#i only ever drew them like once and then proceeded to forget about them forever

[space-gutz]

i genuinely cant stop drawing my sonic ocs pls enjoy them

presenting Slimey the Snail (they/them) and Niko the Thing (he/they)

#sonic oc #sonic fancharacter #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sth #fanart #my art #my characters #sonic fanart #slimey the snail #niko the thing #they have lore im making for them i love them so much i have literally never made fancharacters before #well technically i have but i only made them to say that yes i did make fan characters #i only ever drew them like once and then proceeded to forget about them forever #but these guys? theyre different. im invested in them. i love them. they have LORE. #give them both a little kissy kissy on the forehead #also yes I do subscribe to the “The Little Yellow Creature is the Little Sibling” trend that the sonic franchise has going #we have the little bros TAILS RAY AND CHARMY... three yellow beasts who are little bros ... and now slimey is here and is the same :] #the only difference is that they dont fly :/ but thats ok they stick to walls like spiderman

[randomfandomnerd]

Sunshine and Shadows- Chapter 2

Nico woke up to the sound of manic giggling. Groggily, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He slipped out of the bed, moving towards the curtain with the hope of finding food. The blue material was ripped back and, to his surprise, Harley barged in, slapped a smiley-face sticker onto his t-shirt, and left again, still giggling. Nico looked up to see a smirking Cecil at the next bed over, sporting his own smiley sticker.

“Will thought it would be a good idea for him to visit and lift the spirits of everyone. He’s been hovering near for a while, because I told him you should wake up on your own, rather than with his help”

“Hmmph”

Nico responded.

A seemingly amused Will came in with a tray of plates of food, which he proceeded to hand out to the various inhabitants of the infirmary.

“You look so grumpy”,

he chuckled, narrowly avoiding a small Apollo child who seemed to be imitating Kayla by holding a clipboard and marching around on their tiptoes with a small bow strung to their back and the torn leaves of a very green plant on their head.

“Lillie, remember what I told you. No weapons in the infirmary!”

Lillie turned around and proceeded to aggressively skip out of the infirmary, knocking a side table over in the process, and scattering leaves along the floor. Kayla sighed, and put down her clipboard in order to clean up the damage.

“Sorry about that. She really wanted to help”

Will sighed and shook his head, before turning to Nico and setting a plate of food on the table near his bed. Upon closer inspection, the plate had an alarmingly high number of plants. Nico huffed, before selecting an apple and taking a bite from it, mumbling his thanks.

"So what am I meant to do now?"

He asked.

"Well, for a start, breakfast should be more than one apple."

Will replied from where he was putting away a pile of music sheets. Nico felt a pang in his heart, remembering how his mother used to teach him and Bianca to play the piano. Nico could never coordinate his fingers properly, but Bianca played beautifully, and he had liked to sit and watch her, mesmerised by the music. After she died, it was hard for him to listen to music, because it was unfair that music should continue when the people who made him love it were gone. People like Annabeth and Percy could save the world over and over and they still had each other and a billion other friends. Nico had nobody. Not really.

"Nico"

A soft voice broke him from his dreaming, and Nico realised that he was blending in with the shadows. Desperately grasping at the bedframe, Nico drew his gaze up to Will's. The son of Apollo's eyes were blue like his father's, yet less startling. They were more muted in colour, calming and reassuring, just like him. Will tilted his head, and Nico, realising that he was staring, dipped his gaze to fiddle with the apple core in his hands. Will's hands reached out, and took the core, his fingers brushing against Nico's, before withdrawing while the blonde boy apologised gently. Nico waved him off. Everything he touched was destroyed. It was in his nature. He would do all he could to stop that from happening to Will Solace.

Will, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Nico, try sitting down. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Gods, I’m so stupid, what kind of doctor am I? I should have researched more. How can I help if I haven’t researched? I’m sorry”

The son of Apollo was pacing back and forth and he had a length of bandage which he was wrapping and unwrapping around his wrist. Until he saw him on Half-Blood Hill, Nico hadn’t realised how stubborn Will was. Now, he was beginning to notice that the blonde was constantly self-doubting himself. It was normally less obvious than this, when he would always make jokes about how he was no use in battle because he was ‘just a healer’, but now it was clear that he was insecure about even his healing abilities. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Will was only 15. Sure, Nico was around the same age, but people were constantly calling him "kid", or on one memorable occasion, "young gloomy cupcake" (Coach Hedge had some interesting nicknames), but Will had gone from 2nd-in-line to head counselor in an incredibly short span of time. Nico still felt Bianca's loss as if it were yesterday. He couldn't imagine having to go through that twice.

When he had first arrived at, Camp Half-Blood, he had thought that being a demigod was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him, but now he frequently wished that he could have stayed in the Lotus Casino forever, with Bianca, oblivious to the world outside.

Plato once told a story about a group of people that lived inside a cave, only able to view the world from shadows projected onto the cave wall. One of them decided to leave the cave and found the world outside to be full of joy and wonder. When they returned to tell the others, they couldn't persuade them to leave the cave, because the shadows showed the outlines of terrible monsters and they didn't think it was worth the risk.

Nico had stepped out into the real world, but the joy and wonder was overwhelmed by pain and grief. He wanted to return to the shadows. There, he couldn't be hurt, and he couldn't hurt anyone else. It would be so easy to just slip away, it was so much easier leaving than coming back.

"Nico!"

The worried voice cut into Nico's mind and fractured thoughts. It seemed bizarre that anyone would be worried for him.

"Nico, stay with me"

Will sounded urgent, like he couldn't bear the idea of Nico leaving. Nico recalled their earlier conversation, when Will had said that he wasn't stupid, because he'd decided to stay. Nico looked up into Will's frantic eyes, that somehow calmed him even when the owner was panicking, and decided that he would make an effort to stay, even if it was harder than leaving.

Link to pt 1:

Taglist:

@rainbow-sheepofthefamily @luna0713hunter @percabethfangirl @emava04 @seven-halfbloods

@nightmareghosts (sorry i didn't tag you earlier, your user has changed since you asked me to tag you)

#heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #rick riordan #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #riordanverse #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #harley (percy jackson) #cecil markowitz #austin lake #kayla knowles #apollo cabin

[guacameowle]

Random Storytime!

February 14, 2020 is the 23rd anniversary of my becoming a vegetarian! 

Most people wouldn’t have this day memorized; it’s not as though I actually celebrate in any way. The only reason I remember is because how I became a vegetarian happened in such a ridiculous way (& semi-traumatizing for myself as a child) that it has remained a very vivid memory of mine to this day. 

When I was in 2nd grade my family up & moved across the country to Texas. As we settled into our new home, my mom took up a temporary job as a substitute teacher for the school district my older brother & I were enrolled in.

On February 14, 1997, a Friday if I recall, my mom happened to be the substitute teacher for my 2nd grade class (Cheers to my 2nd grade teacher for ditching her class of children to leave a whole day clear to get dicked down for Valentine’s Day. Respect.). This wasn’t the first time my mom had been my substitute teacher (my hometown was very small at the time) so I didn’t think it would a day different from any other.

Our teacher had left us with a bunch of busy work - random worksheets to fill out, drawings to finish, stories to read. My mom wasn’t required to teach any lesson plans, just to move us from one task to the next after a set time. 

One particular worksheet required that we “connect the food to the animal it comes from.” The left column had various foods (eggs, hamburger, steak, sausage links, chicken nuggets, & a ham) & the right column had a few animals listed (cow, pig, chicken, ostrich, & horse). 

What kinda fucking worksheet????

Should have been easy-peasy, right? Yeah, the rest of my class thought so as they were all zooming through the worksheet without being confused as fuck like I was. I spent a good few minutes sitting in my chair looking around at my classmates & back down to my paper several times, wondering why nobody else seemed to not need any help. After a while I thought maybe since I was new to the class, as I had only recently moved to Texas, that I had missed the lesson explaining this concept. 

No big deal. I’d just go up & ask my mom since she was my substitute teacher that day. I brought the paper up to the desk where my mom sat, handed it to her & said, “I don’t understand.” She took one quick glance at the page & simply repeated “connect the foods to the animals they come from.” Blink blink. Blink. Yeah, I can fucking read, mom. Thanks. What does that mean exactly? I asked again, “What does that mean?” My mom took a pencil & drew a line connecting the hamburger to the cow on the page. My exact words to her were, “A cow poops a hamburger?” 

I will never forget the look on my mom’s face when she fucking realized she had never taught me what meat or animal products were or where they came from, particularly how they were obtained. ‘Oh shiiiiiiiiiiit’ doesn’t even being to cover that expression she wore.

Now, at this point, I should make it known that by the age of 8 years old I was deadset on becoming a veterinarian; it was all I had wanted to be since I was 3 years old (at the age of 25 I officially became one, heyoooo!). I loved animals more than anything else. I had once beaten the shit out of my older brother because I saw him try to kick a pigeon - I went into a blind murderous rage! Even after my dad had pulled me off of him & held me upside down I didn’t stop swinging & kicking. Point being - I LOVED ANIMALS MORE THAN ANYTHING. I would never do anything to hurt them. 

My mom wasn’t gentle when she dropped the earth-shattering knowledge on me that some animals were used for human consumption. 

“No, a cow doesn’t poop a hamburger. The cow is killed and cut up for meat to make a hamburger. *she draws a line from sausage links to the pig* Sausage comes from pig meat. *she draws a line from chicken nuggets to the chicken* Chicken nuggets are made from chicken meat. *she draws a line from eggs to the chicken and ostrich* Birds lay eggs, some kinds that we eat. *she draws a line from the ham to the pig* Ham comes from pig meat.”

Here is where I finally overcame my absolute shock & horror at all this new information that had been thrown at me about my precious animals... & broke down crying, very loudly, then proceeded to run out of the classroom because I remembered that my dad had packed me a ham sandwich intended for lunch that day. Wasn’t fucking eating that anymore. Nope.

My mom gets a neighboring teacher to look after the class & goes off after me. It was easy to find me, just had to follow the noise of the wailing & sniffling little girl in the bathroom stall.

I don’t exactly remember how she coaxed me out of the stall back into the classroom, but I do remember yelling at her that I thought her & dad were liars & monsters for letting me eat animals & that I would never trust food ever again, lololol. 

She didn’t make me finish the worksheet. Years later she told me she finished it for me so I’d get the credit, but she figured I’d been traumatized enough.

Lunch time rolled around a short while later. I had a packed lunch that my dad had so lovingly made me, the monster-liar-animal-eater that he was! I refused to eat anything that was packed for me until I asked a bunch of questions about it. I sat with my mom in the classroom during lunch & pointed at everything that was packed for me & everything that she’d brought for herself, asking if it came from an animal & which animal. The only thing I’d deemed safe eating were my carrot sticks, some grapes, and my apple juice - but even then I was still suspicious. I glared at my mom the entire time she ate her own ham sandwich. 

On top of that, it had been Valentine’s Day! Everyone in my class had exchanged chocolates, my absolute favorite food! Which animal did chocolate come from? Monkeys? Penguins? Turtles? I didn’t fucking know! My mom explained it came from a bean grown from the ground, but that it was sometimes made with milk from cows. Alive cows that were only milked & not killed. I was suspicious & no longer had any trust in me, so I didn’t eat a single piece anyway. Do you know how it was for me to not eat any of the chocolate that day???? IT WAS THE HARDEST THING I’VE EVER DONE! 

It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that people ate animals. I was very upset & offended, but decided that just because they all did didn’t mean I had to! So, I became a vegetarian that day. My parents thought it was a phase, that I’d grow out of it. At first they joked that I liked meat too much to give it up forever. After a few weeks of that not working, they took me to a doctor to have him explain the importance of having a balanced diet for a growing child, but I didn’t care to listen. I did get sick a few weeks after that - surprise, iron deficiency! A different doctor helped me make a list of vegetables I needed to eat more of if I wanted to stay healthy. 

So that’s how I became a vegetarian; a shitty ‘connect the foods to the animals’ worksheet that traumatized me. A day that was meant for love was the day of my worst heartache. At the time it was horrifying, but now it’s become a funny family story my mom likes sharing with people. Occasionally she will randomly say “a cow poops a hamburger?” & laugh at me.

#Meowle Mumbles #vegetarian #storytime #long post #text post

[its-kierce-sherman]

[What happened the day the DTI boys swapped personalities]

((I had 5 hours to do whatever so I did this. Warning it’s kinda longish))

So, Quinn was behind the idea of swaping personalities yesterday and was supported by Callum so it became a thing (this is how anything starts) They all drew names. Kierce got Francis. Francis got Quinn. Quinn got Kierce. Callum got Kent. Kent got Callum.

The rules to the game were simple: - They had to dress up as the person they got - They had to stay in character at all times - Everyone contributes $50 for the prize money - The last person to get eliminated gets the prize money - if there are two or more people standing the eliminated have to vote for who did the best and the winner gets the prize money

Mission 1: Dress the part.

Kierce: - Wore what he normal did around people - stole an eyepatch from Francis' collection - styled his hair to cover one of his eyes - Money spent: $0

Francis: - wore a ball cap - a bright yellow T-Shirt that said, "spreading happy :)" - blue jeans with splashes of different colors of paint - tied his hair back and got rid of the eyepatch - everyone liked that (but mostly Callum)

Quinn: - avoided formal clothes at all costs - raided Kierce's closet - wore a million accessories - shirt with obscure design on it - black jeans - yoiked Kierce's favorite jacket - Kierce did not like that

Callum: - sportswear - looked good - none were surprised - posted so many pictures of himself - his fans liked that

Kent: - Callum had to help him - $80 black dress shirt - $50 white designer pants - $65 grey Oxford boots - $70 ring - Total: $265.46 - Callum paid for all of it (:>) - Kent looked really good tho so it was all worth it

"They're group of good-looking men but something very wrong with all them." - Kierce's grandma 2016

The Tumblr stuff happened while they were waiting for everyone to get ready and start the day. Kierce will never say "Idiot baka, ever again.

So earlier on everyone picked out an activity they all liked doing. So Callum picked first.

Mission 2: Have a fashion show in Callum’s room.

Kierce: - said it was stupid - didn't do it - was a judge - 0's for everyone - took pictures of everyone - and laughed bitterly - enjoyed watching Francis suffer

Francis: - hated every minute of it - wanted to die - was stuck as the dj - fought the urge to play Last Resort - fought the urge to yell at Kent's stupidity

Quinn: - was a judge too - used big words - that he didn't know the meaning to - it was very adorable - "Sir your score is a 5+4." - beams with pride at his cleverness.

Callum: - lived and yet died - had to wear simple or mismatched outfits - oh the horror - still looked good

Kent: - wanted to try wearing high heels - failed - he tripped so badly - and so many times - but he really wanted to master walking in high heels - Kent pls stop you can't

Next thing!

Mission 3: Play at the park with kids. Quinn picked it after bungee jumping was shot down by Francis (who is afraid of heights.)

Kierce: - said it was stupid - did it anyway - Kei loves kids so dang much - he had so much fun telling them stories and helping the small ones on the monkey bars - said the kids made him do it - frowned on the outside - smiled on the inside - a tiny girl hugged him and he nearly hugged her back - he just patted her of the head awkwardly

Francis: - played on the merry-go-round - he spun it so fast and the kids loved him for it - he was smiling and laughing with all of them - fell off once and just laughed it off - everyone recorded it - Francis should act his age more often - he snuck his camera out every couple of minutes to take pictures of everyone - he mostly took pictures of Callum

Quinn: - told kids to stay in school and never do drugs - kept randomly saying things like, "1+1=2" - "Hey kid. Do you want some smarties? It's $20 a piece" - the kids found it funny - Kierce did not - pretended to take a nap on the bench

Callum: - played basketball with some boys - used to play basketball and hadn't done it in forever - everyone appreciated that - "How are you so tall mister?" "I have no idea I just," waves hands around, "grew one day." - his Kent impression was dead on - Kent went :O "I did that too!"

Kent: - played basketball with Callum and kids - he forgot he was Callum and couldn't help it - he was eliminated - but everyone expected that - Kent will and can only be Kent

Next!!!!

Mission 4: Play volleyball. Twas Kent’s idea so they went to the gym that the volleyball club use. The club members were there as usual and they played too.

Kierce: - Said it was stupid - Did it anyway - Had fun - Got hit in the face with the ball many times

Francis: - He was not a fan - He did jump around tho - and smiled no matter how fake it was - so he was safe - showed amazing team spirit - Lysander dropped by because he heard there was drama going on within the jock circle - happiness levels went up by millions - and smiled brighter than the sun - Ly was so confused but he liked seeing his bf happy as did everyone

(Side note: Francis is not single.)

Quinn: - You could tell he wanted to jump around and just be an energy ball - because that's what he did - he was eliminated - but he just shrugged it off and laughed - had too much fun missing the ball every time he tried to spike it

Callum: - CEO of getting hit in the face. - usually he'd just dodge them - but he was Kent now - he couldn't afford to break character - His nails suffered and he was in pain but he pushed through - had fun? - got hit in the stomach once - nearly died

Kent: - just an normal day with the bois - kept forgetting that most of the boys has never played volleyball before - he was the one behind all the times Callum and Kierce got hit in the face

Mission 5: Read books. Kierce's activity was originally doing a job one of the teachers had hired him to do, which was clean out one of the storage rooms. No one but Kierce liked that. So he had to pick again. 

Kierce: - complained about such a stupid activity - read, "How to be British 101," and, "The Tea for Me Might Be the Tea for You” - enjoyed it

Francis: - enjoyed the peace and quiet - until he realized he was suppose to be disturbing it - looked over at Kierce - who looked back at him with a smug smile and then went back to his book - the urge to strangle was strong with this one - in the end he just bounced around looking at books - talked loudly about whatever - got kicked out of the library - danced all the way out - wanted to die

Quinn: - knew he was eliminated but was having too much fun to stop - randomly shushed people - found a math book - it was big so he assume it was complicated - it was and he understood nothing but he felt smart - "Quinn what are you reading?" "Advanced Engineering Mathematics; the 7th edition." - when he got tired of it he found a book with math puns - math puns for the rest of the day

Callum: - avoided the fashion magazines - wouldn't even go anywhere near it - instead he just walked around all bored like - bounced a ball off the wall - accidentally hit himself in the face with the ball - blacked out for a minute - when he finally came to - Kent: "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." - Callum: "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." - Quinn: "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." - Kierce: "Shut up back there!" - Francis recorded the whole thing

Kent: - was bored - kept pulling books off the shelves and putting them back where they didn't belong - danced out with Francis

The last mission: Go to Francis' favorite tea shop.

Kierce: - first thing he did was order Francis' favorite tea - "Hmm, this doesn't taste as good as it usually does." - got assaulted by napkins

Francis: - assaulted Kierce with napkins - tried to run away - Kierce threw a fork at him - he died from shock - eliminated - ordered his favorite tea - proceeded to go on a rant about how stupid the day has been - chewed out Kent for being stupid and told him to never try wearing high heels beacuse he'll only hurt himself - told Quinn that offering candy to kids was a bad idea even if it is a joke because adults can take it the wrong way and that his math puns were the worst - told Callum that he should play basketball more often - glared at Kierce

Quinn: - makes a math pun - but it's not just any math pun - it's the worst math pun - had countless hot chocolates because Callum was paying - tried to make Francis and Kierce apologize to each other - Francis: "No, I'm not apologizing. He said something stupid and deserved everything he got." - Kierce: "I'm not apologizing to someone as stupid as him that's just stupid." - Quinn: :( - Kent: "Could you two get along FOR FIVE MINUTES!"

Callum: - smiled at all the workers and told them they were all doing a great job - gave them all a $50 tip for their hard work - they were so busy dying they didn't notice Kierce and Francis fighting - the DTI boys avoided getting kicked out again - sadly that wasn't a very Kent thing to do - he did got eliminated - ordered an latte - there was a fancy heart in it - Cal took a picture - then he asked for the cafe worker who did it to thank them - "Thank you, you’re really talented with latte art. Next time I visit will you teach me how to do that?"

Kent: - he had a great time - had a smoothie or two - laughed at Quinn's bad math puns when no one else did

To end the day the five friends went to a karaoke and had a great time singing and talking about the events of the day. Francis showed off the pictures he took that day and promised that he'd print copies of the best ones and give them to everyone. Kierce won $250 which is always a good way to end the day. Callum swore to never play volleyball and posted on Instagram about the day. Quinn has a great time and learned many things, like how many math puns there are, something that is always very important to know. Kent was just happy to spend time with his friends and play volleyball. It was a wonderful day.

#DTI boys #kierce sherman #francis wolfe #quincy graves #callum carter #kent woodson #DTI personality swap #ooc

[xchaosandmagic]

Moments. A Handon Story.

Written for my best friend (@naturesloopholed) for our discord verse with prompts from https://sentence-prompts.tumblr.com/. Prompts are both in italics and bold print.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope has a lot of moments in her life that she remembers. Good moments and bad moments. Moments.

Moments she wants to remember forever, moments she wishes she could just forget.

Funerals and parties and fights.

Moments of joy and moments of sorrow. Moments.

Some of her favorite moments are with her family, some with her friends, and some with him.

Out of everyone she shared moments of her life with, the moments she spent with him were the most varied. Most of them were happy, but there was a lot of sad ones and frustrating ones too.

As she stood there, dressed in black, screaming out at the wind, their moments together flashed through her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She reminded him of a lightning storm, beautiful but dangerous. He told her that once, right after they’d made love. She was pregnant and knew it, but hadn’t told him yet. They were in love, but that was yet another secret that was kept tucked away at this moment.

There was a bit of sunlight creeping in through the window, highlighting the red in her auburn hair, making his green eyes shine bright.

She was curled in his arms, partially laying on her stomach and staring up at his face. He was laying on his back, his shoulders and head propped up by the pillows against the headboard. He drew absentminded shapes on her skin, heart and swirls and stars.

“You remind me of a lightning storm.” He told her, looking at her lips before bringing his eyes up to meet hers, only to find her frowning at him. “Beautiful, but dangerous.”

She grinned, of course she would, both of those words were compliments to her. “Well thank you very much, Mr. Kirby.” She told him before shifting so she was sitting alongside him, she kissed his cheek. “I have to go now, I’m meeting my aunt Bekah for brunch.”

“Have fun with that.” Landon smiled softly at her, cupping her cheek to bring her in for a soft and slow kiss.

“Mmm.” Hope hummed when he pulled back, her eyes staying shut for a moment before only opening halfway. “Keep doing that and I might forget about brunch completely.”

“And then your aunt will know we were...you know.” Landon replied, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“So? I’m a big girl.” Hope told him, despite still being a month from turning 18. “My aunts both know that I do what I want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No I’m not being creepy! I’m staring at you with a sketchbook. That’s universally deemed uncreepy.” Hope had told him one afternoon as they sat in the park, Landon playing his guitar and writing down a few unspoken words here and there, they must’ve sounded good with the chords in his head or something.

“You are being creepy, Hope.” Landon chuckled at her, not looking up from his notebook. “You are silently staring at me.”

“With a sketchbook.” Hope reminded, speaking slowly to make a point. “And if you would pay a little more attention to me, maybe I wouldn’t seem so creepy.”

“I am paying attention to you.” Landon finally met her eyes. His seemed bright, and happy. She made a mental note about that, reminding herself of how she could always tell his emotions by how his eyes looked.

“You haven’t said two words in the last half an hour.” Hope pointed out, it might have seemed like she was trying to start a fight if she hadn’t been smiling.

“I’m trying to write a beautiful ballad about your beauty.” Landon tried to say it with a straight face but failed miserably, he was writing her a love song but how he said it made it sound so corny.

Hope laughs softly and pushed him backwards, grabbing his guitar and setting it off to the side, along with her sketchbook, before she leaned down and kissed him.

Landon stared up at her like she held the stars in her eyes. “You know there are kids around, right? This just makes us both seem creepy.” 

Hope laughed and swatted his arm lightly. “You can be such an asshole, Landon Kirby.” She was teasing him. They hardly ever had real fights, or at least not over stupid and petty stuff like this.

“Hmmm...Can I? I did not know this.” Landon joked sarcastically back, sitting up when she finally stopped leaning over him. “So you have my attention, what now?” He asked, his eyes shining even more, if that was even possible.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she feels a tightness in her chest, a new fear falling over her suddenly. What if he was upset? What if he decided he didn’t love her anymore? Or that he didn’t want the baby? They could very easily get rid of the baby girl.

“You...are pregnant…” Landon said slowly, the shock evident on his face and in his voice. “Well, I always dreamed of us having kids together, of course I thought we’d be older, but we can do this...right?” Landon asked, an unsureness in his voice.

Hope smiled at him and nodded. “We can.” She said softly, reaching out to take his hand in her. “Together.”

“I just hope our child isn’t as creepy as you are.” Landon grinned at her after saying that.

Hope gasped, a small giggle escaping her lips. “You are such a jerk!” She shrieked at him, pushing him back down and kissing him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“If I didn’t love you, I’d beat your ass for that.” She’s angry because he put himself in harms way, but he was only trying to protect her and their baby from getting hurt, and he always comes back.

“Phoenix, remember? I die, I come back.” Landon said, looking up at her from the pile of ash they he had yet to fully stand out of.

“But what if one time you don’t come back?” Hope was obviously very emotional and scared, maybe it was from the hormones or maybe it was because she was honestly scared.

Landon was quick to get up and go to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. “That won’t happen.” He whispered reassuringly.

“You don’t know that.” Hope said quietly, her head resting on his chest as she cried softly.

Landon rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you or our baby.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Well can you do that without dying?” Hope begged, if she wasn’t still so scared she would hate how weak she sounded. But it was him, and she didn’t mind him seeing her weak, as long as no one else did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But this was one moment she wanted to forget. Because, now came the saddest part of any relationship, the goodbye.

He was wrong. It did happen. He died and didn’t come back. A phoenix doesn’t have many weaknesses, but there was one. And one weakness was all it took. Gold. More specifically, a golden tipped arrow straight to the heart.

He was dead and not coming back. Stone cold. Pale. Lifeless.

And Hope never felt such pain before. Not when she lost her mother, not when she lost her father, not eve when she thought she had lost their baby girl. This was different. It was like someone completely ripped her heart out. He was her soulmate, she was more convinced of that in his death than she ever had been when he was alive.

She blamed herself, even though it wasn’t really her fault.

A supernatural headhunter, someone who had a kill list that contained one of every supernatural being on it, except for a phoenix. Which he got right before Hope proceeded to rip his beating heart from his chest. That gave her a small sense of gratification when she plunged her hand into his chest, hearing and feeling how his heartbeat quickened at the knowledge that he would soon die. She took pleasure in ripping it from his chest. Screaming out as she clutched it, crushing it as the headhunter’s body fell to the ground.

She stood there a moment before screaming, dropping the heart as she fell to her knees in the October mud. They were out enjoying a beautiful day with their little girl. Enjoying the early fall weather, it was crisp but not cold.

He would never see his daughter grow up.

The day of the funeral, the temperature dropped and a sudden wind chill came in. Hope, as the young widow, had to go to the funeral even if all she wanted to do was stay home and cuddle her baby. She left Addy with Rebekah for the day, deeming it too cold for the almost three year to be out.

All throughout the funeral, she held it together. Didn’t shed a tear the entire time, forcing herself to just keep it together.

She stayed until everyone else left, staring at the casket at the head of the church, she had insisted on his having a proper funeral. And a proper grave, so that Addy could visit his grave.

Hope didn’t know that Lizzie had stayed behind to make sure she was okay, not until the blonde followed her out of the church. “You can’t just hold it in like that.”

“He’s gone, like really gone, Liz.” The raw emotion in Hope’s voice was almost enough to make Lizzie break down in sobs.

“You need to grieve, there’s nothing wrong with grieving, go ahead and let it out.”

Hope was silent for a moment before screaming and letting her magic wreak havoc on the ground and trees in front of her, her scream quickly turned into a wail, and she stopped her magical assault on the trees as she fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

Lizzie was at her side as fast as the siphoner could be, dropping to her knees beside her friend, not caring that her white tights might be ruined by mud or dirt or torn up by twigs. She carefully pulled Hope into her arms as the tribrid sobbed.

Hope clung to her friend like the blonde was a liferaft, keeping her from drowning or drifting away. Like Lizzie was the only thing currently tying her to life.

“You’re not alone.” Lizzie whispered to her, holding on to the auburn haired widow. “You are not alone, Hope.” She placed a kiss to the crown of her best friend’s head and held her until they absolutely had to get up to go to the burial spot.

Lizzie walked beside Hope through the cemetery, watching as the pallbearers carried Landon’s casket to the grave sight. If it hadn’t been for the blonde, Hope might’ve collapsed and not been able to walk to the grave.

“Goodbye my love.” Hope whispered, tears brimming her eyes as she took a handful of dirt in her hand, letting it fall into the grave as Lizzie squeezed her other hand and Rafael gently rubbed her shoulder, both trying to offer her their support.

The end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#story #landon x hope (naturesloopholed) #discord verse with naturesloopholded

[classicdaisycalico]

For the ship writing thing... 5 with Luigi + Daisy?

send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic

Hi I’m sorry about how appallingly late this is??? I had work in the middle of the day and I couldn’t finish it before my shift began so I worked on it some more after I got home and uhhhh here’s the finished product!

I set this a week after the events of “Super Mario Land”. Hope you like this!

5: “Things You Didn’t Say At All”

Flowers.

Daisy had long been used to receiving flowers as gifts of affection from wealthy young men that sought her out as a potential bride, often to the point where she sighed dismissively at the mere sight of a bouquet. More often than not, they contained mostly daisies, accompanied by the occasional folded-up letter hidden inside. Even the letters were annoying; time and again, her eyes glossed over every letter of every meaningless word detailing her “unparalleled beauty” as the Princess of Sarasaland. If she had to read yet another account of how “unabashedly lovestruck” another self-centered wealthy snob was after “seeing such a priceless gem”, she was going to vomit, without a doubt.

Was a pretty maid in a dress all these men...no, BOYS...ever saw her as? Would these chauvinistic CHILDREN only ever equate her to just another woman to parade around like some sort of prize? Most importantly, had it never occurred to them that there was more to a girl than just looks alone? Or had they been driven by other motives related to ruling her kingdom?

Tatanga definitely seemed to think so just last week.

She couldn’t help but laugh at their stupidity. Clearly, they knew nothing of Sarasaland’s matrilineal ruling system, which had been in place for centuries, long before the 4 kingdoms merged into the nation she knew today. It was the QUEEN who was at the helm of governance in her country, particularly due to an old magic that traced back to Easton’s first ruler, Flora. This magic, said to come from the stars themselves, granted its wielder “a deep connection to the earth”, that manifested itself in the creation and manipulation of plant life. It was also the reason why every queen since Flora had been named after a flower. Several historical accounts in the royal archives back home looked upon this ability with great reverence, equating this power with peace and prosperity. Needless to say, they believed it to be nothing short of spectacular.

Conversely, there was nothing spectacular about these people, foolish enough to believe they could subvert such a long-established tradition for their own personal gain. Like her ancestors before her, Daisy also possessed this old magic, making her, firstborn daughter and only child of Queen Rose and King Edward, heir to her mother’s throne. Call it the prideful nature of the Sarasi citizens, but she knew such avarice and arrogance would be the downfall of anyone who sought to usurp her rightful place, especially Tatanga.

So one could imagine her surprise when Peach called her down to the main entrance of the castle early that morning for something left at the gate for her.

“Coming!”

While scurrying down from the guest room, she spotted her best friend at the foot of the staircase, a puzzled look on her face as she carried a strange, multicolored bundle in both of her hands. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Peach said, violet eyes looking away from her friend, almost uncharacteristically. “One of my guards said someone left these for you. He couldn’t get a good idea on who, though...it must have been too dark to tell!”

The Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom then proceeded to hand the bundle over to Daisy, which the latter could now see as...yet another bouquet of flowers.

Yet, for some strange reason, rather than repulsion, something drew her to these flowers. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t a huge assortment of daisies, for once, but a tinier one with smaller flowers, instead. A single oxeye daisy was nestled in the middle of a careful arrangement of lilacs, pansies, primroses, dahlias, forget-me-nots, and one blue rose. Nestled in between the spaces in between were white clovers, and all were tied together with a little orange ribbon. Folded over the ribbon was a little piece of paper that dislodged itself, fluttering clumsily to the floor and opening face up. Bending over to pick it up, Daisy caught only a single word written in green ink that stood out amongst the blank white space of the paper.

Principessa.

A tiny grin made its way across her face. If the Italian word for “Princess” didn’t give it away, then the green ink certainly did a good enough job. It was probably a gift as thanks from a walk-turned-quasi-date from three days prior. She and Luigi had only met that morning, the latter looking to retrieve his lost hat from the castle grounds. After introducing themselves, they had walked through Toad Town together, getting to know one another. Their outing lasted far longer than expected, ending with watching the sun set over the Mushroom City skyline from a cliffside. Not only that, but he had taken it upon himself to walk her back to the castle, mustering up the courage to shyly kiss her hand underneath a starry sky just before they parted ways.

That green-clad, dark-haired plumber, with his warm brown eyes and timid smiles, never left her mind since. It seemed impossible to fall in love with someone upon first meeting, but apparently anything was possible after almost getting forcibly married to a powerful alien explorer. Besides, she recalled Luigi mentioning the same thing happening to his own parents.

Maybe the answer lay in the bouquet...

She peered closer at the flowers; there was definitely a meaning behind them. Nobody like this man could just throw a bunch of flowers together without putting some thought into it. Knowing what she learned about Luigi those three days ago, he was far more intelligent than that, In addition, she was almost certain he’d rather let his actions speak for him any opportunity he saw, seeing firsthand how shy he was.

Racking through her knowledge of plant symbolism, she started with the oxeye, a symbol of patience, and worked her way out from there. The forget-me-nots were obvious. The lilacs were purple, noting the feeling of first love. The pansies represented “lovers’ thoughts”, while the primroses stood for eternal love. The dahlias symbolized elegance and dignity, and the little white clovers held the meaning of “I promise.”

Lastly, her own green eyes focused on the blue rose for a good minute, her breath catching in her throat as she finally recalled its meaning.

Mystery. Attaining the impossible. Love at first sight.

He could have conveyed this all in the note, but instead he left it to the flowers to speak for him: “I will never forget you, if you don’t forget me. I promise to love you forever like I first loved you, no matter how long the wait.”

The princess felt her heart skip a beat. For all his talk of being afraid of most everything, the fact that she lived so far away did not seem to intimidate him at all. No ragamuffin noble of any caliber put such deep meaning into a bouquet the way this gentleman of a plumber did.

“Daisy, are you okay?”

Her head snapped up. She had been so engrossed in the flowers she forgot Peach was even here. “Do you have any idea who could have given these to you?”

The brunette picked the note up off the floor and gave it to her friend. “I think this should help you figure that out.” She giggled, and began making her way back upstairs. “Now excuse me while I find a good vase for these...”

Peach watched as her giddy best friend hurried away, and looked down at the note. Upon seeing the green ink, she smirked, almost knowingly. “I knew it.”

#ask me things #chihiro-and-byakuya #melissa writes #Luigi #Princess Daisy #my fave #Luigi and Daisy #my mario series otp #Princess Peach #I have off of work tomorrow so you know what that means...KEEP THEM ASKS COMING FOLKS

[mushroomminded]

Mend Until You’re Whole (End)

The Aftermath of Bend Until You Break

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Written by @fundeadasylum, illustrated by myself.

They were called to testify in the midst of a heavy winter.

The bitter cold sunk down to Milo’s bones and made his chest ache something fierce, each breath of chilly air a raw scrape of sandpaper across his insides. Even through his multiple layers, the wind found a way to seep into the cracks and burn against his skin. He was shivering by the time they’d crossed the parking lot to the courthouse and he clutched at Dan for warmth as they stepped through the doors.

“It’ll be okay, Milo,” Dan’s voice was a low and reassuring rumble, comforting, even in the misunderstanding of Milo’s tremors, “We won’t let anything happen to you. I swear on my life.”

“No one’s going to hurt you ever again,” Jake took Milo’s hand in his, offering a somewhat anxious smile,

“We’ll make sure of it.”

———

It felt like they were in the courtroom for hours.

Sometimes there was yelling. Sometimes a lot of charts and big words and documents were thrown around.

Milo dozed off at some point only to wake with a scream of fear when the judge banged his hammer on the gavel. When his sudden outburst made everyone turn to look at him, he writhed in his seat and hid himself in the arms of his dads.

Neither Dan nor Jake would acknowledge Mr. or Mrs. Sumney’s existence. Milo looked at them once, saw the look of furious disgust Mr. Sumney was giving Dan, and flipped them both off with a snarl that showed his teeth. After that, they could have been a brick in the wall for all the attention he gave them.

The court session stretched on and on until the judge finally admitted they would have to return to pick up the proceedings another time.

It was going to be a long and arduous journey.

———

Jake couldn’t sleep.

He’d gotten into a comfortable position, closed his eyes, and evened out his breathing, exhaustion tugging at him, luring him towards the rest he so desperately needed. But his mind wouldn’t slow down. His thoughts chased each other in circles in his head, tearing up the metaphorical landscape of his mind, anxiety chewing on his frayed nerves and buzzing tension at the back of his skull.

The clock read almost 1am and, despite how tired he was, the nervous clenching of his stomach told him that attempting sleep was a futile effort. With a resigned sigh, Jake rolled himself out of bed and shrugged on the jacket hanging from his closet door.

The house was quiet when he eased his door open, making his way down the hall on the balls of his feet. He paused outside of Milo’s bedroom, eyeing the half open door—it was never shut these days, not all the way, at least. Then, gnawing on his lip and unable to fight the anxiety stirring inside him, Jake gently nudged the door open enough to peer into the room.

Milo was asleep, curled up tightly in his bed under two comforters and at least five other blankets. There was an enormous pile of shark and sea creature plushies around him, the biggest wrapped in his arms and pressed against his face, a few of the smaller ones having escape to the floor. Milo would twitch occasionally, murmur under his breath, but it was never enough to wake him and he would always fall still again, his breathing even and deep. The lamp on his desk painted the walls in ethereal-blue fish and tiny stars, the little motor in the lamp making them flow around the room as the shade rotated around the light. Everything was cast in a deep, peaceful cerulean, deepening the shadows and glittering off the eyes of the sharks in Milo’s bed. The entire room had the same feeling as that domed room in the aquarium, serene and separated from the rest of reality by something intangible, something that could not be understood, a dream among the sharks, beautiful and terrifying but completely and perfectly safe.

Jake smiled to himself and backed away from the door, tugging it almost closed again, and made his way down the hall again. The stairs creaked softly in the dark as he felt his way down with the aid of the banister, fingers trailing over the cooled and polished wood. The path was familiar, he’d been living here for years, but in the dark with all those thoughts and fears chewing holes through his logic, the way seemed longer and more foreboding, a long descent into a cold, dark hell.

He thought about turning on the lights when he reached the sitting room, but the stimulation seemed like too much. So he sank onto the couch and turned on the television, cranking the volume down to a low murmur. Then he settled back, pulled a pillow into his chest, and listlessly watched stupid late night infomercials, the mind numbing ridiculousness of the two-for-one deals washing over him in grounding waves. He was so caught up in staring at the tv and letting his mind wander, that he didn’t hear the stairs creak or the footsteps padding across the sitting room carpet.

He jumped when a warm body sat down next to him on the couch.

“Hey, couldn’t sleep?” Dan asked, looking just as tired as Jake felt.

“Mm, yeah,” Jake croaked into the pillow he was nearly squeezing the stuffing out of, “Can’t get my head to slow down.”

Dan made a noise of acknowledgement, letting his gaze wander to the television screen, “Same here. I was reading when I heard you get out of bed. When you didn’t come back upstairs, figured I’d join you.”

Jake sighed and relieved the pillow enough to rub a hand over his face, “I just…it feels like it’s one thing after another and like we can’t get a break. And I just…I just want things to be okay. To be better. Milo deserves that. Hell, Milo deserves so much better and this court bullsh—stuff is just dragging him back down after we tried to so damn—darn hard to get him to—god, when’s the last time he really smiled, Dan?” Jake looked up, his expression twisted in genuine despair and distress, fingers biting into the abused pillow, his knuckles white with tension, “He smiled at the aquarium but he cried too and he hasn’t smiled since and this court—this whole hearing—it’s killing him! He’s s-so scared all the time and he’s hurting and I can’t—I don’t—how are we supposed to do anything!? How are we s-supposed to help h-him!? How—“

“Jake!” Dan hissed and Jake snapped his mouth shut, looking a little afraid. Dan winced, “Sorry, just…you were getting a little loud, buddy. Don’t wanna wake up the kid.”

Jake drew in a shuddering breath and pressed his face into the pillow with a quiet noise that might have been a whimper. The television buzzed in the silence that filtered in between them.

“Do you ever…forget that it’s him?”

Even with his voice muffled by the pillow, the hoarse croak of Jake’s words were audible over the ad for a perfect blend of steak knives and non-stick frying pans. Dan stared at the back of his head but Jake didn’t move.

Dan sighed and turned to the tv screen, “Yeah, sometimes. A lot more than I’d like to admit. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want this to end, ya know. A part of me that wants this forever. But at the same time,” He dropped his gaze to his hands, weaving his fingers together in his lap. The flickering light of the television outlined him in guilt and worry, “It feels dirty. Wrong. Like we’re cheating him somehow.”

“I can’t help but think,” Jake’s voice was a rasp as he lifted his head enough for the electronic glow to catch the dark bags under his eyes and the frustrated tears sticking to his lashes, “I can’t help thinking that—that maybe if we’d tried a little harder to change him back then…then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe it’s o-our f-f-f-ffffff—“ He broke off and took a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes. A few tears escaped down his cheeks, “Maybe it’s our fault this happened. Maybe we did this to him because we didn’t t-try hard enough. We barely tried!”

“What? No, Jake, no,” Dan looped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, nudging the smaller man into his side and fretting over him, ever the Mom Friend, “Jake, buddy, this isn’t our fault. I mean, um, yeah, sure, maybe we could have worked a little more on the whole ‘changing Milo back’ thing but…but man,” Dan ran a hand through his hair, had to pretend it wasn’t shaking, had to pretend his eyes weren’t hot, had to ignore the way his chest tightened, “We were doing the only thing we could think of doing. What the Sumney’s did to Milo, Jake, that’s not on us. And if I could ever get my hands on them, I’d—“ He bit his lip, tried to breathe the hot fire of anger out through his nose.

Jake made a noise that might have been a chuckle if wasn’t for the snotty, watery sound of it caught in his throat, “Prison’s changed you.”

Dan huffed out a breathy laugh, “I think Milo’s change…probably changed all of us.”

———

Milo wretched, doubling over the toilet and heaving the contents of his breakfast into the bowl. He heaved in a breath, trying to fill his lungs, only to bend over and throw up again. Tears and snot and sweat smeared down his face as he choked and sobbed, stomach clenching so much it ached. His chest twinged in pain with every movement, his hands shaking, the acrid stench of bile and sour food stinging the back of his throat with the burn of stomach acid.

He wheezed, sagging against the lip of the toilet, his entire body trembling, panting with the effort he’d just exerted. Spittle dripped out of his mouth and down his chin and he couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away, his arms felt too weak to move. He felt like he’d been in the bathroom for hours, days maybe, just throwing up everything that was inside him until even his organs would come spilling out of his mouth and he’d actually be as hollowed out and empty as he felt. Milo pressed his sweaty forehead against the cold porcelain, taking deep breaths, wincing at the pain that wracked down his throat and stabbed through his chest. One trembling hand reached up and pawed at the handle until he managed to flush the evidence of his sickness away.

Then, just as he was starting to collect himself again, nausea swelled up his throat and he bent over the toilet again.

This time was different.

Milo felt the bile rise and he coughed, shuddering at the strings of spit that hung from his open jaw. He coughed again, trying to dislodge the sickening lump that was wedge in his throat, convulsing slightly as a fresh wave of tears blurred his vision. It felt as if he’d swallowed a rock. Panic made Milo’s heart flutter and he clenched the sides of the toilet bowl, desperately trying to make himself throw up, terrified of suffocating on his own vomit.

After what felt like a dizzying amount of time, he felt it slide up his throat and a pungent, sour-sweet made his tongue curl as he coughed and heaved and spat. And then he couldn’t stop coughing. He couldn’t stop and all he could do was hang onto the rim of the toilet seat and cry through his gagging as his body convulsed with wet hacks. His chest was on fire, both with the need for air and with the crushing push of his diaphragm forcing his lungs to expel air over and over and over again, his stomach clenching, his whole body shivering with cold sweat and exhaustion and terror.

Because what was coming out of his mouth now was not the remains of his breakfast.

It was a thick, viscous goo, black and an iridescent, poisonous purple. It clung with sticky threads to his lips and chin, oozing into the water like syrup and floating in clumps around on the surface. Milo sobbed, unable to tell if the stuff was actually moving or if it was just his tears blurring his vision.

He coughed again, harder, and tasted a metal tang through the sour-sweet.

Breathing heavily, wiping sweat from his face with a shaking hand and smearing away his tears, Milo blinked down into the toilet bowl.

A strangled whine escaped his and he pressed his hand over his mouth, tears bubbling over again when he saw the streaks of red amongst the black goo. He tried to call for his dads but all that came out was a weak croak of sound, his throat ruined after hours of coughing and vomiting. So, trembling like a leaf in the wind and clutching at his sweat soaked shirt, Milo stumbled to his feet and staggered out of the bathroom, slumping against the wall in the hallway as he tried to regain his breath. Once the floor stopped tilting under his feet, he started moving again.

It was so much effort just to walk from the bathroom to the sitting room where he knew Dan and Jake were watching television. Every inch of him was in pain; the tender skin on his chest pulsing with stinging heat, his throat raw, muscles spasming involuntarily, a bone deep ache settling into him in a way that bent his spine and bowed his head.

So focused was Milo on actually making it to his destination that he almost missed the shouted conversation happening at the front door.

He raised his head at the end of the hallway that opened into the foyer, gazing with bleary eyes at the scene.

Jake was standing in front of the open door, his narrow frame taking up the entire threshold, legs apart, fists clenched, back taut. He was facing away from Milo but the anger in his body language was obvious. Dan hovered at his shoulder, pulled back, but his presence enough to offer support should the need arise. On the front stoop was a woman Milo didn’t recognize but instantly didn’t like simply on the principle that she’d obviously pissed Jake off (a feat in and of itself).

That and her expression said “bitch” in bright neon letters.

And she was yelling at Jake.

No one yelled at Jake. Ever.

“--went to jail for kidnapping and you didn’t even have the decency to let your family know!?” She shrieked, “And then you go and risk everything just for some--some supernatural freak--” Milo flinched at the word, pressing himself against the wall.

“He’s not a freak, mom, he’s my son!” Jake shouted back and Milo quailed because he had never heard Jake raise his voice like that, had never heard so much disgust and anger burn the words that Jake was spitting with an unprecedented ferocity.

“Since when!?” Mrs. Pierly barked, getting right up into Jake’s personal space, her face a twisted mask of disappointed and rage, “Since when did you have a kid, Jacob!? I don’t care what he is, you let me into this house right now so I can sort this mess out. You have no idea what you’ve done!”

“I told you no!” Jake snarled in return, squaring up against her, his own boiling temper making him swell with hot and righteous fury, expanding his presence in a way Milo had never seen before, “You’re not setting foot in this house and you’re going to leave me and my family alone!”

The woman looked shocked for the briefest of moments but it quickly returned to her previous rage, “Your family?” She hissed between clenched teeth and Jake actually winced, “So help me, Jacob Pierly, I will drag you out of this house and I will make you remember who your family is. If I ever hear you--”

Milo coughed.

He didn’t mean to, he’d tried to suppress it, but the ache was just to much and he bent over, coughing into his hand as he leaned against the wall for support. Eyes watering, he looked up again to find the three adults staring at him. He shrank away under their collective gazes.

“Dad…?” His voice was a hoarse whisper that was much too loud in the silence.

“Milo...oh god, Milo, what happened!?” Dan abandoned his post by the door and ran over to crouch down in front of Milo. His large hands flitted helplessly over the boy’s body, panic written clearly on his face as he took in the sweat, the black smears, and the blood still clinging to Milo’s lips, “What happened, sweetie, are you okay? D-do we need to call the hospital? J-Jake, Jake, call the hospital, I--”

“Jacob--” Mrs. Pierly began but Jake only spat a tense “get out” at her and slammed the door in her face. His hands shook as he turned the deadbolt and lock before he hurried over to where Dan was carefully cradling a shivering Milo to his broad chest.

———

Hospital tests were inconclusive.

Jake muttered darkly about “inconclusive, I’ll show you inconclusive, kid’s vomiting blood, how the hell is that inconclusive” before slinking out of the room.

Dan stayed in the hospital room, his face in his hands, palms pressing his tears back into his eyes as he waited for Milo to wake up from his testing. Waited for Jake to cool down from a temper ignited by years of abuse being dragged back to the surface. Waited for the world to stop fucking the three of them over with things that were bigger than they could handle.

He’d been doing a lot of waiting lately.

———

The courtroom was a great deal warmer than the blustery winter outside, but Milo kept himself wrapped in the soft, thick blanket he’d had in the car. He felt safe in it, protected, like it was a barrier between him and the rest of the world.

Also it black with bright blue sharks on it and looked really cool.

He watched his own fingers stroke over the fur-like texture, the silky softness grounding and soothing against the hypersensitivity buzzing underneath his skin. Jake sat on one side of him in a suit, bouncing his leg up and down anxiously, and Dan was perched stiffly on his other side, constantly fiddling with the buttons on his dress shirt and glancing around the room as if he expected someone to attack them at any moment. Although, given how the press had bombarded them on the courthouse steps, this attitude was not unfounded.

Milo hadn’t looked up the entire time that sharp men in sharper suits had been discussing the circumstances of his...admission to the Facility and the subsequent imprisonment of Dan and Jake. He didn’t want to see how many people were looking at him, didn’t to see their faces, didn’t want to read the pity or curiousity in their eyes. He was just going to sit here and look sad and make everyone feel sorry for him and maybe they’d let them go and give Dan and Jake a bunch of money and everyone would forget about everything and it would all go back to the way it was supposed to be.

Except that it would never be the same and that was a truth he understand far more than he wanted to.

Milo Pierly-Fuller was not--and could never be--Milo Sumney.

And that was also the truth.

“The court calls Facility Doctor Orchid Pearce to the stand.”

Milo’s gaze jerked upwards without his consent and his eyes locked with those of the woman who had been at the head of all of his suffering. He found nothing but loathing and disgust there as she was led into the room and it made the world drop out from underneath him.

His insides turned to ice and the lines on his chest where the knife had cut through him burned, burned, burned cold fire and his hands were shaking, he was shaking, but he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything. The courtroom was far away and he was floating helplessly in a vast, black space filled with whispered terrors and grasping hands that squeezed vice like against his frozen arms and dragged him away down dark corridors.

He felt the snag of the knife in his flesh, the pinch of needles in his neck, the surge of electricity cooking his nerves, the bite of leather straps against his wrists and ankles, the press of that fucking muzzle over his face. He felt each bruise, each touch, each sour gaze, burning like brands against his body. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, nothing seemed substantial anymore and he could hear nothing except for the rushing in his ears.

Then he blinked and the world snapped back into focus hard enough to make him dizzy.

Milo stumbled and his legs gave out from under him, sending him crashing to the polished floor of an empty hallway. For one dreadful moment, he thought maybe he’d imagined his rescue from the Facility and the whole thing had been a dream. That was enough to make his breathing pick up again.

“Milo, I need you to listen to me, okay? Can you hear me? You don’t have to say anything, just nod yes or no. Are you hurt?”

Familiar voice but Milo’s brain still bristled with white noise and static. He shook his head.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head again, staring at his blurry reflection in the cream and brown tiles of the empty hall.

“Can I touch you?”

Hesitation, and then the smallest of nods, a brief jerk of his head that sent his shoulders shuddering.

Cool, dry hands cupped his cheeks and tilted his head up so that he was looking into Jake’s warm but worried eyes, “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise, Milo, you’re safe. Deep breaths. With me now.”

Milo struggled to make his breathing match Jake’s, breathing in and out until the world settled and the static was more like a dull ache in the back of his mind. Jake pulled him into a gentle hug, rubbing slow circles into the teen’s back as Milo clutched tightly at the man’s suit.

“What--?” Milo’s whispered voice cracked and he pressed his face into Jake’s shoulder. Speaking felt like a chore, like he was breaking rules that no one had ever explained to him. He felt as if he said anything else then the fragile serenity they’d managed to establish would shatter.

But Jake seemed to understand what he was trying to say, “You had a panic attack, Milo. It’s okay, I walked you out, Dan’s running interference back in the courtroom. I’m so sorry, we probably should have warned you that they were bringing her in today. It’s all right, we don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. I’m sure we can postpone this if you--”

“No,” Milo spat the word through gritted teeth, Jake’s collarbone digging into his forehead as he pressed himself against his dad, “No, I--I want this done. I want it over with. Gone. I’m--I’m sick of th-this, dad, I’m just--”

“Shh, shh, I know, hun, I know…”

———

Dan looked surprised when Jake walked back into the room with his hand on Milo’s back. They shuffled back into their seats, Milo pulling his blanket around him again and gripping it tightly. Jake kept a firm and protective arm around the teen’s shoulders and frowned at anyone who looked at them too long.

Things settled down, Dr. Pearce took the stand again, and Milo’s breathing only quickened a few times as they questioned her.

He wanted to puke when they showed pictures of him in the Facility, the emaciated state of his body, the sickly pallor of his skin, the dead look in his eyes. They showed x-rays and blood work and even photographs of his insides. The pictures of the vivisection cuts on his chest, gleaming with fresh staples, made his chest ache, and he pressed himself against this dad’s side, shivering. Dan was shaking too but when Milo glanced up at him and saw the thundercloud on the man’s face, he realized it was for a different reason.

And for some reason it made him feel safe.

———

Milo felt very alone and very far away in the witness stand, shaking and curled in on himself. He’d had to leave his blanket with Dan and Jake and it made him feel exposed and vulnerable. His hands clenched in his lap and he couldn’t stop the small whine of fear that crept out of him as one of the lawyers approached the stand.

“Milo Pierly-Fuller, can you please explain to the jury why Mr. and Mrs. Sumney had you committed to the Facility for the Exegesis of Abnormal Realities?”

“I...I, um,” Milo swallowed and cleared his throat, trying to speak up enough for the mic to pick up his words, “Th-they said--Dr. Pearce said it was to...to fix me. They t-tried to brainwash me and reverse whatever my h-hoodie did.”

“And what did your hoodie do to you?”

“I...I dunno. M-made me forget stuff, I guess. I don’t know the Sumneys. My dads--Dan and Jake--they raised me.”

He could feel the glares of the man and woman who called themselves his biological parents but refused to look away from the sword-shaped tie clip on the lawyer’s breast.

“And when this supposed brainwashing failed, what happened?”

Milo whimpered, choked it off and told himself he was safe as the memories swam to the surface, “I, um, they--they t-told me I was p-proper--property of the government. Told me I didn’t have any rh-rights. Then, uh, then they, um, they started experimenting on me.” He looked down at his hands, fingers clenched together so tightly his knuckles were white, icy fear clenching in his chest and making his scar sting. His stomach turned over as he felt phantom straps and needles digging into his skin,

“D-drugs and, um, cutting me o-open and...they kept doing it. They, um, the d-doctors at the hospital said...they said that some of the s-stuff they did to me was p-permanent,” He took in a deep, shaky breath, pressed the palm of his hand against his chest, trying to warm the cold burn of his tender scar, “They...they r-ruined my life…”

Tears blurred his vision and he couldn’t hold back the tidal wave anymore. He dropped his face into hands, shoulders shaking as he cried, words slurred and tangled as he spilled everything that had happened to him in the hands of Dr. Pearce and her staff.

He looked up only once to see the mortified faces of the jury and the devastated expressions of his dads.

When the judge called for a recess, Milo ran across the courtroom and threw himself into the waiting arms of Dan and Jake and cried brokenly until he thought he might pass out with exhaustion. He didn’t let go of their hands for the rest of the day.

———

They won the trial.

As much as something like that could be called a victory.

But the Facility was shut down, Dr. Pearce and all the staff that had been compliant with Milo’s torturous stay were sentenced to prison, and the government settled in for a series of long talks about how to handle the future of supernatural entities.

Dan and Jake took the hefty payout from the trial and turned their backs on the whole situation.

Cody tackled Milo into a tight hug on the courthouse steps and both boys would later vehemently deny that they had cried in each other’s arms.

Then they went out for dinner at some fancy steak joint and Milo had non-dairy ice cream for dessert because despite the cold, ice cream was always good for eating your feelings. Jake actually laughed, face flushed and head thrown back in a rare expression of pure joy. Dan made a smiley face in his mashed potatoes and filled the indents with gravy. Cody stole some of Milo’s steak fries and Milo stole some of Cody’s garlic tossed potatoes and they both stole salmon off of Dominic’s plate when they thought he wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t perfect, of course. Milo flinched at loud noises and he didn’t like sitting with his back to the room, Jake would begin to panic if he lost sight of Milo for too long, and Dan glared at anyone who got too close to the family’s personal space. It would take time and healing and careful words and probably therapy and medication.

But they were together again and they were trying.

And for now, that was enough.

#art tag #bend until you break #mico #fics

[spootiliousrps]

Ineffable Husbands: The Betrayal

Stranger: Crowley knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Heaven and Hell had, respectively and collaboratively, decided that he and Aziraphale still deserved punishing. More so, as time had gone on and their sought after war remained stranded on the starting line, their fury had only intensified. Which was how Crowley and Aziraphale had found themselves at the mercy of angels and demons; the latter just seconds away from tearing into Aziraphale when Crowley had broken free and stopped time. By his calculations, it had already been two hours since he had brought himself and Aziraphale to the tranquil plains where time stood still and he was beginning to feel the strain. "Not a word, angel," he all but growled, aware of the concerned expression lingering on Aziraphale's face. "We're fine here."

You: "For now." Aziraphale sighed in response, his brows still furrowed as he watched the Demon carefully. "You will not be able to keep us here for much longer Crowley. Not without being a danger to yourself." He reminded.

Stranger: "I can keep us here for as long as we need, angel," he replied rather sharply, pivoting away to hide his face from view, his jaw clenching a little. Glancing down at his hands, he frowned as he noticed them trembling before he proceeded to cross his arms over his chest, tucking them under his armpits. "We just need to think of a way to get past those bastards."

You: Aziraphale moved to circle the other man, as he turned away, attempted to keep facing him. "We could run I suppose." He offered lamely. I am opposed to killing them. It is simply not an option." He reminded, his frown deepening. "You can't keep us here, Crowley. We both know it. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself in this manner."

Stranger: As Aziraphale stepped around him until they were face-to-face, Crowley said nothing for a time, before he shook his head. "Don't be an idiot. They were-- what? An inch away from ripping you apart? If I stop now, you're dead. I don't mean discorporated," he continued, leaning closer until their noses were almost touching. "I mean /destroyed/, Aziraphale."

You: Aziraphale didn't back down. "Then so be it." The Angel snapped back. "At least there I have a chance! Here you are going to kill yourself keeping this up! I will not stand for it!" He warned with a glare.

Stranger: "A chance? What /chance/! They'll kill you, and they won't make it quick and merciful," he spat, reaching up to rip off his sunglasses, eyes blazing as he glowered at Aziraphale. "For someone /so/ clever, how can you be so-- so--" He waved his hands violently as he searched for the right word.

You: "I can ask the same of you!" Aziraphale spat back without hesitation obviously not effected by the look Crowley was giving him. "If it means you live, I will die a thousand times over!"

Stranger: "Well, that's not going to happen." Crowley scoffed, taking a step back and turning slowly, glancing around at the endless expanse of desert plains; a space somewhere between time.

You: "Crowley..." Aziraphale warned, circling him once more. "I will not allow you to destroy yourself." He reminded, straightening a bit more. "I will tear this plain apart if I have to. You're weakening, you wouldn't be able to fight back very effectively." He pointed out.

Stranger: As Aziraphale once again moved to block him, Crowley stared for a moment at that. "Are you--" he tilted his head slowly; expression somewhere between incredulous, angry and hurt. "Are you threatening me, Aziraphale? Really?"

You: The Angel's gaze grew a bit wide at the questions, realizing that was exactly what he was doing. "Well.... I..." He stammered unsure before setting his jaw. "Y-yes... I suppose I am." He admitted more confidently. "If that is what it takes to keep you from destroying yourself, then so be it." He nodded. "I will not lose you."

Stranger: Crowley said nothing, taking a slow step back to create more distance between them. "You can't stop me. I don't care if you think you're better than me because you're an angel. You forget, I was one too, long time ago."

You: "Is that what you think of me?" Aziraphale scoffed, in obvious hurt and surprise. "You think that I am so egotistical to think I'm better than you?" He shook his head. "I have never once thought that! IF anything you are stronger than anyone Crowley! You fell and somehow turned the incident to your advantage and strived without losing yourself. How could I /ever/ think /anyone/ is better than you. You wound me." He sighed, averting his gaze. The words truly did sting. He couldn't believe Crowley thought so low of him. "I can stop you Crowley. I simply have to wait until you're barely able to keep this up and then I can tear it all down." He reminded. "I am not match for you at your full strength but eventually..." He sighed. "I'm just trying to save you."

Stranger: The demon narrowed his eyes, maintaining the distance between them as Aziraphale returned fire. And, of course as expected with six millennia's worth of knowledge about each other, each blow was fated to hurt. Aziraphale knew all of Crowley's vulnerabilities, just as he knew all of Aziraphale's. Keeping his arms crossed over his chest - both to stand his ground and to disguise the shaking in his hands - Crowley just shook his head. "And I'm just trying to save /you/! How can you not--" He scoffed, stepping back again. "I won't let go. I don't care what you try, I won't."

You: Aziraphale seemed to deflate a bit at that, his frown turning almost neutral as he gave a small sigh. He allowed silence to fall between them for a moment before he approached. He reached out for the demon, wanting to take his hands in his own. His movements were slow as if he was afraid Crowley would reject him

You: .

Stranger: Gaze flicking to the angel's hands as he reached out for him, Crowley swallowed - barely imperceptible, but still there - before he felt the lightest of touches. He relinquished his resolve then, sliding his hands out from under his armpits and allowing Aziraphale to do as he pleased.

You: Aziraphale softened at that, his sigh turning from one of apprehension to one of relief. He took one of Crowley's shaky hands between his and stepped closer until he was holding the hand against his chest as he peered up at the slender Demon. "Crowley..." He breathed softly. "Try and understand. You're fighting so hard to keep me safe... and I appreciate it... Truly... But how can you expect me to do anything less?" He asked, pulling on hand from his chest, the other still clinging to him, and lifting it to his cheek. "I would sacrifice myself if it meant you continued to live. We share that resolve. How can you ask me to stand idly by why you destroy yourself?"

Stranger: Gaze tracking the movement of his hand as Aziraphale cradled it against his sternum, Crowley inhaled slowly through his nose, refusing to meet those beautiful blue eyes; the very same that could always compel him to do anything. The touch against his cheek, however, drew his eyes upwards and he frowned, before he just shook his head. "Aziraphale," he began, hesitating as he tried to find the right words to make his angel understand. "They will rip you apart, and they'll do it slowly. I can't let that happen. I won't. I'm sorry."

You: Aziraphale didn't lose his temper this time. That tactic obviously hadn't worked which meant it wouldn't now. Instead he gave a small warm smile. "You know, Crowley... Sometimes I wander if our time on Earth has made us more Human than celestial." He commented. "We try to do the impossible... and even convince ourself that we can." He added. "I am well aware of what they will do. But... If I die, they will see the torture it causes you and leave you be to live out your life as you see fit... Neither as Demon or Angel but as the man I know you to be." He stepped closer until he was practically in the same space as the Demon. All he needed to do was distract him long enough to break his concentration. If he could do that then the plain would weaken and he could tear it down. "You do what you must, Crowley and I will as well." He added before leaning on his toes to press his lips to Crowley's.

Stranger: Crowley held Aziraphale's gaze as he spoke, watching as the angel stepped even closer. He swallowed, jaw clenching slightly, before-- Eyes widening at the kiss - something he had, admittedly, thought about for millennia - Crowley felt his control slip. As the plains around them began to waver, fracturing slightly as time prepared to start again, Crowley tensed before shoving Aziraphale away and turning, thrusting out one hand to lock down the shattering pieces, leaving it looking rather like a mosaic than the perfect, endless plain. A pained sound caught in his throat at the sudden exertion to keep time standing still and he hunched forward, gasping.

You: Aziraphale's heart was pounding in his chest almost painfully as he pressed himself against the Demon. He could feel the world around them falling apart. The pain of Crowley's rejection however was a bit staggering as Az was shoved away. He stumbled back a bit from the force of it as he watched Crowley double over. The saddness and pain were obvious on the Angel's features as he straightened, gaze still glued on the red head. "I'm sorry Crowley." He mumbled softly. "You will live. You have to." He warned. "I love you far too much to allow anything less." He admitted before he threw out his arms, each inch of his angelic power slamming against the thin threads holding the plain together. He'd hit it as many times as needed to shatter the world.

Stranger: Bracing himself as he heard the words, Crowley ground his teeth together and tightened his grip on the fabric of the world he'd constructed to keep them safe. At the brutal attack, Crowley let out a choked cry, stumbling sideways as he fought to maintain his hold; the agony from the relentless assault rippling through his body. Worse still, it was coming from Aziraphale. Straightening again, he turned to face Aziraphale, skin bleached of all colour as he coiled his fingers inwards and held on tighter.

You: Tears streaked Aziraphale's checks as he heard Crowley's cries. He sank down on the sand, unable to keep standing as he hit again, the tears worsening. He was torturing his best friend and he knew it. It couldn't be helped. He wouldn't allow Crowley to die. He hit again, the tears intensifying. "Stop this Crowley. Now!"

Stranger: At the next blow, Crowley's head snapped back as though he'd been physically struck instead and his knees buckled. Weaving sideways, only just catching himself before he could face-plant, he forced himself to stand tall again. Breathing heavily, body trembling and sweat glistening along his brow, he met the angel's gaze again, just shaking his head.

You: The Angel flinched at that giving his own soft sob. He reluctantly closed his eyes focusing on reserving his power. He accumulated it into an attack that was stronger than any of the previous ones. It took a few moments before he finally threw it at the walls without mercy.

Stranger: That was it. Game over. Body stiffening at the attack, Crowley's eyes went wide, lips gaping as the world splintered before falling apart around them. With little ceremony, his knees buckled beneath him and he hit the floor was a deadened thud as time resumed. The demons lunged, one clawed hand ripped at Aziraphale's waistcoat before Lord Beelzebub yelled for them to stop. She turned, staring down at the motionless traitor on the floor before she moved and kicked his side firmly. "Wait. No point killing the angel if the traitor can't watch it happen. Not the same punishment."

You: "That was my favorite waist coat." The Angel pouted before glancing at the woman and glaring. "You're wrong." Aziraphale hurried to reply. This was the moment, the perfect time. "You kill me and he suffers for eternity; whether he watches it or not. He can't live without me... So do it. Kill me." Aziraphale demanded, taking a step forward. "Or are you too much of a coward. Leave it to Hell to be too terrified to go through with killing a single Angel."

Stranger: Lord Beelzebub turned, studying the angel with a look of disgust. As several other demons surged forward, grabbing Aziraphale's arms, Beelzebub watched as he was forced to his knees before her. "You're wrong. Actually," she glanced down at Crowley's unconscious form, sniffing once before meeting Aziraphale's gaze again. "Oh. You did that, didn't you? You hurt him." Her grin broadened. "The traitor was /betrayed/. Now that is something we can use."

You: Aziraphale didn't fight or squirm as he was grabbed, just allowed it to happen. At the mention of Aziraphale betraying Crowley, however, he began to yank his arms, trying to get out of the Demons' hold. "I didn't betray him you unholy cretin." Aziraphale spat. "I never would! I saved him!"

Stranger: "Is that what he'll think? Hm? When-- Or maybe even /if/ he wakes up." Beelzebub smirked, before waving a hand dismissively. "Leave the angel be. Let them destroy each other. And, if they don't, then we know where to find them." As the demons sniggered and laughed, they all sank down into the ground, vanishing back into the Hellish realms below.

You: Aziraphale shot the Demon Lord a glare as his heart broke. Beelzebub was right. Crowley would hate him. Still, he straightened his clothes as he was released, waiting for them to disappear. A moment passed then another... When he was certain they were gone he rushed over to Crowley side, dropping to his knees. "Crowley... Crowley!" He urged, hands going to the man's shoulders to try and wake him. "Please... please be alright." He pleaded helplessly.

Stranger: Head lolling from one side to the other, utterly limp in unconsciousness, Crowley showed no signs of rousing. He was alive, of course, and noticeably /not/ discorporated, but he had drained himself in trying to hold time in stasis. His skin was bleached white, making his red hair seem even brighter in contrast; ironically, almost angelic in appearance.

You: Aziraphale could feel the tears threatening to fall once more but he pushed them back. "Come on Aziraphale... hold it together." He huffed. He took a moment before standing and pulling Crowley up into his arms. Crowley's flat was far closer than Aziraphale's bookshop so he headed in that direction, preforming a small miracle to keep anyone from noticing them.

Stranger: Head lolling back over Aziraphale's arm as he was lifted, Crowley hung limply in the angel's grasp. When they arrived at his flat - Aziraphale, naturally, having his own key to get in - even the plants seemed concerned for their master. As fearful as he made them, they each seemed to lean in the angel and demon's direction, trying to see if he was alright.

You: "Its alright, Lovelies." Aziraphale whispered as he moved through the room, attempting to reassure them. "He'll be okay. Its nothing to worry about." He sighed, though it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself more than the plants. He moved towards the bedroom, to set the Demon down and try to make him more comfortable.

Stranger: As he was reclined down atop the bed, Crowley's head thumped back against the pillows. Shuddering slightly, his brow furrowed a little as though in pain and his fingers coiled in the sheets, clutching at them in a desperate attempt to anchor himself.

You: Aziraphale's brows furrowed at the reaction, obviously concerned. "Shh, shh, shh." He cooed softly lifting a hand to rest on his forehead, a small glow radiating from it as he tried to block the man's pain receptors.

Stranger: Twitching as Aziraphale's hand settled against his brow, Crowley's lashes fluttered until his eyelids peeled to a half-mast. Slowly, his gaze roaming slightly, he finally met the pair of familiar blue eyes above him. The reaction was instantaneous and Crowley lurched back, throwing himself off of the bed and landing on his knees with a grimace.

You: Aziraphale tensed at the reaction, obviously surprised and hurt by it. Though, he couldn't blame the man. Instead of moving after him, however, he simply averted his gaze. "It's alright Crowley.... I'm not going to hurt you. You should get back in bed... You need rest." He mumbled as he pushed to his feet, offering out a hand.

Stranger: Sliding along the floor, he pressed his back against the far wall, drawing his knees up towards his chest. As Aziraphale stood upright and moved to offer him his hand, Crowley hissed - his forked tongue slithering out for a fraction of a second - before retreating back into his mouth.

You: Aziraphale flinched at that before the realization hit him and he straigthened "R-right." He mumbled, trying to hide the immense pain that spread over his features. "Well then..." He mumbled to himself as he tried to straighten his torn vest. "I should be going then." He mumbled softly, glancing towards the door. "I... can see myself out. Rest well." He mumbled politely before turning to go, knowing it was for the best.

Stranger: Coiling in on himself defensively, Crowley wound his arms around his legs, hugging them close. His gaze slid around the room slowly, before he squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed his face between his knees as though trying to block out the outside world.

You: Aziraphale shut the door behind him and scrubbed a hand over his face as he paused. He was falling apart at the seams but Crowley was safe... and thats what matter. After a deep breath he head back through the green room and paused. "He's awake." He assured the plants. "Should be fine but... He won't speak to me." He mumbled, glancing away in shame. "I need your help... Will you keep me updated on his condition? I'll send a pigeon... every few hours... You can send messages through them." He explained moving over to caress a few of the leaves, lovingly.

Stranger: Crowley felt utterly alone for the first time in millennia. Because, even though he and Aziraphale had not spent every waking minute together, Crowley had known that the angel was around if he needed to find him. Now? He didn't know. All he remembered was the agony and betrayal as Aziraphale ripped his way through him and his defenses to force time to resume. As such, Crowley didn't leave his flat again and, within a few days, he had reverted back to his earliest days as a demonic entity. Coiled under the bed, returned to his serpentine form, Crowley's tongue slithered out before he closed his eyes again, content to remain in the comforting shadows for the foreseeable.

You: Word came and went from the pigeons and none of it was reassuring. The plants still hadn't seen the Demon and they were beginning to starve. Aziraphale could't stand for that. So, after two days he let himself into the flat, taking his time to water each of them and avoiding Crowley's rooms. "There, there, dear." He purred softly as he cared from them. "Everything will be fine. Just make sure you stay as strong and lovely as ever for his return. Imagine how proud he will be of each of you." He cooed softly. The Angel returned again the next day to care for them, and the next and the next until he finally had had enough. He brewed some tea, his own mixture with a hint of cayenne for the Demon along with the small chocolate cakes the Angel knew he cared for; before moving up to Crowley's rooms and rapping gently at the door. "Crowley?" He called gently.

Stranger: Eyelids peeling sideways as he heard the knock on his door, the huge serpent coiled in tighter, tucked out of sight beneath the Queen-sized bed. His tongue slithered out again for a moment as he wound himself tighter, peering out of the shadows towards the door. Aziraphale. Of course it was Aziraphale. Who else would visit him? Or, more specifically, who else would visit him and /knock/? If any demons had come calling, they would have simply kicked the door down and burst their way inside.

You: Aziraphale waited for a response but when none came he gave a small huff. "Crowley... Really... This is all... all... unnecessary." He knocked again and waited before shaking his head. "I'm coming in." He stated, hand moving to the handle.

Stranger: As the handle was forced downwards, Crowley hissed, baring his fangs for a moment before he extended himself forward. Jaw resting against the floor, his eyes bright from within the shadows, Crowley watched as the door opened inwards, revealing a pair of familiar perfectly-polished shoes.

You: Aziraphale heard the hiss and paused to glance about, attention eventually landing on the glowing gaze beneath the bed. He softened at the sight, a sharp intake of breath leaving him. "That form is just as beautiful as I remember it." He sighed softly, not moving any closer. "Don't worry... I'm not coming any closer." He reassured bending to set the tray in his hands on the floor a bit in front of him. He poured the tea into one of the cups before straightening. "I simply wanted to make sure you were alright. I've been caring for the plants." He informed him. "I hope you don't mind... I just thought it would be a shame if they withered." He added. "I'll go now... Perhaps I can check back tomorrow or so?" He offered before turning to go.

Stranger: Watching as the angel entered the room, Crowley's pupils narrowed a little further at Aziraphale's approach. He studied the tray as it was lowered down onto the floor, the delicious scent of freshly-brewed tea greeting him. Pausing for a moment, he slithered along the floor until he came into view, arching his head up until his tongue could flick out and drink from the cup. A sound between a hiss and a hum rumbled in his throat as he coiled closer, drinking a little more eagerly now.

You: Aziraphale shut the door slowly, just catching a glimpse of the snake emerging and unable to keep the small smile off his features as the door latched. It was an improvement even if it was small. Tomorrow he'd try again. He'd bring up another tray and replace the one that was already there... Hopefully he'd be greeted a bit more warmly...

Stranger: Consuming the tea within seconds, Crowley considered the chocolate cakes before ignoring them and slithering back under the bed, content in the shadows. When Aziraphale returned the next day, he, admittedly, peeked his head out from the side of the bed, gazing up at Aziraphale with wide yellow eyes.

You: Aziraphale knocked, just as he had before before simply entering, his movement still slow and cautious. His gaze landed on the snake instantly and he offered a small smile. "Hello." He greeted softly, stepping forward to set the tray down. The cayenne was replaced with cinnamon this time next to cookies rather than cakes. He poured the tea, spotted the cake and pursed his lips before picking up the tray and hesitated. "I could stay... If you'd like the company." He offered.

You: [Did my reply go through]

Stranger: [It did, just got it now :)]

You: [KK ^.^]

Stranger: Studying the angel as he approaching, smiling that usual infectiously bright smile of his, Crowley watched as Aziraphale replaced the tray with a new one. As expected, Crowley said nothing. Not that he couldn't speak in this form; how else would he have tempted Eve to take the apple, after all. He just didn't really feel like saying anything. In answer, however, he did slither a little closer towards where Aziraphale was stood and moved to lap at the tea, clearly content for the angel to remain there if he so desired.

You: Aziraphale waited... watched as the snake emerged and began to drink. He said nothing, just moved to sit on the floor across from him. After a moment however, his movements slow, he moved for the pot, to pour him his own cup.

You: It was obvious that he didn't want to startle the Demon but needed to test his boundries as well, needed to know if he still was frightened of the Angel.

Stranger: Gaze flicking over to Aziraphale as he finally sat, Crowley noticeably froze in his movements, tracking the angel's hand as he moved to pour his own tea. When he was satisfied that that was all he was doing, Crowley dipped his head back down, tongue slithering out to collect more droplets of tea.

You: Aziraphale's gaze had shot up when the reptile froze, causing him to tense but his slow continuation had him relaxing a bit. He brought the cup up to his lips giving a small sip of it, gaze still glued to the Demon. When he brought the cup down however he spoke, his tone soft... almost warm. "I haven't seen you in this form for centuries. I suppose I'm surprised at how much I've missed it. You are quite stunning, you know." He commented idly.

Stranger: Crowley's bright yellow eyes were once again fixed on Aziraphale as he spoke, his tongue continuing to absentmindedly lap at the tea as the angel offered him compliments. He paused, arching his head up a little until his form rose higher, level with the angel's own face. "You prefer thisssss," he hissed, tongue flickering outwards. "Easssssier to think of me as an animal."

You: Aziraphale's soft smile evaporated instantly. He wanted to snap a retort at the Demon but refrained. Crowley was speaking from a place of pain... The Angel deserved the words. Still, it stung, far more than he was prepared for. "I prefer you." He stated simply, his tone neither angry or warm; simply neutral. "In any form. I think of you as nothing less than Crowley... My dearest and oldest friend." He stated, matter of factly.

Stranger: Head oscillating slightly to one side as he considered the response, Crowley said nothing, coiling his body downwards again so that he could consume the rest of his tea in silence. Once finished, he ignored the cookies and retreated back under the bed; only some of his crimson and black scales visible peeking out beyond the comfort of the shadows.

You: Aziraphale watched him go, remaining silent as he finished his tea and stood, collecting both tray before turning to the door and pausing. "I meant what I said back there." He stated without glancing back at him. "If it comes down to my life or yours... I will always chose to save yours, Crowley. Hate me if you'd like but that will not change how I feel about you." He finished before stepping out, and closing the door behind him, with just enough force to give away his troubled feelings.

Stranger: Twitching as he heard the door slam, Crowley blinked once, before closing his eyes. He wasn't a fool. He'd known why Aziraphale had done it, but it still didn't make it hurt any less. The agony he'd felt as his world was forcefully torn apart was nothing compared to the understanding that it was /Aziraphale/ causing it. Yes, his mind understood why, but his heart couldn't comprehend it. Winding his body around and around itself, Crowley closed his eyes as sorrow seeped into his scales, dimming the red glow until the skin seemed to solidify as he slumbered; almost like Lot's Wife turning into salt all those millennia ago.

You: Aziraphale spent the next few hours among the plants, tears streaming down his cheeks as they attempted to comfort him the same way he always did when he came for visits. It was no use however, there was no turning back. He had ruined everything... He returned to his shop and remained there. He would not visit the Demon again. It was obvious that he wasn't wanted. As for the plants. He hired a young woman to stop by daily to water them... and to give them affection.

Stranger: The flat became somewhat barren, save for the plant room as they relished in the affection of the 'water woman' who visited them. There was no-one around to dust, no-one to miracle away the growing spiderwebs and flies gathering in the kitchen. For Crowley, in all his wearied heartbreak, had cocooned himself, his skin turning hard as though he was readying to shed it-- only he never did. Coiled under the bed, he remained undisturbed; after all, miraculously, money still continued to flow out in order to pay the rent and bills.

You: After a month or two Aziraphale checked in with the woman who informed him the house was in disarray. That seemed to be the final stray. The Angel stormed into the home, not even bothering to greet the plants as he stormed into Crowley's room, his annoyance shaking the very foundation of the Home. "Crowley! You've pouted long enough, get out here!" He demanded, voice booming.

Stranger: His scales were grey, giving him the appearance of having turned to stone. It was sad, really; the idea that it would be better to be cold like stone than to live with the hardships of life. A depressed demon. How unbecoming. Eyes sealed shut beneath the solidified skin, his serpentine form still hidden beneath the bed, Crowley naturally didn't respond. It was difficult to know if he was hibernating, comatose or dead; only a shell of his snake form left behind.

You: Aziraphale was in no mood for the Demon's games and moved towards the bed bending to pick him up without warning. "Anthony J. Crowley," He snapped as he held him in his arms. "You will stop this at once or I will walk though the gates of Hell and demand they burn me to ash." He growled.

Stranger: As the snake's stiff form was grabbed from underneath the bed, held in the angel's grasp, Crowley was rather like a statue. Indeed, it must have appeared a strange sight had anyone walked in to the sight of the white-haired celestial brandishing what appeared to be a large snake statue. Miraculously, no-one did happen upon them at the time.

You: "Fine." He spat storming out of the room, still carrying the beast. "I'll mount you on the mantle above my fire place. With a plaque 'Here lies the weak Anthony J. Crowley. Who pouted himself to death." He scolded, ignoring the worry that was twisting his stomach.

Stranger: Carried out of his flat, away from the dust and cobwebs, and out of the prying presences of his plants, Crowley did, oddly enough, seem to rouse upon being placed in the familiar bookshop. It was a slow process, but his skin had darkened until the smallest slithers of black and red became visible beneath where he was placed in the main room. After all, the flat was his residence, but the bookshop - or rather, anywhere where Aziraphale was - was his home.

You: Aziraphale did as he said he was, miracling in a small place and leaving Crowley on the mantel. He closed up shop before moving to pour himself some wine, a spare glass set on the table in front of the fire place as well. Though before he knew it he was already working on his second bottle, the glass before the flames still untouched as it waited for the Demon.

Stranger: As time went on, Crowley's body began to soften, before his tail slid off the edge of the mantel and dangled down in front of the flames. It took some time before he began to move of his own accord, wearily peeling back his eyelids until he could take in the familiar (and beloved) surroundings.

You: Aziraphale didn't seem to be paying attention any longer. He seemed to be enthralled by the swirling of his glass as he peered into his depths, mumbling the lyrics to some old tune that time seemed to have forgotten long ago.

Stranger: Inhaling slowly, Crowley lifted his head a fraction as his gaze landed on Aziraphale. He studied the angel as he swilled his glass and he settled back contentedly, happy to just observe. If that was all he had now, to simply look in from the outside, then he supposed he could take it. Perhaps that was all the Almighty would ever offer to the both of them.

You: [I'm going to have to go soon. Would you be interested in continuing under a unique tag or over email?]

Stranger: [A unique tag would be wonderful, thank you :)]

You: [How about... Ineffable Husbands Betrayal? ]

Stranger: [Sounds great, thank you!]

You: The singing paused as Aziraphale took another long drink and huffed. "Stupid... Stupid, stupid, stupid." He grumbled under his breath before moving to stand. He swayed before falling back down in his chair and huffing. "Stupid!" He snapped in annoyance this time, throwing his glass into the flames and watching it shatter. Still he didn't move again, just stared before beginning to sing again. "Scars on my heart... never heal... something something..." He mumbled to himself bending to take the glass he had set out for Crowley and downing it. "Shattered my heart... in time of need... something something... Damn... Thats not right." He grumbled shaking his head and refilling the glass before starting over with a different poem. "I thought... It was what you wanted..." He paused shook his head and tried again. "A sharpened dagger... stabbed in his heart. Yes, yes thats the one." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he recited the words. "Ripping in two , ripping apart... Took only a few words... by words cut him deep... stealing emotions, making him weak..." The words died a bit, turning into a low hum as his eyes slid closed.

Stranger: Aziraphale was so lost in his own despair that he hadn't noticed Crowley's awakened state. The serpent watched silently as the angel paced back and forth, hurling the glass into the fire and exuding an air of agony and grief. It was-- horrific. Slithering down from the mantel, Crowley moved along the floor towards where Aziraphale was slumped before his long form arched upwards. As he moved, his serpentine form distorted until he was able to step forward on two legs, returning to his human shape as he approached the angel. Drawing to a stop before him, he paused, before slowly extending one hand, fingers lightly brushing back Aziraphale's curls. "Angel."

You: [g2g I'll be back on in about an hour]

#ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #omegle #rp #roleplay #gay #m/m #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale

[sansllura]

Playing with fire you’re bound to get burned Chapter 2: Tell me

Summary: Thirsty kids being thirsty. Some EROTIC modelling that wouldn't be erotic if Allura could keep it in her pants. (which is why she's not wearing anyway) - No actual smut this chapter

AN: I was delirious and wrote this too late

The coolness of the apartment was lost as Allura burned under the heat of Keith's gaze and the smouldered within the warm grasp of his hand. He had led her to the couch, after straightening out the white bed sheet thrown over it, he gestured for her to sit down.

“I would like you to lay on your side, facing me.” His hand toyed with the loose strand of hair that had escaped its spot tucked behind her ears. His fingers trailed down to her shoulders, where the shirt sat idly. After a nod urging him to go forward, Keith lifted the fabric delicately off her frame. She let out a gasp as the cool air met her bosom and she felt her nipples stiffen from the exposure. The quiet of the apartment gave this moment an air of intimacy Allura initially wished to shy away from. Keith's gaze remained intense, but his voice had somehow become even softer. “Lay down Allura.”

Ao3 Link

She did just that, resting her head against the armrest of the sofa. She let her own arm lay over her side, hanging nonchalantly, while she let the other one rest just beneath her head. Keith stepped back and examined her. He crossed his arms, thumb touching his lips as he looked at her in profound thought. The intensity from the minutes before remained, but it had changed. Keith looked to be in artist mode and he no longer shied away from staring at her body. “May I touch you Allura.”

“Yes.” She hadn’t even fully processed what he’d asked before she agreed. The thought of his gentle hands touching her body left her stomach fluttering with nerves and her loins aching with want. He made his way to stand before her, and where she expected hesitation she only found persistence. Carefully he took her hand, the one laying below her head, in his own. He cupped it, placing his thumb in the center of her palm and carefully unfurling all of her fingers from the fight they had been in.

He grasped the wrist of her other hand then. It had been laying across her body and he gently transferred it to rest on top of her hip bone, revealing more of her body to him. Keith continued to do this for some time, poking and prodding, adjusting and readjusting. Sometimes he would instruct her on what to correct, but mostly he just silently moved her. Dutifully she obeyed his command, a searing touch to her lower back had her arching her back to his approval. He had touched her nearly everywhere, and she swore she could still feel the scorch of every fingerprint. Occasionally he would step back, admiring her, but he would always come closer once again. The last time he reached for her face.

Tenderly he grasped the right side of her, tilting her face to a position he considered satisfying. His thumb grazed her bottom lip with a touch so light it might as well have been a feather. Keith guided her to part her lips, his own doing the same in imitation. The hand on her face did not move. Allura could tell he had set her in the wanted position. Whenever he moved a body part to his liking, the right side of his mouth, the same side as the scar, would quirk up into the faintest smile. Now he just held her for the sake of holding her. It became hard to breathe as Allura worried that if she made any abrupt movements she would frighten him off.

“You’re beautiful.” Finally, he backed up, withdrawing his hand. Allura almost wanted to weep at the lost contact, the burn had just been too sweet. Before finally turning to his canvas Keith took a hold of the end of her braid. “May I?”

“Anything you ask.” She repeated, granting him permission he had already received. His hand pulled the end slightly closer to his face before he slid off the pink ribbon. Gingerly, he freed her hair. Running his hand through the silvery locks he let the silky strands rest on her body. She noted that he made sure nothing concealed her bosom and she nearly fainted as his hand grazed a nipple as he moved another section. Her eyes had fluttered shut momentarily and she bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from her lips. Allura could have sworn she saw Keith tense and his gaze darken momentarily, but perhaps that was just her lust induced state. He made no comment of regret for touching her.

After what seemed like forever, Keith took his position behind the canvas. She couldn’t see what he was doing but she watched him work anyway. The muscles in his arm would ripple as he made broad strokes with the conte to sketch out the rough shape of her form. He was concentrated and his brow remained furrowed. The sun was streaming in through the large window, bathing her body in a warmth that was comforting but lacked the exhilaration Keith's touch gave. She welcomed the heat all the same. Letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction Allura closed her eyes.

This whole situation was strange without a shadow of a doubt. Never in her life would she have had pictured herself lying nude in some man's home as she drowned in the shallows of her own desires. It felt as though she were living out a fantasy and her core throbbed as her mind played out the potentialities. She grew concerned that Keith would notice her arousal if he hadn’t already and decided to strike up a conversation to distract herself.

Their voices remained low as the two of them talked. Allura asked about whatever came to mind and Keith never hesitated to give her an answer. She learned he’d been drawing from a young age, that his father had been a firefighter, how he tried to steal a hippo plushie from the zoo gift shop at the age of four. It was intoxicating hearing him speak and she memorized every answer, locking it in her mind and tucking the key safely away. In return, he asked her just as much, with the same level of interest. She told him she was in law school, how she loved milkshakes and wanted nothing more than to travel the world.

“Why don’t you?” She paused, considering the question.

“I suppose I’m afraid to go off alone.” She’d never thought about it but it made sense once she said it. There were so many people in her life she loved, and the thought of venturing out on adventures without any of them scared her.

“Then bring someone with you.”

“If I had someone to bring I would,” She paused in reflection, letting out a little laugh. “I was actually quite jealous when my boss went off on his honeymoon.”

“Harbouring a crush?” Keith joked, a smile tugging at his lips as he continued to work. Allura let out a snort of laughter. She would have been embarrassed by the noise had Keith's eyes not locked onto hers with such affection upon hearing the sound.

“Oh definitely not, besides I love Curtis and Shiro too much to ever be a homewrecker for that marriage,” Allura noted Keith pausing his work. His attention fully focused on her and a baffled expression on his face.

“Shiro?” Keith questioned, “as in Takashi Shirogane?”

“Do you know him?”

“He’s my brother.” Keith let out a low rumble of laughter at Alluras reaction. She swore her eyes nearly jumped out of her skull. “Well step-brother you could say, it’s complicated.”

“Huh,” Allura pondered allowed, “It’s a small world, isn’t it.”

“I’m grateful for that since it led us here.” Allura hoped Keith didn't notice her cheeks colouring to a soft pink as she averted her gaze, focusing on his arms rather than his dark eyes.

“Do you think we’ve seen each other before, in passing?” She questioned softly.

“No,” Keith's voice was quiet that even within the silence of the home she struggled to hear him.

“How would you know?”

His gaze burned her once again, the heat returning not at all uninvited. She felt herself trembling under his scrutiny, the hand resting on her hip bone beginning to draw lazy circles, a motion that did not go unnoticed to Keith. “I wouldn’t forget your face Allura.”

The spark in his eyes had returned and as he tried to focus on drawing once again Allura noticed how the movement of his arm had become tenser. He was concentrated beyond demand and his tongue continuously darted out to wet his lips. It was as though he was parched and the lines of her body he drew and constructed were the only elements that could quench his thirst.

The intensity did not cease and Allura couldn’t help get swallowed by it. Every movement of his arm and sweep of his tongue nearly sent her over the edge. She couldn’t help it when she began to rub her thighs together ever so slightly. The need for some friction to satisfy her core was so strong she thought she could cry. Keith was no longer drawing, instead, he was watching her as her chest heaved up and down with every breath she was taking.

“What are you drawing Keith?” It was not a question, it was a demand. They both knew he had to give her the answer and he looked to her as he did so.

“Your tits.” His gaze remained steady as he proceeded to talk, his voice deep and guttural with desire. “Those beautiful tits that my art can’t even begin to capture the beauty of.”

“What else are you drawing?” She continued to rub her thighs together, the heat pooling between them. Her center tensed even more as Keith's gaze locked onto her womanhood, his tongue grazing his lips did not go unseen.

“I'm drawing your cunt, Allura.” Placing the conte down he rested his elbows on his knees leaning towards her. “But it’s incredibly hard to draw when it’s glistening like that princess.”

“Why? Tell me why that is?” Her words were coming out in pants as her desire took hold of her, dulling everything in the room to nonsense save Keith. He casually rose from his seat, still not walking to her.

“Because I know what it means, I know what you want.” Almost absentmindedly Keith began to palm the growing bulge in his pants. “And its fucking hard not giving you what we both want.”

“Tell me, tell me what we want.” Allura's breath hitched as Keith began to step towards her, picking up a long clean paintbrush on his way. He twiddled it in his hand as he stood above her quivering form. Slowly he let the brush side slide from her foot to her knee, pausing momentarily before brushing her thighs.

“We both want my hands exploring your legs, touching every part of you,” The brush continued to travel up her body, moving along her hips to her waist and abs. “We want my tongue devouring you, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Allura responded, nearly breathless. One of her hands had finally found its way between her legs, though it only rubbed and circled. Keith's free hand remained on his crotch but he had not slipped it within the depths of his pants yet, Allura thought it only fair that she restrain herself as he was doing now. It was getting harder to keep herself from plunging her fingers within her and losing herself to the feeling of them and the sight of Keith before her. “Where-where do you want to touch me right now.”

The paintbrush grazed just below the swell of her breast. Hesitantly teasing her. Turning his deep stare down to her breasts Keith moved the paintbrush to push up one tit ever so slightly. After a moment he lowered the brush letting her tit bounce down and jiggle from the movement. He did that for some time, alternating between breasts moving them and letting them bounce in an alluring fashion. They were captivating and Keith felt as though he could worship them until his dying day. Finally, Allura grabbed the brush as he tickled her areolas, taking the stick and tossing it onto the floor.

“You have hands,” She broke the quiet with her demanding voiced, deepened with desire and sounding like a growl. “Use them.”

He did not hesitate, She was fire and he wanted nothing more than to burn. With his own predatory grumble of hunger, he pounced upon her, prepared to lose himself fully.

AN: The next chapter is just straight smut which I have no clue how to write tbh

#kallura #juniblade #kalluracanonsince1984 #vld #voltron #keith kogane #allura #princess allura #Voltron legendary defender

[endlesscloudsoftime]

What Brings Us Together

For @yoiroyaltyweek Day 3: Tokens of Favour. (Late to the day, yes I know, but life.) 

If you want to read it on AO3 then here is the link!

Hope you enjoy ^.^ 

-x-

Viktor blinked rapidly, hoping that the more his eyelashes fluttered shut and open the faster he would comprehend why his dog was holding a pair of blue rimmed glasses while being caked in mud.

She’s such a smart girl though, is the thought that ran through his mind when he noticed Makkachin holding them gently by the wiring in between the two lenses. Her tail was limp, a telling sign that she was aware of her mischief, but Viktor did not have it in him to scold her in public. More importantly, he could not, for if he did it would draw attention. Attention is something he did not need at that moment, especially as he was trying to be one with the crowd.

He really did not want his guard escorting him back to the palace.

With a heavy sigh, Viktor plucked the glasses from Makka’s mouth and wiped them clean of any residual dirt. Glad for the oversized hoodie he had managed to grab before being thrust amongst a throng of strangers, Viktor pulled the hood tighter around his head to prevent exposure of his extremely distinctive head and weaved his way through the crowd forming around them. The soft, high lilt of the Japanese pleasantly rang in Viktor’s ears, reminding himself of why he had gone through the risk of being house arrested again. Wandering around the host city for this year’s Meeting of the Royals, it was easy to forget that his beloved companion had somehow drenched herself in mud, but the slight pressure of the glasses in his hand was a stark enough reminder.

A very puzzled Viktor made his way through the city’s populated areas and into side streets that led to pockets of silence and tranquility. His bewilderment did not stop him from marveling the wonder of the city, and he wished he were more familiar with the different kinds of human settlements.

[Practically of course. Not everything can be learned through a book.]

After finding a vending machine in the middle of the quiet street and spending his time ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ahh’-ing about it, Viktor purchased a cold green tea and a bottle of water. Making sure his hoodie covered his pants sufficiently enough, Viktor carefully seated himself in a discrete corner and proceeded to gently wash Makkachin off as much as he could with the water he had. Just as he was finishing his task, an abnormally loud sound had both him and Makka turn their heads around just in time to see a man in an oversized beige coat, scarf, face mask and is that a cat eared beanie?!?! stumbling from another side street onto theirs. The stranger managed to catch himself just short of planting his face into the wall and brushed his clothing in place. He froze on turning his head and spotting the pair staring at him, only letting his eyes turn to slits as he squinted at them.

The Russian Royal was fascinated by this man, and let his eyes roam up and down the bundled figure hoping that imprinting the scene in his mind now will let him remember this as one of the more exciting moments of his trip here. It was when he took in both the squinted eyes and the mud lined shoes the man was sporting did his mind clink. Wordlessly, he walked closer to the man, and before the stranger could flee Viktor offered the glasses to him, palm outstretched.

Cat-beanie man cautiously plucked the glasses from Viktor’s palm. As he rightfully placed them, his face lit up with relief and joy, and soon Viktor was attacked with various forms of ‘Thank you’ s and “I truly appreciate it’ s and “Your dog is adorable” s. The Japanese man punctuated every two words with a bow and Viktor could only grin as the stranger shook his hair out of his eyes each time, only to have them flop again at the next bow.

“You should really only be thanking Makkachin, she’s the real savior here!”

Cat-beanie man knelt down in front of his hero and patted her head. With the softest smile Viktor had ever seen on a person, the man whispered, “Thank you Makkachin, you really helped me out.”

His old girl barked in response and excitedly nuzzled her head into the petting, but Viktor was distracted by the image before him. Something in him trilled and put him on alert because he was sure that he had seen a watered down version of the smile before him recently. Not only that, but the way cat-beanie man moved, even when his hands were flailing about him as he apologized, made Viktor feel all the more certain that he had seen him somewhere.

Before he could voice the questions pooling at the tip of his tongue, however, the man straightened and looked at Viktor. “I’m sorry but I really need to get going. Thank you for all your help, I will forever remember this.” With a parting smile, he turned and left just as quickly as he had entered.

It took a while for Viktor to tear his eyes away from where the stranger had vanished to Makkachin’s curious ones. His body finally registered his exhaustion, and seeing that Makka felt the same, Viktor sighed, “Let’s go back Makka, we do have to get ready after all.” Shades that had been perched atop of his hoodie came back down again, and Viktor donned his urban battle costume before heading back to the stifling world he had no choice but to accept.

 -x- 

“Oh, the food is exquisite here! I need to have this in my life.”

Queen Hiroko, Empress of Japan clasped her hands together and giggled in glee. “Well, as it turns out, I actually helped make tonight’s dinner so if you ever want to learn I can always teach you!”

Viktor immediately lit up and beamed brighter than he ever thought he could, all the while completely failing to notice the gobsmacked expression on Crown Princess Mari’s face as she approached the pair. “Thank you so much, Your Majesty. It truly is an honour that you consider me worthy enough for your time and guidance. Especially as I have just gotten to know you properly.”

“Oh Your Royal Majesty-“

“Please do call me Viktor.”

“Viktor then. It really doesn’t feel like we have been recently acquainted. Why, my-“

“Mother!” A slight pressure by Viktor’s foot made him briefly glance down to the heel that Crown Princess Mari had just avoided stomping his shoe with in her haste to interrupt Her Majesty. “I think Father wants you by his side, it seems urgent.” As she straightened her figure, leaning away from her mother, the heir apparent for Japan tilted her head in the direction of the current ruler. His Majesty did seem to be glancing over at their group quite frequently, with each glance loaded with increasing desperation. Queen Hiroko sighed fondly, excused herself from their company, and made her way to her husband. King Toshiya visibly relaxed once she reached his side, and not for the first time did Viktor wish for a companion who could make him feel the same.

The sound of a throat clearing drew his attention away from his silent musings. The Tsar immediately plastered an apologetic smile for Mari who dismisses it with a wave of her hand and a nonchalant expression. “Honestly, they can be such a handful. The same can be said for us though.”

Viktor chuckled shortly before casting his gaze around the room. “I was told that you would be joined by His Royal Highness too for this event, was I mistaken? Or am I just not able to locate him here?”

Mari emitted her chortle behind a gloved hand as she said, “Oh Yuuri hasn’t made it to the floor yet I believe. It is his first time attending the event so I assume he’s nervous. The boy surprises me sometimes, so I wouldn’t put it past him to arrive exactly when he’s needed.”

“Hmm.” Viktor had been intrigued by what he had heard of the elusive second-in-line’s reputation and prowess. Loved by the majority of his kingdom, His Royal Highness Yuuri Katsuki rarely showed himself publicly and preferred to handle work in the shadows. Despite the obscurity, his reach and success in helping the rest of his family rule the country is apparent to his subjects and other nobility alike. The few times Viktor had seen the Prince were in broadcasts of the entire family, and even then he could not recall the Prince’s face for those public appearances were few and far between. By attending this year’s Meeting of the Royals in Japan, Viktor had hoped to finally be acquainted with the enigma. Seeing that he wasn’t even present at the event, though, made the Tsar slowly lose hope.

Well after his conversation with the Crown Princess of Japan, and his subsequent ones with the Crown Princes of France and Italy, Viktor found himself staring at an abandoned rose by a corner of the room, next to a high table littered with used glasses and plates. Drawn in by the striking hue of the flower, Viktor bent to pick up the midnight blue flower, marveling at the unusual shade. His fingers abruptly halted the turning of the flower when he heard a timid “Excuse me” and glancing over his shoulder he found a familiar face twisted in embarrassment.

Viktor could not move a muscle as he watched Cat-beanie man flap his mouth open and close for a few seconds before stuttering, “Um. I was searching for that but. Uh. It seems, you’ve,” Viktor’s eyes automatically flickered to the man’s lips as he licked them nervously, “found it. The rose. Ah, it’s for you. I mean, I got this for you so. Uh. It found it’s intended.” The sweet smile that punctuated his explanation twisted Viktor’s heart in a way he didn’t dislike, and he wanted to know more about the interesting man twisting his hands in front of him. Before he could ask though, the man suddenly jumped, and only when he straightened did Viktor’s mind finally put two and two together, the click echoing in his mind mockingly audible.

“Oh. I haven’t introduced myself yet! How rude of me. Your Imperial Majesty, my name is Prince Yuuri, second born of King Toshiya, Emperor of Japan. Pleased to meet you.”

#yoiroyaltyweek #ficlet #day 3 prompt #asteawrites #I couldn't resist writing something for royalty week #real life gets in the way all the time #whyyyy #but oh well #hope you enjoy this #yuri on ice #yoi #fanfiction #viktuuri #Katsuki Yuuri #Viktor Nikiforov #Makkachin

[parkkate]

Forget me not

Thaaaaank you @alwaysfangirly!! 💖 And omg, you’re so kind! And so patient! Because this took me forever and you were so sweet about it! 💖 I hope you like what I did with it! (Even though it might be kinda messy and confusing...) Oh, and I also posted it on AO3, because... well, once more, it turned out longer than I intended...

“Pansy, where was I yesterday?”

“What?”

“What was I doing? Did you see me talking to anyone?”

Draco paced the length of the eighth year common room, feeling Pansy’s intent stare on him.

“Those are really odd questions to ask. Have you lost your mind?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Draco muttered, stopping in front of the fireplace. “I think someone obliviated me. No, I am sure someone obliviated me.”

He heard Pansy get off the armchair and walk over to him.

“Are you sure? Why would someone do that to you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Draco growled.

“But how can you be sure you’ve been obliviated? I mean, isn’t the point of obliviating someone that they… well, forget?”

Draco scratched the back of his neck, nodding absentmindedly.

“Something just felt off when I woke up this morning. I was sure it was Wednesday but then I saw the Daily Prophet and realised it was already Thursday. I remember everything until Tuesday night and waking up today. But if I try to think about what happened yesterday, my mind just goes blank. I’ve been racking my brain all day long. It’s the only explanation, Pansy. I-”

Draco stopped in his tracks when he saw Potter enter the common room. Something was… weird about him today. He didn’t look at Draco. He hadn’t looked at Draco all day. He always looked at Draco. He probably thought it went unnoticed but, of course, Draco noticed. He always stared right back whenever Potter briefly averted his eyes. Always. But why was Potter avoiding his gaze today?

“Potter!” Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode over to the Gryffindor.

“Hey Malfoy,” he mumbled, his eyes on the carpet.

“Potter, is there something you want to tell me?” Draco inquired, lowering his head to catch the other boy’s eye.

“No?” the Gryffindor said, his voice slightly shaking.

“I think there is. Out with it, Potter! Something happened yesterday, I know it.”

“You do?” Potter said in astonishment, finally looking up. His eyes were full of wonder and… apprehension. “But you shouldn’t-” He broke off, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

“I shouldn’t what?” Draco said, stepping closer and narrowing his eyes. “Remember? You did it, didn’t you? You were the one who obliviated me.”

Potter was trying very hard to keep a straight face, but Draco saw right through him.

“The question is,” he said slowly, lowering his voice, “why did you do it?”

Potter closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

“I’ve been feeling guilty about that all day. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Then why did you?” Draco asked.

“I panicked, okay? I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like a reflex.”

Now Draco simply had to know what had happened the day before. This sounded serious.

“Show me,” he said, grabbing Potter by the wrist.

“How-”

“There’s got to be a Pensieve around here somewhere,” Draco muttered, already dragging Potter out of the common room.

“There is, actually,” Potter mumbled behind him.

Draco looked around the memory he and Potter had just dived into. They were in the dungeons and class had just started.

“Professor, why are you showing us Amortentia again?” one of the students asked, sounding more eager than annoyed.

“Because,” Professor Slughorn said with a smile, “I want you to brew an antidote today. So everyone take a quick sniff to get in the right mood and get started.”

Draco frowned as he watched himself go into the storage room, apparently ignoring Slughorn’s instructions. His eyes then fell on Potter, Pensieve-Potter to be precise, who stood in front of the cauldron full of Amortentia. Granger and the Weasel were standing beside him, grinning at each other. It was disgusting.

“What do you smell, Harry?” the Weasel asked. Potter blinked.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, we’re your friends. You can tell us,” the Weasel insisted, elbowing him.

“No, Ron, I literally smell nothing,” Potter muttered, sounding genuinely surprised.

“That’s strange,” Granger chimed in.

“Yeah.” Potter creased his eyebrows. “I would have thought-” He stopped abruptly as Draco, well, Pensieve-Draco, came into view again, locking eyes with him.

“Professor, have you ever heard of anyone who doesn't smell anything? In regards to Amortentia, I mean.”

“Hermione,” Potter growled through gritted teeth.

“What, she didn’t say it was you,” the Weasel shrugged. Potter slapped a hand to his forehead and Draco saw himself smirk.

“You don’t smell anything, Potter? That’s pretty pathetic.” When Pensieve-Draco simply strutted back to his desk and began chopping his ingredients, the real Draco frowned.

“So that’s the big secret? This is why you obliviated me?” he asked.

“Wait for it,” Potter mumbled. Was Draco imagining it or were Potter’s cheeks turning a bit rosy? He was biting the inside of his cheek, too, and constantly shifting his weight. He was nervous.

Intrigued, Draco watched as the class proceeded without significant interruptions.

When Slughorn dismissed them and students started hurrying out of the classroom, Draco tapped his foot impatiently. He paused when he saw his past self purposely bump into Potter, causing the Gryffindor to drop all his books.

Smirking to himself, Pensieve-Draco bent down to help Pensieve-Potter pick up his things, quickly scanning the room. They were the only ones left.

“So, you really didn’t smell anything?” Draco heard himself ask. Pensieve-Potter just scowled at him. Draco could see what Pensieve-Potter obviously didn’t; Pensieve-Draco was disappointed. “Nothing at all?”

Getting up, Pensieve-Potter slammed down his books on the desk nearest to him.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I used to smell... something. So you can save your taunts about-”

“What is that?” Pensieve-Draco suddenly asked. Potter had been draping his Gryffindor scarf around his neck but had halted at the Slytherin’s outburst. The real Draco watched closely as his past self stretched out a hand and examined the scarf.

“What is it now?” Pensieve-Potter said, sounding irritated but also slightly nervous. “It’s my scarf.”

Pensieve-Draco slowly shook his head as he drew out his wand.

“No, something is off.” He pointed his wand at the scarf and before Potter could protest or interfere, he had mumbled, “Revelio.”

Promptly, the red and gold stripes changed. It was a little blurry at first, but after a moment, Potter was standing there, a dark blue silk scarf wrapped around his neck.

“What is this?” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. Potter sighed.

“So I transfigured a scarf because it feels nicer than my Gryffindor scarf. Big deal.”

“No, no,” Draco said impatiently. “Where did you get this?”

Potter frowned and one of his hands moved to his neck.

“I’ve had this for years,” he said, somewhat defensively.

“Yes, but where did you get it?”

Potter raised an eyebrow.

“It was a gift.”

“A gift,” Draco repeated, eyeing him suspiciously. “From whom?”

“Dobby,” Potter said, a strange glint in his eyes.

“The house elf? My former house elf?” Draco blinked. Potter simply nodded. “So the little beast either stole it from me, or-”

“Don’t talk about Dobby like that,” Potter interrupted, his expression turning serious. “He wouldn’t steal- Wait, what do you mean he stole it from you?”

Draco squared his shoulders and put his hands on his hip.

“This is my scarf, Potter.”

The Gryffindor opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s my scarf,” Draco said, moving closer to him and examining the scarf with narrowed eyes. “Mother gave me one that looked exactly like this.”

Potter didn’t look convinced, but Draco’s mind was already somewhere else.

“Are you telling me that you’ve been wearing this scarf every day?”

Potter didn’t immediately answer, looking more and more uncomfortable.

“You don’t even know for sure if this really is yours,” he finally said.

Draco clicked his tongue. Before Potter could react, he stretched out his hand and grabbed the scarf.

“Hey,” Potter protested, but Draco had already flung it over his shoulder.

“You have to admit,” Draco said, draping the scarf around him, “it looks way better on me than it does on you.”

Potter scowled at him.

“Give it back, Malfoy.”

Draco snorted. Without warning, Potter lunged at him. Taken completely by surprise, Draco stumbled and fell flat on his back, taking Potter down with him.

The real Draco gulped as he watched the strange situation unfurl in front of him.

Suddenly, he felt really hot as his heartbeat picked up rapidly. He’d had dreams like this. Well, not exactly like this. Potter had crawled on top of him much more willingly, a wicked grin on his face and far less clothes on his body.

Pensieve-Draco groaned, touching the back of his head. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed that Potter was practically lying on top of him, his face squashed into the crook of his neck. When the Gryffindor lifted his head, he looked shocked as he blinked at Draco.

“You- You… smell…”

“I do not smell, Potter,” Draco huffed. He shoved Potter away and scrambled to his feet. Potter did the same a moment later, looking like he had just seen the Grim.

“So it really is your scarf,” he mumbled.

“What?” Draco snapped.

“It- It’s just like- But… Oh.” Potter’s eyes widened as he stared at Draco. “Oh no, it can’t be!”

“What are you mumbling about? Did you hit your head? Not that it could do much damage, since you’re-”

“Malfoy, will you shut up for a second?” Potter suddenly bellowed. Draco watched him as he started pacing, repeating over and over “This cannot be happening.” He buried his hands in his hair, shaking his head.

Draco suddenly grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to stop his pacing.

“What is going on, Potter?” he growled, his face inches away from the Gryffindor’s. The real Draco gulped again. They were standing so close. He was pretty sure his past self was thinking about how easy it would be to close the gap between them and press their lips together. It was what he was thinking about. Was that it? Had he kissed Potter? Was that why Potter had accidentally obliviated him?

Draco watched the Pensieve-version of himself and Potter closely as they started fighting again.

“Let go of me, Malfoy,” Potter demanded, trying to push the other boy away.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on!”

Potter swallowed. He looked like he was about to say something, his lower lip trembling.

“Out with it, Potter,” Draco growled, leaning forward. Their noses were touching now and Potter’s eyes definitely darted down to Draco’s mouth.

The real Draco pressed his palms against his robes, full of anticipation. He watched Pensieve-Potter stare at Pensieve-Draco nervously, before he suddenly drew out his wand and shouted,

“Obliviate!”

The real Draco blinked as everything turned foggy around them. A few seconds later, they were standing in the headmaster’s office again, Potter looking like he would rather fight another Hungarian Horntail than having to explain himself.

“What- Why-” Draco was still so confused. After seeing what had happened yesterday, he still didn’t understand why Potter had obliviated him. “What is wrong with you, Potter?” he exclaimed. “Why did you obliviate me? There was obviously no reason to!”

“Were you paying attention?” Potter said, sounding incredulous. “Besides, I told you I didn’t plan it. It just… happened.”

“It just happened,” Draco repeated sourly. “This is madness!” He fixed Potter with a dark look. “Explain,” he growled. “Now!”

Potter groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Could we maybe just forget about this?”

Draco pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not a chance. You already made me forget this once.”

The Gryffindor groaned again.

“I’m sorry I obliviated you, okay? I already told you, I didn’t mean to. Now can we just move on?”

“Potter!” Not only was Draco becoming impatient, he was getting really irritated.

“Malfoy,” Potter said evenly, finally letting his hand drop to his side. “Showing you that memory was humiliating enough. Now you know what happened yesterday. That’s what you wanted to know.”

“Yes, but it still doesn’t explain why you felt the need to obliviate me.”

“I was running around Hogwarts with your scarf,” Potter exclaimed. He sounded mortified. “For years!”

Draco scrutinised him. Yes, Potter wearing his scarf like that was definitely weird. But Draco did believe he’d had no idea it was his. So there had to be something else.

“I think there’s more than that,” Draco said defiantly. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Potter threw his hands in the air.

“What else would there be? This is ridiculous enough as it is! I swear, Malfoy, that’s it.”

Draco shook his head.

“No. There’s more. I’m sure of it. Let’s look at the memory again.”

Before Potter could protest, Draco grabbed him and dived into the memory once more.

“Professor, why are you showing us Amortentia again?”

“Because I want you to brew an antidote today. So everyone take a quick sniff to get in the right mood and get started.”

Draco’s eyes roamed the room. Now that he knew what was going to happen, he could pay more attention to details. His gaze landed on Pensieve-Potter, standing in front of the cauldron.

“What do you smell, Harry?” 

“Nothing.”

“Come on, we’re your friends. You can tell us.”

“No, Ron, I literally smell nothing.”

Draco frowned. This was still bothering him. Why wasn’t Potter smelling anything? It didn’t sound like he was lying. And he could have just made something up.

“You don’t smell anything, Potter? That’s pretty pathetic.” As Pensieve-Draco walked over to his desk, Draco kept his eyes on Pensieve-Potter and noticed how tense his jaw looked. There was a strange glint in his eyes, too. Huh. Draco had no idea what to make of it.

He watched the rest of the memory, ignoring how the real Potter shifted beside him uncomfortably. Draco sighed, getting the impression this was getting them nowhere after all. That was, until Pensieve-Draco and Pensieve-Potter stumbled to the ground.

“You- You… smell…” Something in Potter’s voice made Draco narrow his eyes.

“I do not smell, Potter.”

Draco raised an eyebrow as he watched them get off the floor and continue their row. He looked down his robes, inwardly rolling his eyes at himself, and took a quick sniff.

“I definitely don’t smell,” he murmured to himself. He smelled like always. Well, he didn’t exactly know what he smelled like. Nobody could really smell their own scent, could they? Even though some people just reeked. He remembered how offended Theo had been once, when Draco had put on his robe by accident and had gagged at the scent. Of course Theo couldn’t tell what he smelled like. And maybe, to other people, he didn’t smell bad at all. If Draco had spent some time in close proximity to him, he even might have gotten used to-

Hold on. Draco’s mouth fell open. No. No, it couldn’t be. Could it? But how- How was that even possible? Draco stood there, frozen, until everything turned foggy again and he stared at Potter over the Pensieve.

“That’s why you did it,” he murmured.

“What?” The Gryffindor looked at him, completely puzzled. “I already told you-”

“Potter, you can drop the act now. I know.” Draco would have looked smug if he hadn’t been utterly shocked.

“Malfoy, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Potter insisted. Draco was sure Potter was only saying that to avoid an awkward conversation; then again, he was quite oblivious, wasn’t he? There was a chance Potter hadn’t realised what had really happened. Oh, Merlin!

“Come with me,” Draco said, grabbing Potter’s wrist and hurrying over to the cabinets. He began rummaging through them, hoping to find something that-

“Ah, that might work,” he whispered to himself. He uncorked the vial and handed it to Potter. The Gryffindor blinked at him. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Smell it,” he said impatiently. Potter looked unsure, but he sniffed at the vial.

“Is that… some kind of flower?”

“Yes, yes, it’s lavender.” Draco looked around. He hadn’t thought this whole thing through in his haste. But maybe…

“Accio Amortentia,” he murmured under his breath. Another cabinet door opened and a vial came flying out of it. Potter gaped as Draco caught it in the air, uncorked it and handed it to him.

“How did you know McGonagall has Amortentia in her office? Why does McGonagall have Amortentia in her office?”

Draco shrugged.

“I didn’t. Now smell it.”

Draco watched Potter closely as he nervously lifted the vial to his nose. It took several moments until Potter handed the vial back to him with a sigh.

“Still nothing. I really don’t understand why you are making me do this.”

Draco didn’t answer, but shoved the first vial, containing the lavender, into Potter’s hands again. The Gryffindor rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess, you want me to smell it again?”

Draco simply nodded, getting too excited to speak.

“I have no idea why I’m doing this,” Potter muttered, but did as he was told. “Why am I doing this exactly?”

“The lavender helps your sense of smell. It’s neutralising,” Draco explained.

“Now what,” Potter said, his tone irritated. He put the vial back into the cabinet and looked at Draco expectantly.

“Now…” Draco gulped. “Smell me.”

“Excuse me?” Potter looked at him incredulously.

“Smell me,” Draco repeated. He pulled on his robes, so that his neck was exposed. Potter watched him with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’m not going to smell you, Malfoy.”

“You did it yesterday,” Draco pointed out.

“That was an accident,” Potter said defensively.

“Just do it!”

Draco hoped Potter wouldn’t chicken out now. It would kill him not knowing for sure. But the Gryffindor didn’t move. He just stared at Draco’s neck.

“Are you honestly telling me that you can defeat the Dark Lord but you can’t even smell my bloody neck?”

Potter scowled at him, but he still looked nervous when he moved closer. Since they were about the same height, Potter had to lower his head only a little to get to Draco’s neck.

Draco almost shivered when he felt Potter’s warm and shaky breath on his skin. His neck started tingling and he could feel his pulse hammering against his collarbone.

After a second, Potter stepped away again. The rosy tint on his cheeks had intensified.

“Smell the lavender again,” Draco whispered, his mouth feeling very dry. When Potter had finished, Draco switched the vials with slightly trembling fingers.

“Okay. Now,” his eyes locked with Potter’s, “Amortentia again.”

This time, when Potter sniffed at the vial, his eyes became impossibly wide. His mouth dropped open and he made a choking sound at the back of his neck.

“What does it smell like?” Draco asked, feeling like the air was crackling around them. “You smelled something this time, didn’t you?”

Potter looked like he was about to faint.

“How is that possible?” he breathed, examining the vial in his hands. “Yesterday, I didn’t smell a thing! And now- Now-” His eyes darted up and met Draco’s. He looked genuinely shocked. “Is this a trick? Is this really Amortentia? Are you pulling a prank on me?”

Draco ignored the Gryffindor’s question and simply took the vial out of his hands. He put it on the desk beside them and stepped closer to the other boy.

“What did you smell?”

Potter swallowed and for a moment, Draco thought he would back away from him. He didn’t.

“It… It smelled like you.”

Again, Draco would have looked smug if his body hadn’t been preoccupied dealing with the innumerable jolts that were threatening to overpower him. He had suspected as much, but having it confirmed was something else entirely.

“I still don’t understand,” Potter said, sounding breathless. “Why didn’t I smell anything yesterday?”

“I… I think,” Draco began, his voice sounding much steadier than he felt, “I think you just thought you smelled nothing.”

“What? How?” Potter asked, frowning.

“My scarf.”

Potter’s frowned deepened. Draco wanted to reach out and smooth out the creases with his fingers. He didn’t say anything as Potter seemed to ponder this information. And then, his eyes widened again.

“No,” he breathed. “But… that’s impossible. I’ve had that scarf for years. Why would it still smell like you?”

Draco took another step until their bodies were almost touching.

“No idea,” he whispered. “But think about it. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, so the smell would have been so familiar to you that you probably didn’t realise the Amortentia smelled like it.”

It did sound like a bit of a stretch, but it was the best Draco could come up with. He wasn’t sure if Potter agreed with his theory or not. But even if it proved to be wrong, Potter had admitted he had smelled him just now.

“This is crazy,” Potter said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

Under normal circumstances, Draco would have probably made fun of Potter. Scratch that. He definitely would have made fun of Potter. But now, all Draco could think about was that he had proof that Potter was attracted to him. Potter was attracted to him and Draco had no idea how to process that.

What do you do when something you’ve wanted for so many years is suddenly within your reach?

Draco’s mind reeled. It really did mean Potter was attracted to him, right? There was no other explanation. Right?

“Um, Malfoy… what are you doing?”

Draco blinked. Without realising it, he had reached out and had taken Potter’s hand into his.

“Oh.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Why couldn’t he think of anything else to say? Maybe, because he still couldn’t believe Potter actually liked him. Maybe it was time to throw caution to the wind. After everything they’d been through, how much worse could it get?

“So…” he began, trying to sound not too timid, “you like me?”

Potter shifted uncomfortably and Draco’s heart jumped when Potter squeezed his hand. It was probably by accident.

“Um… well… I can’t really deny it at this point, can I?”

Draco bit his lip.

“For how long?”

His stomach flipped violently as he waited for Potter to answer.

“Actually…” Potter dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “I- I’m not really sure. I didn’t realise-” He paused, squeezing Draco’s hand again. This time, Draco was sure it was deliberate. “I have no idea for how long,” he said, looking up again. “Honestly, I’m still a bit shocked.”

Draco’s stomach flipped again, but it was as pleasant as before.

“So… you’re saying you didn’t know you liked me?”

He let go of Potter’s hand and took a step backwards.

“Well, I- I don’t- Ugh, I have no clue what to think, okay? This is very confusing! And why are you so calm? Why aren’t you freaking out?”

Draco would have loved to throw something at Potter.

“You want me to freak out?” He took the vial of lavender and hurled it across the room. Potter flinched when it smashed against the wall.

“Malfoy!”

“I have never met anyone as infuriating as you,” Draco fumed. “Even when you like me, you don’t actually like me! You know what, just obliviate me again. I don’t want to remember any of this!”

“That’s not fair,” Potter shouted. “This is a lot of information to take in. Just give me a minute, okay?” Potter was breathing heavily, his hands balled into fists. In a matter of seconds, his posture suddenly changed. “Wait a second,” he said. “Do you want me to like you?”

Draco stopped breathing. This was it, wasn’t it? If he denied it now, he might ruin his chance. A chance, he never thought he would get. But if Potter wasn’t really sure about this, Draco might end up humiliating himself for nothing. So what should he do?

“You know what,” Potter suddenly said. “Here.” He picked up the vial on the desk beside him and held it out to Draco. “You made me do it. It’s only fair if you do it, too.”

Draco sighed loudly as he took the vial from Potter. He felt the Gryffindor’s intense gaze on him as he lifted it to his nose. When he finally inhaled, his eyes automatically searched for Potter’s. His lips were parted and an odd expression flickered across his face. The way he was looking at him almost made Draco feel like Potter could see right inside his head.

“What do you smell?” he asked, his voice slightly quivering. Putting the vial back down on the desk, Draco took his time to give an answer. When Potter looked like he was about to ask him again, Draco shrugged.

“Same as always. My cologne.”

He couldn’t say the words out loud. He couldn’t tell him the truth. He suspected Potter had only said it because it had taken him by surprise. If Potter knew him at all, he’d see through it. Draco waited anxiously for Potter’s next words. He was almost trembling with anticipation.

When Potter started laughing, Draco froze. Was that a good or a bad sign?

“You are so full of yourself.”

Draco didn’t move a muscle when Potter’s face turned more serious again. There was still a hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes made Draco’s chest tighten.

“Can I…” Potter hesitated. He reached out and placed a hand on Draco’s arm. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Dear, sweet Mother of Merlin!

“I won’t hex you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Draco said evenly, even though his jaw felt like it was going to hit the ground any second. “Only if the kiss is bad.”

Potter laughed again. Draco wasn’t used to that sound coming from him. It was lovely. Oh, but not as lovely as the feeling of Potter’s fingers brushing his cheek, his warm breath on Draco’s lips, his mouth connecting with Draco’s, their noses rubbing against each other, the silkiness of Potter’s tongue...

“So, what’s the verdict? Are you going to hex me or not?” Potter asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Draco blinked, catching his breath.

“Oh, I can’t decide yet. You’ll have to give me a bit more. For evaluation purposes of course.”

Potter grinned, burying his hands in Draco’s hair.

“Of course.”

“Perhaps,” a voice suddenly drawled just as Potter’s lips were brushing Draco’s again, “you’d want a little more privacy for that.”

Draco whirled around. There was nobody else in the room. Huh. Weird. His eyes wandered back to Potter who suddenly looked ashen. He was staring at the wall behind Draco. Turning his head, Draco followed his gaze to the portrait of… Oh no!

“I would appreciate it,” Snape said, his face twisted in distaste, “if you took your little lovefest elsewhere.

“Oh God,” Potter croaked.

“Oh, Severus,” a second voice suddenly said from the other side of the room. Draco’s eyes widened. “Let them have their moment.” Dumbledore smiled at them serenely.

“Um, thank you, Sir,” Potter mumbled, grabbing Draco’s hand.

“I am really not in the mood to witness any more of this... indecency,” Snape snarled.

“You have to appreciate the beauty of young love, Severus,” Dumbledore chuckled. “But, maybe it really would be best to seek out a little more privacy, Harry. Unless you want a running commentary from Professor Snape over here.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Potter said hastily. “Thank you, err, Sir.” He bowed his head once, then turned to the other portrait. “Professor Snape. Sorry about this.”

If Draco didn’t know any better, he’d said Snape almost smiled. What a weird sight that was.

“No need to apologize,” Dumbledore said. “This is wonderful! I knew you boys would figure it out one day,” he said, winking at them.

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Come on, let’s go,” Potter whispered. “Good night, Professors,” he said before turning to the door.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Draco heard Dumbledore chuckle behind them.

Blushing furiously, Draco let himself be dragged out of the headmaster’s office and into Potter’s dorm room. And while his lips were firmly pressed against the Gryffindor’s again, Draco smiled to himself. This wasn’t just a good night. This was the best night ever.

#draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry #drarry squad #writing #ficlet #amortentia #omfg #im sorry it took so long #and i kinda wanted to give this amortentia trope a different spin? #so i made it unnecessarily complicated lol #and again #ive made one of them look like a total creep #but just to be clear #dobby didnt steal the scarf from draco #draco forgot it one day in class #dobby simply found it and had no idea it belonged to draco #and then he gave it to harry #fate #thats what ill call it instead of 'creepy' haha #again #thank you so much for that prompt!! #:)

[sarahw-world]

“Yellow Roses” - 04 Striptease

Hi guys! Here's the new chapter of my fic!

First of all, I'd like to give you all a HUGE THANK YOU for all the amazing feedback for my last chapter. I was really nervous about that one and it was so amazing and lovely to see that some of you enjoyed it. So, THANK YOU so much, it certainly motivated me to continue working hard on this story.

This one is a really long chapter, and also very intense...

I hope you like it!

Summary:

Bulma reflects on her relationship with Vegeta...

You can read it uncensored on AO3:

You can read it censored on FF:

Or you can keep reading under the break:

She swirled the half-drunk glass of hard liquor absent-mindedly, taking one final sip before depositing it on top of the table as she got mentally prepared to accept defeat and go back home on her own.

Stupid.

Stupid Bulma…

She never thought she’d ever experience such emotions ever again. That hideously familiar oppression in her chest as she held back the tears of humiliation, and that old sense of dread and disappointment which had grown to be so common during those last few years in her relationship with her now departed fiancé.

Neglect had become the norm back then, whether it was due to her boyfriend not truly listening to her whenever she’d try to have a real conversation with him, the faded but unmistakable traces of other ladies’ perfume on his old baseball uniforms, or those mortifying moments when his eyes would lecherously wander towards other women, sometimes as she’d be literally sitting on his lap and his hands would be distractedly caressing her thighs at the same time while they had a drink at one of those grotty pubs they used to frequent so much. In the end, even after Yamcha’s marriage proposal and the consequent official announcement of their engagement, Bulma had been outright unable to get rid of that troublesome voice in the back of her mind, that niggling echo which kept haunting her, warning her, letting her know that perhaps tying her life to his would turn out to be the greatest mistake she’d ever make.

To this day, Bulma still wanted, needed to believe that Yamcha hadn’t known just how degraded he’d made her feel in those days, and that those syrupy words of affection and atonement that’d come out of his lips during their incessant lover’s quarrels were filled with real honesty, regret, and the promise of a greater understanding of each other’s needs, in hopes of building a happier future together when the time came for them to finally tie the knot.

Bulma sighed tiredly as she drew the contours of the rim of her glass with a lazy finger, her mind suffocating in gloomy, melancholic thoughts at the sad memories of a merrier life, a promising existence forever gone to never come back. When the crisp breeze of the night made her break out in goosebumps, freezing cold, she relented once and for all, leisurely standing from her chair, grabbing her small clutch and wrapping her worn shawl around herself, proceeding to walk in the direction of her small apartment in resignation.

She was a fool, a delusional, silly little fool…

There was no other rational explanation that could possibly justify the unbelievably embarrassing way in which she’d ended up deceiving herself when it came to her expectations of her Saiyan lover.

The earthling could still recall the way he’d made her feel the last time they’d been together, when he’d quietly landed on her balcony, waiting patiently for her to make the first move. Vegeta’s unusual silence told her, right away, that he’d already heard the ghastly news of her best friend’s vicious murder, and yet, he’d still chosen to visit her anyway.

Much to her shame, Bulma had to admit that the prospect of her Prince’s return had been the one thing keeping her from losing her sanity ever since Launch had abandoned this world. And yet, in spite of that tiny flicker of hope burning brightly within her soul, a big part of her had still had qualms about the way in which her mysterious Prince would react to her new circumstances, fearing him to be his usual cynically aloof self, and perhaps to mock her, even reprimand her, for yielding to her pathetic human sensibilities.

Against all odds, instead of disdainful ridicule or malicious reprove, Vegeta had revealed a side of himself she never even knew he had in him. From the incredibly considerate offer of leaving, giving her some alone time if that’s what she needed the most, to the poignant tenderness in his touch, as if he were desperately attempting to comfort her, to assuage her pain the only way he could, through actions instead of words. With one single look at him she’d noted his discomfort, how useless and inadequate a warrior like him must have felt as he’d witnessed her state of mourning. And yet, he’d tried, he’d tried the best way he could to make things better, to try to make her forget about the outside world and the sheer madness her life had become.

But it wasn’t his astounding display of physical affection what’d startled her the most, it was his heartbreakingly moving inexperience when it came to dealing with any kind of emotion. That raw vulnerability in his usually remote eyes, and his confusion when she’d shyly offered to bathe him, his athletic body tense as a bow as she’d soaped him up, cleansing him with kind hands and then, much to her surprise, seeing him trying to reciprocate, making the effort to do for her what she’d just done for him.

Bulma knew just how exposed Vegeta had felt in that moment, his helplessness being such a vast contrast with that boundless arrogance of his, that vainglorious satisfaction that she knew he experienced every time he effortlessly bent her to his will with his wicked touch. The frightening ease with which he’d awaken her sensual appetites, hopelessly giving herself to him over and over again until he’d leave her come morning, utterly sated and completely spent, like a well-used rag doll, shamefully counting the days until their next encounter would take place.    

‘This is just a fuck. Nothing more…’ He’d whispered against her lips the first time she’d volunteered to share her bed and her body with him, the brutally honest words forever engraved in her memory.  

Bulma couldn’t forget.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget the crude terms of the agreement she’d signed up for when she’d eagerly agreed to spread her legs for him, embarking in a ‘relationship’ she never, in a million years, thought she’d ever be a part of.

After all, she was Bulma Briefs, heiress to the wealthiest, most technologically advanced company on Earth. A woman like her, born and raised in affluence, had grown accustomed to the finest things money could buy, including an ample selection of eligible bachelors literally trampling each other in the pathetic hopes of getting some scraps of her very selective attention. The earthling was no fool, and she knew too well that most of those men had only seen her as a trophy, an opulently beautiful little trophy they could proudly parade around, trying to compensate for their own deplorable shortcomings. She’d detested each and every one of those idiots back in those days, regarding them as nothing more than a bunch of feeble-minded social climbers and, yet, she’d now reached a point where she’d almost kill for a gaudy bouquet of flowers, a man opening the door of some nouveau rich designer car or some tediously cheesy conversation over a medium steak and a fine bottle of red wine at a lavish restaurant.

Her Saiyan lover had done neither of those things...         

*** Please visit AO3 or FF for more of this chapter! ***

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #dbz #dragon ball z #sarahw-world #yellow roses #romance #au

[everythingshawnmendes]

Roses Part 2 (Shawn Mendes x Reader)

sorry for such a long wait!!

@3naomo3  @sassysweetstories @deanwinchester08 @almightydolans @zipline-mendez @swxxt-pxa  @lily–lilac @ajisantisocial @briannareneea985 @sarahdorst @melunicorn77 @escarjorts @firsttimeihadsomethingtolose  @beckymendes14 

 Part 1

+

“AND NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLATINUM-SELLING ARTIST FROM CANADA, SINGING HIS NEW SINGLE ROSES WHO IS UP FOR AN AWARD TONIGHT, SHAWN MENDES!”

Y/N stood on the edge of her seat, positively shaking with pride.

Shawn came out on stage and looked directly at her.

“This one’s for you.”

I’m not try'na start a fire, with this flame But I’m worried that your heart might feel the same And I have to be honest with you baby Tell me If I’m wrong, and this is crazy But I got you this rose And I need to know Will you let it die or let it grow? Die or let it go?

It’s not that I don’t care about the love you have It’s not that I don’t want to see you smile But there’s no way that he can feel the same ‘Cause when I think of you my mind goes wild

Y/N swayed to the music but stopped dead in her tracks when she caught on with the lyrics.

The song was ending and Shawn pulled out a single red rose and climbed down into the crowd. He made his way to Y/N and stood in front of her with the rose.

“I got you this rose, and I need to know, will you let it die or let it grow?” he sang softly to her.

+

“Shawn you’re on in 10.” A Grammy technician waved at him.

Shawn snapped out of his reverie. His hands were moist with sweat and his leg was shaking. He looked around him. He was sitting in a dressing room, on a white couch, and in front of him was a white coffee table that had a cup of water and his guitar on it. He checked the time. It was 9 minutes to when he was supposed to go on. He wiped his forehead. Okay, so he didn’t go on. What he had just envisioned was but a dream. He exhaled heavily in relief. If that happened in real life, he would be in really deep shit. He revised his game plan in his head. He goes on stage, sings his song, plays the piano at the end, then presents the next award. Best Country or something, anyway he had a teleprompter to read. No stupid grand love gesture to Y/N or stupid walking up to her with a rose.

She’s engaged. Shawn swallowed the acrid taste in his throat that he got each time when he thought of her with Luke. He grabbed his chest out of habit, soothing his breathing. It’s weird. If love was a metaphoric thing, why does he feel the pain so physically? He felt it in his abdomen, feeling the muscles rip open and get salted each time he thought of Y/N with Luke.

“Good luck bud.” He heard Andrew say to him.

Weirdly enough, Shawn wasn’t nervous. This may be the biggest event he’s played at, but it didn’t feel that way. The whole Grammy nomination didn’t even seem to have impacted that deeply. Because his mind was somewhere else these days. His mind was somewhere else ever since that visit to Y/N’s parents.

Y/N waited at the edge of her seat, twiddling her engagement ring nervously around her finger. If you looked closely, it was almost like she cared about Shawn’s performance more than he even did. More than her own upcoming wedding.

He got out on stage sat down at the grand piano colored shiny black. He debuted the song, fingers cold and nervously pressing down on the keys. The audience did not notice. He began to sing softly and as he reached the chorus, the stage lit up and his band came out and started accompanying him. He got up to his usual mic stand and did his usual. He tried to put everything he had been feeling these past days in every lyric. His eyes skimmed through the A-List audience full of his idols and stopped until they landed on Y/N who was near tears of pride.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

+

“And the Grammy goes to…”

Y/N clutched onto Shawn’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping her sitted.

“Oh my god Shawn this is it, you know how many times we talked about this?”

“Y/N, you never know. I’m up against legends.”

“ED SHEERAN!”

They both clapped, Shawn honestly relieved because he would not be able to do an acceptance speech about Roses right in front of Y/N, whom it was about and not mention her. He was also incredibly happy for his friend.

Y/N let her head fall but smiled and cheered, having practiced her gracious loser face many times with Shawn during sleepovers.

In the cab ride home, Y/N had her entire body pressed against the window, fast asleep.

Shawn merely watched her, his gaze flickering between the lights of the asleep city and how they shone onto Y/N’s moonlit skin.

He grabbed her hand. If only this hand was his to grab.

He approached softly and kissed her. First on the forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. He felt her stir and before he knew it, the pair of lips under his were responding to his touch.  

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open slightly to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She saw a flicker of brown eyes before she closed her eyes again and pretended to sleep.

Shawn drew back to see she was still asleep, he must have imagined her kissing him back. He dropped her hand and stared out his own window.

Y/N peeked through one eye when she felt for sure that Shawn’s body had turned the other way. Deep down, she always knew that there was something between them. Everything they did with each other was so natural, and more than once throughout their friendship had she considered maybe them being more than friends. She never had the gut to admit it to him though, because it was a huge risk, and the price was too heavy. What if he didn’t feel the same? She could not afford to lose the best friend she’s ever had.

She had noticed that he might feel a bit more. He often just stared at her, their hugs were sometimes just a millisecond too long. But they can never. Y/N needed stability and routine in her life. Shawn taking over the whole world, they would not make it. In the end, Y/N felt like their relationship would be doomed, and their wonderful friendship would go down with it. So she stuck as friends. It worked better for the both of them that way.

Plus, she was engaged to Luke. He was beautiful, loyal, grounded. He would be able to give her everything she ever needed. Wanted? Maybe not. But Y/N did not dare open that door in her mind in fear to see cons of her marriage to Luke.

Shawn had read somewhere a beautiful quote. “Maybe we’re not meant to be together right now. Maybe in another life.” He could not remember from where he had picked it up, but decided it wasn’t too shabby of a life-motto. He truly felt that there was never going to be anyone like Y/N, anyone who was a better match for him. Y/N was flawed, as is any other human. But every little flaw, imperfection, perfection, detail made her who she was and that mixed with his own self made their connection irreplaceable. So what if I don’t get her in this life? Shawn thought. I could dedicate this entire life to her and making music and art about her. And maybe in another life, we’ll be together. It was rather tragic, but not all artists live a bubblegum pink La La Land life. He’d rather his art to live on forever than to be recognized when he was alive but forgotten once he was gone.

When the car pulled over at Y/N’s driveway, Shawn woke Y/N up who feigned regaining consciousness. Both neglected the kiss they had. At the doorstep they both stopped.

Normally, they would’ve busted down the door and pigged out in front of the TV. But it was different this time. Everything was different now. Y/N was an engaged woman. Shawn couldn’t just spend the night with her anymore.

“Well.” Y/N broke the silence. “I’m still fucking proud of you.” She smiled.

Shawn smiled.

“I love you.” Y/N said.

They would tell each other that all the time casually. But this particular one wasn’t platonic.

“I love you too Y/N.”

Shawn stared intently at her, while she waited for his next move. He huffed and unclenched his fists.

“Fuck it.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her once again. Y/N kissed back, way more fervently that she had done in the car.

The next morning.

“Fuck.” Shawn said. It was like the worst hangover he ever had, except he hadn’t consumed alcohol, he had consumed Y/N.

“I know.” Y/N said, burying her head in her hands. “How the fuck did we let that happen?”

“I’m so sorry. You’re engaged.”

“It’s not your fault, I reciprocated.”

“Look-“

“Let’s just forget this happened.” Y/N said.

“Yeah.”

“I love you.” Y/N smiled weakly, stroking Shawn’s cheek. “Always will.” Tears filled her eyes. Shawn instinctively pulled her into a hug.

“I’ll always love you Y/N.”

A month later.

A white and gold letter came into Shawn’s mailbox.

The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of

Y/N Y/L/N

to Luke Bryant

The letter proceeded to add date and time, as well as a dress code. Shawn sighed, throwing the letter in the trash but marked the date in his calendar. He was practically Y/N’s male maid of honor, but since there was no actual thing as that, he’d be a mere audience member at the ceremony.

His phone rang.

“Hey Shawn!” Y/N’s voice came through.

“Hi! Just got your invite.”

“Perfect. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I see you used my suggestion of gold instead of silver.”

“Course I did.” A pause. “So…you’re coming?”

“Wha-of course! Why would I miss my best friend’s wedding?”

“Aw sweet. Well, um I’ll see you then.”

“I mean, you wanna go for a walk or something? I know you love the woods around this time of year.”

“Oh I can’t. Gotta go to Luke’s parents. And um I love you dude, but maybe we shouldn’t see each other before the wedding. You know, just to get rid those tiny feelings we had.”

“Oh right. I thought we agreed to never speak about that night?”

“Right, sorry Shawn. Bye then, for now. I guess.”

The line clicked off painfully awkwardly. It was weird for both of them to not see each other every day and to not have anyone to confide in anymore. Shawn shrugged off the phone call and went to the gym, and trained ten times harder.

The wedding day finally came. Shawn dressed up in a navy suit, looking very sharp indeed. He drove to the address marked on the card and was very surprised to pull up at a church. He always heard Y/N say something about wanting a rustic garden fairy-light wedding.

He got out and joined a couple of friends. Sitting down, Shawn looked around. Everything was minimalistic and white. He hated to admit it, but it was beautiful. The church’s high arched ceiling was decorated with white butterflies, and white petunias. Those must’ve been Luke’s choice, because he knew for a fact Y/N wasn’t a fan of white flowers.

Slowly as everyone turned up, the ceremony began. Luke stood at the altar, dressed in a black three-piece suit. His shoes were so neatly polished, if pointed at a certain angle, they would be able to reflect a beam of light perfectly. He looked happy.

The band began to play, and everyone turned around. First came in the bridesmaids accompanied by the groomsmen, Shawn recognizing a couple of Y/N’s friends. Then walked in Y/N’s little niece with a flower crown and a basket full of rose petals. Those must’ve been Y/N’s choice.

She walked down the aisle happily, decorating it with bright red petals. She waved at Shawn, who has babysitted her numerous times.

The audience rose on their feet as the bridal march came on. Shawn’s stomach was twisted in a tight knot.

Y/N took a deep, deep breath and held onto her dad’s hand. And she walked out.

Y/N emerged and walked slowly down the aisle. She kept her eyes focused on Luke the whole time. She looked happy.

Shawn’s heart stopped. It froze, feeling like his arteries and veins stopped pumping blood. It just laid there in his chest, unable to function.

An angel, that’s what she looked like. What he would give to be looking at her from the altar’s point of view. She had her hair tied up, strands falling beside her cheeks. She had makeup on, a little more than necessary Shawn thought; but that was because Shawn found her mesmerising even with shadows under her eyes and chapped lips.

Y/N dared not to look on both sides in fear of seeing Shawn.

The walk that felt an hour-long ended as she got to the altar.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join this man and woman in matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined.”

Shawn shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Y/N held her breath. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a tall brunet man dressed in a navy suit raise from his chair.

+

Y/N took her fiancé’s hands in hers and looked up to him. Tears threatened to spill, how happy she was.

“Y/N, do you take this man to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death parts you?”

Y/N answered through a wide smile.

“I do.”

Shawn’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at Y/N.

“Shawn, do you take this woman to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death parts you?”

“I do.” Shawn answered, squeezed Y/N's hands happily.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst

[spaceorphan18]

Changed For the Better 12 [Klaine Advent Day 12]

Rating: SF for Shenanigans and 4th wall breaking Word Count: 2372 Summary: AU - Kurt’s a struggling actor living in New York, and is currently working on a Made-for-TV movie starring Cooper Anderson.

A/N: Written for Klaine Advent Day 12: Limited

Thank you to the ever eloquent @snarkyhag for taking a look at this <3

LINK TO A03

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11]

///

Changed for the Better - Part 12/24: Firework

Kurt was pretty sure he had had this fantasy once -- being trapped in a room full of very attractive guys in prep school outfits.  The reality of it was much less than ideal.  Brett, who sat on the couch to his left, smelled as though he hadn’t showered in about a week.  Tyler, on the other side, kept elbowing him whenever he had a line - or became too enthusiastic following the plot.  Sean, who was standing behind the couch, had on a staticy sweater that kept messing up his hair.  Kurt kept glancing to the clock on the wall, hoping this would eventually all be over.  

They were one week before the start of the show, and to the point where their run-throughs were in-costume.

There was still one scene, however, that was taking forever to get through, and Artie was having them run it multiple times to get the timing right.  The entire cast was on stage where Sam’s character was getting advice on his love life and all the other guys in the school, apparently, needed to weigh in.  Blaine had told him it was a scene straight out of his own life - when he had asked for help to serenade some guy who worked at the mall.  The scene was utterly ridiculous.

The only bright spot was that he was able to stare at Blaine without fear of really being noticed.  He was supposed to be looking adoringly at Sam - the object of his unrequited affection.  But it was easy enough to shift his eyes slightly to the left and watch Blaine.  Blaine - who looked like he was born to wear the dark blue blazer; Blaine - who kept breaking character and sneaking looks over to Kurt, even once giving him a wink; Blaine - who was undoubtedly and by far the most interesting person in the room.  Forget the prep school fantasy of guys fawning all over him.  He just wanted one guy.  Very badly.  To the point that he felt like he was going to explode if something didn’t happen soon.

Kurt began to spend more of the rehearsal time doodling in his notebook.  No one was paying any attention to him, it’s not like he was integral to the story anyway.  Thinking about his own time as a teenager, he drew a little heart, and without helping himself, wrote a little K + B inside.  Then, feeling foolish because he was an adult now, crossed it out.  

After rehearsal, Kurt took his time getting out of costume.  The other guys had all left in a hurry but he knew Blaine had held back to talk with Artie, so he lingered, hoping to catch Blaine as he left.  Kurt pretended to be focusing on his phone when Blaine finally made his way back to the dressing rooms.  

“Waiting for me?” Blaine asked with a grin, lightly brushing his arm.  

“What, no?” Kurt tried to play it cool, but subtlety had never been his forte and he began to fumble over his own words.  “Rachel is having a meltdown over her show and needed some advice right now.  You’ve met her - you know what she’s like.  So, I had to text her.  It’s fine now, though.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kurt wasn’t sure why he was being so defensive.  It wasn’t like he and Blaine didn’t walk out together nearly every night.  

“Well, I’m glad you waited,” Blaine said. “Wanna get a late coffee or something?  I was wondering if you wanted to help with marketing strategy -- you know, since your movie had such success.  Artie has some questionable ideas... I mean I know he’s the director, but I’m not entirely sure I like the direction he’s going.  He wants to do something gritty and artsy - something about bags floating in the wind.”

While he talked, Blaine took off the blazer, and carefully put it on its hanger -- then proceeded to undress the rest of the way until he was down to his undershirt and boxers.   Kurt tried to focus on whatever weird marketing decision Artie was making and not on Blaine’s well-defined arms.  Not on the tease of chest hair.  Kurt bit his lip. Marketing, right.  

“Sure, I’d be happy to give you my opinion.”

Blaine bent over to fish something out of his duffle bag -- his boxer-clad butt now on glorious display in front of Kurt.   

“Butt…” Kurt choked out.  Oh god!  Why did he just say that?

Blaine turned to give him an odd look.  “But what?”

Just do it Hummel just do it dammit

“But,” Kurt said, trying to recover quickly.   “Actually, I was wondering if, maybe, you’d like to have dinner?”

“Oh, sure,” Blaine said easily.  He was already scrolling through his phone (the thing he took out of his bag), and apparently not aware of how nervous Kurt was in asking.  “I’ve been meaning to try the new hotdog stand around the corner.  Apparently, Trent says they have amazing chili dogs.”

“Well, actually,” Kurt’s voice was slightly higher than usual.  Why was this so hard? It was Blaine.  Everything had been easy with Blaine.  This should be easy.  “I was thinking maybe some place nicer?  Like the Italian place next to my place?”

“Isn’t that place a little fancy?” Blaine’s eyes were still glued to his phone.  

“Well, yeah, but maybe we could meet there in, say, an hour.  Time to change and look nice and…”

“Oh, my god!” Blaine’s eyes were wide from whatever he had been reading on his phone.  “This is kind of crazy.”  

“What?”

“Jerry just asked me out.”

Jerry?  Who the hell was Jerry?

“Um, who?” Kurt tried to stay calm.  

“You know Jerry - he’s in charge of lighting for the show,” Blaine said.  “We’ve been out for coffee a few times.  He’s been trying to come out - so I’ve been helping him with that.”

“Seriously?”

Kurt, literally, had no idea who Blane was talking about.  But more so, they had been spending nearly all their time together -- when the hell did Blaine have time to have a few coffee dates with someone who wasn’t him.  And why didn’t Blaine tell him? And what the fuck was his life?

“And, you know, he just texted me asking if I’d like to go out on a real date.”

This could not be happening…  

“And…” Kurt waited, unable to read what Blaine was thinking.  

“Well, he’s sweet and nice, and this has been difficult for him,” Blaine said, with too much interest for Kurt’s taste.  “Maybe I should say yes.”

“Just because you’re helping him doesn’t mean you owe him a date, Blaine,” Kurt said, a little too sharply.  

Blaine flinched, surprised at his outburst, but let it drop.  “Anyway, you were talking about an Italian food.”

The moment was ruined, Kurt was too annoyed.  “You know what, chili dogs sound fine.  And Blaine?”

“Yeah?’

“Will you please put some pants on?”

///

The next evening, Kurt sat in between Rachel and Mercedes on Rachel’s couch, the three of them with their feet on the coffee table, as Rachel fluttered on about her show and Mercedes flipped through the channels on the TV for something to watch.  It was their weekly best friend’s night - but Kurt was in a sour mood, munching overly-buttered popcorn, trying not to think about Blaine.  

“Hey, look what’s on again!” Mercedes said, delighted when Kurt’s face filled the screen.  Rachel squealed and clapped her hands, excited for Kurt.  Kurt’s TV-movie had been running almost on a daily marathon.  It was fun, he’ll admit, to see himself on TV - but the novelty wore off quickly.  

“Haven’t you guys seen this enough times already?”

“Yes, but look how cute you are on the TV,” Mercedes said - proceeding to give him a pinch on the cheek.  Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Kurt, you should be thrilled!” Rachel said, shaking him.  “All the press worked.  Didn’t you say the network is going to make it the staple of the holiday season?  You should be proud of what you did.”

“You mean of what Cooper’s ass did.”  

“Well, it is a nice ass.”

“I’ve seen better.”  Blaine in his underwear flashed in his mind again, making Kurt blush.  He was glad they had the lights off.  

“Our point,” Mercedes continued, side-eyeing Rachel, “is that you should be happy.  Sure, it’s a cheesy TV-feel-good-movie.  But it’ll lead to good things.”  

“Okay, fine,” Kurt gave in.  “But that doesn’t mean we need to watch it every time it’s on.”

Mercedes ribbed him, but taking the hint, began to flip channels again.  “Let’s see… oh, guys When Harry Met Sally.”

Kurt groaned.  

“Kurt, you love When Harry Met Sally,” Rachel cooed.  “This is like your favorite movie of all time.”  

“Yeah, when I was sixteen,” Kurt said.  He watched the TV for a second - Billy Crystal giving his declaration of love to Meg Ryan at New Year’s - a moment that used to make his romantic heart melt.  But maybe Brittany was right.  Maybe he was just a cynic now.  “It’s just so -- unrealistic.  I mean, who really hooks up with their best friend?  Sometimes your best friends are you best friends for a reason.  And...it’s better, you know, to keep them separate.”

“Sure,” Rachel said, unconvinced.

“Uh-huh,” Mercedes added, giving Rachel a knowing look.  

“What?”

“You know Jesse and I were friends before we started dating,” Rachel said.

“You were not,” Kurt replied quickly.  “You jumped into that relationship when your other relationship with Brody started to go down hill.”

“Jesse and I have known each other for a while now, Kurt,” Rachel said.  “We met when I first came to New York, but at the time I was figuring things out with Finn and he had a girlfriend, and we didn’t line up just right -- and we were friends.  Until one day we figured things out and we became more than that.  And I think one of the reasons he and I are working is because we had that friendship first.”  

“And, to be honest, I still think of Sam as my friend more than my boyfriend,” Mercedes said.  “That’s still weird to think about, to be honest.  But Sam is cool taking it slow, and we’re both really happy.”

“And I am happy for you,” Kurt said, his sincerity authentic.  He wasn’t so cold that he couldn’t see how happy his friends were in their lives.   “But considering the state of my love life lately - or lack of one, I don’t exactly get excited of overly sentimental things anymore.  Or movies that give you way too high expectations for what to expect in life.”

Rachel gave Mercedes another knowing look.  God, that meant they were gossiping about him when he wasn’t there again.  

“Kurt, this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain raven-haired, dreamboat co-star would it?” Rachel asked.

“Who just happens to be the far more tolerable and handsome younger brother of your previous co-star,” Mercedes added with a grin.

Damn, they had been gossiping.  

“Blaine and I are just friends!” he insisted.

Of course, he couldn’t fool his friends.  “Uh-huh,” Mercedes said. “Kurt - you’ve been crushin’ on him since you’ve met him.”

“Yes, well, clearly he doesn’t feel the same way.”  Kurt angrly picked through the popcorn bowl.

“Well, have you told him how you feel?” Rachel asked, in a soft voice.  

“I mean, we spend all of our time together, sing together, go out to coffee every morning - you’d think he’d have gotten it by now.”

Mercedes let out a laugh.  “Kurt, you know boys are dumb.  He might be one of the ones you have to hit upside the head with a newspaper roll.”

“Well, it’s too late now - he’s going on a date with Jerry.”  Kurt stuffed a whole bunch of popcorn in his mouth.  

Rachel scrunched her nose.  “Who’s Jerry?”

“He’s a recently out lighting technician for the show, who must have just been hired because I have never heard of him before, and whom Blaine is taking on what can only be described as a pity date, because I saw him today, and he’s not that good looking.  I mean, seriously, cut your hair Jerry.”

“Well,” Mercedes considered.  “That still doesn’t mean you can’t tell him how you feel.”

“Oh, Jerry probably knows how I feel…” Kurt shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth.  

“I meant Blaine,” Mercedes said.  “If you don’t say something, you’ll never know.” 

“And when am I supposed to do that?” Kurt asked.  “ Just crash his date with a declaration of love?”  

Rachel sat up straight, excited.  “Oh, god, Kurt! That’s fantastic.  I mean, a little limited in scope, but I can work with that.”

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asked.  

“Kurt, you should go on the date with them.”  Clearly Rachel had lost her mind.  

“Do you know how dates work?”

“Go on a double date…” Rachel clarified.  “You can ask--”

“Do not say Adam.”

“I was going to say Elliott,” Rachel said.  

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” Kurt said.  “I’m fine with you guys and this popcorn.  Who needs love when you have butter and salt.”  

Rachel snagged the bowl away from him.  “I’ll give you guys a couple hundred dollars - have a nice evening on me.  I’m sure Elliott will do it for you - god knows we all know you need to get laid.”

Great - the girls were gossiping with Elliott now, too.  

But before he could protest, Mercedes’s eyes lit up.  “Yeah, you could have Elliott flirt with this Jerry guy, so so win-win for everyone.”

“Yes!” Rachel cried.  “And meanwhile, maybe you could show Blaine a more… explicit way that you like him.”

“Like showing him your butt.”

“Mercedes!!”  

Mercedes doubled over in a fit of giggles.  

“This is just never going to work,” Kurt said.  It was ridiculous.  Absolutely ridiculous.  

“This is going to be brilliant,” Rachel said - completely assured.  

On the TV Billy Crystal held Meg Ryan in a tight and loving embrace, and no matter how hard he tried to cover his heart with a cynical shell, the romantic in him always peaked through.  God dammit.  He had to at least try to get his happy ending.  

#s.o. writes things #see told ya I wasn't giving up on this #:) #it'll probably take me all spring to finish it though

[lilbeanblr]

Its So Cute ! Can We Keep Him ?

I decided to write a thing, I don’t normally do these things but like cute monsters with children idk that stuff is just things i like to write about.  story will be below the cut cause I’m not normally a fic writer and I know not all of my followers would appreciate a large fic just taking up space on there dash so yeah. 

Words :  1505 Warnings: None that I can think of, let me know if I need to add any. 

The crisp late afternoon summer air swirled around the trio of five year olds. Who were out walking about the park closest to their homes, exploring as they caught the last rays of sunlight before they would have to pack it in and go home. Patton was excitedly running around the park while Roman and Logan hung back talking to one another, however a short rustling the the bushes drew Patton's attention. Approaching the bush carefully as to not immediately give away himself to whatever animal might be hiding in there. “Hey guys I think I found something !” Patton called out to the other boys who turned to his voice and started walking over. “What did you find Patton?” Roman asked once he was close enough.

“I don’t know, I think it might be a puppy !” Patton excitedly returned. He moved some of the branches to the side to reveal a . . . well he wasn't too sure what it was all he knew was it was fluffy and cute ! therefore, “Its so cute ! can we keep him ?” he asked as he turned to Logan. The thing in the bushes had long soft dark purple almost black fur, a long fluffy tail and two giant big round golden eyes, it looked like an oversized house cat. With big fluffy paws and a small face. Its body was just smaller than Patton. As it turned its head towards the five year olds it hissed, its cover being blown. Patton awed and then picked the cat like creature up under its front arms and hugged it to himself “come on Lo can we keep him pretty please?” he held it out to Logan looked offended at the thing “it might have rabies! Patton please put it down before it hurts you” he shielded away from the offending animal. The cat like creature hissed and growled at Logan but calmed down once Patton pulled it back to his chest and started rubbing his face against the animal. “Aww come on Logan ! how could you say no to that face, look at it, it’s positively adorable !” Roman chimed in and approached Patton reaching out and petting the cats head softly. Once it started purring everyone was awwing at it. The three boys spent some time petting and cuddling the animal until it’s belly rumbled. At that point Patton had made up his mind and was bringing the animal home with him no matter what. 

“Patton please think about what you are doing ! what will father think ?” Logan pleaded with Patton as he dragged this animal in his tiny arms. The animal's front paws and head being the only thing held up by Patton the rest of its body was left to dangle and drag and the child walked. It made no move to escape and seemed content just to sit in the boy's arms and wait out the ride. After a short ten minute walk the boys arrived home the cat like creature dubbed ‘kitty’ by Patton still in the boy’s arms, purring softly. Once the boys got inside the house things were a different story.

 “Is that you Boys ?” their father called out to them from the kitchen. “We’re home !” the trio yelled startling the animal in Patton’s arms which mewled loudly in protest. Their home wasn't a big fancy house it was modest with a kitchen to the side of the front door a large dining and living area and bedrooms upstairs for the family. At the sound of the mewl there father peeked around the corner at the three “where on earth did you find that thing ?” their father exclaimed while raising a brow at Patton. The boy in question smiled sheepishly “Pa i found this kitty in the park, he’s hungry can we keep him ? I promise I'll feed him and look after him and I’ll love him forever and ever ! please Pa can we ?” Patton begged while holding the cat like creature up to his father hoping that once his father saw the animals big round eyes he would give in. “well …” his father sighed after a while he could see Patton’s extreme enthusiasm about keeping the cat, he turned to the others “what do you two think, should we keep him ?” Patton turned to his two brothers and gave them his biggest best puppy eyed look he could. Roman was already on board for keeping the cat it was just so cute. “I think we should keep him !” Roman excitedly remarked. Logan sighed “I suppose having a pet wouldn't be a bad thing ..” Roman and Patton jumped for joy and their father shrugged “alright how about you three think up a name for him while I go finish making dinner” the three boys nodding and walked into the living room, Sitting on the couch Patton continuing to drag the cat around he didn’t let it go until it was placed between him and Roman on the couch the two of them continued to pet it while they thought up names.

“How about Max?” Patton suggested, Roman frowned “that not creative enough ! it needs to suit him better, besides that’s a dog name and this one is not a dog!” Roman huffed as he thought up names “how about Sir Willams Snugglefluff !” he said excitedly. Logan and Patton looked at Roman as if he had grown a third head “umm that’s way too long Ro” Patton sad softly. Logan nodded his head “yes I agree that is fair to long of a name for him, or her I mean we never really checked …” he trailed off “anyway how about Ashes ? it suites the color of there fur.” Both Patton and Roman frowned slightly, it just didn’t feel right. “Boys dinners ready !” there father called from the kitchen and the trio stood up and headed towards the table, there new pet following behind. 

There father smiled at them softly “did you come up with a name for them ?” he asked his boys gently. They shook their heads “no not yet” Patton sighed. “Well I am sure you will find one just right for this little one” he smiled encouragingly. “Oh I almost forgot” he picked a bowl up of milk and placed it on the floor in front of the fluffy family member “can’t forget your dinner now can we” he smiled. 

The boys and their new family member ate there food without a fuss softly talking about the day’s activities and soon enough it was time for bed, the boys getting ready in their pajamas and brushing their teeth. Within no time all three were in there beds drifting off to sleep. And the fluffy cat like creature following close behind. Curling up in the middle of the floor, not quite wanting to sleep on a bed with one of the boys, but also not wanting to be alone. During the night strange things happened, strange things that awaited the trio in the morning.

The Patton awoke earlier than the others, excited to start a new day he got out of bed and then proceeded to trip over a body on the ground, which grunted to being tripped on. The loud crash of Patton falling had awoken the other two boys who looked down to see Patton and was that a boy with cat ears and a tail ? “I must be dreaming” Roman spoke, “either that or our water supply is poisoned” Logan commented, grumpy from the early rising but also extremely confused about what he was seeing. The three stared until the strange cat boy ? that was asleep in the middle of their bedroom floor open his eyes to reveal the biggest brightest golden eyes any of them had ever seen. His hair was dark almost purple black but had almost a purple glow to it, he wore a light purple shirt and a pair of black and purple boxers. The three stared at the boy until he looked down and saw his hands, to which he gasped “I’m human again ?” he spoke softly.

 “Well more or less, you do posses cat like ears and a fluffy tail not of which us three have” Logan spoke calmly. Roman turned towards his brother and gave him a look. “Really specs ?” his voice was still groggy but his tone spoke wonders. “I’m just stating the facts Roman!” Logan shot back. The boy on the floor next to Patton turned to the most cheerful one “are they always like this?” he asked softly, Patton nodded sadly. “Are you the kitty we found yesterday ?” he finally asked. Patton was normally the first one to bounce back from shock but today was extra special. The cat eared boy nodded slowly his ears drooping slightly. “Yeah I am” his voice was still a tad raspy from not being used for so long. “Do you have a name ?” Patton asked. The boy nodded “Yeah my name is Virgil but you can call me Verge” he said with a small smile. 

tag list : @shygirl4991

#sander sides fic #human sides #werecat sides #monster au #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #werecat virgil #lilbeanblr writes #my fic #my weird ass writing

[rupertgayesarchive]

Title: l’ours et le roi Pairing: Michael/Ryan Summary: A year after King Haywood’s faithful knight is presumed dead, the only thing that rouses him from his sadness is the strange appearance of a bear he finds while out hunting. A very well behaved bear, at that. A/N: Based on the medieval French story called ‘Bisclavert’ by Marie de France (this version is only slightly more homoerotic than the original, just so you know). I wanted to write this in the style of a fairy tale, which is why there’s a lot of narration and other stylistic differences. Also - this was done for Myan Week 2017 - Minecraft/Kings! au

-

Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a loyal knight by the name of Michael Jones. He was considered unparalleled amongst his peers; youthful, fiery, and beloved, especially by the country’s sovereign, King Haywood. The Lord loved his knight dearly, and his affections were clearly displayed; through every acre of land he added to Michael’s home; every jewel encrusted along his sword hilt; every kiss he placed upon his brow, it was no secret that Michael was his favorite.

Some viewed Michael with respect, others fear, and still others envy; but Michael was careful, and any true threat to him was easily exposed to the King. He knew, for example, that a novice knight had been upset with him after accusing Michael of escaping the castle grounds several nights a month; Michael had retaliated by drawing his sword, and the jealous knight had merely fled, cementing his own cowardice to the rest of the castle.

Despite the technical victory, Michael grew worried, because knight’s accusations were founded in truth: he had snuck out of the castle for several days each month. He never revealed the reason why he did this, not even to his precious King. Even worse, his time to flee outside the castle’s walls was fast approaching, and he doubted that disagreeable knight would soon forget Michael’s insult to him.

Still, on the next clear night, Michael crept out of his room. He had gotten exceptionally good at sneaking down the corridors without being spotted, and once he had bypassed the common guards and entered the royal garden, he assumed he was free. However, unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. A dangerous mix of curiosity and spitefulness prodded that jealous knight into following Michael on such an evening. He hid around corners and behind statues until he too had gotten outside. He reached the edge of the garden just as Michael began climbing its tall stone wall, which was covered in thick ivy vines. He went up with the ease of a cat before jumping to the other side. The knight began climbing up himself, not nearly as easily. When he finally reached the top of the wall he looked down to see Michael undressing in the dark. Perhaps he was meeting a lover then, the other knight thought sourly. Michael tucked his pile of clothes beneath a flower bush and walked several paces towards the large forest that acted as a barrier against prospective invaders, or sometimes hunting grounds for royal parties. Now, however, he saw Michael hunch onto the ground, as if wounded by an invisible force.

Michael twitched and rolled, and his form grew exponentially in size and became covered in dark hair. The other knight watched, disgusted and perplexed, until finally the transformation was complete, and where a human man had once been a monstrous brown bear was instead. It moved its head to the left and right before walking into the dense woods, disappearing from sight.

The knight was revolted, truly – to have a beast hiding in their midst! To have stolen the King’s attentions with his skills as a fighter when in reality he had attained everything through magic. He hopped down onto the other side of the wall. Now, as a suspicious man, the knight had always known a bit about transformations, lycanthropes, and so on, and he suspected that as in other cases, Michael needed his human clothes to turn back into a man. So, thinking himself very clever, the knight gathered up the tunic, belt, sword, and shoes into his arms and took them back to the castle. The very next day, the knight bundled up the clothes and gave them to a courier to send to his home in the country to ensure Michael would never find them again.

After three days and three nights with no sign of Michael, King Haywood began to grow distraught. He asked the knights and gentlemen of his court if they had seen the man, but no one had. After a week, a search was called, and every able man and woman searched high and low for Michael – even the knight who had succeeded in banning him. In fact, he searched hardest of all, calling for parties through the woods he knew the beast would go to. And after a month of fruitless searching, the knight was satisfied to report to King Haywood that Michael was missing forever, if not deceased already. With a heavy heart, King Haywood gave the same knight – who seemed nearly as motivated as himself to find Michael – Michael’s own land and home as a reward for his dedication, to which the knight happily retired to, reveling in fortunes he didn’t earn.

As for the King, he found himself to be more depressed and more inconsolable with each passing month. Without his skilled warrior – without his dear friend, Michael, what was he to do? He mourned eccentrically; commissioning a monument of Michael Jones in the town square, and his portrait in the royal gallery, so that the young man’s image could stare across at his own. He locked and boarded up the fallen man’s chambers and hung one of his diamond swords above his own bed. As the year drew on, and the King’s sadness only deepened, his advisers grew worried, and his other knights scared. Something must be done.

-

A year passed. Perhaps spurned by the anniversary, King Haywood announced a hunt should take place; the knights and advisers rejoiced, and so the King and other gentlemen went walking one day through the dense forests behind the castle. The dogs they brought were large and bred for sniffing out animals, and soon they caught trace of a sizeable creature – “A wolf?” a man asked, “A boar?” his friend supposed; suddenly a beast broke out from the underbrush and ran off, dashing through the trees with a line of dogs barking at his heels, the men following afterwards. “A bear!” King Haywood shouted. “I saw it and it’s definitely a bear! The largest I’ve ever seen.” They spent hours following the dogs, this way and that, nearly losing them several times, and every once in a while catching a glimpse of the large beast’s movement through the vegetation.

By the late afternoon, the dogs had trapped the bear, forcing it towards the end of a cliff edge. Without anywhere to go, the men drew their swords and bows, waiting for their King’s call. King Haywood took his place at the front of the crowd, taking in the size of the beast. It peered around desperately, and seemed to lock eyes with the men.

Suddenly it leapt forward, towards the King; before anyone could signal the dogs, the bear reached for the King’s hand, grasping it, the beast kissed his leg, then his foot. It then looked up at him with ink colored eyes; they were glassy and rounded, almost like buttons. And yet, the King saw a spark in the depths of the creature’s gaze; an undeniable human quality within them. He pushed past the fear he felt – for the beast still had a claw curled around his limb – because surely the thing would have decimated him by now, if its plan was to strike out. But it remained still, looking up at Ryan, its face set in what he had to label as a pleading expression.

His knights surrounding him murmured fearfully, as frozen as the King was, and only the bark from one of the hounds snapped King Haywood back to reality.

He put a hand out. “Stop! This is no ordinary animal – look how he kneels, like he’s begging for mercy.” Ryan swallowed, watching the bear carefully. “It would be inhumane, possibly dooming to kill him. Our hunt ends here.” Still anxious for his safety, he placed a hand on the bear’s head; the thing was unbothered, tilting its head upwards, leaning into his touch. The bear’s fur was soft and warm from the beast’s body heat and the sun beams that shone down onto the forest floor. “You have my word, noble… bear, that no harm will come to you.”

“Sir,” one of the knights said. “What shall we do now?” King Haywood glanced at his men, then at the still kneeling beast. After a moment, it moved its face, nuzzling his snout gently into Ryan’s palm. The King laughed out of surprise – the beast was more tempered than he had thought.

“I suppose we shall take the bear and place him in the castle. He hasn’t harmed me, or any of you. Something with such a human demeanor deserves to live like a human.”

The bear seemed to understand the King’s words, and it stood on all fours; it towered over all of the men in the clearing, and dwarfed the hounds, who sniffed him curiously. King Haywood sheathed his sword – the other knights did the same – and they all proceeded in a line out of the forest, the King in front, and the beast to his side.

Imagine the surprise of the rest of court, seeing the King and his knights return with a bear the size of a cottage, walking on all fours in time with his genial captor. The whole scene caused quite a stir, and some members of court wondered if their King had been knocked in the head while hunting; for King Haywood talked to the beast, and let it wander around the castle freely; there were no chains holding it, not even a leash. Luckily, the bear seemed fond of the King, and typically stayed by his side, following dutifully behind like a pup. The most disruptive the creature got was when it would nose at the King’s hand until the man would pet its head, or scratch its chin, and the bear would let out soft growls of contentment.

There were nobles who complained, of course, but even the residual grievances of the kingdom’s nobles were quelled when a pair of children – brought into court one day by their blueblood mother – had shaken themselves from her grip and began to crawl on top of the bear, who had been laying by the King’s throne. Everyone, especially the lady who had brought her children, watched in fear, waiting for the beast to roar and attack. Instead, it merely walked over to the hysterical woman, and let her pick her precious babies from its back before wandering back to where the King sat; from then on, the bear had irreversibly won the hearts of everyone in the castle.

For lack of a name, the King merely referred to him as Bear, or ‘noble beast’; he saw the creature as a treasure to the kingdom, a natural blessing to the country he ruled, and he made a public decree that no harm should befall the bear; it was given the best food, a large tub to be bathed in, and was brushed daily until his fur shined.

The King allowed the bear to roam through the castle grounds, and it followed the King everywhere he went, even to his own bed chambers! Ryan would attempt to talk the beast into leaving his rooms at night – for the bear must have understood human speech to some extent – but it never budged, and no amount of men could push such a large animal somewhere it didn’t want to go, so the King was resigned to keep the bear with him while he slept; he in bed, the beast curled up by the fireplace (though on occasion he would climb into Ryan’s bed while the man was asleep, and the King would wake, nearly falling onto the floor as the beast snored contentedly on top of the covers.)

The constant companionship worked wonders on the King’s temperament; while he was a generous and cunning ruler, everyone in the castle knew he had been pushed into a great sadness upon the death of his beloved warrior, Michael. His unexplained disappearance seemed like a crushing weight the King could never rise up from. And yet, in a matter of weeks it was as though the King was back to his old self; his laughter flowed throughout the halls like music; his smiles appeared often and easily; his posture no longer bent anxiously, and his steps took on a renewed confidence. It was only when his cherished bear came to stay with him that everyone could see the King was previously living as a shadow of his former self; and for that alone, the bear became a sacred symbol.

Perhaps the bear was magic, or at least a divine miracle. Even the King himself had noticed his own happiness had been found again. One night, nearly half a year after having found his companion, he sat in a chair by his bedroom window, the bear resting its head in the King’s lap. From where he sat, the King could see the capital’s green, surrounded by stout brick houses, their chimneys letting out gentle wafts of smoke into the sky. “Bear,” he murmured, and the beast lifted its head. Ryan pointed out the window. “You can’t see it from here,” he said, “But down below there’s the statue of our nation’s best warrior, a dear friend of mine. His name was Michael –” The bear moved suddenly, raising itself up on its hind legs to peer out the window. “I said you can’t see it!” Ryan said, laughing, tugging gently at the beast’s fur until it settled again. “In any case, he went missing over a year ago now.” The King sobered, and sunk both hands deep into the bear’s mane. “I don’t know which thought is worse – that he went out into the wilderness and died, or that he ran away for some other reason, instead. We were very close, you know; I knew nearly everything about him. But he would vanish for days at a time, and he would never say why.”

The bear chuffed softly and slid its head off Ryan’s lap. It used its mouth to tug gently at the King’s pant leg, a familiar gesture which told Ryan to stand up. He obeyed, and followed the bear to his bed. He worked his way under the covers, and blew out a candle that was placed by his bedside table. The bear’s dark eyes watched him as he situated himself, before the beast sat down on the floor by Ryan’s side. “I’m a blessed man to have found you, my friend,” he murmured in the darkness. A paw came up and touched the King’s hand, and Ryan let it drop off the mattress. He felt a wet tongue lick at his fingers, then a warm nose against his palm. The King smiled, resolute, and fell asleep with a hand on the noble beast’s head.

Many more months passed, and the King took a ride through the countryside of his kingdom – the bear naturally accompanying him. While the leisurely pace he traveled was like that of a vacation, his true purpose was to visit the various nobles who remained in the country permanently, collecting taxes from the farmers and villagers working on their property. This brought him to a large stretch of property that had once belonged to Michael himself, but was now ruled over by the very knight who condemned him to a life trapped inside a beast’s form.

Michael had since grown used to his new body, and perhaps could have gone on as such for the rest of his life; but when he caught sight of the retired knight’s face, a wave of rage came over him, and he leapt from the behind the carriage where he had been walking beside the King. He gave a roar full of carnivorous animosity and swiped at the human, watching with pleasure as he crumpled to the ground, blood blooming across his face.

There was a flurry of movement – the King jumped from his horse, caught between helping the baron or the bear, while the knight cursed and spat at the beast; “It’s crazed!” he shouted, knights flanking him and pulling him up onto his feet. “It’s going to kill all of us if we don’t strike it down first!” The King paled, watching with fear as what he thought was his tame beast growl dangerously at the baron. “Get it away from me!”

“I don’t understand,” one of the knights said frantically. “He’s lived with humans for more than a year, and he hasn’t even growled!”

“It’s a wild beast!” The baron shouted. “Kill it!”

Thinking frantically, the King spoke: “Could it be… that you offended it?” All the men stared at the King.

“How would I offend this thing?”

“He’s been nothing but polite, as though he were a person all this time. The only reason such a creature would act so out of character must be some sort of offense on your part.” The knight’s face flashed with fear, though he tried to conceal it. But Ryan was shrewd, a necessary component of a King, and he nodded to his guards. “If he won’t admit anything, then we can bring him back to the castle and hold him there until he confesses. I’m not above torture, if necessary.”

“You’re mad! He’s just as insane as that monster!” The baron wriggled in the grip of the knights, to no avail.

“Insulting your King? It’s you who must be crazed. Let’s tie his hands to the horse’s saddle and make him walk back to the castle –” As the baron was pulled, his hands tied at the wrist, he yelped and broke down. Not a strong man in physicality or feeling, he admitted his crimes.

“Alright, I’ll tell you! Just let me go.” Hesitantly, the knights stepped away from him. The King watched him warily. “The truth is, that beast used to be a man. A man you all knew very well. A man you thought was dead!” The King paled, and sent a horrified look at the bear, who was intent on watching the knight, its dark eyes flashing.

“Do you mean, Michael?” The King asked.

“He humiliated me!” The baron roared, fighting his binds. “He was a nuisance! Disappearing all the time to turn into that – that beast and back again! And yet you still admired him the most. Oh, I wish I could have killed him, but I thought I’d never see him, as a man or a bear, ever again.”  

“Then… he can be turned back into a man?” The King asked.

“Is that your only concern?” The baron spat, making the bear – Michael – growl again and step protectively in front of the King.

“Michael, whether a man or a beast, has been more useful to me than you have ever been.” The King straightened his stance and squared his shoulders. “I hereby ban you from your kingdom, for your crimes against a fellow knight.” He directed two of his men to hoist the baron onto a horse, and take him far outside the kingdom’s borders with no regard as to where he was left. The man could go to a new land or starve for all he cared, he just knew he wanted the man far away from him, or from Michael.

The baron attempted to fight, to curse the King and his knights, all while travelling down the road and slowly out of sight. Ryan turned his attention back to the bear. “Well, surely you must know how to change back?” he asked hopefully. Michael dipped his head, and began walking towards the house that had once been his.

Ryan opened the doors, and Michael walked through, snout high in the air as he sniffed. Passing from room to room, the King’s hopes slowly dimmed like a dying candle – whatever Michael was searching for, could he find it? What if that baron had already gotten rid of whatever it was Michael needed to turn back to a man? He fretted and frowned, dutifully following Michael and opening any closed doors the creature wished to inspect.

Eventually, they found the baron’s own bedchambers. Michael nosed around, focusing on the man’s wardrobe and pawing at the door. Ryan opened it, staring into its contents. Once again, Michael began to paw at something, and Ryan took out a wooden box that sat on the bottom of the wardrobe. Opening it, he found now musty pair of nightclothes. “Are these… yours?” Michael nodded, the gesture looking quite strange on him. “Well! Put them back on and we can take you home a man!” Michael merely stared at him, and sat back on his haunches. “Michael?” The bear let out a huff, and ducked down, delicately taking the clothes into his mouth and wandering out of the room, and out of the house entirely. He deposited the clothes in a knight’s arms and began walking down the road, the way they had come. The knights asked what the King’s orders were, and though he had no idea what Michael was waiting for, or what he was meant to do, he declared that they were going back to the castle in order for Michael to transform into himself properly.

When they reached the castle, Michael took the clothes back into his mouth and found his boarded up bedchamber. The King ordered for it to be opened and prepared, desperately wishing that his guesses were correct.

Once the bedchamber was in a clean state, Michael wandered inside, and, before the King or any curious servants or knights could follow, he nosed the door shut.

“Does he want privacy, perhaps?” One of the knights supposed.

“Why would a bear need privacy?” Another asked.

“I suppose Michael always had some secrets,” The King said. “I will check on him in a few hours. And, God willing, he will be a man by then.”

Hours passed at a torturous pace, and the poor King thought he would go mad before the end of it. Michael, dear Michael, alive and living under their nose for so long! Would he even be able to transform back? He took a seat by the window in his chambers overlooking the town. He watched the sun crest, then fall, and sink beyond the sky. Then he finally rose and found his way to Michael’s room.

He quietly opened the door and nearly shouted in surprise – for there wasn’t a beast on the floor, but a man asleep in his bed!

The King quickly ran to his side and held him close, pressing a dozen kisses to his beloved knight’s face to wake him up, then another dozen more when he saw the familiar brown eyes open, and the fondly remembered mouth turn up into a smile.

“It’s you,” the King said, unable to catch his breath or still his heart. Michael did not speak at first, instead wiping the tears from his King’s eyes, and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“It is,” Michael replied, voice faint and raspy from so little use. “I’ve returned to you, my King, and this time I won’t be leaving so easily.” They shared a grin, and Ryan held Michael even tighter, promising the return of all his land, and treasures, and more gifts that could be named.

“Does this mean we’ll have to remove my statue in the town square?” Michael kidded.

“My dear,” the King said, “not only will we keep it, but we shall have entire days of celebration to honor you – and your beastly form.”

And so with the King and his knight happily reunited, the kingdom prospered, and moreover, Michael never had to hide his beastly nature from the kingdom again, and no matter what form he took on, he was always regarded as a joy for all to see.

The End.

#my fic #myan week 2017 #kings!au #myan #please enjoy #ragehappy