#dash is the king of inappropriate texts

[honeyjimsfics]

Dash: “What do you think of the new kicks, Fenton?”

#danny phantom #dash baxter #hoedash #danny fenton #dannyxdash #dashxdanny #swaggerbishie #dash is the king of inappropriate texts #during their breakup he doesn’t know how to stop

[that-fkn-graphitepusher]

Another part to my Labyrinth “series.” Full text under the cut. Definitely G-rated. This is the earliest in the world-building I’ll go with all this.

All works are available in the series up on A03

“Oh come, come now. You can do better than that. We both know it,” he chided softly.

It was the first mention of that time and she let herself blush a little.

“That was all you, and I really wish you’d quit bringing it up; it’s not--”

“What? Fair? ” he teased.

She rolled her eyes then pouted, stepping away from the tall man in front of her and crossing her arms defiantly.

“Danu help me. Don’t pout, Sarah, you’re a bloody adult.”

“Then stop treating me like a kid,” she grumbled.

He crossed his own arms and stooped down to catch her gaze, putting on a petulant expression. “Then stop acting like one.”

She sighed. “I knew I would regret this.”

He huffed. “Do remember that you asked for my help. I was plenty content to wallow in my existence after your adventures.”

She had the good sense to look sheepish and shrug in defeat. “I know, I know. But it is a bit embarrassing. I can’t go to prom and not know how to dance. I just… I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

His expression softened and he took a moment to look at the young woman before him. Two years had passed since she left his kingdom in shambles and some silly part of his heart a wreck, but she had grown into quite the adult. Her call to him was certainly the last thing he’d expected, let alone the cool friendliness she seemed to treat him with. She knew she was asking a favor of him, but it was still odd she’d come to him at all.

“And I still think there will be hardly any ballroom dancing at your school formal. I think it even less likely that whatever young escort is taking you knows how to, either. Should I be hosting lessons for them as well?” He arched a teasing brow at her, knowing just how ridiculous this whole situation really was.

She groaned and put her face in her hands. He was right. There was no way Jeremy, the football player with two left feet, was going to waltz with her.

There was a rustle of clothes as the satin of his shirt sleeves brushed the velvet of his waistcoat and he approached her, taking her wrists gently and uncovering her face. A leather-clad, crooked finger nudged her attention up to meet his gaze. She found it was shockingly kind and little bit amused. Why had he agreed to this again? Why was he being so kind to her, after everything?

“What happened to you? Just two years ago, a stubborn, albeit clever, and very confident young lady toppled my kingdom,” and a piece of me. His tone was incredulous.

She snorted. “A victory like that isn’t worth much when you can’t talk about it.”

“I swore you to no such secrecy. Feel free to tell the world how you defeated the Goblin King and left my domain in ruins.” He stepped back and spread his arms wide in an open gesture.

She just glared at him in answer.

He laughed fully and it was a beautiful sound. It was full of genuine mirth and it danced around them with an echo of tinkling bells chasing after it. His arms extended towards her in invitation.

“Your efforts aren’t fruitless. You’ll simply have to lead the poor whelp. Now, where were we?” He looked at her expectantly with his eyebrows raised.

After a moment, she shuffled towards him in the grass of the park by her house. She used to practice lines here. Now, she practiced ballroom dancing with a faerie king.

She stepped up and put her left hand on his shoulder and rested her right against his palm. She was a touch taller than she had been last time, but he’d also removed his boots which knocked him down an inch or two; the reduced height differential made him seem a little less intimidating. That and watching him wiggle stockinged toes in the grass when he’d first arrived.

His right arm rested lightly against her back and he used that elbow to bump her own arm up straighter as he raised their clasped hands to the appropriate height.

“Remember your form, Sarah. Square your shoulders,” he commanded softly.

She set her shoulders back, straightening her spine and pushing her chest towards his just a little. His hand spread along her lower back, not inappropriately, and she felt herself warm a little. She kept her gaze down at their feet to watch his leading steps. It was certainly different waltzing with him this way: no music except the steady beat he hummed to keep their steps in time, no frilly ball gown to hide her missteps, no extra people pushing against her personal space. This somehow felt more intimate than that had and he’d been trying to seduce her then. Here, he was simply a teacher.

After practicing several different steps, and even a slightly jauntier dance (one that had her laughing by the end and both of them short of breath), they went one last round, but this time with her leading.

“This feels weird,” she said, her small hand placed awkwardly at his back.

“With practice and a dash of confidence, come all things, dear girl. This will come in handy should your escort be at a loss during some romantic, crooning song.”

Like that wouldn’t feel a little too familiar, she thought. Reluctantly, she looked down and started to move her right foot forward.

“Ah, ah,” he interrupted, kicking her foot back into starting position. “Don’t act like you need to look. You knew the steps before we started this, but you know them by heart now. Dancing is about affection. You want your partner to know you’re enjoying yourself, so look at them.”

She looked up at him and remembered, for the briefest of moments, how he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her once, then. Not when she was under the full thrall of his spell, and not when she’d started to break it. He had paid attention to her, watched her. At the time, she had thought his smile was smug with a predatory edge. Now she wondered if it had been a little genuine. Had any of it?

She decided he was right and shook her head to clear her thoughts. Once he began humming a little beat again, she drew herself straight and began to lead. He fell into step with her fluidly and she found herself wondering about how he’d learned to dance like this.

Three hours of dance lessons and the sun began to hang low. In the approaching dusk, Jareth politely mentioned his need to return home.

“That god-forsaken place will not run itself. I know that for a fact.” His tone was light, but he sounded almost regretful at needing to leave. He finished tugging his boots up his legs and stood from the cool grass, turning to leave.

“Jareth,” she called softly before he could disappear at the edge of the treeline around the park.

He stopped and half-turned back to her with his eyebrows raised, but said nothing.

“Thank you,” her admission was a bit sheepish. “For the help, I mean. I know it was weird.”

He couldn’t stop the kind smile. “It was nothing.”

“Tra la la?” she teased.

He shook his head as he smiled wider, laughing silently. He seemed so different after this short time. Had she seen the real him, or the role she’d put him in? Was it both?

After a moment, he stepped back toward her and took her hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of it and bowing to her.

“It was a piece of cake,” he winked. “Do enjoy your party, Sarah.”

Her voice stopped him again. “Maybe…” she hesitated, looking down at her fidgeting hands. “Maybe we can talk sometime? I mean, not like all the time. But once in a while, maybe? I’m not really the type to make fast friends or anything, so the first little while of college is bound to be a bit lonely. A friendly face could be nice.” She had to stop herself from rambling.

He inclined his head at her in a rather proper gesture. “I would quite enjoy more of your company, admittedly. It would be an honor to know the woman you are becoming. I shall put myself at your disposal.” His visage began to fade softly, but his voice echoed to her, “Remember, should you need me…”

She could feel her cheeks redden with a blush and a smile cracked her face as she picked up her own shoes and walked herself home.

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

A few nights later and Jareth lounged across his throne, watching the crystal on his fingertips intently. It had been a night of very awkward exchanges between individuals floating somewhere between child- and adulthood and it was highly amusing. He watched the couple dancing in the center with a touch of pride. She’d chosen a dress that hit her knees with a black velvet bodice and puffed sleeves; the skirt was full and shimmery white. She moved well in her low black pumps as she expertly led a rather clunky young man across the dance floor.

He heard a pleased growl over his shoulder, followed by a puff of air that could have smelled better. “Sawah! Sawah frwend!” The big red beast had lumbered up behind him and reached a yellowed claw to gently tap the crystal.

The king hummed in response, tilting his head in that inherited bird-like way of his and he dared to hope.

“Your friend, perhaps. I’ve not been honored with that title… yet.” He added the last bit softly.

A big paw patted his shoulder violently, though it was no doubt meant to bring comfort. “King Ludo’s frwend.”

He merely arched an eyebrow high at the beast before popping his crystal like a bubble and standing. “Good night, you great beast. Do make sure these little…” he wiggled his fingers around the room with a sneer at the goblins running amok, “things don’t cause too much damage.” With that, he left his room to turn in early and think about what it would mean to be a friend.

#my writing #fanfic #labyrinth #labyrinth fanfic #a03 #pieces of cake

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Four

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: Okay so the queuing system didn’t work out which is why this one is a little late, apologies for that (consistent uploads are apparently not my forte) but please enjoy the chapter!

You don’t even bother sharing a look with Yoongi before you’re dashing forward. The guard calls out but you barrel past him, tearing the thin fabric of your petticoat and bundling it up to press firmly against the wound. The knife got him on the left side of his front, and from the amount of blood that had already drenched the surrounding fabric of his shirt and jacket, it was a deep cut. The King groans in pain but looks up at you with frantic eyes.

“I’m a healer,” you explain hurriedly, glancing up to the guard to address him too, “I can help you.”

The guard shakes his head and protests in a gruff voice. “Sir, she’s a stranger, and we still don’t know who planted the-”

“Let her stay,” King Jeon weakly commands, face turning pale. “She can…prove her worth.”

You take a deep breath and try to think back to your courses and various work experience visits you had gone on. You could do this. Pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding was really the most important thing to keeping him alive. Without considering if it was inappropriate given his status, you grab the King’s hand and press it against the fabric, instructing him to push down even if it hurt.

Behind you, Yoongi takes the guard aside. “Call in Seokjin, now. Y/n is a skilled healer, but all smiths need their tools. Y/n,” he calls out to you, “what do you need to aid His Royal Highness?”

You glance up, placing your bloody hand over his to make sure he maintained enough pressure. “Something to clean the wound, and bandages. If he needs stitches, we’ll need to move him to a flat surface like a bed first anyway.”

The guard nods dutifully and dashes off.

You’re ready to just wait in silence until their doctor comes, hopefully with advanced enough tools, but a choked voice draws your attention. “Tell me,” King Jeon forces out, “what you’re doing, girl.”

“Uh,” you swallow, taken aback by the vulnerable look in his eyes as he blinks up at you, mouth slack. “If you bleed too much, you’ll die. So, we need to make sure the blood stays in your body. That’s why I’m putting pressure against the wound. If the blood has nowhere to go, it’ll clot faster, and that is the first step to healing. You’ll be fine, Your Majesty, I promise you. I’ve got you.”

He chuckles weakly, wincing when the movement in his chest tugs at the cut, and nods slowly. “I think you might just know more than my own healer, Miss Min. If you are this well-versed in all aspects of health, I might just promote you.”

You smile down at him, unaware of the racket behind you as the doors burst open and the guard returns with the healer. “I hope the pay is good,” you joke.

His eyes fall shut, tears of pain clumping his dark lashes together into little points. “Of course. I always reward a job well done.”

“Out of the way,” a familiar voice calls, and before you can even obey, you’re being manhandled by the guard as he lifts you under the arms and drags you out of the way.

Another young gentleman with a large leather sack drops beside the King. He reaches forward to the front of the bloody shirt, and his nimble fingers undo a button, before he pauses and looks up at you. “Remove the lady,” he instructs, and you feel yourself being carried gracelessly down the hall.

“I can walk, you know,” you grumble, but he ignores you, not letting up for a second until the two butlers open the doors from the inside and shut them behind you two.

He lets you get your feet under you before letting go, but you still stumble a little to catch your balance. “I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. Jung Hoseok, at your service, miss.”

You smile cheerfully. “That’s fine, things were a little hectic in there. Min Y/n, uh, at your service too, I suppose.”

He flicks you a smile in return, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see how it lights up his whole face, giving him a completely different demeanor from the serious professionalism you had seen before. “You’ve torn your petticoat and the blood has stained your dress. I’m sure the King would want you to have decent clothes to wear after you potentially saved his life. Come with me and I can take you to our seamstress.”

You grin at the thought, but as he leads you with a modest hand on the small of your back, you catch sight of a grandfather clock at the far end of the hallway. “Oh, fu- far out, look at the time! Maybe I can get a new dress some other day, I really need to get going!”

He blinks in mild surprise. “Oh, are you needed elsewhere? Miss, I do imagine the King would want you to stay around long enough to give his thanks after he recovers…”

You pick up your pace and he has no choice but to follow as you all but run down the stairs noisily. “I’ll come back later, don’t worry, I’m just running late for something.” You reach the bottom and rush to the front doors, pausing as the two butlers swing them open for you. “Mr. Jung, it’s been lovely meeting you all. Can you please tell Yoongi that I’ve gone home? Thank you, good day.”

Without giving him time to protest, you’re sprinting down the stone steps and out into the fields, hoisting your skirts up enough to get some speed. When your heart is pounding and your throat aching from panting, you come to a stop and powerwalk.

Luckily, you simply follow the path as a straight line right into the village and walk out the other side to find Yoongi’s cottage, a sooty wisp of smoke still escaping out the chimney as the fire smolders, untended.

You switch out your clothes, dumping the ruined fabric of the dresses on the floor and leaving through the tiny door. Back in your time, you collect your cellphone and hop into your car, cringing at the stream of texts from your boyfriend wondering where you were.

So sorry, you type with a onehanded fumble, running late, coming now.

He reads it but doesn’t reply, and you wince, with nothing to do but drive into town as fast as you can manage. Twenty minutes later, you arrive at his house and rap on the door.

The moment it swings open, you leap into apology mode. “Jimin, I’m so sor-”

But before you get the chance to recite the plea for forgiveness you had planned, Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck. “I was so worried,” he mutters into your hair, “you hadn’t text back and I thought something had happened.”

You let him enjoy the embrace for a few moments longer, appreciating the comfort yourself, before detaching gently and shutting the front door behind you. Automatically, his hand drops down to intertwine with yours as he leads you past his roommates in the living room to his bedroom. “Why were you worried? You should be angry, I was late when I said I’d be here at ten.”

He tugs you onto his bed and shuffles up so that both of you lie side by side against the pillows, and hooks one of his ankles around your leg, staring balefully into your eyes. “You weren’t answering your phone, and I knew you were out in the middle of nowhere at that house.” His face crumples. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to drive out there and check up on you, but you never gave me the address.”

You think back to the cottage. What if he had driven out only for you not to be there. “I’m sorry,” you repeat morosely. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work? It’s almost two.”

Suddenly his face morphs into something more like mischief. “I called in sick,” he admits, “I was hoping you were just late or something, and I knew if you came around like this I wouldn’t be able to resist staying with you. I’ve missed you.”

You smile blissfully as he leans forward and presses soft kisses all over your face, ending with a slower, deeper one on your lips. “I missed you too. I’m glad we can spend some time together now.”

He nods happily in agreement. “Why were you so late, though?”

Your breath catches. ‘A magical shaman took me to the Jeon era so that I could influence history’ wasn’t really going to be a helpful answer. “I wanted to clean the place up before you came over, but the clock in the kitchen was off and I didn’t realize.”

He hums and snuggles further into you so that your bodies are pressed tightly against each other. “Maybe we don’t go out there. I was thinking about all the rats and spiders there must be out in the countryside, and I think it would be better if you stayed here tonight.”

You did already save the king’s life, you figure. Maybe you promised Jung Hoseok you’d come back so that he could give his thanks, but as far as you were concerned, your job was done. “I’d like that,” you answer honestly. “Although we probably shouldn’t have a nap now if we want to get any sleep tonight.”

Jimin grins wickedly and slips a warm hand up inside your shirt, chuckling at the way the skin of your stomach jumps beneath his light touch. “Who said we’d be sleeping tonight?”

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!

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#bts x reader #bts au #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 2:  London’s Worst-Kept Secret

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1

Series masterpost

On AO3

“Why don’t you go to the shop and pick out a bottle of wine, angel?”

Aziraphale, who had just happened to walk near the coat rack, looked like he had been caught illicitly trespassing near the exit and was being kicked out.  “Oh, all right.”

“Go on, then.”

“You don’t want that sauvignon blanc in the cabinet?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“All right, then, let’s go.”

“Mmm, no, I’ll stay here.  You go on.”

“Ah…” said Aziraphale.  “All right. What shall I pick out?”

“Whatever you like,” said Crowley.

“Okay,” said Aziraphale.  “Um. I’ll just walk over and be back in a few minutes then, shall I?”

“Yes, yes.  Go on, shoo,” said Crowley, waving him away.

Bemused, Aziraphale exited.  A figure in a grey sweatshirt, which had been loitering outside the shop, gave Crowley a thumbs-up as it walked past the shopfront and started tailing the angel.

That would be Botis.  His job was to follow Aziraphale to the store and make sure he stayed there until the preparations were finished at St. James’.

And so many preparations there were. Ninety-six people.  They had tried to keep it small, but, well, they just had so very many friends now.

Ramial came out of the woodwork to ambush Crowley as soon as he exited the shop.  “Crowley!”

“Yes, yes,” he said, preoccupied, prying her arms off his shoulders. “Let’s go!  There’s no time to waste!”

Ramial took the passenger’s seat in the Bentley, and the tires screeched as Crowley hit the gas, roaring off into the street even faster than he usually did.  If poor Aziraphale on the sidewalk didn’t see the Bentley blow past him, he probably heard it.  This party was the worst-kept secret in England.

Ramial white-knuckled the passenger’s handle the same way Aziraphale always did.  Angels always were scared of a little speed, but Crowley never crashed, so what was the big deal?

Crowley parked his car illegally on the grass at the park, changing the text on the “NO PARKING” sign with a flick of his wrist.

“Hurry!” he said, sprinting up the grassy hill to the pavilion.  “We don’t have a lot of time!”

“Crowley!” Ramial said, struggling to catch up.  “Wait!  We don’t have to rush.”

Mykas and Angelo were already at the pavilion, tossing a Frisbee back and forth in the lawn beside it.  Raphael and Victoria were there, too, sitting side-by-side on the picnic table.  “Hi, Crowley!” Raphael said, waving.

“Come on, let’s get started!” Crowley said.  “The catering will be here any minute!”

“You said over text the catering was scheduled to arrive at twelve-thirty,” said Angelo.  “That gives us half an hour.”

Crowley grabbed the ends of the table Victoria and Raphael were sitting on, pulling it ineffectually.  “Help me move this.”

“Move it where?”

“I don’t know.  There’s not enough space here.”

Victoria and Raphael stood, and Crowley started dragging the table aimlessly.

“Crowley,” said Victoria, squeezing his shoulder and forcing him to stop. “Relax.”

Crowley un-tensed his shoulders.  “I’m just so—Everything has to be perfect.”

“It’s just Aziraphale,” she said.  “It doesn’t have to be perfect.  It’s not a big deal.”

Crowley kneaded his hands.  If this wasn’t a big deal, why was he so nervous?  “No, you’re right.  Sorry.”

Ramial hugged him.  “Come on, let us do the heavy lifting.  You’ve already done enough.”

Crowley continued to fuss over the way the picnic tables were arranged despite everyone’s best efforts.  Victoria and Raphael moved them like Jenga blocks this way and that until he was satisfied.  The weather, at least, he didn’t have to worry about; originally rain had been scheduled, but now it was cooperating due to several malicious glares from several archdemons and archangels.

The catering arrived shortly after that, and several servers in spiffy uniforms laid out their trays of hors d’oeuvres, fancy sandwiches, cocktail snacks on toothpicks, and several gallon containers of lemonade, tea, and the like, one of which was hot cocoa.

They had checked several times to make sure he had meant to order hot cocoa when the weather was quite so hot out.  Oryss had urged him to reconsider that decision, but he had stubbornly insisted that hot cocoa was Aziraphale’s favourite, so they had to have barrels of it.

The guests started arriving after that.  Maltha and Beth were just early enough to not be expected to help setting up, showing up in Beth’s ill-treated car that she could not be convinced to part with.  She emerged from it like a bug scuttling out from under a counter.  The garbage that fell out behind her didn’t help the image at all.

Humans always did seem to change quite fast, but Beth seemed the same as she ever was.  She had started to accumulate wrinkles and grey hair, but she wore it well.  Beside her, Maltha gingerly stepped out, kicking fast-food wrappers back into the car.  For the first time, Beth actually looked older than Maltha, though you wouldn’t guess it by the way Beth bounded up to offer Crowley an early wedding present. Crowley set it aside to open at a later date, much to her disappointment.

Adam and Dog came next, out of a taxi cab Dog surely shouldn’t have been allowed in.  He had aged a little less gracefully than Beth and, despite Maltha’s repeated offers to fix him into a new, young corporation, unlike Beth he insisted on using this one without supernatural intervention “until it wore out,” which seemed to be precariously approaching.

Dog sprinted out to jump on Crowley, tail wagging fiercely.  “Good boy,” said Crowley, rubbing his muzzle, where grey hairs had started to crop up.

Adam paid the cab driver, then hobbled over on his cane.  “Crowley,” he said, embracing the demon warmly.

Dog had gone up to sniff Mykas.

“Good to see you again,” said Adam.  He looked around at Maltha and the others.  “Haven’t seen you in forever.  Damn.  You really don’t age, do you?”

“You could choose not to age if you regained access to your powers,” said Crowley.  “I’m sure King Noah would help you out.”

Adam waved dismissively.  “Change is part of the human experience.  Wouldn’t be the same without it.”

This made Crowley feel a little guilty for wishing away his aging, but not enough to be convinced to give old age a try.  He shook his head.

Dog tried to take Mykas’s Frisbee, which he did not let go of.

“Tempting sometimes when this stupid hip starts acting up, though,” said Adam, hauling himself over to a picnic table and sitting down.  “Ever since that skateboarding accident. Dog!  Dog, knock it off!”

Dog and Mykas had started chasing each other around the pavilion. They both slunk away at the yell.

Yulera arrived next, managing to show up on time for something for once.  She had a duck under each arm, which were quacking indignantly.

Crowley motored forward to intercept her before she could reach Maltha, who was clearly her intended target.  “Put them back where you found them.”

The ducks squirmed to try and escape Yulera’s grasp.  “But you said Aziraphale likes the ducks,” she said.

“He likes them in the pond,” said Crowley.  “Don’t touch them.”

Yulera scowled and moved off.  

Then starting trickling in the ones who made up the majority of the guest list: the demonic field agents who had broken away from Hell after Satan’s death to become Aziraphale’s Legion, and their angelic counterparts, most of whom had flown in from other parts of the world.  Crowley greeted them all by name.  Memorising them had been quite a feat.

“Kyleth.  Oryss and Olivia!  Abraxas, Paula.  Adramelech, Sylvia.  Lirach, Devi. Velor.  Garmil.  Rosia, Rava. ….Naruto.”

What preparations were left to be completed flew by in a flash with so many hands.  Adramelech skittered off to check on Botis distracting Aziraphale at the shop.  As the last guests arrived, Crowley began to bounce around the pavilion, touching all the preparations as though to make sure they were really there.

Damn.  If this wasn’t a big deal, why was he so nervous?

“Honey,” said Oryss, physically pulling him away.  “It’s just Aziraphale.”

Of course it was just Aziraphale.  Aziraphale would be delighted by the efforts, even if not everything was perfect.

Adramelech touched down, his jeweled wings flashing in the sunlight as he folded them in.  “Aziraphale is still at the shop!  But Botis reports he’s getting antsy.”

“Crowley, go,” said Maltha.

He turned to look at her.  She, and everyone behind her, were smiling so widely, sharing his excitement, and it warmed the cockles of whatever demonic equivalent of a heart he let himself imagine he had.

“Are you sure?” he said.  “Do we need—”

“We can handle it,” said Oryss, giving him a little push.

“Okay.”  Crowley started to jog to the Bentley, excitement rushing through him.  Then, he stopped.  “Oh, but…”

“What?” said Beth.

“If we, ah…take a while to get here from the shop…don’t come get us.”

Someone behind Beth wolf-whistled.  He flushed.

“Go get him,” said Ramial.

“I’ll go tell Aziraphale to leave the shop!” said Beth, popping up excitedly.

Crowley dashed towards the Bentley, friends’ hands reaching out to slap him and voices whispering slightly inappropriate comments.

He hopped into the Bentley and slammed the gas, peeling out and roaring down the street; the pedestrians and other motorists rearranged themselves to be out of his way, because they knew what was good for them.

The Bentley skidded into a parking spot in front of the bookshop sideways, tires smoking.  He slammed the door and skittered into the bookshop.  The shop seemed unnaturally quiet after the park, and compared to the electric energy flushing his system.  He left the lights dimmed and used a miracle to summon a basket of rose petals.

He made sure the shop sign was turned to Closed—silly, really, it always was—and started at the front door where Aziraphale always came in, laying a trail of rose petals through the shop, back behind the counter into the back room, up the stairs, then into the upstairs bedroom.  He scattered the remainder of the basket across the bed.  Then he turned out all the lights and summoned some candles, placing them strategically around the bedroom.

He ran his hands up and down himself, trying to locate the ring boxes, and eventually found them in his breast pocket, exactly where they had been the last thirty-thousand times he had nervously brushed his hand against them. He took the white box out, then looked at the bed.

Now this part he hadn’t thought out.  Should he sit on the bed?  Should he lie on it?  Should he try to strike a sexy pose or would that be…silly?  Should he just stand there?  Should he take his shirt off?

He eventually settled on leaving his good suit on and sitting on the bed with the ring box on his lap.  He waited. And waited.

The shop they had sent Aziraphale to was only a quick walk away. Surely he should be arriving more quickly than this?  Why was he taking forever to get here?  It left Crowley stewing in a mess of anxiety and second-guessing his decisions.  He ended up changing his tie and lying on the bed instead, then put the ring box on the dresser, then hid it under the pillow, then put it back in his pocket.

Finally, the bell on the door jingled as it was pushed open.  Crowley resisted the urge to call out Aziraphale’s name and beckon him upstairs.  That was what the rose petals were for, of course.  It wouldn’t have been as romantic otherwise.

He heard footsteps climbing up the stairs.

The thing about living with someone for a long time is that you become attuned to the sounds they make as they move about the house, in subconscious and highly accurate ways.  And Crowley was able to tell it was not Aziraphale coming up the stairs by the creak of the floorboards.

Well, he was glad he had decided not to get undressed, then.  He sat upright and alert.  “Hello?”  Had someone at the park ignored his instructions not to come to the shop?

Hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck raised in alarm.  Duke Hastur stood in the doorway, staring at him.

***********************

You can only spend so long looking at wine before you start to get antsy.  “Botis, exactly how long do I have to stay here?”

The figure at the end of the aisle, draped in a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, turned slightly away from Aziraphale and did not answer.

“Botis?”

“Who’s Botis?” said the figure.  “Nobody here by that name, sir.”

“Botis, I know they sent you here to make sure I didn’t leave.”

“I’m just a regular human shopper, dallying over what wine to purchase, just the same as you, sir.”

“Botis.”

A very pale hand reached out and plucked a bottle of wine off the shelf, turning it over.  “Ah, yes, a fine vintage.”

Aziraphale sighed.  “It’s been almost forty-five minutes.  How much longer?”

“You haven’t picked out your wine yet.”

That much was true, at least.  Aziraphale had gotten bored and moved into the bakery section of the store to kill time.  When he had come back to the wines and started looking again, he had changed his mind at least a dozen times, because when you’re forced to just wait aimlessly you have little else to do but start double-guessing yourself.

“If I pick something out, may I leave?”

“Nobody’s stopping you!”

Aziraphale plucked a bottle off the shelf arbitrarily and moved to exit the aisle.  Botis shifted to block his way.  “You’re picking that one?” he said, with a tut-tut in his voice.

Aziraphale replaced it and picked up another one.  Botis offered no comment, but when Aziraphale tried to exit, he moved so that his shopping cart was blocking the entire aisle.

“Come on, Botis,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just so absent-minded.  I’m trying to pick a wine, you see, and I can’t decide.  I know you’ve already told me your opinions about every kind in this aisle, but will you explain it to me again?  I didn’t quite get it all the first time.”

Aziraphale sighed.  The shop door chimed to herald a new arrival, and Aziraphale peeked over the shelf to see Beth scampering into the store.  She pulled Botis’s hood aside to whisper into his ear rapidly, and Botis smiled and nodded.

“I suddenly don’t feel like drinking at all!” Botis announced, replacing the bottles he had been holding back onto the shelf.  He turned and winked at Aziraphale.  “Later, stranger.”

Botis and Beth exited the shop together, running off to who-knows-where as fast as possible.

Aziraphale suddenly realised that he still hadn’t picked out a wine, despite being forced to shop for it for so long.  He honestly didn’t even care at this point.  He plucked up a bottle that had held his interest for a while and made his way to the checkout counter.  

“Find everything okay?” the cashier asked as she scanned his bottle.

“Just fine, thank you,” he said, then added, “They’re planning a bit of a surprise for me, I think.”

“Hope you have fun with that.”

A chirp from the entrance heralded another entry, accompanied by the sound of the door banging against the wall as though opened with great force.  The cashier paused and looked sharply towards the entrance.

Aziraphale took his bottle and turned around.  There was a huge woman standing in the door, looking angrily at Aziraphale and huffing.  She had green hair.

“Er, hello?” said Aziraphale.

“You, principality!” she shrieked.

“Who might you be?”

“I am Agares, the future Queen of Hell, and I am about to avenge my fallen master.”

*****************

“You—You can’t be here.  You’re dead.”

Hastur leered at Crowley from the doorway, rubbing rose petals between his finger tips.  “Aw, Crowley, I didn’t know you felt this way about me.”

“I saw Maltha behead you with my own eyes.  You’re dead.  You can’t be here.”

Hastur stalked towards him.  Crowley shrunk back.  “This has to be a bad dream.  How are you—?”

“Afraid I don’t know that myself,” said Hastur, and the bed dipped as he clambered onto it.  “But I’m not one to question a freebie like being brought back to life.  Now here’s what I am wondering…”

Hastur lunged forward, closing his hands around Crowley’s throat, and slammed back into the headboard.  “Should I kill you right here?  Or should I just discorporate you?”

Crowley began to thrash about as Hastur’s hands tightened on his windpipe, choking him.  “Or should I take you down to Hell and play with you a little while first?” said Hastur.  “Which do you think would upset Maltha most?  And that angel of yours?”

Crowley planted his feet on Hastur’s chest in an attempt to pry him off, pushing mightily.  But the duke’s grip was vicelike and it felt like he was crushing Crowley’s voicebox. “So many possibilities.  How about some holy water?  I’m sure we could get some for the occasion.  You could go out just the same way as Ligur.  Maybe that’ll be enough to get it through your thick skull what exactly you did.”

A creak of floorboards hinted at the possibility of someone coming up the stairs.

“With everyone occupied with the war, I doubt anyone will have time to come looking for you,” said Hastur.  “Isn’t that delightful?”

Heavy hoofbeats sounded outside the bedroom door.  Crowley started to see spots.

From behind Hastur’s sneering visage, a second head leaned into Crowley’s field of view, one with curling horns and red eyes.

Hastur finally noticed the newcomer and took a surprised step away from Crowley, releasing him.  Crowley sucked in a breath and coughed mightily.

“Oh, Lord Kabata, sir,” squeaked Hastur.  “I-I didn’t know you were here, too, or I would have—”

“What were you doing?” said Kabata with a flick of his ear.

“Oh, just—just—”  He rolled his fists, as though he wanted to give Kabata a friendly punch on the arm but thought better of it.  “You know, having a go at him.”

Crowley, still wheezing, looking from Hastur to Kabata and back again. Kabata returned his look, then looked at Hastur.  Hastur looked between the two of them.

Kabata took a step back, lowered his head, and lunged, ramming his horns full-speed into Hastur’s midsection.  Hastur’s breath left him in a ragged gasp, and he slammed against the wall, where Kabata rammed into him again, this time audibly cracking ribs. When Hastur fell to the floor, Kabata drew up to his full height and brought a hoof down, stomping Hastur’s arm and probably breaking a few more bones.

Hastur scrambled away as soon as he was physically able, which was after Kabata had gotten in a few more kicks.  The bell on the door tinkled faintly, announcing his departure from the premises.

Kabata stood there breathing heavily.  Crowley sat on the bed uncomprehendingly trying to process what was happening.

“Are you all right?” said Kabata, extending a hand.

Crowley did not take it and remained where he was on the bed. “Um…Thanks?”

Kabata dropped his hand when Crowley did not respond.  “You’re welcome.  Maybe we can consider us even now…assuming you actually kept your promise to me before I died.”

“You—You’re dead.”

“Was, apparently.”

“How are you here?”

The bed creaked as Kabata sat on it.  “I was hoping you would know that.”

***********

Kabata ended up fleeing as soon as Crowley announced his intentions to go back to the park, where everyone else was.  Fleeing was not unwise, in Crowley’s opinion.  It would avoid a confrontation with Maltha and whatever other forces decided to take issue with him.  Crowley told him Yulera’s bookshop was just across the street, and Kabata assured him he would visit it, and then left in the opposite direction, with no apparent inclination to do so.

Crowley sped over to St. James’s with the same haste with which he had left before, but this time out of sheer panic and confusion rather than excitement.

How could two dead demons come back to life?  Humans coming back to life was unusual but not impossible—human souls still existed somewhere in Heaven or Hell or trapped on Earth as wandering ghosts, and they could be pulled back into bodies if given the right encouragement.  But in that rare event when angels and demons died, they went—where?

Common consensus had been nowhere; they just disappeared, were destroyed. Crowley was rethinking that viewpoint now.  The only time anything like this had ever happened, that he could think of, was when Noah had used his antichrist powers to bring back to life Crowley and the other demons Michael had slain when Noah was eleven.  So it was definitely possible, but this had never happened outside of a cataclysmic event involving an antichrist.

And it hardly seemed likely that Noah would bring Kabata and Hastur, of all people, back to life, and then just turn them loose to wreak havoc. Following Maltha’s example, Noah had carefully guarded all the demons—no matter their rank—that gave him trouble, and didn’t let them out of the dungeons, or out of Hell, until he was sure they were reformed.

Noah would have known how to handle the situation to avoid something like this happening.  But there hardly seemed any other possibility.  Who else could have done this?

Death.  Maybe some of the other foundation angels. That’s what made Noah so powerful—he had access to some of the abilities of foundation angels, with fewer restrictions on how to use them.  They would have to talk to Noah soon.

His train of thought ended as he screeched up to the pavilion.  A few partygoers cheered and waved happily, until they saw him get out of the vehicle alone and sprint up.

“What’s wrong?” said Maltha.

Crowley doubled over, panting, then straightened up and looked around.  “Shite…Did anyone go get Aziraphale?”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic

[101flavoursofweird]

Title: Autumn  Summary: For all the anguish it has brought her, Flora still loves autumn.

Spoilers: For Curious Village, Lost Future, Layton’s Mystery Journey and possible Layton Brothers: Mystery Room.

Characters: Flora-centric with sibling bonding moments between her, Luke, Alfendi and Kat. 

Warnings: Hints of PTSD... and Clive Dove isn’t portrayed in the best light in this fic. (Sorry.) 

(More below the cut since Tumblr seems to have banished links to the Shadow Realm.)

Autumn

When she lived in St Mystere, she used to call it fall, like her Papa did.

Papa wasn’t fond of fall. He always made sure Flora was bundled up in layers before they went out. On rainy days, he preferred for them to stay inside. The only places Flora could play were in the manor or by her Mama’s grave. There, the flowers bloomed all year round— even when it got cold outside.

Ingrid said it was a magic garden.

“A secret magic garden,” Flora whispered.

Sometimes, she felt a bit like Mary Lennox. Mary got sick after her parents died. She moved to an English Manor House, befriended the servants and discovered a secret garden.

Flora had her own secret garden, but she wasn’t sick and her papa wasn’t dead...

She was sat reading behind her mother’s grave when the doctor came to visit. Not even her favorite books could comfort her then.

Matthew found her crying over The Secret Garden. Gently, he took the book from her and wiped its tear-stained pages with his handkerchief.

“This is an old book,” he mumbled. “Old... and yet, timeless.”

He studied the text for a few moments, searching for the right words. His eyes were shiny— or was that just the reflection from his glasses? Flora had never seen Matthew cry.

He sighed. “Don’t worry. We can fix it— the… the book, I mean.”

He dried her eyes and helped her blow her nose. On their way out, Flora picked some red pom-pom flowers (‘Dahlias,’ Matthew called them) for her papa. They wouldn’t last long in a vase. She put them by his bed anyway and he said they were beautiful.

Papa promised it was ‘just a cold’. Flora knew he was lying. If it was a cold, Papa wouldn’t kiss her in case she caught anything. But he kept kissing her head and talking till he got too tried.

This wasn’t something Flora could catch. She could only wait.

Even after her papa died, she kept saying ‘fall’ and so did the villagers.

It was only when she came to London that she learned most people called it ‘autumn’ in Britain. Luke was the one who corrected her.

The two of them had been walking home from school. (She actually went to the girls’ school but Luke liked to meet her on the way home, even more so when the darker evenings crept in.)

Flora’s day had been fine. The other students and the teachers were helping her settle in, but she still had lots of studying to catch up on since she had started late. That meant extra homework and tutoring sessions with the professor.

Flora let her mind wander. She relied on Luke to lead her up a road lined with horse chestnut trees.

“The trees look so pretty in fall...” Their leaves were either orange like the professor’s shirt, or rusty red like robot gears.

“Fall?”

Luke exclamation pulled Flora from her daydream.

“Um, you know... Fall. After summer, when all the leaves fall off the trees.” She pointed at a pile of leaves beside them on the pavement.

“Oh!” Luke kicked up the leaves. “You mean autumn!”

He was showered with leaves and Flora snickered. “Careful, or you’ll get lost in the leaves!”

Laughing, Luke chucked a ball of leaves at her.

She squealed and swept them off her school uniform. (Rosa had ironed it specially for her!)

“Luke!”

He gasped as if he had mortally wounded her. “Sorry! That was a bit rough—“ He got a face full of leaves. “—Ow... I think you threw a conker at me.”

“Conkers!” Crouching, Flora picked up the spiky green shell. She inspected it as a jeweler would an emerald. “Bruno used to make them for me— I mean, put them on a string— and we had conker tournaments. The villagers always let me win, though...”

Everything had seemed so simple back then. She smiled nostalgically the conker shell.

Beside her, she heard leaves crunching. She turned and her eyes widened.

“Bet you’d never beat me.” Luke was on his knees, holding a conker under her nose. “I was the best conker player in Misthallery!”

Flora’s smile became a smirk. “Really? Is that a challenge?”

Her conker would be... unconquerable. She had everything she needed at home: String, glue, a miniature drill she’d ‘borrowed’ from Bruno...

While she planned her conquest, Luke had been stuffing his satchel and coat pockets with conkers. He leapt to his feet and took off like a greedy squirrel. “Bagsie asking the professor for help first!”

What ever happened to ladies first? “Luke, wait up!”

These days, Luke called it ‘fall’. A warm smile enveloped Flora’s face as she read his latest letter. Who was this mysterious girl he couldn’t stop gushing about…?

Her fantasies of Luke’s possible-girlfriend were dashed by the slam of the front door. Her thirteen-year-old brother squelched into the kitchen. He’d been trying to grow his hair out but he currently looked like a drowned rat.

Flora snorted. “Did you forget your brolly?”

“Did you forget you don’t live here anymore?”

Flora didn’t take offence at the extra dose of venom in his voice. School had just started again and it was coming up to that time of year…

“I had a letter from Luke that I wanted to show the professor.” She stretched in her chair and yawned, “Are your joints meant to feel this stiff in your mid-twenties—?” She caught herself when she realised that, oh lord, she sounded like Dahlia. Dahlia would moan whenever her joints needed oiling or her perfect skin needed a polish or the colour was fading from her hair… All while eighty-year-old Bruno toiled away and Flora continued to age.

With age came agency. With each new trial life threw at her, Flora accepted that she couldn’t fuss over the little things.

This was a lesson Alfendi still had yet to learn.

Having ripped off his waterlogged shoes and his backpack, Alfendi raided the fridge.

“I made pasta salad if you want some—“

“Hell, no.”

“Language.” (Kat was out with their father, but still...)

Alfendi groaned, “Who ate all the leftover pizza?”

“Probably Emmy, if she stopped by.”

Alfendi’s scowling face emerged from the fridge. “Not helping.”

“Don’t snap at me just ‘cause you got caught in the rain,” she retorted.

It wasn’t just that, she knew, but she sat in silence as Alfendi fished a soaking, illegible newspaper out of his pocket and held it up to her. “The forecast said it would be dry today. There was only a 35% chance of rain!”

“They can’t always be accurate.”

“Well, they should be!” He pounded the wet paper into a ball and hurled it at the bin. (It landed just next to the bin with a sad ‘plop’.) “Why can’t the weather just make up its bloody mind?” he snarled, swiping wet hair out of his eyes.

The British weather was beyond Flora’s control, but she could at least do something about Alfendi’s hair. “Give me a minute.”

While Alfendi changed into some dry clothes, she nipped up to Kat’s room to grab a brush and a pink bag of hair accessories.

“This is a waste of time,” Alfendi grumbled. Still, he sat obediently as Flora dragged the brush through his wavy hair, taming it into a low ponytail. She offered to add a purple ribbon, so he’d look like a fairytale prince, to which Alfendi told her something very inappropriate for a prince. He was, at least, satisfied with his ponytail as it was ‘practical’ and kept his hair out of his eyes.  

The next time Flora visited the house, she found Alfendi plaiting Kat’s hair. Apparently, a little boy had pulled Kat’s hair at the playground...

“Do you want me to plait your hair next, Al?”

Keeping hold of Kat’s plait, Alfendi turned to glare at Flora. “Get lost. Kat’s going to do my hair.”

“Yeah, get lost, Floor,” Kat said.  

The thought of ‘getting lost’ would have terrified Flora years ago. Now, she just burst out laughing.

In October, Alfendi was promoted from hairstylist to ‘Halloween wardrobe stylist’. He helped Kat put together a spooky outfit every day. Some were inspired by Kat’s current fixations: The little witch from her favourite book, Tigger from The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh and Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster. (Kat saw this as an excuse to eat as many cookies as she liked.) Then there were Kat’s villain ‘disguises’, from Descole to Don Paolo. Alfendi drew the line at Bill Hawks. Not because it would be ‘offensive’— Hawks was the butt of many jokes in the Layton household— but because they all knew who came after Bill Hawks.  

There had been… impersonators every year since Clive Dove’s attack, rather like the clown craze that followed a certain Stephen King novel. None of them copied Clive’s methods, as far as Flora was aware. They were just out to scare the public. That was traumatic enough if you had suffered at the hands of Clive… but what if you bore a striking resemblance to him?    

Much to Kat’s dismay and Flora’s relief, Luke couldn’t make it back for Halloween this year. He was off solving another mystery. Flora hoped he wasn’t alone.  

There hadn’t been any ‘Clive Dove sightings’ on the news lately, but Flora still insisted Emmy should go trick-or-treating with Kat and Alfendi. Flora would have accompanied them herself had she not been invited to a Halloween party by Kuri, her closest friend from university. They hadn’t seen each other for months, so Flora was very grateful for Emmy’s assistance. Emmy was over the moon because it meant she got her own share of treats. Alfendi, for once, didn’t argue.      

He was content to dress as a vampire rather than some nightmarish movie villain. Kat went as a literal cat, complete with a tail, a cute red bow and bag of garlic to chuck at Alfendi. Emmy was Batwoman.

They all made it home safe and stuffed with sweets. Flora phoned at ten to check on them and to let them know she was staying at Kuri’s flat.

“Enjoy yourself,” Emmy chimed over the phone. Hopefully, Flora’s creepy doll makeup would hide her flushed face from Kuri.

In the following days, Alfendi knew Flora was hiding something, though he didn’t pry.

As soon as the holiday was over, he withdrew to his room. Halloween couldn’t cure the bitterness that had been festering inside him like a pumpkin left to rot.

Flora would take Kat out whenever Alfendi started shouting at their dad. (“WHY DO YOU KEEP VISITING HIM?”)

Bonfire night was the worst.

They had arranged to see the fireworks at Gressenheller. Flora had arrived at the house to find the professor comforting a tearful Kat. Alfendi had snapped at Kat when she kept asking why he wasn’t coming with them.

The professor had tried talking to Alfendi, tried getting him to talk to someone, to no avail. Flora told the professor to go on ahead with Kat. She could handle this.

When she tapped on Alfendi’s door ten minutes later, he barked, “Eff off—!”

“It’s me.”

Silence. Flora waited. She heard a firework explode outside. Then, a smothered whimper from Alfendi.

“Al...” she said softly. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Alfendi didn’t turn her away. She opened the door. Since Flora had moved out, Alfendi had claimed the biggest bedroom. (It stank of coffee now…) She used to tease Alfendi about how he was always holed up in his ‘cave’, but his ‘cave’ was the tidiest area in the house, as opposed to Kat’s toy-strewn room or the professor’s office. It was also very well-lit for a ‘cave’; the ceiling light, the lava lamp and his computer screen were all on.  

Alfendi had been lying facedown in his purple beanbag. He sat up awkwardly and Flora saw he was wearing a pair of fluffy white earmuffs.

His eyes were red and his nose was running. Sniffing, he took the earmuffs off and tossed them at Flora. “Can you give these back to Kat?”

Another explosion went off. Alfendi flinched.

She nudged the earmuffs back to him. “You can keep them for now. I’m sure Kat won’t mind.”

“Is she ok?”

“She’ll cheer up when she sees the fireworks.”

He put the earmuffs back on, clamping his hands over them until the next firework had passed. “Weren’t you going with them?” he asked eventually.

The plan had been to meet Kuri there. Flora was going to introduce her to the professor and Kat.

But Flora shook her head at Alfendi. (Kuri would understand— she had practically raised her twin brothers.) “Nope,” she said. “I think The Muppet Movie is on... Want to watch it with me?”

The two of them curled up on the settee and she put the T.V. volume on full-blast. It was so loud that the professor, Kat and Kuri heard The Rainbow Connection on their way home.

Per usual, Alfendi didn’t join them for coffee but he said he would pop over to Flora’s after work. That was... sociable of him.

Kat thought it had something to do with his new assistant, Lucy. Frantically, Flora phoned Kuri and asked her to tidy the living room because Alfendi might be bringing a friend with him. Kuri made no such promises but she would made plenty of stew.

Flora thanked her, hung up and informed Kat they were having stew for dinner.

Kat squinted at Flora over her Pumpkin Spice Latte. “Are you quite sure your wife isn’t a witch?”

Flora chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

This was the question Kat had been hoping for. She launched into a retelling of ‘Katrielle and the Witch Wife’. That spark in her eyes, her exaggerated gestures, the way she took bites out of her chocolate muffin in-between... She looked so much like Luke. Flora remembered him describing his own encounter with a ‘witch’— back when he first met Professor Layton.

That part of their lives, much like Autumn, had ended too quickly. Now, some days, it felt like they were caught in an eternal Winter. The professor was gone, along with Luke. Alfendi was more distant than ever...

But she still had Kat.

Story complete, Kat leapt to her feet. There was a pair of fluffy boots in the autumn sale she wanted to buy. Of course, she secretly hoped Flora would buy them for her. Flora was happy to oblige, because that’s what big sisters do.

#professor layton #flora reinhold #luke triton #Alfendi Layton #Katrielle Layton #matthew #baron reinhold #autumn #PL fanfic #My writing #This is also on AO3 #Slight Flora/OC #fluff and angst #Flora is the best big sister

[daisyishedwig]

Klaine Advent Day 12: Limited

Title: A Place To Call Home Part 3

Summary:  In a matter of days Blaine's whole world falls apart and everything he does to try and stay afloat only seems to make matters worse. A call to Sebastian Smythe is his last resort, and maybe the one that actually starts to make things better. 

A/N: If you like Blangst topped off with some semi fluffy Blam, Warbler bros, and Seblaine. You will love this chapter.

Blaine jolted awake the next morning to find Sebastian lounging on the king sized bed next to him scrolling through his phone. He was dressed in his Dalton uniform excluding the blazer which was draped over the desk chair a few feet away.

Blaine rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock, it was nearly noon.

“It’s Saturday,” he mumbled, “why are you in your uniform?”

“I have Warbler practice in an hour,” he said, not looking up from his phone, Blaine could hear the tell tale sounds of candy crush emanating from the speaker. “Hunter requires us to be in our uniform, even for weekend practices. I thought you might like to come.”

“I’m pretty sure that would be considered spying,” he pushed himself up, rolling his neck as he stretched.

“Or just visiting your friends. You know the rest of the guys miss you, right? They’d be really excited if you came.Though Hunter might try to steal you away from New Directions if he hears you sing at all.”

Blaine stood and made his way over to his backpack, shaking out his last clean polo and sliding it on. “Who is Hunter anyway?”

“New head Warbler. Transferred from some uptight military school. He’s got a killer voice and fantastic dancing abilities even if he is a bratty little dictator sometimes. We might even make it to Nationals with him this year.”

Blaine scoffed, “You’ll have to beat us first, and we are the defending national champions, so…”

Sebastian grinned, finally setting his phone aside. “There’s that cocky little minx I know.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and walked into the en suite to brush his teeth. He was almost done fixing his bed head when Sebastian came in, adjusting the lapels on his blazer in Blaine’s mirror.

“I’m serious though, you should come with. You need friends right now--”

“I have friends,” he bit out, suddenly defensive.

“Then why are you living with me and not one of them?”

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but then he realized he didn’t really have an answer. At first he’d just been biding him time, hoping his step father would let him back in at some point. When it became obvious that wasn’t going to happen everyone had basically found out about his and Kurt’s breakup and the reason behind it. Sam was the only one who hadn’t started to cut him off but he… well his parents were mostly back on their feet, but barely. He couldn’t add any more pressure when they already had three kids of their own to feed.

“Nick, Jeff, and Trent would be ecstatic to see you, Blaine. Just come by for a little while, okay?”

Blaine nodded, “Sure, I’ll come say hi.”

----

Walking back through the halls of Dalton was a surprisingly painful experience. Dalton had once been his home, the place he met the love of his life, a safe space away from all the bullying of public school and the shit show that was his home life.

He hadn’t been back since the whole Michael Jackson debacle the year prior and his heart ached for the stained glass and ornate wall panels. Sebastian seemed to sense his mood and kept quiet on the walk to the Warbler commons, allowing Blaine to gather his thoughts. He couldn’t, however, protect him from the chaos of excitement he was thrown into the second they stepped into Warbler practice.

Blaine was immediately enveloped in a group hug that was lead by Trent, but quickly all of the remaining warblers from his sophomore year were in on it, while everyone else looked on in confusion as to who he even was.

“We don’t want to suffocate him, do we?” Sebastian asked when it had been a good few minutes and Blaine was still lost in the mass of navy and red. When that didn’t work he started picking people out of the group with a sharp tug to the collar of their blazer until he had reached the final four. Blaine, Trent, Nick, and Jeff. Admittedly the closest of their year, he allowed them a few more minutes to cling to each other before pulling them away as well and slinging his arm around Blaine’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes,” he said in a loud and sarcastic voice, “Blaine Warbler has returned in all of his glory. Even if he refuses to sing even one song with us, it is good for him to know that he will forever be a missing link in our choir.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and pushed Sebastian away. “What I think Sebastian meant to say, is that I don’t plan to stay long, I just wanted to drop in and say hi before I skedaddle on back to my team.”

Nick, Jeff, and Trent shared a look. Nick and Jeff came to a rest on either side of him, taking one arm each and Trent causally closed the door to the common room.

“Um…” Blaine started.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Blainers,” Nick said as he and Jeff started marching him to the center of the room.

“You yourself should know the rules,” Jeff said with a teasing shake of his head.

“No Warbler may exit the practice room...” Trent started.

“Without signing at least one song,” they all finished together.

“But I’m not…”

“Once a Warbler always a Warbler, Killer,” Sebastian said with a grin.

----

One song however turned into two songs and then into three until finally Hunter managed to call enough of the boys to order to get started with the real practice. As everyone else warmed up for their dance rehearsal, Hunter approached Blaine.

“Well, I guess I now understand all of the hype over you, Blaine Anderson,” he said and Blaine smiled, face flushed from exertion and pride. “If you ever wanted to come back, there would definitely be a place for you on the team again.”

Blaine laughed as he sipped at his water bottle, “Uh, thanks. Huh, my uh… my family is going through some stuff right now and funds are limited, so…” he looked down with a sad smile, “even if I wanted to come back, I just can’t afford too. Thanks though. I know as we get closer to competition season you probably won’t want a New Directions mole hanging out, but if you wouldn’t mind it would be fun to come back everyone once a while. Maybe help with your warmup and dash before the actual rehearsing starts.”

Hunter nodded, “I think that would be alright, Blaine. I’ll tell Sebastian to bring you around more.” He patted Blaine on the shoulder and returned to his team to start practice.

Blaine said his goodbyes to his friends with quick hugs, talking to Sebastian last, telling him he was going to get coffee from a shop down the street and then maybe walk back home. He’d let Sebastian know if he didn’t and wanted a ride once he was finished with practice. Sebastian subtly slipped him a twenty and Blaine blushed.

“I don’t need this, Seb. I have enough money for coffee.”

“I know, but you should get yourself some lunch too. You only started eating like a normal person again last night. You’re still far to thin and if you’re going to be any sort of competition at Regionals you need to be at healthy weight within two months, okay?”

Blaine sighed but conceded, “Alright, alright. I’m making your family dinner tonight though. Text your parents and let them know not to cook anything. It’s the least I can do to say thank you.”

“Sounds like a plan, go get ‘em, Killer.”

Blaine waved his final goodbye to the group, noticing Hunter watching him with a considering expression on his face as he headed out of the school.

Not more than five minutes after he had left Dalton’s grounds Blaine’s phone rang through with a call from Sam.

“Why were you at Dalton?” Sam asked as soon as Blaine answered.

Blaine paused mid step. “Um… are you watching me or the Warblers?”

“The Warblers, obviously. Ryder said he saw you singing with them.”

“Yeah, I went to say hi and they roped me into a few warm up songs. They are still my friends, you know.” Blaine pushed the door open to the coffee shop and stepped into the line to wait.

“He said you walked in with Sebastian.”

“How does Ryder even know any of the Warbler’s by name?”

“He doesn’t, he described him as tall, posh, and weasley. Sure sounded like Sebastian to me.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, “That’s a very rude description of him, Sam. Sebastian isn’t a bad guy.”

“The last time I saw him he nearly blinded you!” Sam shouted in exasperation.

Blaine’s right eye twinged with the memory, “He’s since apologized for that. And if I remember correctly, you all accepted an apology from the rest of the Warbler’s on my behalf while I was still in the hospital. If it weren’t for Sebastian reaching out I might have never gotten to actually forgive them for myself.”

“Blaine,” Sam sighed.

“Hold on a sec,” Blaine stepped up fully to the counter. “A medium drip and a cinnamon roll, please.” He handed the barista the twenty Sebastian had give him and accepted his change, stepping off to the side to wait for his drink. “Now, what offensive thing were you about to say?”

Sam made an indignant noise but didn’t actually deny it. “A little while ago you messaged me about someone sending you inappropriate texts.”

Blaine tensed. “I recall this situation and I know where you’re going with this. No, those texts were not from Sebastian.”

“It just… it seems suspicious you know. You cheat on Kurt and then suddenly you’re all buddy buddy with Sebastian? Artie saw you two leaving the Waffle House together last night, Blaine!”

Blaine sat down heavily with his coffee. “There’s been a lot of shit going down lately, Sam. Sebastian is just helping me through, okay? And if you’re really my best friend, you’ll believe me on that.”

“Even if I do, the rest of the team is going to be furious without an explanation. I know this breakup with Kurt is hard, but you can turn to us--”

Blaine scoffed, tears pricking at his eyes. “Have you noticed that Finn doesn’t speak to me unless it’s to criticize my performance? Artie rolled over my foot during practice yesterday and I swear it was not an accident. Even Tina and Brittany will barely look at me. And for some reason all of the newbies have decided to side against me as well despite barely even knowing Kurt. You are the only one who doesn’t seem to be actively hating my guts, so yeah. When shit got hard, I turned to the Warbler’s because at Mckinley I’ve been outcast because I made a fucking mistake and everyone else has decided they need to try and hate me more than I hate myself.” Blaine choked on a sob, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Let them be furious at me, but I need Sebastian’s help right now, okay? They don’t need to know why, let them assume I’m fucking him, let them assume he’s who I cheated on Kurt with. I honestly don’t care anymore. Because if this is the thing they’re going to take note of after the shitstorm that my life has been for the past month, they don’t deserve to know why.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Do I deserve to know why?”

Blaine thought, and sighed. “I can’t tell you over the phone. It’s too… it’s too serious. I need to tell you in person.”

“Do you wanna come over? We can talk and play some Mario Cart?”

Blaine huffed out a soft laugh. “I would love to, but I don’t have a car and am currently stuck in Westerville. Sebastian is kind of my ride, right now.”

“Okay,” Sam said, “what if I came to you?”

“That… yeah. That would work. I’ll text you the address to Sebastian’s house, ‘kay?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Blaine finished up his coffee and took his cinnamon roll to eat as he walked the mile back to the Smythe residence. He texted Sebastian letting him know he’d gone ahead and walked and sent Sam the address as he went.

When he entered the house, Marie was sitting in the living room floor working on a puzzle on the coffee table.

“Hello, dear,” she said with a smile, “did you have fun at practice with Sebastian?”

“Yeah,” he replied, returning here grin. “It was great to see the guys, it's been awhile. Um… I was curious though, would you mind if I had a friend over. We just needed to talk about some stuff…”

“Of course not, sweetheart. Do you want the living room?”

“Oh no, no, we can just talk in my room, it’s fine. I was gonna make some tea though, would you like some?”

“That would be lovely, Blaine. The kettle is just under the stove.”

Blaine didn’t really need tea after his coffee but the repetitive process of brewing it calmed him enough for the oncoming conversation that by the time he was setting a mug down in front of Marie and the doorbell rang, he felt about halfway to almost ready to talk.

He opened the door for Sam and ushered him inside. After a quick introduction to Marie they both took their tea and went upstairs to Blaine’s room. Sam lounged on the bed as he drank and studied the decorations. “Is this Sebastian’s room?” he asked, “Seems kind of bland to me.”

Blaine took a deep breath to bite the bullet with. “No… um, this. This is my room. Sebastian’s is down the hall.”

Sam froze mid sip and Blaine was ecstatic that he hadn’t done a spit take. “You’re… what?”

Blaine slowly eased himself onto the mattress beside Sam. “My step father kicked me out. For the time being I am going to be living with Sebastian and his family until I can work out a better situation. I might end up staying here through graduation, however. Everything is kind of up in the air right now.”

“Wh-why?” Sam sputtered.

“Why…?”

“Why did he kick you out? I mean… why now?”

Blaine twisted his hands in his lap. “Mom left on a bit of a sabbatical a few months back and after awhile we both kind of realized she just… might not be coming back. Of course the fighting between us without her around escalated. Everything I did was apparently a personal attack to him, Glee practice, student council, college applications, pining over Kurt because he was so far away. You name it, we probably ended up in a screaming match over it. And I guess, with the realization that he’d basically already lost his wife, he had no real need to keep her son around, so he threw me out.

“At first I hoped he might change his mind, decide he was too harsh on me or maybe he could try and fix things with mom. But he never called and I never wanted to risk going back.”

Sam was silent, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well… frankly I was ashamed. There’s something very… I don’t know how to describe the feeling of being disowned by the only father you’ve ever known. I really didn’t want to tell anyone about it for hopes that it would just fix itself, and when it didn’t… I ended up here.”

“But, you could have moved in with me. We’re best friends, Blaine!”

“Sam, I love your family you know I do. But you live in a one bedroom apartment with two younger siblings and your parents can still barely afford to feed you all. You do not need the pressure of another teenage boy to clothe and feed. The Smythe’s are clearly not hurting for money. I certainly don’t like mooching off anyone, but I’d rather mooch off of a family with plenty to go around.”

Sam slouched on the bed, clearly still unhappy with the situation but conceding. “I still don’t understand why it had to be Sebastian. Surely one of the other Warbler’s would have been just as rich and glad to take you in. But you chose the one who threw a rock salt slushie at you?”

Blaine shrugged, “I don’t really know either. When I realized I had not option at McKinley, Sebastian was the first one to come to mind and I just kind of went with it before I could second guess myself. I’m really glad I did though, his… well his mom is pretty great. I haven’t spoken to his dad much yet, but Marie is enough of a reason for me to want to stick around right now. Some of the other Warbler parents are… well think of beauty pageant moms and that's really how most of them act.”

There was a short knock on the door and then it cracked open and Sebastian peeked his head inside. “Oh,” he said, “when mom said you had a gentleman caller I was worried I might walk in on a heavy petting session. Good to see it’s just the straight one with the mouth.” Sebastian invited himself in and joined them on the bed.

“Straight one with the mouth? That’s really the best insult you have for me?”

Sebastian shrugged, “I’m too tired after practice to be truly witty. Come again tomorrow and I’ll have something better.”

“Well, with that kind of an invitation, how could I ever refuse,” Sam said with an eye roll.

“Are you just always going to invite yourself into my bed?” Blaine asked with a cock of his head.

“Only on the days that end in a Y. I’m hoping one of these times you’ll invite me yourself and it will be for more fun things that lady chats.”

Blaine’s bright smile faltered and his gaze shuttered and Sebastian was unsure as to whether to retract his statement or just let it go.

“So,” Sam said when he felt the awkward tension in the air, “what video games do you have, Sebastian?”

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: limited #blaine anderson #seblaine #sebastian smythe #blam #sam evans #warblers #nick duval #jeff sterling #trent warbler #hunter clarington #klaine #monica writes #daisyishedwig writes

[alwaysaprilia]

Captain Swan AU Prompt Series No. 8 (B)

No.1: Alphabet City

No.2: Of Singing and Streaking

No.3: Lie to Me (I’ll lie to you, too)

No.4: Like Toy Soldiers

No. 5 (A): We’re Going Down Swinging Part 1

No. 5 (B): We’re Going Down Swinging Part 2

No. 6: Bend, and Don’t Break

No. 7 (A): Speak Now Part 1

No. 7 (B): Speak Now Part 2

No. 5 ( C ) We’re Going Down Swinging Part 3

No. 4: Like Toy Soldiers Part 2

No. 8 (A) It’s Always Been You (And You Should Know That)

No. 9: The Art of Remembering

No. 10 For Your Consideration

It’s Always Been You (And You Should Know That)

Notes: Set in the “It’s Always Been You (And You Should Know That) Universe, originally written for For CS AU Week Day 5- Role Reversal (In role reversal world, let’s pretend Lieutenant Duckling is…Captain Prince? Hehe.)

Summary: Prince Killian of Misthaven was never meant to rule-as the second son, he was content to let the limelight and responsibility fall upon his older brother, the Crown Prince Liam, while he lived a carefree life of adventure, tempting danger at every turn-much to the consternation of his body guard and best friend, Captain Emma Swan.

After Liam’s untimely death, the entire Kingdom is thrown into a tailspin, and none worse than Killian and Emma. Killian must now step up to the role he was never meant to play, and Emma must deal with the consequences of falling in love with her charge, the Prince who would be King.

Killian and Emma are 14 and 13

“Your highness!”

“Ssh! Keep it down, Swan.”

“This is highly inappropriate, your highness!”

“Of course it’s inappropriate, why do you think we’re doing this? And stop calling me that, it’s Killian, remember, it’s just us here.”

Killian, crouched under the shadow of a pillar, shot his companion a grin full of mischief. Emma, daughter of the Captain of the Royal Guard, glared at him in return, her scowl telling him in no certain terms that there was no ’we' doing anything. Rather it was ‘he' sneaking around the Kingdom’s resident Sorcerer’s chambers, and ’she' was merely the unlucky servant who was tasked to come along and make sure he didn’t get himself killed.

It was a speech he knew by heart, especially given the way she’d just hissed it at him before they began this newest endeavor.

“Remind me again your highness, why you cannot simply ask Merlin for the potion?” Emma kept pace with him easily as they stealthily ran down the short hallway that would bring them to the door of Merlin’s chambers. Killian motioned for her to keep watch, a request she greeted with an aggrieved sigh but complied with anyway.

“I already told you Swan. He is still a little put out with me because of how I used the last potion I asked for. And it's Killian.”

“You mean he did not enjoy having to be called away from his meditative retreat to restore the giant rabbit you created to it’s normal size?”

Emma’s tone was dry and mocking, and indeed, it was a special sort of servant who would speak so to their liege lord, but that was exactly what she was. The two were of similar age, and had practically grown up together-in private, despite their vastly different stations, they were best friends; in public, he was the Royal Spare, and she was his long suffering personal body guard-in-training.

Killian grinned at the memory and shot her an impish look over his shoulder, blue eyes dancing merrily.

“You have to admit, seeing Scarlett’s face when he woke up to find a giant rabbit on his bed was well worth it, that was probably the funniest thing I had ever seen in my life.”

Emma rolled her eyes, unwilling to give in quite so easily. “Was it still funny when it had grown as large as an elephant, tried to eat you, and I had to rescue you?” Her quiet mutter wiped the grin from his face, and he scowled at her briefly before turning to examine the door.

“I was doing perfectly fine by myself,”

The younger girl smirked at his petulant tone and went back to scanning the halls. “Not the way Will tells it, Killian.”

He thought of arguing the point, but decided to reap his victories where he could, for she had finally used his name. He knew that his and Emma’s friendship was the cause of consternation amongst some of the stuffier members of the court, who held the opinion that it simply wasn’t done for a Prince and a servant to be so close-those he could care less about, one, because he outranked them all, two, because Emma could kick all their behinds with one hand tied behind her back, and three, because his own family was as fond of the Swan girl as he was.

Of more concern was Emma’s family’s thoughts on the matter-her grandfather was in charge of her training, and he was forever reminding his granddaughter that she needed to properly address her charge. Most days, Emma thumbed her nose at this, but the more time she spent under his tutelage, the less often she used his name, and the more Killian had to remind her that he was still just him. He had quite enough people bowing and scraping to him, all pretty smiles and manners, and all as false as the fancy wigs that had been quite the craze in their neighboring kingdoms a while back. The wigs had gone out of fashion, but unfortunately, double speak and a tendency to view Killian only as another path to the throne had not.  

So he ignored her and concentrated on carefully tossing a coin at the door to the Sorcerer’s Tower instead. As expected, the silver piece stopped about six inches from actually making contact, bouncing off harmlessly, without the flurry of sparks that would have indicated Merlin’s use of his more dangerous wards. He withdrew a tiny vial, filled with a brilliant emerald liquid, imported from Agrabah and guaranteed to break any lower level ward with a single drop, and after Emma gave him the all clear, drew as close to the boundary as he dared and allowed a tiny amount to fall.

The space before the door shimmered once, twice-and the next silver coin he threw made contact.

“We’re in. Come on,”

“Me first.” Smoothly intercepting him, Emma slipped ahead and was the first to enter the tower, braced for anything that could happen. Used to the girl barreling into situations ahead of him, Killian let her get on with it, and when she motioned him forward, he followed behind and closed the door gently behind them.

Merlin’s Tower was the most fascinating and dangerous place in the entire castle. When they had been little, he had rarely allowed them up there, preferring to instruct them in the library or their playroom, the less chance of them knocking over something that could obliterate the castle, he’d said. Filled the the brim with ancient texts, strange artifacts and a whole host of the potions he was famous for brewing, it was most certainly not a safe haven, but they wouldn’t be staying long. All he needed was one particular potion, and they could be on their way.

“We’re looking for a vial, about this big, it’s going to be filled with a purple liquid with flecks of gold. It’s the healing elixir he used that time Lancelot was poisoned. You start at that end, I’ll look here.”

“I remember.” Emma, peering carefully at the dusty shelves that housed the potions, gave him a curious look. “I’m sure if you told Merlin this was for the Crown Prince’s trip, he would have given you this, my Prince.”

The return of  his title made him frown a little, but the reminder that his brother was going to be gone for a year on his diplomatic mission made him frown a lot more

.

He shook it off and resumed his search.

“I’ve been seeking audience with him for a week, Emma. Liam leaves at noon tomorrow, and I’ll not have him go without an extra measure of security.”

Killian could just make out the top of Emma’s head as she continued looking through the lowest shelves. She popped up and pulled a cobweb from her hair. “You know he’s probably already got some of these. Lancelot for sure would be carrying some just in case.”

“Well another won’t hurt, will it?”

“No I suppose it wouldn’t.” Silence fell between them as they continued their search, and Emma hesitated a little before bringing up a sore topic. “Have you decided to start speaking to him again, then? Since he’s leaving and all?”

Killian set his jaw and stepped closer to shelves he’d yet to look through instead, hoping that this show of concentration would be enough to stave off the line of questioning. His hopes were dashed by the crumpled up piece of parchment thrown his way and he scowled.

“Oy. Watch it, that could have been dangerous,”

Emma’s arms were crossed and she smirked confidently. “Don’t worry, I can protect you from a bit of paper.” She skirted around another table heaped with a mess of opened and unopened books and scrolls and smaller cauldrons, making for another bookcase that had some promising looking potions on it. “Are you really not going to talk to him? He’s leaving tomorrow. For a year.”

Killian huffed crossly and resumed his search. “I know, Swan. I was at the same proclamation as you were.”

“Just because the King isn’t letting you go-”

“Actually, he said it was Liam’s decision, and he didn’t even consider letting me come with him for a moment. He gets to travel the world and he promised I could come with him the next time, Swan, and yet-that’s not happening is it?”

“Dun Broch’s been having quite a few uprisings, Killian. Having both of you there is simply-”

“Then why is he going at all? He’s the important one, I’m just the spare,”

Emma stayed silent at the outburst, allowing Killian a moment to compose himself. She knew he really didn’t mind his position as the kingdom’s spare heir-he rather relished it. No, the heart of the matter was that the younger Prince of Misthaven was scared out of his mind that the brother he worshipped was being shipped off to a war zone, and he was afraid he would never see him again, hence their clandestine mission to steal from the most powerful Sorcerer of all time.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have-I know it’s not your fault, I-”

“You’re forgiven. But we won’t be, if Merlin catches us in here.” Out of the corner of her eye, golden flecks suspended in deep purple caught and reflected the candle light in the chamber and Emma stooped low and retrieved the vial, holding it up in triumph. “Found it. Let’s go!”

They stole away as quickly as they had come, Killian letting a drop of blue liquid fall on the threshold this time, renewing the ward, before they made their escape to their favorite battlement, the one with the best view of the surrounding lands below. In the courtyard, Liam’s farewell celebrations continued, and Killian soon turned to Emma with an expectant eyebrow.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

He rolled his eyes, and extended a hand towards her. “The potion, Swan.”

Emma grinned and then presented the vial with a flourish, only to move it just out of his reach at the last second. “How about a trade? You promise to speak to your brother, to have a real conversation with him, and I’ll give you the elixir.”

“What? No!”

“All right then. No elixir for you.”

“Emma!”

“What?”

“Are you really blackmailing me? I’m the Prince. I could order you to give it to me.”

Emma made a face. “ You could. But you’re not going to.”

She had him there, for in the entirety of their lives, he had never given her an order and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Irritated, he settled for glaring at her instead.

“I’m not going to apologize to him.”

“I’m not saying you should. But you should talk to him, and say goodbye in person. Merlin might be able to conjure a mirror spell for you two to talk later on, if he hasn’t killed us by then, but that’s not the same, you know it isn’t. So promise me you’ll talk to him, and you can have vial.”

Killian groaned in exasperation, and direct his attention back towards the party, where he could make out Liam in the brilliant crimson that was the Royal Family’s colors, dancing with one of the courtiers. “Why is this so important to you?”

Emma snorted inelegantly, something her mother and grandfather would surely have censured her for. “I am your body guard, my Prince. Its my job to protect you-even from your own stubbornness. Now, have we a deal?”

His initial impulse was to respond in the negative, just to be contrary, but a quick glance at Emma revealed that her jaw was set in that particularly stubborn manner that meant she would not yield. Beyond that, and he wouldn’t admit it to her right now, because she would gloat endlessly, she was quite right. Killian worshipped the ground Liam walked on, and giving him the cold shoulder these last few weeks had been extremely taxing. He missed his brother, and he would miss him even more when he left. There was no more time to waste.

“Fine. On my honor as a Prince of Misthaven, I will talk to my brother.”

Emma’s eyes searched his, and whatever she found there seemed to make her happy, for his favorite smile of hers broke out over her face, making her eyes sparkle brighter than the finest emeralds in their treasure rooms. More to distract himself from his observation, and the uncomfortable realization that butterflies always seemed to dance in his belly whenever she smiled like that, Killian pulled up a sigh.

 "Happy, now, are you?“

"Ecstatic.” She nodded and  nonchalantly tossed the vial to him, smirking slightly as he fumbled to catch it. “You would have been miserable if you didn’t speak to him before he left, and even I wouldn’t be able to handle you in a mood for an entire year. Off you go then, Your Highness.”

Killian grumbled under his breath, muttering about which of them was supposed to be taking orders from whom. He did as she requested, but stopped at the door leading down into the castle for a brief moment.

“Emma?”

She automatically turned at his soft call, and was caught by the full force of the soft look in his eyes, that small, grateful smile curving his lips upwards, making her heart skip a beat. It made no sense, for she had seen him smile thousands of times, he did it constantly-except maybe the fact that he only ever smiled at her like that was making the difference.

“Thank you. For helping me and for…saving me from myself. And it’s Killian!”

With a wink and that last cheeky reminder,  the Prince disappeared into the castle, leaving Emma staring after him, shaking her head. She sighed and stared up at the stars, and wondered for a moment why it felt like she was standing on the edge of something dangerous….but incredibly exciting and alluring too.

“You’re welcome…Killian.”

FIN.

#cs ff #cs ff au #my fic #captain swan au prompt series #captain swan

[obviouslybooks]

Book Discussion Challenge: Children’s Author

Maurice Sendak does not show up on my dash enough.  Please read under the cut, I put a lot of feeling into this.  It’s a hefty bit of text.

Maurice was the son of Jewish immigrants who were trying to escape Poland during WWII.  He was a naughty child, often getting in trouble for being loud or telling “inappropriate” stories to other kids at school that were scary Polish folktales or modified stories from the Bible. He was very sick throughout his life, starting at a very young age.

His books were banned, challenged, and faced harsh criticism.  Whether it was the nude illustrations of Mickey from In The Night Kitchen, or the bad behavior of Max in Where the Wild Things Are, or the abduction of a baby in Outside Over There, these books were regarded by adults as “not suitable for children” while children didn’t have these unfavorable reactions.  

He once said (and I’m paraphrasing) that you want to protect children, to keep the bad things from them, but you can’t.  They already know everything.

Part of this is because when he was 3, there was a highly publicized abduction (google Lindbergh baby if you’re curious) and murder of a blonde haired, blue eyed baby boy from the “right kind of family” and this terrified Sendak because if something like that could happen to that baby, a baby who was everything Sendak wasn’t, then what kind of horrible things could happen to him.  He internalized this fear for a very long time because no one wants to talk about things like that with small children.  Eventually this led him to write the book Outside Over There (this was his way of rewriting history and, at least in his mind, saving that baby) which was the inspiration of the movie The Labyrinth.  Yes, that Labyrinth…the one with David Bowie.

He was also deeply frightened by the events and effects of the Holocaust.  Many of his family members were murdered during the Holocaust, and this remained with him well into adulthood.  He worked through this with the book Brundibar.

He wrote Bumble-Ardy as a way of coping with the death of his partner of 50 years.  Eugene Glenn died in their home while he wrote this book.  And let’s think of this for a moment, Maurice Sendak was a closeted gay man until he was almost 80.  He didn’t come out because he could never tell his parents.  “They never never knew.”  Could you imagine living with a partner for 50 freaking years and still not being able to be out?  

My heart breaks for this man.  He outlived so many of the people he dearly loved.  Even in his interview with Terry Gross he was saying he was a happy old man but was very lonely after seeing so many of his loved ones pass before him.  He cried during the interview and despite being Maurice F–king Sendak, he took time to tell Terry Gross that she was great at her job and that no other interviewer brought out in him what she did.  

So, yeah, everyone knows of Where the Wild Things Are…I mean, Obama read it to children for years at the White House for the Easter Egg Roll thing.  But he wrote and/or illustrated around 100 books.  They’re amazing, deeply emotional and so often open to interpretation.  He even says that he doesn’t know exactly what certain lines in his books mean. (like in Bumble-Ardy “Ok, smarty, you’ve had your party but never again. /  I promise, I swear, I won’t ever turn ten.")  He just writes the words in a way he loves and lets them mean whatever you want them, too.

tl:dr  Why aren’t more people still talking about Maurice Sendak?  I could literally talk about this man for hours. 

#book discussion challenge #justlikejosephine #maurice sendak #children's author

[pressography-blog1]

Your Blog Posts with Search engine optimization in Thoughts

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Blog Search engine optimization pointers

1. Unique, Fine content. For a while now, we’ve heard time and again that content is king. However, you may crank out unoriginal, boring content material and anticipate massive user engagement. What’s greater, search engines like google value excessive Great content and deliver nicely-built pieces plenty extra attention in their scores than they do poor bulk content material. Keep away from copying and pasting different content that you discover on the internet unless you are quoting a ebook. Always try to add your own spin to something you’re writing about, in particular if it’s a popular topic, and foster strong content material writing habits so one, can make normal manufacturing of Blog posts a extra natural process.

2. Be Enticing. In case you write Engaging content material, your readers will need to maintain coming returned. no longer handiest will they need to return again, but they’ll additionally be more willing to share what you write with their buddies. A massive part of creating Enticing content is providing users with facts that’s actionable, unique and offers utility. That is why content, like listicles, checklists and infographics are so successful; they’re smooth for customers to speedy soak up and practice, which then makes them much more likely to proportion the content with others.

three. Social Gear. Incorporating social sharing Gear into your Weblog posts gives your readers an smooth choice to proportion content on their social media money owed. That is additionally essential due to the fact SERPs examine social signals to determine which corporations or websites people like and proportion as a way of determining the legitimacy of sites. these signals are incorporated into search engine algorithms, so having social sharing Gear built into your posts is a need to. you could upload social sharing sidebars to your content material via web sites including .

4. Period of Posts. Even though search engines like google are searching about content with substance, attention to the word count of a put up. Duration isn’t Always a real gauge of the might Fine of a publish, however it doesn’t hurt to shoot for somewhere in 250-600 words. Quality content will honest some distance higher than fluff pieces with little intensity, but excessive First-rate long form content does have a tendency to do better. In brief, there isn’t a super Duration for Blog posts, as it relies upon on what you’re writing. In preference to listening to Length, try to treat each piece of content as a person aid, and achieve the stop purpose of that put up in something Length works the exceptional.

5. Opportunity for Remarks. I Continually recommend permitting Comments, because you want to live related for your readers. You further might get a Seo benefit from the remark content being brought to the web page, due to the fact engines like google love it whilst pages are updated and delivered to regularly. In case you pick out to allow Remarks, make sure you mind often and feature a remark junk mail solution in the area.

6. Spelling and Grammar. engines like google pay near interest to spelling and grammar, in addition to knowledgeable customers. There are several low Pleasant websites that outsource their writing desires to content stores that churn out low Exceptional content plagued by improper spelling and grammar. Sniffing out and devaluing that low First-rate content becomes and is one of the number one objectives for the Google Panda updates. Furthermore, a polished and knowledgeable website ought to be as free of such errors as possible that allows you to be taken into consideration an authority.

7. Linking Techniques.when writing your posts, don’t neglect to search for opportunities to hyperlink to different content inside your internet site –even better when you have the Opportunity to link returned to that content with a keyword word you’re trying to rank for at the connected page. It’s additionally encouraged to link outside of your internet site if there’s an authoritative source on the subject of your put up. Manifestly, you gained acquire as plenty of an advantage as you’ll If you were linking to your very own website, however, the submit could earn a few consider factors with engines. In general of thumb, try and restrict yourself to 1-2 hyperlinks in line with 200 words.

8. Tags. After you have got written your Weblog put up, title, description, and key phrases, You furthermore might normally have the option to set tags. Tags can be used for categorization by means of the search engines like google, however likely don’t hold much weight. content could be the final manual for their algorithms. While you do the tag, try and keep the tags constrained to ideas, standards, locations, occasions and product names. It’s also important to Avoid overusing tags. 10 tags should be lots to categorize a Blog submit, the however purpose for 4 or much less.

Designing web sites With Search engine optimization In Mind

while an internet site is becoming over into the arms of the SEO (Seo) crew, it is mostly a myriad of puzzling the nd complex sections, with layout on pinnacle of layout on pinnacle of layout. This may make it surprisingly difficult for the hunt engine spiders to index the content of the web page, which makes any kind of Seo approach difficult to execute. So, how are we able to Keep away from this? via ensuring that a website is designed with Search engine optimization in Thoughts from the very starting.

Don’t consist of a dash page

Google Search Engine

Whilst many clients will combat teeth and nail for a dash page for their internet site, it does without a doubt nothing for Seo in any respect (specifically if it is one of these photograph or animation get americawith a ‘click right here’ button on the quit or someplace underneath). the hunt engine spiders will find maximum of the records that they need to your Search engine optimization ranking from your index web page, and if yours is a touch web page the spiders are not going to find tons facts, are they? This ruins your Seo possibilities. design for textual content, not pictures. Web designers really need their creations to be aesthetically fascinating, using the maximum ornamental fonts and difficult to understand shapes they could locate as menu links – but this wishes to stop in the event that they need the internet site to be successful from an Search engine optimization point of view. In case you are placing a whole lot of statistics into these snap shots, what are the search engine spiders going to examine (remembering that photos are vain for Seo)? An Seo marketing campaign needs text which will paintings. Document names want to make experience Designers have to be naming their documents in a way that makes sense anyway, but This is some thing that they frequently overlook to do. While these Document names ought to now not be extremely long, they ought to be relevant to the subject of your page and your website standard, as this facilitates your Search engine optimization approach. For example, if your internet site is about topiary timber and you wanted to position an photo of 1 at the approximately web page, call it some thing like ‘about-topiary.Jpg’ for Seo Rather than ‘approximately-page2-img.Jpg’. There are some of different Approaches that designers and developers can create websites with Search engine optimization in Thoughts, even While the web page is up and walking – by using not neglecting ‘alt’ tags and running in smooth code, you could make sure that your Seo team has plenty to work with in relation to ensuring the satisfactory viable ratings with the search engines like google.

Running a blog With Search engine optimization in Mind

We all already understand the point of writing Seo replica on your internet site, but the same fee should be applied to writing to your B2B Weblog. The benefit of Blogging with Seo in Mind is that you’re not most effective creating useful content that your clients price, however additionally ensuring prospective clients can discover you thru an internet search when they have a trouble in need of an answer. So how does one Weblog for Search engine optimization? Follow these easy steps:

1) select your key-word

Starting out, it’s excellent to focus on one key-word to get the cling of it. Further to making sure it’s relevant on your best purchaser, use a “lengthy tail” keyword phrase. This means As opposed to writing “consulting,” write “San Diego economic consulting” or “scientific software program training.” The greater unique on your enterprise (with out getting too adjective heavy) permits your internet site to rank higher for precise searchers who’re much more likely to convert to clients.

2) hold it relevant

It have to seem apparent to not start writing inappropriate wide keywords like “automobiles,” “clothing” or “cat memes.” And if it does not seem apparent, then we are able to make it clearer: Do not do this. Do not.

3) include versions of the keyword

With Google’s Hummingbird update, the algorithm now alternatives up on conversations extra so than traditional key phrases. For example, If you’re an accounting firm, writing “bookkeeping services” and “accounting services” facilitates you describe your business in multiple Methods.

4) Keep away from keyword stuffing

This is why we often suggest sticking to 1 or two key phrases per Blog put up, due to the fact now and again organizations are too eager to include every hopeful keyword on their list. additionally, distribute the keyword flippantly for the duration of the Blog post. Mentioning it as soon as in every paragraph is a little overkill relying on content Duration. Ultimately, your natural voice and what’s maximum cozy to examine will outline a key-word’s placement. Which leads us to…

5) Do not be a slave to the key-word

Blogsphere

The point of a Blog post is to draw traffic-no longer the hunt engine bots. Your copy ought to be sincerely first-class to examine and, most importantly, be a treasured resource for readers. Even as we want to play nice with the bots-they may be now not your customers.

Now that you’ve written your Blog put up with Seo in Mind, it is time to load it into your WordPress or other content material control machine. right here are regions on your Weblog backend that need your keyword: