slip. "I just need to find my trousers," 

Maybe your date with Derek could give you some answers to cool whatever firey whim was dancing in your head. The Weeping Woods was apart of your land and you knew it better than anyone. It was secure, private and lush. Derek could tell you everything he needed to and if there were spies looming in Tallis, well, you had no present conclusion on what to do next, but you were sure if you got your answers everything would be easy to map. 

You prayed he wasn't hurt in any way. It'd just kill you to see him in pain, even if you hadn't seen him in a long time, you still loved him — Derek was your best friend. Hopefully you would be proven wrong. Of course he wouldn't be injured. Why would Queen Danforth sent her ill son to Tallis — one of their greatest patrons? Yes, yes. He's probably safe and sound, fresh as a daisy. 

You had rushed down the steps, formally greeting your loyal workers until you had reached the grand, pearly doors and tugged your best smile together. Once opened, the gentle morning light had calmed your nerves well enough to face the royal carriages mounted below. Your eyes had searched and searched, but no Derek. 

You began walking down, only remembering a few faces. Micky Barnett, or Sir. Barnett was Prince Danforth's second, his loyal secretary. So, you inhaled sharply. "Greetings," you bowed your head lightly, "um, where is Prince Danforth? I figured he'd be here . . . waiting for me." Disappointment clinged to your tone. Did he not want to see you personally? Or was something wrong? 

Oh Heavens, you were overthinking again. 

Micky adjusted his collar and then took out his pocket watch. Probably to distract his eyes, he felt slightly intimidated by your presence. He sucked his teeth, "Went to the stables a few minutes ago. Said he was waiting for you," 

"Ah, thank you, Sir. Barnett." Relief washed over your body language and your shoulders fell and you couldn't help but smile softly. As excitement began to rile, you bowed your head a second time and fixed your wear. Derek had flashed in your mind and it was already naming you so flimsy. How did he do that? 

"No problem, Noble Tallis." He smiled lightly. 

You didn't know Micky very well. But you knew that he and Derek were closer than anything and that they were inseparable, even when they were children. You had a few vague memories of running across the palace but they were thin in your mind. Silence began to trail and he was swallowing his breath, as if secretly begging you to leave. 

You didn't want to talk to him further anyway and you just wanted to see the Prince once again. You were eager, desperate even. 

How was he? Was his skin and hair as fair as you last saw it? Was his smile still great enough to make you fuzzy? Was he alright? 

You couldn't keep boiling yourself with these questions because you were nearing the stables and you had to keep your sight pierced. Though, Derek wouldn't be much of a challenge to find since he was always making himself stand out like a sore thumb with blinding jewelery and rich gowns. 

Your boots seeped into the mud and you strolled through the flattened yard. There was no sign of him. Though, you had noticed a horse was missing from her post. Before you could even think, the stomping of hooves began to present itself closer and closer within range. You spun around to see a tall, white coated mare flicking her tail with a sparkly silhouette perched on her sattle. 

"Beautiful weather, were having?" Derek smiled. His grip was tight on the reigns, and his cheeks reddened apologetically. "Sorry I wasn't there to greet you. I was far too educated, I mean, horses! With you!" 

"Well, hello to you too." You replied, "And it's no problem, I was taking a bit long to get downstairs anyway." 

"Oh, how come? Royal duties?" Derek tilted his head. 

Or a mountain of rubbish research flooding your room. "Yes, but it was nothing important. Nothing at all," 

He chuckled and slowly trailed behind you. You could hear his horse growing tempered at the lack that of speed, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The mare he has selected was Blizzard, an impatient, thrill chasing creature who was always overwhelming to handle. Though, Derek was enduring her quite fine — how curious. 

"Well, what are you waiting for? You wanna ride or what?" He challenged, his face beaming with excitement.

You had decided to your own horse, Quail, a thundering mare with a golden flease and dune-like eyes. Derek may have gotten the quickest horse, but you had the wittiest. You knew this forest and you were sure to throw him of course — and lead him far away from the palace,  where you could finally talk. 

You both had arrowed through the marshland, crushing bushes, twigs, leaping across boulders and streams. The adrenaline was running hit and sweat was pearling on your skin, which was already halting your breaths. Derek was nearing the front, "You'll need to be a lot faster if you want get the best of me." he cackled. 

"It's on, pretty boy." You teased. 

"Oh, resorting to pet names, are we?" The Prince was shining with competitiveness, his thirst for victory was nothing but blazing. He howled loudly before urging Blizzard to increase her speed. You could taste flakes of dirt hitting your face as he descended into the woodland, so you steered and rode downward. You were above Derek now, galloping quick enough to jump down and stumble back into the lead. 

"What? Where did you—" he rasped. "Oh, cheater!" 

"Not a cheater. Just smart!" you cooed. 

Laughter shot through the forest like gunfire. You felt like a kid again and for once, you weren't thinking of all the bad in the world. Just Derek Danforth. Your faces met for a few seconds and you swore he was feeling the same thing. 

There was a brook by the edge of the woodland and you were both determined to hoof it to your now titled finish line. It was neck and neck, but Quail bucked herself toward as quick as the breeze itself and came to a sharp halt at the rim of the tiny shore. Derek scrambled a few seconds after, huffing. 

"It feels nice to beat you again." You turned to see a messy Prince catching breath above a seemingly indifferent steed, "Oh, you look rough."  

"It's been a while." Derek insisted, running his hands through his blond locks. He smoothened his face, "Plus, I was just going easy . . ."

"Someone's a little sour." You snickered, basking in the crown of glory. 

"Prince Danforth is never sour." Derek protested. His tone was still soft however and he narrowed his gaze lightly across the greenery. "It's fantastic here. We don't have wild life in our House, it's mostly just stone." 

You slipped off your saddle and tied Quail to an oal tree, which acted as your post. "Well, would you like to explore? We can walk around, maybe catch up?" 

Derek glared into the apex. Then licked his bottom lip and nodded, face softening. "I'd love to." You could get lost in him for days, weeks even. 

The trees soared into the deep, blue skies and families of wildflower webbed across the thrush landscape. Sunlight was flickering through the waving tree branches and the scent of the sweet streams coarsing through the grass land and cattails was blooming in the air. 

You both began walking down the trail, Derek's hands were binded behind his back. He drank up the scenery, tone no longer holding a seductive ring, but rather something comforting and domestic. "It's been so long since I've been in Tallis. I missed it so much. Well, I missed you more." 

Your face warmed, but you couldn't fall for his charm right now. You had to ask, "Derek, about the royal ball—" 

"Before you continue." He interrupted, "I have something to show you." 

You shut your mouth and watched him dig his gloves into his pocket, taking out a thin slip of paper carefully. It was an envelope with a yellow print of a bee, but it looked like it had already been opened. 

"Derek, what is that?" 

"Read for yourself." He extended his hand and you took the page, gripping it tightly. The edges were spoiled with age but the handwriting was careful and nearly perfect. Your eyes ran across the text, you read outloud: 

 *May it please Your Majesty, it has come to my attention in the body of Talis that the public is stirring suspicion. Your patrons have been growing jaded — whispering about abandoning your allyship in return for relations with Queen Talis, along with her court — and our scouts have been following as best we can to gather as much as possible.*

 *The previous shipments mentioned in your previous encounter with Adam Clay will be returning shortly. Due to the seas opening for the other Houses our services may be sluggish.*

 *I pray our meeting under the blue moon is still in session. We've decided to take heavier precautions this time around, and our smiths have created some keys as a way to monitor members. A lot of spies have been discovered this fortnight.*

*— Best regards, General*

"General?" You echoed, "What kind of name is that?" 

Derek explained, "That's what I said! Look, it mentions an Adam Clay, my mother has been meeting him. It looks like she's involved with something. Just don't know what," he continued. "I did some research in my study. The symbol belongs to a Clan of bounty hunters, Beekeepers, they've been around for centuries now." 

This was so much to take in. "What would your mother need assassains for? She has her royal guard. You don't think she's . . . planning to use them on anyone, are you?" 

Derek was stunned and there was doubt shading in his dark eyes. His response was atypical, "I don't know, Tallis. I never expected this from her and it's making me worried. I think my subjects are spying on me, now." 

He took your hands and you traced your thumb against his fingers softly. Derek exhaled, "I trust you with this information. Your library is more bigger than mine and by now, I think my mother is ordering to destroy any books relating to it." 

You drew him close. "Derek, this is madness. We need to tell the other Houses about this and—" 

"No! No, you can't. If you do, my mother will probably send those hunters. She won't hesitate to kill people!" Derek snapped and his nails dug into your arms. "Promise me Tallis, swear to me that you won't tell anyone. I'm begging you." He shook your wrists, "Please?" his voice lowered. 

"I promise." You nodded gently. "I won't tell a soul." Derek dropped his head and his gaze was wrinkling with tears. He was rambling, "Thank you. I knew I could trust you," 

Then, he straightened himself and hummed softly. "I apologize if I got too intense, it's just been so much to hold in. It gets so overwhelming," 

You pulled him into a light embrace. If there was the possibility of war brewing, it could result in the tranquil society the Houses built to collapse into ruin. You could see blaze cutting the air, the rolls of remains and the charred bits of what used to be utopia.

 You melted into his arms to fend off the nasty wolves clawing in your mindscape, holding him tightly. You ran your fingertips across his shoulders, seeking great comfort in touching the wear he was clad in. Derek breathed into your neck and you shivered, "I hope this didn't muck up our date." 

"Not at all." You whispered, "It actually put my mind to rest." and you opened the gap between yourselves once again. You grew flustered, "And it was fun racing you and all." 

"You're acting as if it's all over." Derek said softly. "Our date is supposed to last all night isn't it, hm?" He took your hand. "Let's not let it go to waste." 

— — — 

14 days ago . . . 

His fingertips graced the edges of the envelope, eyes hawked on the golden print with a perplexed gaze. Derek was resting on the foot of his bed, palm running across the darkened monarch's pelt. He was locked within his chambers, isolated from outside theory. He didn't know why he was so fixed on the design of a silenced envelope. For some reason he couldn't open it. It felt wrong. Like some outside force was intertwined with his brain — compelling him, tempting him to shove it back into the enclosure of his cabinet — yet, he finally sucked in his nerves and tore up the flap. 

Now this was no time to think about manners. He acted as if he had lost the lion shares, feeding on scraps as his eyes ran across the page. The letters were in careful writing, yet the page was stained with age. 

*General*? Who leaves their name as *General*? An alias, perhaps? He then noticed the engraving was stamped onto the page. The same bee. 

His hands pryed into the envelope and dragged out a curious, long blue key. The same symbol on the blue stem. 

Why was his mother involved with all of this? 

Derek stuffed the key into his pocket, along with the envelope. This symbol felt familiar.

He quickly exited his bedroom, racing down the hallway and warmly greeting a few cleaners sweeping the quartz floors. Derek rarely went into the library. He already had a shelf full of heavy reads he never escaped to, the only people he figured would go inside would be Wallace or his Queenship herself. 

They were both busy tonight and if anyone was inside he'd pester them away; he was Prince after all, even if his power worked to an extent.

The trip through the labyrinth of contents was overwhelming at best. He had nothing but candlelight flickering in the darkness and even with the vague light he knew there wasn't anything about bees. 

Maybe he was working in the wrong sections. The note mentioned something about scouts, shipments and the blue moon — nearly a few twilights a way. 

War. 

Derek quickly raced through the isles with firefly light and hushed breaths, eyes flickering through large titles overhead until he found his designed genre. His hands traced through the engraved books, until he found it. The bee symbol. 

Not just one book. Nearly a dozen. How far did this history go? Whatever, he took all of them; scattering the books all across the table. He took the nearest he could see through his bubble of fire and flipped as fast as a hummingbird. Bounty hunters, assassins, advanced weaponry. They were cunning as foxes, dripped in light iron and skill. 

"Beekeepers," He whispered. "Why would you talk to my mother?" 

"You shouldn't be here." A voice commanded. Derek felt his hair stand up, but he tightened his fist and gazed behind his shoulder with nervous eyes.

Wallace Westwyld had seemingly manifested from the darkness, only now arriving into the bubble of flickering candlelight. "What are you doing, Master Danforth?" 

"Catching up on reading." He swallowed. "Just needed something to help me sleep." 

"I never took you for the historical type," Wallace's gaze didn't stir. "Regardless, you should be returning to your room. It's late," 

He wondered what Wallace was doing out so late himself. But, he couldn't harness anymore suspicion. He stood up, cleaning the sand from his eyes. "Yes, you're right. I should. Goodbye, sir." 

MWallace's gaze fell to the books scattered across the tabletop, and his face stretched out in shock. He muttered, "Oh, child. What have you gotten yourself into?"

#👑 derek danforth #derek danforth x you #derek danforth x reader #writers on tumblr #josh hutcherson #writing #dnd #fantasy #josh hutcherson x reader #💌 request! #love this silly guy sm #au #the beekeeper #mike schmidt #josh futturman #derek danforth

[madhatterbri]

Snake in the Garden | Hangman A.P.

Summary: Y/N is a spy during the Civil War.

Author's Note: I am going to be seeing a lot of national parks this month, so I kind of want to make March my AU month. Please enjoy Hangman A.P. before the Wild West days. <3

Tag list: @99hook @coleskingdom @midwestmade29 @theworldofotps

The song is from Turn: Washington's Spies

Pure fiction. This is not a reflection of who I think would work for which side during the Civil War. This is just me getting lost in my imagination!!

Mentions of Adam Cole, Bryan Danielson Hangman A.P., Kenny Omega, Matthew and Nicholas Jackson.

Y/N sat in the wooden chair poorly attempting to maintain her composure. General Cole watched her closely from the corner. He was conversing with her captors about the specific details of her capture. A smug grin on his face.

She couldn't believe the rebels caught her spying for the Yankees. All the planning and training for this moment was worthless from a drunken rebel. He spotted her while sneaking off into a cellar to fancy himself another free drunk. He caught her sneaking out of the cellar and alerted the few sober soldiers. Now she was stuck in the tavern awaiting her punishment. Her blood ran cold at what they would cook up for her.

All the stories of punishments that captured spies endured at the hands of the rebels ranged from being maimed to death. Her captors made it known which punishment they hoped for her. They laughed when they caught her. While admiring her beauty, they commented what a pretty ornament she would be while hanging from a tree.

Y/N kicked her legs nervously. Letters from the very man who was watching her like a hawk would a mouse were under her petticoats. The letters were taken from a postal boy after she gave him a watch she had stolen. The letters were supposed to be sent to General Danielson, but she was going to deliver them to General Page. Well, if she made it out alive.

A quick survey of the room made the outlook of her future pretty grim. The only door was blocked by General Cole and her captors. Windows were shut tight to keep the harsh winter away from the patrons visiting the tavern. A staircase led upstairs, but she wasn't sure if there was a way out.

One of her captors walked behind the bar to pour himself a drink. He had shaggy brown hair with hints of blonde. A similar smug look casted over his face.

"Quite a turn of events for you, isn't it, Mistress?" He asked. The question hung in the air while you contemplated answering the question.

"Y/L/N," you answered. "And I believe this is all a mistake,"

The man scoffed and chuckled. "General Page sending in a woman to do a man's work. Typical laziness,"

"Come now, Mister Omega. Take your drink and go. There is no need for such trivial exchanges. I need her alert for her questioning. Continue to scour the streets for more spies. I will ensure you are paid for your time tonight," General Cole informed him and opened the door. The cool draft slipped through, causing you to shiver.

Mister Omega took one last gulp of his drink and slammed the glass cup down on the table. He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt and walked out into the cold. The first floor of the tavern is only occupied by you and General Cole.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Y/L/N. I was getting all the information about your capture from my bounty hunters. They are known to gather up information and potential spies," he started and took a seat across from you. "You seem chilled. May I offer you a tea?"

"No, thank you," you answered quickly. The man that could sentence you to death sat across from you like this was just a nice conversation. He shrugged and took a sip from his pint. His light eyes met yours.

"I hear we have a common friend, you and I. One General Adam Page. You ever heard of him?"

You remained stoic, unsure whether to answer that or not.

"You don't have to answer me, of course. I know the answer to that already. But to send a woman with no peculiar set of skills now that's fascinating. Tell me, how were you going to give him this information with no traveler's pass?" General Cole asked. You rubbed your fingers under the table to hide your fidgeting. "I'm going to arrest you, and when we find the letters on your person, you will be hanged in the morning,"

"Hanging a woman? You rebels really don't have any morals, do you?" You asked bitterly. He smiled and leaned in close. The smell of alcohol danced to your nose. The same fragrance of your father's drink of choice. The man that made you the person you were today.

"Play a man's game and win a man's prize, my dear," he sneered and stood from the table. You took a shaky breath and tried to blink back the tears. Your death would mean the cause was for nothing. You would either be left on the rope for the crows to feed or be buried in a shallow grave forgotten to the world.

A loud commotion outside caused the once sleepy town to wake up. The light from the explosion flashed in the tavern. General Cole looked between you and the commotion outside.

"This isn't over," he warned and rushed outside to get control.

A man in blue uniform rushed down the stairs. His long brown hair tied in a ponytail. He had a circle beard to hide parts of his lower face. You gasped at recognizing him.

"Matthew Jackson, is that you?" You asked.

"We are getting you out of here. Nicholas lit off some gunpowder at the armory. Come on, we haven't got much time," he ordered and waved his hand towards himself. You stood up and gathered your skirts. With the quickness, you followed him up the stairs.

Matthew explained that one of the rooms had a balcony that led to the back of the tavern. Nicholas would be waiting for them with horses. You followed quickly after him, not wanting to get left behind. Your fate was already sealed if General Cole came back.

The older Jackson brother opened the door to his room and led you to the balcony. He peered over the railing to see his brother as expected. Matthew urged you to hurry as time was of the essence.

"Do you still have the letters from that boy?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, they didn't search me," you answered. "They were going to be sent to General Danielson. They have a schedule of the next places they plan to be,"

"Wonderfully done," he complimented. "Now we have to ride like our lives depends on it because well it does,"

Nicholas handed you the reins to your horse. The brothers helped you on the horse and saddled their own. With the striking of the reins, you and the Jackson brothers took off in the cold winter night.

By morning, the travelers were exhausted yet safe. Eyes were half closed as they made it back to a Union controlled city. Soldiers watched carefully. You rolled off your horse and barely caught yourself on your own feet.

"Come on, Adam is waiting for us," Nicholas informed you. He placed an arm around you to help you inside.

You excused yourself to the parlor room to regain your composure and grab the letters from your petticoats. Once ready, Matthew opened the doors. General Page was standing over a table. Maps of the different regions of the still forming country lay in front of him. Shapes and markings of different sizes littered the pages to show the suspected locations of the rebels. There was only one other man with him.

"General Page, sir, Miss Y/L/N comes with news from the other side," Matthew announced. The brothers saluted and stood guard at the door. Adam ignored the man in the room and rushed to you. You handed him the letters. He placed them on the table, not bothering to check them. His hands cupped your face.

"My darling," he sighed and rubbed your cheeks with his thumbs. You closed your eyes and allowed a brief period of affection. His calloused fingers reminded you of a simpler time between the two of you. One where he would steal kisses from you after a long day's work. "Go, do not trouble your mind on this matter anymore. You are safe,"

Curiosity peaked your interest at the other man in the room. His shaggy brown hair made your stomach drop. The man that insulted your beloved just hours ago. Adam's eyes followed to where you were staring.

"Ah, this is Mister Omega. Have you two met before?" Adam asked. Mister Omega smiled, knowing you couldn't do anything. With no proof, all you had was hearsay. You never dreamed that this would happen.

"I'm afraid not. My name is Mister Omega, but my friends call me Kenny," he smiled and bowed his head. "A pleasure to meet you,"

#Spotify #fanfiction #aew fanfiction #young bucks #matthew jackson #nicholas jackson #hangman adam page fanfiction #hangman adam page x y/n #hangman adam page x you #hangman adam page

[goodxdog]

1920's detective AU, with Reine owning her own detective agency in the smokey, dark underbelly of LA. Spies, intrigue, desire, forbidden lust and conspiracies. A place where smoking is the norm, everyone's afraid of each other; it's the cold war, isolated Downtown.

"Put that gun away, you'll hurt my feelings, is what I said to her, darlin'. Then she said "well, Inspector, I think your feelings should be the least of your worries."

The brainrot...

#looking for something knotty - ic reply

[talesmaniac89]

Charity Heist 1 - aka. The Pre-Coffee Preamble

A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist

Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.

Watch the trailer here

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.

Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

Next

“Settle down idjits. We’ve got a new mark,” 

Bobby Singer’s voice was clear and all business over the speaker phone in the middle of the table as the rest of your little ragtag group sank into their seats in the War Room. The gruff voice of your leader easily stopping the early morning squabble for the best breakfast bagels that was a daily occurrence at the Winchester brothers’ hideout.  

The old abandoned Cold War bunker turned high-tech heaven was the collective home and base of operations for your little group of reformed criminals. Better yet, it was comfortably swanky and freaking massive too. Clearly the work of some paranoid 1950s millionaire fearing that someone would set their claws in his bank account in the midst of a possible nuclear war. 

Choosing to instead squander the millions away himself, if your fully kitted out home was anything to go by. As the ridiculously massive underground palace not only had enough bedrooms to house a damn village, but also a random assortment of rec rooms. Ranging from understandable for an apocalypse (a gun range and gym) to just straight up showboating, like the replica Cold War operation room you were currently sitting in. 

Hell, even after living there for years you were sure there were still rooms you’d yet to explore. 

Still, the bunker was your home and workplace, all rolled into one big ball of concrete, high tech gear and enough weapons to arm a militia. Though your job was a little less ‘The Office’, and a hell of a lot more ‘Ocean's Eleven’...

Just with better intentions, actual skills and a higher level of tech. 

In short, your little group was in the business of cons, heists and all things criminal. Though you were far removed from common criminals. No, your marks weren’t the average Joe down the road with too much money lining his pockets. You had your eyes set on bigger fish, or… 

Sharks. 

As a group made up of mainly former criminals and up-to-no-gooders, you all put your skills to good use. Taking on cases from normal folk and the more righteous side of rich who’d been scammed out of their hard-earned cash. Scamming the wannabe Don Corleone’s and other evil bastards who did it right back. Usually with the added benefit of emptying their bank accounts of all their ill-gotten gains. And, as Bobby kept speaking, this seemed to be just the kind of case that would end up adding zeros to your bank account.

You might be fighting the good fight, but that didn’t mean you had to do so for free. After all, what was the point of the swanky bunker life if you couldn’t live it in relative style and comfort?

“This is a good one, real money up for grabs. So, listen close...” He added once the room quieted down. 

As always, the retired military officer was the man with the plan and the guy who decided on your cases. And, as usual, he was locked away somewhere doing God knows what, communicating with you solely via phone. By now your image of Bobby Singer was more speaker than human, or possibly Charlie from Charlie’s Angels; though you weren’t exactly spies. Well…

Not all of you anyway.

Hell, you didn’t even know where he lived. There had  been mentions of your very own kingpin owning some impressive real estate tied to the US military's automotive research and development sector once. Though, if that was true, you wished he’d put some of those resources to good use making you a batmobile. 

You really wanted a batmobile. 

Still, batmobile or no, either way, Bobby was your mastermind. He handled your debriefs, found the connections, got you in the door and more often than not left the legwork to your less-than-family-friendly Scooby gang.

Not that you minded. You loved the action that came with being one of Singer’s little foot soldiers. You got to snatch up some shiny goodies, break into places others saw as impenetrable and, overall, just kick ass. All in the name of doing good. 

Though you’d probably never admit to it in fear of sounding sappy, deciding to work for the Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency was the best career jump you’d ever made.

Grinning into your coffee at the thought of a big payday, you kept your eyes glued on the speaker in the middle of the fully kitted out breakfast littering the table. With a new case on the horizon, you didn’t even really need the extra shot of espresso in your usual morning double. 

Pent up adrenaline was already coursing through your veins prematurely and leaving you bouncing your leg under the large briefing table. If only to have some outlet for your energy until you could get past the necessary, but boring, planning part of the con and get a piece of the actual action. 

It’d been a quiet month, and damn it… You’d been going stir crazy waiting for another case.

You needed a chance to flex your muscles and ensure your skills were still sharp. There was only so much time you could spend training in the bunker’s gym before you needed real field training again. Your sticky little thieving fingers were itching for something to snatch. 

But first, you had to do the groundwork. No matter how much the little daredevil on your shoulder was ready to shoot first and ask questions later. 

Which meant you had to begrudgingly accept the manilla folder from Sam. Throwing him a small smile that grew wider as the tall man rolled his hazel eyes at you from the way you were nearly bouncing in your seat. The big guy was the youngest of the notorious Winchester brothers, who both topped more than one international most wanted list, and your intelligence guy. 

Information and data gathering were Sam's areas of expertise. Which was why he always helped Bobby with the planning and was the task leader on the ground when the big boss wasn’t there. Which was, honestly, most of the time. 

More than anything else though… Sammy loved his folders.

Every new con had at least one for each of you. Filled to the brim with everything you needed to know to make your next heist go off without a hitch. Yours even came with highlighted sections; color coded by importance and marking the sections you had to read. Since Sam knew you had the attention span of a toddler filled to the brim with sugar and high on a particularly strong strain of mischief. 

Though, truthfully, you did read the info in his precious folders. Every single word. After the briefings. But you’d never tell him. Even under the threat of torture.

Because, even though you loved it when you actually got to stretch your muscles and test your skills, there was no question you’d be dead and buried if it wasn’t for Sam Winchester. His thorough plans and backup scenarios kept your group alive and made you one of the most dangerous con agencies in the world. Hell, before you’d met Sam, your shoot first ask questions later attitude to your own thefts had nearly gotten you killed time and time again. 

Better yet, you were also less likely to be locked behind bars with him on your side.

Having graduated top of his class from Stanford Law, he was more than qualified to keep your not-exactly-legal little group out of trouble. Putting his skills and knowledge to good use; he kept  your plans airtight and made you impenetrable to any possible retribution. Legal or otherwise. 

Judges hated him, lawyers wanted to be him and criminals wanted to hire him. But he was all yours, and by that you meant your group’s. You yourself just saw the big lug of a man as a little brother. One with a massive collection of hair products, flannels and most importantly; one you just absolutely adored annoying. 

Which was why you’d take the fact that you appreciated his folder obsession to your grave.

---

“These guys are real monsters,” 

Bobby’s voice booming over the speaker system shook you out of thoughts as you quickly skimmed the pages detailing the target of your next heist. Grimacing down at the pictures of angry looking men that filled each and every page. All looking as if they’d been typecast for some typical mobster movie; fully equipped with glaring eyes, designer suits and not-so-pleasant dispositions. 

This group seemed to be European, and industrious in their crimes based on what you’d skimmed through so far and what Bobby was saying over the phone. Focusing on white collar cons, scams, money laundering, blackmail and whatever else could net them the biggest profit. 

Which in turn equaled big money for you. Score.

You liked big money. 

It was why you’d decided to become a thief in the first place. Or at least it was why you’d stayed in the business once you ‘broke out on your own’ as you chose to think of it. 

In reality, you’d never really had a choice in the matter, having been forced into a life of crime since childhood. Kidnapped before you were even old enough to remember your parents by a group of men and women in suits who looked suspiciously similar to the ones in the manila folder. Coerced into stealing to stay alive ever since you were old enough to swipe your first piece of candy. And by candy you meant the wallets and documents your adoptive ‘family’ asked you to swipe.

Once you managed to shake them off however, you’d stayed in it for the money. Since your lack of any formal education, or hell, an actual social security number or otherwise registered identity, made it hard for you to walk the straight and narrow. Then, since partnering up with the Winchesters, there was of course also the added benefit of getting most of that cash back to the folks they’d taken it from.

Just like the real-life vigilantes you were. Minus the capes, masks, and superhero names.

Dealing out your own special type of justice to the scumbags that operated just outside the grasp of what the judicial system was capable of tackling by handling the cases that somehow bypassed punishment. Either due to the bad guys having more lawyers, taller stacks of money or the right politicians in their pockets. 

On quieter days, you’d occasionally also steal from bad guys just to, well... Steal from bad guys. Take down a ring of pervs, cause a bit of financial ruin for a mobster or maybe just make life a little bit harder for a dirty politician. ‘Cause the days, and sometimes weeks, between jobs could get boring. 

Not to mention the fact that you were one of those weirdos that loved your job, and annoying baddies just made you all… 

Tingly.

You got to go scaling buildings, play around with high tech toys, trick the best security systems in the world and totally outshine Catwoman. Which wasn’t all that hard really. You were a hell of a lot better at your job than the feline comic book character. Even without the catsuit.

For the first time in your literal life of crime, you were happy. You were doing good. 

Though, as with every vigilante, the authorities most likely wouldn’t agree with you. However, what they thought didn’t really matter in your book... Your little agency of the best fighters, specialists and con men in the world were just too fucking awesome to ever get caught. 

As Bobby would say (sometimes repeatedly while you rolled your eyes at the speaker phone); in your business, confidence was everything. It was literally in the job title. You were confidence men (and women thank-you-very-much), or con men for short. 

You could walk into FBI headquarters, knock on the head honcho's door and easily gain control of the task force out to catch you if you wanted to. It was simply a matter of pushing the right buttons, putting pressure on the right paycheck and threatening the biggest, baddest guy there. 

Actually, rumors in the bunker suggested that Bobby already had the InterPol taskforce out to catch you in his back pocket. And you knew, with 100% certainty, that you’d helped out the Brits by acing your latest case up in New York. So, the MI5 kinda owed you… Big time.

This case, however, was definitely you doing good. And you doubted any government agency out there would stand in your way of taking down this particular group.

These greaseballs were digging their filthy paws into pockets they had no business being in. They’d set up a pretty basic charity scam; tricking money out of the pockets of good samaritans only to line their own and fund their criminal activities. All while actually being the monsters behind the problem they were raising money for. 

After creating the new highly addictive drug plaguing the streets of small-town America, they started the charity “combatting” the very addiction they caused. Raking in the cash from both sides.

It probably also doubled as a money laundering scam if you knew their type. And you did… Intimately. Their type had beaten everything you knew about infiltration and retrieval into you for years. 

Frowning at the words printed on the white paper, you pushed away thoughts of a ruined childhood that you’d rather not linger on just as your hacker and the beautiful brain behind most of your high-tech toys gasped across the table. Dragging you out of your own skim reading and rambling mess of a pre-caffeinated brain with her indignant grumble. 

“Kids? Really? Those soulless bastards are actually targeting teens and kids with that drug?”

Your best friend, Charlie, was the first to speak up past Bobby’s briefing. The words laced with disgust and seasoned with a frown as she devoured the information. Your brainiac best friend was, as always, one step ahead of Bobby’s own slower briefing across the speaker and nearly a full page in front of everyone else due to her speed reading.

The girl was a genius. A kinda scared and slightly neurotic genius, but a genius all the same. And you adored her.  

“They’re mafia… I don’t think they’re too worried about the morality of their scam,” Dean, the older of the two Winchester brothers, shot in. 

Though he was considered your ‘muscle’ and the group’s hitter, Dean Winchester was so much more. The trained mercenary, weapons specialist, mechanical engineer, and possibly also the sexiest man alive, was your group’s proverbial jack of all trades. Though he didn’t know you added that final item to his long list of qualifications in your mind. 

You were an expert at infiltration and retrieval, not an idiot. 

But damn it, that man should be illegal. And not only due to the little fact that he topped more than one most wanted list for his days as a mercenary, his qualifications, and his deadly skills. He was also hot as hell, and you might just maybe have the tiniest of crushes on him. 

Alright… So, the 50% of your brain that wasn’t occupied with thinking of your next con, was fully dedicated to thoughts of the sinfully sexy man. Both the innocent daydreams and the very, very dirty thoughts you indulged in behind closed doors. 

Whenever he was around, you were pretty much mentally tongue-tied like some pre-teen in a coming-of-age B-movie. Minus the bad prom plot, awkward jokes and high school stereotype ensemble cast. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been in relationships before, even if they’d mainly been covers for some persona you were playing… But, damn it, none of those men came even close to Dean Winchester.

And as luck would have it, he always sat in the seat right next to yours around the war room table. Which often made it damned near impossible for you to focus on the briefings and debriefings which were kinda integral to your safety and pocketing some not-so-hard-earned cash. 

Hence the need for highlighters, in different colors to boot, and a second read through in the safety of your own room. Far from the reach of his absolutely sinfully delicious arms. 

But heck, how were you supposed to focus on entry strategies when your eyes were constantly drawn to his perfectly proportioned and expertly trained body? 

It was impossible and also very, very mean to ask you to even try.

Especially when it came to those strong arms that you’d spent more than one night in your room dreaming about having wrapped around you. Caging you in his embrace and crushing your heated body against his; hard and soft in all the right places. God, what you wouldn’t give to have those big, calloused hands that were busy leafing through the case details work their magic across your body. Shaping you against him with a hand sliding up your spine or making you his good little girl with a hand wrapped around strands of (Y/H/C) hair… Or...

“Also means this is gonna be dangerous Bobby, these guys don’t mess around,” Dean’s follow up snapped you back out of your own dirty mind as you caught the briefest flash of forest green eyes looking your way. 

Your eyes barely caught his before you forced yourself to look back down at the papers in your own hands. Refocusing on a section that Sam had highlighted in yellow, underlined and circled. Yellow was good, it was bright and definitely not penetrating forest green.

Down girl….

“Neither do you son,” Bobby shot back over the speaker system. 

The heartfelt nickname still felt strange to your ears even though you should’ve already gotten used to it. Bobby raised the Winchester brothers; they were practically family. The rest of you had joined the group later, all scouted by either Bobby or the boys during particularly hard cases or through friends of friends. 

You’d joined two years ago. When they’d needed your particular skill set for a case. And, after nearly having ruined another case of theirs and them saving your life during one of yours, you’d kinda owed them one. The repayment had been a favor for one of Bobby’s friends; stealing back a family heirloom belonging to an older woman from a stereotypical dirty businessman. 

It was almost too easy. A simple pressure-based security system, that you’d completely bypassed by scaling the side of the building and descending in from the ceiling. The nice old lady had even baked you cookies when you went to drop the shiny rock off on behalf of the group. 

They were damn good cookies too. Chocolate chip, none of that raisin bullshit.

Sure, you knew Sam had somehow been behind it all. Talking the nice old lady into baking, in some sugary attempt to bribe you into joining the crew. Since your intelligence expert had put his skills to good use and somehow found out about your one weakness: baked goods. But still, it was the nicest theft you’d ever been part of, so you’d decided to stick around. Not because of cookies or owed favors, but simply because you wanted to use your powers for good instead of evil for once. 

“Mobsters usually also have some pretty good security, but nothing my toys shouldn’t be able to crack. So, if you crack their skulls, you can leave their passwords to me,” Charlie mused, smiling over at where Dean was looking ready to prove himself worthy of his foster father’s words of praise. 

She wasn’t lying either. Even without knowing their full layout, you knew her toys could crack any security system. 

You’d brought Charlie in after about a year with the team. Tagging her in when Sammy had been unable to hack a particularly secure government database over in Iceland. With a promise of getting her a specific limited-edition action figure she’d been eyeing if she helped you out. 

The girl was like an artist with a keyboard and a good WiFi connection. She’d been white-hatting it for most of her life. Though you knew she’d hacked a good few government databases, just to prove she could, even before she took the dive and became your literal partner in crime. Past her skills with a keyboard, she was also your first real friend, and you loved her like a sister. 

She wasn’t really cut out for a life of crime though, considering her skittish personality. So, for most of your decade-long friendship, you’d always kept her out of your more illicit schemes. But what Singer & Winchester Agency was doing... That was right up her alley. What with her massive love for anything vigilante. Especially if it came with capes, superhero costumes and secret identities. All the things you’d rather do without. 

In many ways she was your opposite; the angel on your shoulder where you were the daredevil on hers.

She’d readily decided to help you. Always willing to help a friend in need, especially if it came with the added bonus of mint condition collector items. Even if said promise included speaking to people she didn’t know. 

Which was possibly her least favorite thing in the world to do, other than public speaking to crowds larger than three. Especially when said strangers were, like you, some of the most wanted criminals this side (and likely on the other side too to be honest) of the Atlantic.

Once she’d seen the tech the boys had set up in the bunker however, she’d been sold. Enough to tell you to keep your bonus bribe. Especially since Dean was always there, ready to help her build whatever crazy gadget she dreamed up. As always, your nefarious group of con men always knew which goodies to use to lure someone into joining the agency. With you it had been home baked goodies, and with Charlie it was a literal tech lair. 

That… And the figurine had still made its way to her as an early birthday gift just a month later anyway.

And so, your group had gotten a little bigger. All of you being glorified criminals with hearts of gold had of course made for a weird group dynamic. Yet, you somehow made it work. Even when the newest member of your group joined not all that long ago.

“They’re quite the mixed group. Swedish, French and… Russian huh… My Russian might be a bit rusty, but if I brush up on it I should be able to pull it off,” Your latest recruit, Castiel, shot in as he looked at the papers with his usual tell-tale frown of concentration. 

The guy was more or less still a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a trench coat to you. Though you were pretty sure his name was fake. 

Castiel, or Cas for short, was your grifter. The man with the face of an angel, who could trick basically anyone into trusting him unconditionally. 

So of course, though you liked the fella, you didn’t really trust him. Especially not since he’d dropped in from out of nowhere only a few months earlier. Pulling your collective asses out of a hellish case at the last minute and helping you put a crime lord behind bars.

He’d apparently worked for the big guy before… As in, working for the president in some manner. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, or one of those, if not all of ‘em. But since he quit and now worked in the law’s gray area, he was considered a threat.  At least that’s what he’d told you and what Charlie had managed to confirm through some very secret databases. Even if 80% of the documents were redacted.

He was nice however. And you’d grown close to him over the last few months since he was normally your partner on heists. Or, mainly, you’d taken a shine to watching Charlie get more and more frustrated as he shrugged off her pop culture references, not understanding any of them. 

Apparently, working for the president left little time to Netflix and Chill, since half of your best friend’s references went straight over the grifter’s head. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he’s spent the better part of his life somewhere off-world on a spaceship. 

Actually…. You didn’t know better. Considering his language skills, the man was nearly otherworldly. Easily emulating any character perfectly once he had his role to play.

---

That was your team.

Bobby, the big boss. Sam for intel & planning. Dean for combat and security. Charlie for anything tech and hacking. Castiel if you needed someone’s pants charmed off. And you; the reformed thief turned infiltration specialist, with sticky fingers that could easily retrieve whatever the baddies of the week had stolen.

Even if you might not know everything about each other. They were your friends and your only family in this messed up world that was filled to the brim with mobsters and other monsters. Each one worse than the one before, and every single one of them so much worse than what hid under people’s beds at night. Because your monsters were very much real. And very much out to kill you. 

All in all, you were a ragtag group of master criminals turned modern day Robin Hoods. Stealing from the criminal underbelly of the great US of A, and giving to the… Well, most of your clients were wealthy enough to hire you. And some might even have their own skeletons hiding among the designer shoes and dresses in their closets. But they were all law-abiding citizens who didn’t deserve the hand life dealt them. The rest was just semantics.

Plus, the boys always insisted that a cut of your earnings went to some charity or other. Normally some organization that stood in juxtaposition to the bad guys you’d just taken down. Just to pour an extra ounce of salt into the wounds of the bastards.

“So, if you’re all done adding your little color commentary and reading the briefs, let’s move on,” Bobby’s gruff voice sounded slightly exasperated across the speaker. 

Which honestly wasn’t anything new. 

It was hard enough to get one of you to listen; all of you at the same time was a freaking miracle. Unless you were out on a job that was, then you were a well-oiled con-machine.  

None of you spoke up, simply nodding at the phone, though you knew your boss couldn’t see you. At least you were around 75% certain he couldn’t. Though you wouldn’t have put it past him to equip your hideout with some hidden cameras. Either way, he was sure to interpret the silence for compliance. 

“Good. The plan is to steal back the money, get the drive where they keep all their sales records and personnel files and preferably also financially cripple their organization just enough to stop them from trying anything like this scam again. Cherry on top would be to put the Al Capone wannabe running the whole show behind bars,” He summed up over the slight crackle of the speakerphone. 

All in all it was pretty simple, as far as plans went. You wouldn’t have to break into any top-secret government facilities this time around at least.

“So, what’s the next step, boss?” You asked, grinning at the rest of the group in anticipation of the next heist. Letting the folder drop unceremoniously down onto the big mahogany table, you kept your eyes on the speaker. Though you knew it would annoy Sam to see you treat his little manila baby so poorly.

“First… We bring in the bad guns,” Bobby said, causing Dean to groan. The rest of your party joining in like an exasperated chorus only a split second later. 

That nickname could only mean one man… Sure, you all had your own backgrounds in the not-so-law-abiding, but that guy easily made each and every one of you look like perfect little angels. 

“Crowley… Really?” Sam asked with a tired sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Confirming what you’d rather have him deny just as the groans died down.  

Big bad was coming to play. 

Fan-fucking-tastic… 

---

Next

Charity Heist: @foxyjwls007 @seppys-return-to-madness @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @twinkleinadiamondsky @tmb510 

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun  @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @siospins2 @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester @leigh70

Forever tags will be added as reblog. Crossed through names can not be tagged.

#dean winchester fic #au!spn #dean au #au!dean winchester #tales89writes #hitter!dean #thief!reader #supernatural heist au #supernatural leverage au #spn heist au #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester heist au #mercenary!dean winchester

[weltato]

SAF AU IDEA

Spies Are Forever but instead of Owen slipping on the banana peel, it was Curt. Everything is the same up until that point, but after we see things from Owen's perspective.

Rest under the cut!

He stops working for four years, then a case comes up and Cynthia calls him in even though she works for a different secret service than Owen, but they need Owen's skillset. Barb is happy to see him, but just as sad as he is about Curt being gone.

Owen meets Tatiana in a similar fashion to Curt, they see the Deadliest Man Alive, Owen gets injured and remembers Mrs Mega's safehouse and takes Tatiana there. Mrs Mega is over the moon to see Owen again, going off on a tangent to Tatiana about how Curt and Owen were the best of friends. There isn't the weird mixed signals bit bc Owen is blatantly not interested in Tatiana that way, and she sort of guesses with how he talks about Curt that they had something. So they become friends (also, Mrs M isn't shipping these two quite as hard, but she just wants to be involved bc Owen is the last remnant of her son that she's seen in four years so is sort of seeing them together in her head) and work together with Barb and the Informant to track down DMA.

Then they find out that DMA is Curt and Owen is crushed. Cue 'One Step Ahead' and then the stairs. Oh boy, the stairs. This time it's Curt that is so convinced in Chimera that he'll kill Owen to keep it going, but Curt had always been the one out of the two of them to lead with his heart and his feelings than his head. He's afraid of what might happen if he leaves Chimera, he can't see a way out of this, he really doesn't want to kill Owen but will if he has to.

He argues that Owen left him to die in the explosion, but Owen tells him no, he didn't. Because Curt told him to run. Owen hadn't known about the 3 minute timer instead of 4 and Curt told him to run because he didn't want Owen to die too.

Owen asks if their secret died in that explosion. It's silent, tense, the gun is still pointing at Owen...but it slowly lowers. No, their secret isn't dead, Curt tells him, but it might as well be because he can't leave Chimera. Not like this. Owen mentions that he fooled the world by dying once, he could do it again, he even has a Russian friend who might be able to help with that. Curt really wants to believe it, but he doesn't think it'll work.

Cue Tatiana entering, warning the lads that whatever they're doing needs to be wrapped up fast because they've got company. Curt looks at her, looks at Owen, sees the offer. Owen asks if Curt trusts him, and of course he does, so the two rig the place to explode and get out with Tatiana.

Barb and Cynthia are in shock to find out that Curt is alive, but Mrs Mega seems to have known all along. "Mother's instinct, dear" she calls it. Curt has to stay under the radar for a while since the service needs to figure out how to explain his sudden reappearance, so he stays with his mum at the safehouse. Owen stays too, bc damn it he just got Curt back and doesn't want to leave him so soon. Tatiana and Curt hit it off really well and become close friends, which Mrs M takes completely the wrong way, much to their chagrin. Barb is all over Curt at first, but he's still oblivious to it and she doesn't understand until Tatiana pulls her to the side and explains (under pain of death if Barb were to ever tell anyone).

Curt goes back to working for Cynthia, Owen transfers to the American Secret Service as a British liaison sort of thing (idk if that's an actual thing irl) and Tatiana becomes part of the team with inside knowledge on Russian operations since, y'know, they're in the middle of a cold war, ya fuckin' dumb dumb!

Overall, a happier ending, but still angsty between Curt and Owen bc now it's Owen that had been grieving and Curt that feels cut off and alone from everyone and everything.

I might write this, idk. If someone else wants to, feel free! (Pls tag me if you do <3)

#saf #spies are forever #tcb #tin can bros #tin can brothers #agent curt mega #owen carvour #curtwen #barb larvernor #tatiana slozhno #the informant #deadliest man alive #cynthia houston #ms mega #mama mega #bro she doesn't have tags?? #wtf is this shit? #mama mega DESERVES her tags >:( #fic ideas #fanfic ideas #ideas #long post #owen lives! #au idea

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #17 (February 18th - 29th)

If you would like a shiny Bingo Card of your own, you can fill out this form! Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

Always you by dharmashark Square filled: Adopted square (February) - Deja Vu All Over Again Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Anxiety, Hypervigilance, Implied period-typical homophobia, non-explicit sex Major tags: Shrinkyclinks, Cold War, Spies and Secret Agents, Canon Divergence - Steve and Bucky Find Each Other in the 50s Summary: “Bucky,” Steve groans. “This isn’t the kind of talk I meant.” Bucky scoots in closer on the mattress so he can tangle their legs together. “What kind of talk should we be having?” “You know.” Steve’s grave blue eyes hold his. “You know what kind I mean.” Format: Long oneshot (over 5000 words)

Energy - Chapter 1 by King of Sorrow Square filled: N3 - Natasha Romanoff Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, drug use - marijuana, prostitution Major tags: Steve is a Crime Boss, Daddy Kink, Summary: He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He fucking knew it, but he also knew how to be flexible and although he never took his playthings to bed, he could make an exception just this once. OR The one where Steve breaks all the rules for true love. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

The best laid plans by late-to-the-party-81 Square filled: G3 - Migraines Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Descriptions of Migraines Major tags: Fluff, Hurt-comfort, Pre-serum Steve, Pre-serum bucky, Developing relationship Summary: With Steve’s hectic work schedule, their relationship was never going to be plain-sailing, but they have an uninterrupted 48 hours coming up. Surely nothing will go wrong? Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

A Mother Always Knows by leavinghope Square filled: G1 - Didn't know they were dating Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Alternate Universe: Modern - No Powers; mutual pining; childhood friends, Bucky and Sarah Rogers Friendship Summary: Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been dating forever. Too bad they didn't know it. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Slow Dancing in the Living Room by freedvmrouge Square filled: Adopted square (February) - Slow Dancing in the Living Room Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary: Steve wakes up alone in bed and heads to the kitchen. Amidst the sudden silence, music rings out from Bucky's phone. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

The Musical... by Kat Square filled: G1 - Rogers: The Musical Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: I am choosing not to use archive warnings (eg because you don't want to spoil the ending) Major tags: Falling in love, mutual pining, hopeful ending Summary: There is no summary. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Pheromones by otpcutie Square filled: N2 - AU: A/B/O Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Omegaverse, Alpha Steve/Omega Bucky, Bucky's on his period, hurt/comfort, fluff Summary: Steve’s pheromones affect Bucky in an unexpected way, luckily the Alpha is more than happy to take care of him. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Three Editions of Savage God Binding by dontcallmebree Square filled: Adopted square (February) - The One That Got Away Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Book binding Summary: Square back bradel with slipcase, paperback, and collector's edition binding of Savage God by Potterspink. Format: Craft

I Don’t Want You To Let Me Go by endlesstwanted Square filled: O3 - Stargazing Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Modern Setting, First Dates Summary: Natasha gets Steve into some blind dates until he meets the one. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

The Good Win Over The Bad by endlesstwanted Square filled: Adopted square (February) - The One That Got Away Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Reunions, Teen Romance Summary: Ten years after graduating from high-school, Bucky reunites with the one that got away from him. At least, if staring at Steve for half an hour counts as a reunion. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

#stucky bingo #stucky bingo round 5 #round up 17 #weekly round up #don't forget to fill out the submission form

[akajustmerry]

Thanks for introducing me to newsreader and. Minx!!!! Do you have any other series recs <3

my pleasure! i haven't watched any new shows in a while because i've had a lot Going On that means instead of watching new things i am just laying around staring at ceilings in my spare time so I'll just recommend things that have a similar vibe to the newsreader/minx:

morning wars/the morning show (apple) - especially, season 1! big cw for sexual assault because the show centers on an alleged assault but its honestly one of the best shows i've ever seen handle this other than i may destroy you. if you like the balancing of public/private/capitalism whilst reporting the news aspects of newsreader, the morning show scratches that itch!

the hour (britbox/tubi) - is probably the best period drama news show other than the newsreader. drama set during cold war era britain about 2 best friend journalists (who are also in love btw) trying to run a current affair news program on the BBC while they try to avoid being blacklisted as spies for trying to show people the truth.

great news (netflix) - i only just started this so take the rec with a grain of salt. its more comedy than the others, but if you want a show that hilariously and accurately shows all the bullshit journalists juggle, its fun!

hacks (stan, idk where 2 watch it outside aus) - if you like the "making women's voices marketable" element of minx, then hacks is great! its about a young comedy writer who gets hired to write a veteran comedien's new material and its very gay, and has some amazing commentary on the Comedy Industrial Complex

unfortunately, i cannae reccomend anything that's as delightfully horny/sexy as minx. its just unparalleled in that department <3

#tv #tv recs #anon #/

[thealogie]

The beauty of the Cold War AU is that it could go either way for who is the MI5/MI6 and who is the Soviet, but I like Aziraphale as the Soviet (he went to Oxford and believes that’s why he’s never been caught as opposed to those clumsy Cambridge 5 men)

Exactly. I love that it can really do both ways. There’s added comedy to aziraphale being sooo British even though he’s Russian and throwing shade on the Cambridge spies. Also Crowley is constantly like “at least I KNOW my side is bad” and aziraphale is constantly like “my dear when we win and unite every worker in the world and topple capitalism then You Will Realize” and Crowley is like “yeah when you win we’ll have government rationed milk and no more ritz” and aziraphale would be like “my dear” *pained expression*

[the-weirdos-mind]

Azul X Estella: Spy X Family AU

I’ve been watching the anime recently and thought of this

The countries known as Coral Bay and Sage’s Isle has had a rocky relationship for a while. Years ago, the relationship reached a breaking point a war broke out, one lasting quite a number of years. Then the countries reached a peace treaty but there’s people in both sides, trying to break the peace between the two countries, threatening a Cold War to break out. In order to get more intel on a political leader in Sage’s Isle, one who is behind trying to start another war, the espionage organization known as Mostro, sends one of their best agents over to Sage’s Isle with one mission. Get married, have a kid for cover, enroll the kid in the same school as the leader’s child, and obtain peace between the countries. Thus begins Operation BLOT.

Azul Ashengrotto: A man who grew up in a mafia organization in Coral Bay, until the war broke out. His parents died during the conflict making the mob dissolved, and when he was old enough he joined the army. He was then offered the chance to train in espionage under Mostro. He became one of the best agents in the organization due his charming and calculating personality. He dubs the name Agent Octavinelle, and makes a name for himself as a master of disguise and charm. He’s the agent that’s assigned to Operation BLOT, and he quickly creates the persona Azul Ashengrotto, adopts a child and marries a local woman, unaware of what secrets they’re hiding. He works as businessman for cover.

Estella Garcia (later Ashengrotto): A woman who grew up in Sage’s Isle. When she was little her parents died and her extended family lived too far away to take her and her older sister in. Her sister started to raise her and they didn’t have much money. In order to help out her sister, she joined an assassin organization known as Conglomerate as a child and becomes the Needle Dutchess. Her weapons of choice for assassin work are two needle shape like swords that are perfect for stabbing and throwing. Even as an adult she still works for Conglomerate and agrees to a marriage with Azul as singled women are often suspected of being spies. She’s also unaware of her family’s secrets. She works at the local City Hall as cover.

Castor Ashengrotto: The child of the family. Azul adopted him from an orphanage that’s rundown and doesn’t have much paperwork. What the man doesn’t know is that his son has unique abilities. Castor can read minds and even change his eye, hair, and skin color for a time. He was experimented on since birth which gave him his powers and has been returned to orphanages throughout his life. He knows his parents secret lives and doesn’t say anything in fear of being abandoned. He loves his parents and calls Azul ‘Dada’ and Estella ‘Momma’. He’s currently enrolled in Night Raven College and is doing his best for help his Dada in his mission.

Grim: The ‘cat’ that the family adopts. No one knows what breed he is but Castor insisted on having this cat. Grim can see into the future, and make small blue fires. He sticks to Castor and Estella a lot of the time at home, making Azul jealous at times. Grim is mischievous and a glutton, even eating some bits of garbage at times. Like Castor, he was experimented on and given powers. He mostly sleeps in Castor’s room at night, curled up beside the boy.

Oriane Garcia: The only blood relative to the Ashengrottos. Unknown to her younger sister, she works with the Enforcement Officers of Sage’s Isle. She joined once she knew her little sister was gonna okay on her own. She’s protective over her sister and makes sure she’s safe whenever she can. Even though she knows Estella isn’t a little girl anymore, she still checks up on her not wanting to lose her. When she first heard of her sister’s marriage she was shocked and gave her sister a slap on the head for not telling her. She’s suspicious of her brother in law but adores her nephew. She’s trying to hunt down the Mostro Agent, Octavinelle, unaware that he’s her brother in law. She works as a diplomat for cover.

Jade and Floyd Leech: Azul’s informants. They two run a newspaper stand as cover to give Azul other missions. They’ve become surrogate uncles to Castor. Azul isn’t comfortable with leaving Castor with the twins for a long time, worried of what phrases and habits he might pick up from them, especially Floyd. They’ve proven themselves to be great babysitters/petsitters whenever Azul takes Estella on a date to keep up with the facade. Floyd calls Estella ‘Shrimpy’ due to her innocent appearance and Castor ‘Small Fry.’ Jade is getting his best to get Castor to try his mushroom dishes.

Divus Crewel: The leader of Conglomerate, known as Designer to his colleagues. He even owns a legitimate clothing store with his own designs for the public. He sees Estella as a daughter and personally trained her himself. He had worries about the child working in such a gruesome environment but is proud to call her one of his best assassins. His signature weapon for assassination is whip like weapon that can cut to the arteries. He still worries about Estella but knows she can handle herself. When he first heard of her marriage, he insisted that she stayed with the family. He’s the one that gives her clients.

Mozius Trien: The commanding officer of Mostro and main contact for Operation BLOT. He taught Azul everything he needed to know and gives the agent advice on how to handle children. He has two daughters he raised by himself and knows how difficult parent life can be. He’s very serious on the job but he is the complete opposite with children and animals, especially cats. He’s the one who assigns Azul missions through Jade and Floyd.

@adrianasunderworld @mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @anxious-twisted-vampire @achy-boo @abyssthing198 @yukii0nna

#azul ashengrotto #estella garcia #castor #grim #oriane garcia #jade leech #floyd leech #leech twins #divus crewel #mozus trein #azul ashengrotto x estella garcia #spy x family au #my ocs #au worldbuilding

[indynerdgirl]

Topgun AU Ideas

As I was scrolling through the Topgun tag on AO3 the other night, I realized that I was starting to see the same tropes and AUs over & over again. And while not a bad thing at all, personally, I'm just starting to get a little bored of reading the same story over & over.

So I started thinking about what kind of AUs I would love to see in the Topgun fandom and then I started making a list and it kind of spiraled out of control. Oops. 😆

I now present to you all my somewhat organized list of AU ideas! And feel free to use them for any fandom, I was just thinking about Topgun as I came up with them all. It's also by no means an exhaustive list so I probably missed some obvious ones.

Military AU ideas: Pentagon/Joint Chiefs/White House Advisor (think The West Wing but for the military - this is the one I've been dying to see someone tackle!) Navy JAG NCIS Blue Angels Air Force Instead of Navy Astronauts/NASA Test Pilots Naval Academy Instructors Adversary/Aggressor Squadron Office of Naval Intelligence Sailors Instead of Pilots Submariners Instead of Pilots Naval Flight School Instructors (Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, Primary Flight Training, Intermediate Flight Training, and/ or Advanced Flight Training)

Character AU ideas: Natasha is Maverick's daughter/niece  Bob is Maverick's son/nephew  Natasha is Ice's daughter/niece Bob is Ice's son/nephew Maverick is Amelia's father Penny Is Also a Pilot Penny’s Father Is An Air Force General Obligatory Goose/Carole/Ice Lives AUs Maverick’s Dad/Mom Lives Any of the younger pilots is the kid of one of the other 86 boys

And a whole lot more under the cut!

American Historical AU ideas: Colonial/Revolutionary War Post-Revolutionary War Lewis & Clark War of 1812 Mexican-American War/The Alamo Wild West (good guys or bad guys) Organ Trail The Gold Rush (California or Alaska) Pony Express Civil War/Reconstruction Transcontinental Railway Cattle Drives Industrial Revolution/The Gilded Age WWI Bootleggers/Rum Runners/1920s Jazz Age Great Depression/Dust Bowl WWII Korean War Vietnam War 1950s/Greasers Moon Race/1960s NASA 1980s/The Cold War

Other Historical AU Ideas: Ancient Greece/Rome Middle Ages Renaissance Tudor Elizabethan Georgian Regency Napoleonic Victorian Edwardian

Fandom AUs: The West Wing Firefly The Avengers Agents of Shield Star Wars Star Trek Harry Potter Percy Jackson Ocean's 11 Mission Impossible Bourne Tom Clancy/Jack Ryan Jack Reacher John Wick Friends New Girl Supernatural How I Met Your Mother Chuck Downton Abbey CSI Jurassic Park Indiana Jones The Office Parks and Rec Pacific Rim

Other Profession AU ideas: Coffee Shop Book Shop Bakery/Candy Maker Winery/Distillery Restaurant/Chef Bartender/Bar Mechanic/Car Repair Shop Doctor/Medical/Hospital Firefighter/Police Officer/Detective Wildfire Firefighter Florist Tattooist Gardener/Gardening Horse Racing Motorsports (NASCAR/F1/Motocross, ect) Professional Sports (baseball, football, hockey, soccer, basketball) Rodeo/Bull Riding Olympians Air Racing (it’s a real thing!) Actors (movie or stage)/Celebrity Ballet Dancers Teachers College Professors Lawyers/Judges National Park Ranger Cruise Ship Pet Groomer/Veterinarian Farmer/Rancher Banker/Financial Bodyguards Zoo Museum/Living Museum Musician/Band Mall (everyone works at different stores at the same mall) Marketing Archeologist Spies Reporters/Journalist News Anchors Lifeguards Assassins Criminals/Thieves/Heist Bounty Hunter

Misc AU Ideas: Royalty/Lost Royalty Time Travel Fae/Fairy Mermaids/Selkies Witch/Wizard Werewolves/Vampires Fantasy/Magic (including modern/urban settings) High Fantasy Dragons Soulmates (color blindness, first words, timestamps, matching marks, can share emotions, Red String of Fate, can share dreams, can see/talk to each other in dreams, can write on each other's skin, telepathic, Soulmate Goose of Enforcement) Omegaverse/ABO (not everyone’s cup of tea, just putting it out there!) Roommates Pirates High School College Mob/Mafia Fairytale Arranged Marriage Accidental Marriage Fake Dating/Engagement/Marriage Superhero/Villain Apocalypse/Post-Apocalypse Forbidden Love Boarding School Space/Sci-Fi Road Trip Summer Camp Immortal/Reincarnation Hallmark Movie Amnesia Pen Pals Resurrection Animal Shapeshifter May this list inspire all of you amazing fanfic writers out there! 💜

#writing #writing ideas #writing prompts #prompts #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfiction prompts #fan fiction prompts #AU ideas #fic ideas #fic prompts #topgun #top gun #topgun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #TGM #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #topgun fanfiction #TGM fanfiction #alternate universe #alternate universe ideas #AU prompts #AU Lists #prompt list #prompts list #I do filter out certain ships in the Topgun tag on AO3 #so there is a possibility that fics already exist out there that falls under one of these AUs #feel free to leave fic recs in the comments!