#if you see the tags and liked crushed (I yammer about it here)

[hummingbird-games]

chatty gemmy cathy tonight (who's STILL procrastinating + fighting the anxiety allegations) 🙂

I leave my additional rambling under the cut for your scrolling needs

LOL okay. So. Aside from meager updates and treats on ko-fi, I'm just way too anxious to make a proper new year post??? I've gotten caught in this loop where I want to spill my guts but I don't want to be perceived. So. knowing that most people scroll by posts anyway allows me the illusion that I'm sharing international secrets WITHOUT me acknowledging that I am sharing international secrets. yeah?

HSD:JY #2

as for what I can share here, I've been working--until right now--very quietly in the background and I get a thrill of excitement every time I touch the outline document?? I am also currently job hunting in the hopes of entraining a new place of employment that allows me to pay bills, fund this funky enterprise, and alleviate the physical and mental stress in my bubble of life. yup. but honestly being a game dev is still somehow cheaper than therapy so that tells you EVERYTHING you need to know kjzsfjsjf)

CRUSHED

Confession. I was supposed to fucking REST during the holidays. I was supposed to finish my little reading challenge and spend time with my family, and even if the holidays weren't holi-daying, just focus on my family who I do love dearly and could stand to show it more. yeah um so like I got to talking with some friends??? I mentioned this before lol. but I got to talking. and I got inspired. and then the next thing I knew, I was taking time away from what should have been spent on HSD (if I was gonna be stubborn and careless with said rest) annnnnd started working on Secret Project. or what my sibling calls Secret Project 2025--because I told them that this project wasn't supposed to be worked on until 2025.

Would you like take a guess as to what this secret project that will no longer be secret once I hit the "post" button is?

.....

.....

......

any guesses?? give up?

Crushed #2. Previously under the working title "Folded" which I wasn't married to, and then renamed to "Loved" as I got deeper and deeper into the draft.

As it stands, Loved is gonna need some more "love" LOL!! Crushed was a very fast process from inception to production, mostly because writing Corey was as natural as breathing once I let go and Let God ☠️ Loved is Jacob's POV and um....listen, I love the guy, and I love him for Corey but fucking damn, his ass needed three outlines, all of my attention and wanning energy, a cry session, touching grass, and then the acknowledgment that the first draft was not going to be the final draft.

I really love how Jacob's POV came to be, I loved getting to know him outside of Corey and as his own character. and I loved being surprised by things in the draft. But it's so heavy. It's. Soooo. Heavy. Once again I found myself writing about grief (because 1) i'm so original and 2) because another story needed to be told authentically). But. I don't want it to be this heavy game when it's released out in the world. So when I have fresh eyes I will return to it and figure out if there's parts of Jacob's story that I missed due to tunnel vision that balances things out. and ofc there will be the fun things of getting beta/sensitivity readers because of Jacob being biracial--I've done research but certain things need more than my eyeballs on it--.

I'm gonna be super honest with y'all...it would be bat-shit crazy and an absolute dream of mine to get this game out to y'all by the end of the year. like december 2024. the only thing that's holding me back is HSD (because again that should have my full attention...Crushed is my baby but more players care about HSD and ahahah that's valid). The only thing--part 2--that's holding my back is funds. I VERY briefly considered a kickstarter but I'm still not built for crowdfunding and I've already had enough bad ideas 3 days into the new year, and I should spread it out more 🤧

but yeah. the reason this was supposed to be a 2025 project?? because I selfishly want to get to keegan and oke's story, and I KNEW that to get there, Jacob's came first. So in my infinite wisdom I decided to start now to be "prepared" to finish Jacob's POV later. and then I sat and wrote out the full draft.

🤡🤡🤡

anyhoo. there is so. much. STUFF. I wanna say about Loved, and I'm super proud of myself for keeping it kinda vague here, but I promise that if I suddenly get an inheritance from a dead family member, I will put it to good use in getting Loved done AND share all the swirling thoughts in my head about the game. oh and also be able to pay the sensitivity readers for their time and expertise, damn gemini ☠️

THE KNIGHT DANCE

not much to say here except if HSD is the main concern, TKD is the second main concern because I had to shelve this baby twice and HBG is overdue on a sapphic story (yes HSD has lovely sapphic content but as a player you can choose not to interact with it soooooo....)

this one will definitely force me to take initiative and reach out to people for all the roles and I still have Great Fear and Low Brain Cells so once I sit down, review the script, and figure out what roles need fulfilling, we can start cooking with oil!

IMPOSTER SYNDROME

keeping this very short and very vague, but...one of the things I pride myself on and strive to improve and keep up my skills with AND have been complimented on has been encouraged to be in the spotlight in a very low stakes way, but my brain as decided "no pressure" really means "yes pressure" and suddenly I believe myself to be the Worst Candidate. but I'm believed in and I don't want to let people down so it's just...distractions x 10 until I finally exhaust myself and get to work ☠️

i'll get over it just gotta be dramatically anxious first

....

GOOD TALK!!!! lol and with that, I think I shall leave tumblr and find a soothing activity to participate in 🤣🙃

#y'all really ain't getting a dev diaries post anytime soon 😭 #gamedev rambles #updates and rambles #if you see the tags and liked crushed (I yammer about it here) #imposter syndrome is also especially loud this week and I don't have the mental fortitude to tell it to shut the hell up #tw: mental health #tw: general tmi-ness #tw: typos and grammar errors. probably.

[seungmvnnie]

Flipped

pairing; Chenle x reader

genre; enemies to lovers au, ‘American high school’ au, angst, fluff

word count; 10.8k

summary; ‘The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped.’ You had known that you were in love with Chenle, your next door neighbor, since you were 7 years old. Chenle wanted nothing to do with you. Until of course, ten years later he starts to realize that perhaps there’s more to you that meets the eye, unluckily just as you began to realize, perhaps Chenle was less than you had chalked him up to be.

warnings; insensitive language regarding illness, death, female reader, heavily inspired by the movie flipped, some scenes are near word for word from the movie, so credits to the movie for those parts, although parts of the main narrative differ, as well as scenes. A large majority of the characters are not similar to their real life counterpart. 

tag list; @sunflowerhae​ @byunbaekby​​ @mikasrecs​(if you asked to be on the tag list and i didn’t tag you, i’m very sorry, i was terrible at tracking who was on it cause im an idiot)

a/n; Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetit.

It all began in the Summer before second grade. In Zhong Chenle’s eyes, it was the beginning of a decade of strategic avoidance, awkward encounters, and a lifetime worth of what he deemed to be, discomfort.

For you, it was true love.

The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped. It was something in those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you. Or maybe it was something about his smile. There was something about him which made you realize that at 7 years old, you had met your soul mate. His family had just moved into your neighborhood, a long cul-de-sac of identical, modern two-story houses, the majority of which had the same identical clean cut lawns and typical nuclear well off family who owned the house and prided themselves on how their petunias were better than the house across the streets. That was except for yours, of course. Deemed the ‘embarrassment of the neighborhood,’ the yellow paint on your house was flaking off, the grass dry and grey and the fence encasing the yard, which had at one point been white was now a dull grey, not to mention falling apart in some places. This was attributed to the fact that your father simply did not have the time. As a painter, he had to work extra hard to provide for his family, especially considering your mother’s situation.

It was a hot summer’s day, the day Chenle moved in. You could remember the feeling of the sun on your face as you basked in its warmth, the pavement on which you sat almost boiling as the moving van pulled up to the house opposite yours. You had recalled that your father had told you to always be kind and helpful, which is why you had thought it appropriate to skip across the road to the nice looking family and offer a helping hand.

Little did you know, your help was unwanted. Chenle remembered watching the girl skip – skip? As if anyone had done that since kindergarten – from the odd-looking house across the way and when she confidently stated,

“Hi, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Need any help?” He looked to his father for confirmation that this girl was strange. He noticed the judgmental look which was written on his father’s face as he surveyed the girl with the messy hair and grubby clothes, no doubt from playing in the unpleasant yard which she came from that juxtaposed with their clean, green yard. He recognized the exact moment that his father deemed them better than her, a switch in his face where he knew where she stood on the social ladder. Acting according, he too looked at the girl with disdain.

“There’s some valuable things in those boxes. Don’t touch them.” His father had scolded as you reached for one of the boxes that were stacked on their lawn.

“What about this one?” You suggested, reaching for another one. This was the moment that Chenle had realized that this girl could not take a hint. His father had pushed the box away with his foot before you could even touch it.

“Maybe you should run home? Your moms probably worried about you.” He sneered, staring down his nose on you. Resilient, you stared back.

“My dad knows I’m here.” You had replied simply, before turning to Chenle.

“Want to push one together?” You asked, pointing at one of the heavier ones. Chenle scrunched his face up at you, looking to his father for answers.

“I think your mom wants your help in the house, Chenle.” His dad had replied, not so subtly winking at him, as if to say, ‘escape from the crazy girl while you can.’

 He seized the opportunity, turning on his heel and running towards the house, where his mother stood in the doorway, when the most ridiculous thing happened. Not only did (Y/N) (Y/L/N) follow him, but you grabbed his hand.

“Oh, hello! I see you’ve met my son.” His mother had called out, a small smile growing on her face as she observed the sight of the two 7-year olds connected by their hands.

Chenle, having no clue how to escape the situation, did the most mature thing a 7-year-old boy could do. He hid behind his mother.

Who did you think you were? He had been here for less than 10 minutes and he had some crazy girl trying to hold his hand.

Of course, for you, you really had thought you were being kind. The boxes on the lawn did look intimidatingly heavy but you were sure with the help of the cute boy stood next to them, you could help get them into the house. You hadn’t picked up on the fact that it had taken Mr. Zhong all of 10 seconds to determine that you weren’t worthy of their time and when he had sent his son inside to help unpack, you thought maybe it would be a good idea to chase after him, see if he wanted to play for a bit before he was stuck unpacking boring boxes. You had grabbed his arm to stop him from running into his house, when he turned around and moved his arm out of your clasp, grabbing your hand instead.

You could remember vividly, the way your stomach had flipped as he stared at you with those deep brown eyes, and you had been so sure he was going to kiss you. He had held your hand! At 7, you had basically considered that a marriage proposal. If his mother had not have called out to you, you were sure you were going to have had your first kiss at 7 years old. The way he blushed and hid behind his mother was adorable, he was so shy.

That night you lay awake, thinking of the boy who was walking around with your first kiss.

If only he wasn’t so shy, maybe he would have. That was the moment you decided, you were going to do everything in your power to ensure that Chenle would not have to ever feel shy around you. He needed to know; he had a friend in you.

While sweet in theory, the reality of the situation was, Chenle believed he did not need the help of, what his father had referred to the evening after you, your two older brothers and your father brought over homemade pies, ‘trash like them.’ He especially did not need the help of the girl who embarrassed him on the first day of school. Yes, you had thought it appropriate, upon seeing Chenle enter the classroom of Mr. Lee on the very first day of school, to run up to him and give him a huge hug, which he of course, had struggled against. That’s what had earned him the reputation of being (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s boyfriend, a reputation he did not manage to shrug off until freshman year of high school, and he only got rid of through dating Lee Chaeryong for an incredibly brief period of time, who was perfectly sweet, but he didn’t find her particularly interesting.

For a while, he found dealing with Chaeryong’s insistence yammering about nothing he cared about a lot easier to endure than the lovesick eyes you gave him. The plan was, he would walk her to class a few times, sit with her at lunch and eventually, you would lose interest, he could break up with her.  It was all going smoothly, until his best friend, Park Jisung, suddenly decided to get a moral backbone for once and tell Chaeryong what Chenle was doing. Chenle reckoned it was just because of Jisung’s own crush on her, but either way, it had resulted in a very public breakup. A week later, you were back to obsessing over him, and once again he became, (Y/N)’s boyfriend.

 3 years later, their senior year, brought a lot of changes, the main change of which being Chenle’s grandfather had permanently moved in with their family. Chenle did not know much of his grandfather. An old surly man, he spent his days sat in the armchair beside their front window, staring blankly out into the empty street. Chenle’s mom said he did that because he missed grandma, although Chenle would not know as much he had very little conversations with him. The second change in Chenle’s life was more superficial as everyone was talking about how much (Y/N) had grown between the summer of junior and senior year – your face had thinned out, and you had a much more of a mature air about you and for a brief moment of, what Chenle had deemed insanity, he may have mistaken you as pretty. Of course, the second you had sent him the same goofy smile which graced your face every time you looked at him, and murmured the same,

“Hi, Chenle,” the pit in his stomach from the tired repetition of ten years returned.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He had replied, a tight-lipped smile sent your way.

 It is imperative to the justification of your side of the story that you understand that Chenle had never once openly rejected you, or even treated you rudely. You would talk to him when you could, and he would reply perfectly politely, which would only reinforce the idea that it’s not that he did not like you, he was just shy. On top of that, it was not as if you actively pursued him. You spoke to him like one would a friend as, how you saw it, everyone knew you liked Chenle, no doubt, including him. If he wanted to, he would ask you out. Other than that, you were content talking to him when you could.

 Other than your looks, a lot more had changed in your life. For almost as long as you could remember, your mother had been sick. There had been a time, a very long time ago, where you could recall how the same scalic motif would echo from the piano which now lay dormant, the thick layer of dust that had blanketed it over the years rendering it inoperable. Your life had been filled with hospital visits to a woman you had never really gotten the opportunity to know and who no longer knew you. You often grazed your hand over the ivory piano keys, and tried to flick through the penciled sheet music which hadn’t been touched since the last time your mom had last scribbled on them but to you it was a foreign language you could only hope to understand.

About a week into September, you had been ignoring your English teacher’s in-depth analysis of some Shakespeare scene and letting your thoughts and eyes wander to where Chenle sat two seats in front of you. His black hair had seemed even darker that day, contrasting with the white t-shirt and denim jacket he was wearing. You were so focused on the way his head would duck down to take notes, that you barely noticed the teacher who had slid into the classroom and leaned to whisper something in your teacher’s ear. It wasn’t until your teacher had called your name and Chenle had spun to stare at you alongside the rest of the class, his brown eyes meeting yours, that you had snapped back into reality, the heat of your embarrassment at getting caught by Chenle warming your face. Funnily enough, you had forgotten about your embarrassment when your teacher had called you out into the hallway, where your tearful father stood. He didn’t have to say anything. You knew.

The next week all blurred together into a flurry of emotions which you purposefully tried your best to forget. The funeral was huge, groups of people from your school coming to show solidarity, as well as the entire neighborhood, including Chenle and his family. You could not bring yourself to glance at him, not with your father crying quietly next to you. You did not know whether to cry for the woman you had never met before. 

  Your school allowed you the next few months off school, but you had returned after only one month and that month was the quietest your house had ever been. Your father locked himself in his room for the first two weeks, and your brothers oversaw making dinner for the family, which essentially meant the whole family was living off frozen pizza for two weeks. Your dad eventually emerged from his bedroom, but when he did, he was like a man crazed. He insisted that you did a spring clean (it was September) of the house and get rid of the clutter which had gathered from the many years of neglect. You were in charge of sorting through all of the things your dad wanted to give to charity, and you had invited your friend Shin Ryujin over to help. More like she insisted. Ryujin had been new to town in freshmen year and had befriended you before she had known of your reputation as ‘Chenle’s stalker,’ and she had been a fierce friend ever since. You had both been folding a pile of old clothes when your eyes fell on your mom’s old music stand accompanied with that oh so familiar stack of written sheet music under a pile of old toys. 

You didn’t want your mom’s handwritten sheet music to end up in a charity shop but your dad had insisted that no one was using it, and, unless you could think of someone else to give it to, it was going to charity. That was when, luckily, you remembered Chenle. He was a skilled piano player and singer, so much so, the whole school anticipated his performance in the Christmas Talent Show, which he had won for the past 3 years. Upon gaining your father’s permission, but against the wishes of Ryujin who had spent the past three years explaining how Chenle was terrible for you and you needed to, in her words, ‘Hoe it up,’ you made the journey across the road and knocked on Chenle’s door, clutching the music stand and sheet music to your chest. Luckily, he had been the one to open the door instead of his father whom you didn’t personally mind, but felt as though he may have disliked you. 

It had been early before school one morning, when you had knocked on his door. He was barely awake, the sweatpants and loose t-shirt he had worn for his pajamas still clung to his body. He hadn’t expected to be opening the door to someone from school, let alone you, awake and bright eyed. On a normal day, your chirpiness would have bothered him to no end, but today was different. He hadn’t seen you since your mom’s funeral, and he found that he had wounded up missing your ever-present annoyance. He didn’t know how reassuring that lovesick, “Hi, Chenle,” could be. He couldn’t understand how, in your absence, he found his eyes straying to your empty seat, or when he sat at his desk which lay in front of his window, his eyes would wander to where he knew your bedroom window sat. He had realized, in the few weeks that you were off, that your presence was more comforting that your absence.

His dad hadn’t wanted to go the funeral. Apparently, he didn’t see the point. It was his mother who had pushed them to go, saying how bad they would have looked if they didn’t show their faces. His dad had argued that he didn’t care how he looked to a poor dreamer and the ‘crazies he calls family.’ The only reason they ended up going was because his mom had said she was going with or without him and apparently that would look bad to everyone else in the neighborhood. Chenle didn’t see the harm; sure he didn’t like you, but you were always nice to him and it was only respectful.

“Uh- Hi, (Y/N).” He said, eyes wandering down your body to where you clutched the sheet music and back up to your face. Your heart had flipped, a sensation you were now old friends with and usually attributed to Chenle’s warm brown eyes which traversed your face, his morning voice only making him more attractive. Little did you know, Chenle’s biggest concern at this moment was less checking you out and more checking if you were okay, and judging by the tired bags under your eyes despite your outwardly cheery appearance, you didn’t look okay.

“Hi, Chenle.” For once, those two words didn’t make him want to rip his own hair out.

“Uh, these are my mom’s. My dad wanted to give them to charity but, I don’t know, I thought they’d be better with someone I know... and well, you’re kind of the only musician I know.” His eyes flickered down to the sheet music you clutched in your arms.

“Oh- Thanks?” The music stand looked to Chenle to be at least 30 years old and the yellowing sheet music did not look too enticing, but he reached out his arms for them anyways.

“She wrote the music herself. You don’t have to play it but, I don’t know, I just really didn’t want to see it end up in the back of some charity shop. At least I know, with your talent, it’s in good hands.”

“Oh, well thanks.” You sent him an awkward closed mouth smile before turning on your heel but before you could make the short walk across the road, he called out to you.

“Wait-”

You spun around again.

“Yeah?”

He had stood up from where he had previously been leaning against the door frame, his brow now furrowed.

“Are you- are you coming back to school anytime soon?” He almost cringed as he uttered the words. He always felt bad being nice to you, it felt as if he was giving you false hope. However, for the first time, it came naturally to him as opposed to the fake smile he would give you.

“I’m allowed off until January but I’m coming back next week. It’s just so... quiet at my house. I’m kind of sick of it at this point.” His eyes scanned your face again, in the way that felt as though he could stare into your very soul if he looked hard enough.

“Well, I hope you’re okay.” The sincerity in his voice echoed the sympathetic look on his face.

“Thanks. I’ll see you next week, I guess.”

“See you at school.” He closed the door and looked at the music stand he had left leaning against the wall, which, unfortunately, became the topic of discussion that night at the dinner table.

“I think it was very nice of her to give you that stuff, Chenle.” His Mom had said, the clinking sounds of cutlery against plates underlying the conversation.

“I’m not using them,” He replied simply, as he moved the vegetables his mom had forcibly placed on his plate around with his fork. 

“Oh, don’t be a dick, Chenle.” His sister nudged him, ignoring their parent shouts of, ‘language!’

“I’m not being a dick, they’re about 30 years old and I’m a piano player, I don’t use a music stand anyways.” He placed his fork down.

“Well, they’re not lying here and collecting dust. I’m honestly annoyed. Just because their house is all cluttered doesn’t mean our house has to be. You can go back and tell her you don’t want them.” His dad interjected, in that authoritarian manner he so loved.

“Dad, I can’t do that.”

“Eat your vegetables, Chenle.” His mom said, taking a sip from her way-too-expensive crystal wine glass. He rolled his eyes and picked up his fork again, purposely taking a bite out of the broccoli which adorned his plate.

“Why not? Are you scared of her?” His dad challenged, and Chenle couldn’t help but notice the broccoli which remained on his plate. Why did Chenle have to eat it but his dad didn’t?

“I’m not scared of her, it’s just- Her mom just died. I don’t want to be mean.” His fork stopped moving as his Father scoffed.

“Man up. You aren’t being rude, you’re being honest.”

“Chenle, vegetables.” 

He groaned, shoveling as much of the vegetables into his mouth as he possibly could in one go before sinking down in his chair. He didn’t have a clue what to do. On one hand, the music equipment was of no use to him, so realistically, it would make the most sense to give them back. But on the other hand, if he gave them back they would just end up with charity and while Chenle didn’t necessarily like the girl, he didn’t think he could be that insensitive. Which was why he had deemed it an amazing idea to ask the paragon of good advice, his best friend, Park Jisung, at school the next day.

“Dude, just give it away yourself.” Jisung had answered assertively, from where he had perched himself atop his desk during their break, opening the cupcake that Chenle had given him. It had originally been a gift from Chaeryong who had long since forgiven him since the Freshmen incident, and every now and then when she got bored, would return to her phase of crushing on him.

“What do you mean?” Chenle asked, ignoring the way he could most definitely see Chaeryong staring at him from behind Jisung’s head, taking a sip of the strawberry milk he had bought from the school vending machine. Jisung rolled his eyes.

“I mean, if you give it away to some thrift shop first, she’ll never know, and you can tell your family that you told her. Boom, both people are happy.” Chenle chewed at the straw of his milk carton. He wasn’t necessarily wrong; in giving the stuff away himself, no one got hurt and he wouldn’t get called a coward by his family.

“Jisung, you’re a genius. Come with me after school? We’ll drop by my house and I’ll drive us into town.” Jisung nodded, cringing as he picked the love heart candy off the cupcake.

Unfortunately for Chenle, he hadn’t seemed to realize that, sat with her back to him was Ryujin, who had overheard the whole conversation, mostly because Chaeryong had insisted they eavesdropped on them to see if they talked about her. Ryujin had let Chenle away with a lot over the years; he had ignored you, laughed at you with his friends, talked about you behind his back and while she would discuss how much of a prick she thought he was with you, you never believed her, or blamed yourself, or make excuses for him. Which was why she deemed it a necessary evil to send you a text saying, ‘Want to go thrift shopping after school? I’ll buy you coffee?’

She knew you would never turn down free coffee. And it actually had turned out you had multiple boxes to donate anyways, although shopping with Ryujin was always an experience. You liked clothes shopping as much as anyone, but Ryujin was crazy. She could take 3 hours to go through one tiny shop.

“Ryujin? Are you done yet?” You had whined, the cardboard coffee cup in your hand had been emptied at least half an hour ago, and you had finished looking for clothes an hour ago. She was especially taking her time today, deliberating every item of clothing she saw and the dark lighting was starting to hurt your eyes, the musky smell of cedar wood and laundry detergent was inviting at first, but now made you feel woozy.

“My feet hurt.” You complained again, only pouting at the joke glare she shot your way. The bell which jingled every time someone entered the shop that you had learned to zone out the past two hours rang again, but this time, Ryujin’s eyes flickered up and rested on the person standing at the door. You furrowed your brow and spun to see who she was staring at, and there stood Chenle and Jisung, both looking positively ill.

“Oh- Hi, Chenle!” You waved, a small smile gracing your face. You cocked your head slightly to look at the two boys who had lost all color to their faces. Chenle still looked as good as ever, and the smell of his citrusy shampoo paired with his expensive smelling cologne cut through the woody scent of the shop, his chestnut brown eyes which lay beneath his messy mop of dark hair bringing butterflies to your stomach the way they always did.

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a-,” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as your eyes had fallen down to where he clutched the oh so familiar sheet music and music stand. Your smile dropped, the butterflies in your stomach mutating into lead.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked, quietly, ignoring the way Jisung almost ran back out of the shop.

“I- uh- well...” He looked down, staring guiltily at his hands and the rusty music stand he clutched.

“If you didn’t want them you could have said, you know. You didn’t have to go behind my back to give them away.” You snapped, and for the first time in your whole life, looking at Chenle made your heart sink instead of flip. 

“It wasn’t me! My dad said that he didn’t-” He stopped, as if he had caught himself.

“Didn’t what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, and glance to the side, almost as though he was refusing to meet your eyes.

“He said he didn’t understand why our house had to be cluttered just because you only started cleaning up your house and yard now.” He mumbled, and your eyes widened, and you put out an arm to stop Ryujin, who you could sense was about to jump on the boy.

“I didn’t think a bunch of sheet music was going to destroy your house that much.” You replied, letting out a huff and gulping away the lump in your throat, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He mumbled, staring at his hands in shame. He had never wished that the ground would swallow him whole more in his entire life.

“You should have told me. Give them to the shop, honestly. I don’t care anymore.” You pushed past him, resisting the urge to throw the empty cardboard coffee cup at him.

“(Y/N)!” He called after you and you turned again, blinking back the tears which were gathering in your eyes, the constant chanting of, ‘don’t cry,’ becoming a sustained pedal in your head and realistically being the only thing stopping the tears from spilling.

“What?”

“I- I’m sorry.” His chestnut eyes you loved so much stared at you in that sincere way that felt as though he could stare into your soul if he tried hard enough, but for once, you could see a corruption in the honesty, a sort of rotten core to what you had previously thought was a pure center.

“No, you’re not.” You mumbled, before spinning back round and dragging Ryujin out by the wrist who had to drop the clothes she had clutched previously in a pile next to the door, having been given no opportunity to replace them tidily.

At first you had thought you were upset, the burning sensation in your chest was mistaken for sadness, but when you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe away the tears which now fell, the downtrodden feeling switched into anger very quickly. Not only did Chenle lie and act as if he had cared about you and your family, but he had the audacity to talk about you all as if you were a group of hoarders who couldn’t keep your yard presentable.

You slammed your car door shut - while you had previously loved your run-down little jeep, you supposed perhaps the Zhong family liked to comment on that too - ignoring the comforting words Ryujin was uttering as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” You asked as you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, turning the key in the ignition.

“Uh- I don’t think so. Why?” Ryujin replied, eyeing you warily.

“How do you feel about gardening?”

It didn’t take long for Chenle to realize he had traded in his old problems with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for a whole set of new ones. You had returned to school the next week, and the way you constantly avoided him was simply a reminder of how much of a jerk he had been. Not to mention when he woke up on Saturday morning to discover you and Ryujin in your garden pulling up weeds, the guilt panging in his chest as he watched you toil away.

Then one day a week later or so, he was walking back from playing basketball from Jisung when things got weird.

His grandfather stood in your front yard, a pair of sheers in hand as he clipped at the hedges which had grown over your windows, conversing quietly with you as you worked.

He had only ever seen his grandfather in slippers - where the hell had those work boots come from? He didn’t even know his grandfather knew how to use sheers let alone would willingly help a random girl from across the street. The more he watched from his bedroom window, the madder he got. His grandfather had said more to you in the last hour than he had the whole time he had lived with them. Chenle wasn’t even sure if he had ever seen his grandfather laugh before, but there he was, laughing at something you said.

You had been struggling with hacking away the hedge when his grandfather had approached you. Ryujin had abandoned helping you a while ago, but you still appreciated the help she had given you originally. You knew gardening wasn’t necessarily her thing. You wanted to think that the reason you had decided to fix up your yard was not because of what Zhong Chenle thought of you, but to make your house better in this new pre-mom times, as your brothers had begun calling them. After what he had done with your mom’s sheet music, why were you meant to care about anything he thought? But sadly, you knew deep down you did.

“Are you pruning that Hedge or hacking it to death?” You heard someone call out, and you swung around to see a man whom you couldn’t help but recognize as being related to Chenle. They had the same smile.

You laughed awkwardly, clutching the sheers a little tighter. 

“I’m Chenle’s grandfather. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and introduce myself.” He smiled again and outstretched a hand which you then shook.

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Are you planning on cutting these all to the same height?” He gestured towards the hedges. You breathed in, looking at the hedges which you had previously been ruining.

“That was the plan, but I might have to take them out. I’m not very good at this, if you can’t tell.” You joked.

“Oh, these are Hicksii shrubs. They should prune up nicely.” He replied, pulling out a pair of gloves he had appeared to have brought with him, and reached out for the sheers you had been holding.

You eyed him wearily, as he cut at the hedge. “Listen, Mr. Zhong, if you’re here because of what Chenle said, I don’t need your help.”

He leaned back and looked at you sincerely.

“I don’t know what my little shit of a grandson said to you, but I’m just here because of the crime you were committing on these shrubs.”

The previous reluctance you had felt was immediately relieved as you let out a sincere laugh, not expecting his crude language.

You both worked together on the yard for weeks, and the whole time you worked, you talked. Mr. Zhong was incredibly kind, and it was honestly nice to know that there was someone in that house who wasn’t watching and waiting for your families next screw up. He told you how you had the same spirit as his wife who died a while ago; apparently you both had the same strong will. Although the conversation that stuck with you the most was a few days into working together and he had tentatively asked you about what was happened with you and Chenle. You had explained the situation while you painted the wood you had bought together to make a fence.

“Well, do you like Chenle?” He had asked, and your face warmed, your hand which held the paint brush stilling.

“I don’t know... It’s something about his eyes, I guess.” You looked down, embarrassed. It felt really weird discussing this with his grandfather.

“But what about him?” Mr. Zhong had asked, his hand still as well.

“What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you turned your head.

“Well - I mean think of it like this. Your father’s a painter, isn’t he? Well, a painting is more than the sum of its parts. You have to look at the whole landscape. A cow by itself is just a cow, a tree is just a tree, a beam of light is just sunshine, but when you put it all together - it can be something magical. Do you think Chenle’s more than the sum of his parts?” If he had asked you a month ago you would have said absolutely. Chenle was entirely more than the sum of his parts, in every conceivable way. But now you weren’t so sure.

“I- I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Chenle was still struggling to apologize to you. He had spent all week trying to approach you at school, but when it came to holding a grudge, you were truly impressive. You always found a way to duck him, either turning in the hallway to walk the other way or having Ryujin exit through doors first when he tried to block them to confront you. And every time you were out in your yard, his grandpa was always there. It wasn’t until one day, on a cold Saturday morning towards the end of October, when his grandpa had gone into town to buy cream for his hands because all the yard work was starting to get to him, that he found his opening.

“It looks really good.” He commented, grabbing your attention from where you were watering the grass with a hose. You looked up at the boy whom you had dedicated your life to, who stood awkwardly behind the fence you had put up with his grandfather. You wished you could say he looked bad, but in a flannel shirt, black t-shirt and jeans he had never looked better.

“Thanks.” You said quietly, turning your back to him to continue your work.

“I- I’m sorry for what I did.” He piped up and you sighed before switching off the hose and turning towards him again.

“I don’t get it, Chenle. You could have just told me you didn’t need them. You didn’t have to give them away behind my back.” You looked at him, and for once, you were the one looking into his soul, not the other way around. You looked into those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you that belonged to the boy walking around with your first kiss and you thought that perhaps his Grandpa was right. Maybe Chenle wasn’t more than the sum of his parts.

“I don’t know - It was dumb. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have said anything about your yard either. It wasn’t right.” You let your eyes rest on his face again. You were sure - Chenle was definitely less than the sum of his parts. You shrugged.

“Maybe it was for the best.” You turned back towards the grass, turning the hose on again as if to signal, this was the end of the conversation.

“I- I guess I’ll see you around.” He said, hesitantly. You didn’t even turn to look at him this time.

“I guess.”

He spun to make the short trek back to his house, but not without turning back to look at you one last time before opening the bright red door of his house. Your acceptance of his apology was not all he had hoped for, but at least now he could watch TV with his family with a guilt free conscious. although the atmosphere between his grandpa and dad was nearly palpable, especially when his grandfather reached for the cream on the table beside them to rub into his hands.

“That girl working you too hard?” His dad slyly commented, ignoring the foul look his grandfather sent him in response as he rubbed cream into his hands.

“’That girl’s’ name is (Y/N). And no, she isn’t working me too hard.” 

Chenle’s dad widened his eyes slightly, staring down into the brandy which he swirled in the glass he held.

“Do you not think it’s a bit, I don’t know, weird, that you have the time and energy to spend time with the girl next door but not with your own grandson?” He replied snippily, ignoring the way his mom interjected.

“-It’s okay, Dad-” Chenle began, but couldn’t finish as his father cut him off with a sharp, “No, it’s not.”

“Do you know why the (Y/L/N)’s hadn’t fixed up their yard until now?” His grandfather asked, more rhetorically than anything.

“Yeah. Because he’s too busy with his paint-by-numbers kit.” His dad answered, chortling to himself at his own joke, taking another sip of the brandy he was drinking.

“The illness Mrs. (Y/L/N) had was incredibly hard to treat, not to mention emotionally draining. Every penny they had went into hospital bills treating her, and even then, she had been in a coma for 8 years, and then unresponsive for another 5.” Chenle stared down at his hands, trying his best to zone out the argument, especially considering he had been the asshole who tried to give away this poor woman’s music.

“I don’t see what their vegetative mother has to do with their pride in ownership. Realistically, if she had looked after herself more, maybe they wouldn’t have been in this mess.” His dad had answered, once again laughing at his own joke.

“They don’t own that house, they rent it. It’s supposed to be the responsibility of the landlord, and it was nothing to do with how healthy that poor woman was, (Y/N)’s Mom had a blood condition that made her susceptible to strokes, and that’s what made her so ill.” Chenle’s mom sighed from where she sat next to him on the blue couch, before his father had the opportunity to reply and dig himself into a deeper hole.

“That poor family. We should have them over for dinner.” She announced, standing up, grabbing the still full glass from her husband’s hand as she moved into the kitchen.

“We are not having them over for dinner!” His father shouted from the living room.

“We should have them over for a sit down fancy dinner.” She replied, almost deliberately ignoring him.

“We are not - Hey!” He called out as he heard the buttons on the landline beep with each number his mother punched in.

“I’m sorry, I can’t here you over me inviting them over for- Oh hello, (Y/N), dear.” At the sound of your name, Chenle sank farther into the plush couch seats. He just wanted to watch television in peace.

“Shoot me now.” His dad mumbled.

“Careful what you wish for.” His Grandfather replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv and this time he was the one to ignore the evil look which was shot his way.

And so, dinner with the (Y/L/N)’s was in his imminent future, which only made things more uncomfortable at school. Much like when you had taken that month off in school, he found himself focused on the idea of you more than he had previously. He couldn’t get you out of his head, you and your poor mom. He thought he would apologize for the music thing, you would begrudgingly accept his apology, and you could live the rest of the senior year blissfully ignoring each other’s existents. While you had apparently stayed true to the plan, he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to find you in class. He had spent 10 years in the same class as you but he had never noticed how you automatically pulled your bottom lip into your mouth when you were focused on something or the way you smiled to stop yourself laughing when Ryujin mumbled some sort of snarky comment. In the same bout of insanity he had experienced at the beginning of the year, he may have mistaken your smile as being pretty. Except this time the insanity did not melt away into resentment, but instead grew into a roaring monster of butterflies anytime he saw you.

He was starting to think he was sick or something. It was like his whole life had been flipped upside down; in what universe was he the one with the clammy hands and racing heart around (Y/N) (/L/N), and she was the one ignoring him? He needed to talk to someone - and who better than the lord of advice himself, Park Jisung.

Luckily for him, him and Jisung were the first people in their home room class the day of the dinner; usually you were in early, but today you conveniently hadn’t been. “Dude, I need your help.” Chenle emphatically exclaimed, sitting down in his seat next to Jisung before explaining the situation.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? You hate her. You’ve hated her for 10 years.” Jisung blankly stated, and Chenle shook his head. 

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.”

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently, she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” Chenle defended, the stubborn side of him which was declaring, it’s been a decade, why stop hating you now, losing out to this new need to defend you.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.” Jisung replied, leaning back in his chair with confidence, as though he had just solved the world’s problems. Chenle’s eyebrows knotted together, cocking his head.

“What do you mean?” 

Jisung scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing since the last advice he had kindly bestowed on Chenle.

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?”

Chenle wanted to hit him. He was certain, he had never before in his life been closer to punching someone and God did Jisung deserve it. How dare he say that? He wanted to tell him that it was much more complex than Jisung’s derogatory simplification of your mother’s illness, and just because Jisung was failing biology did not mean he had the right to be going around and saying things like that about you. He wanted to tell Jisung to keep his stupid opinion to himself, but despite this intense fury he felt searing up his chest, all he could manage was a stiff laugh.

“Oh. Yeah.” He mumbled, not looking at him in case the smug smile which had graced Jisung’s face flipped the switch which would erupt the burning anger in his chest.

You had been running late that day. You liked getting up earlier and beating the traffic to school, now more than ever, with the sullen mood your house had fallen into, although with the dinner with the Zhong family in your near future, the three boys of your house appeared cheerier. Your father was good friends with Mrs. Zhong and she had always been a good neighbor, and your two brothers were old friends with Chenle’s older sister. You were only one against the idea, but realistically, what harm could one dinner do? You had woken up and been ready on time, but when you climbed into your sturdy little jeep and turned the ignition keys, the engine made an unfortunate spluttering sound, that rather sounded like it was simply giving up.

You had taken a stab at fixing it, popping the hood and pretending as though you had a single clue about what to look for, but upon realizing there was no hope you started glancing worriedly back at your house. Surely one of the three people who all knew all to drive would know something about what was wrong with the engine. Biggest problem was, they were all asleep, and if you woke them up, you might have lost a hand. You were heavily considering risking the hand when, by some sort of divine intervention, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Need help?”

You started, spinning to see Mr. Zhong, the familiar and kind old face smiling at you. You hated how similar his smile was to Chenle’s; he was simply a reminder of who you thought Chenle used to be. Nonetheless, you smiled and nodded, gesturing to the hood and taking a step back.

“Please. It’s all yours.”

He worked in silence for a moment, pulling at the machinery inside the bonnet.

“How old is this car?” He asked, and his muffled voice could not disguise the astonishment in his voice.

“Uh, I think the last person to drive it was my Mom, so, that should tell you.” You half joked, awkwardly watching him work until he indicated to you to try again.

You climbed into the car and turned the ignition, and it spluttered again, but this time the spluttering graduated into the unhealthy purring sound you were used to.

You rolled your window down, and called a gracious, ‘thank you!’ out the window, but before you could proceed the short drive to school, the man stopped you, leaning against the side of your car.

“Wait a minute, I want to talk to you about something.” You uncomfortably clutched the steering wheel tighter, raising an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘go on.’

“You and Chenle? How’s that going?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in a similar fashion, although his was more teasing where yours was questioning. Your heart leapt as your face warmed.

“Oh - uh. I haven’t really spoken to him since.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised.

“Why?” You asked, trying to discreetly gulp away your nervousness.

“Oh, he’s just been speaking about you a lot more, is all. Have fun at school.” 

Your five-minute drive to school was the most anxiety ridden drive you had ever experienced. What did he mean speaking about you more? He was asking about your relationship so would that suggest Chenle was saying nice things? Did Chenle maybe like you? Of course, the idea of Chenle having any sort of romantic feelings towards you felt nearly laughable at this point, but this glimmer of hope that had remained from the past ten years that maybe, just maybe, you had finally grabbed the attention of those sweet brown eyes simmered in your chest before you could push it away. He had treated you badly, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need him.

You stormed into school that morning, affirming that you did not need Zhong Chenle in your life, and if he did finally notice you, that was not your problem. But the little girl in you who had walked up to the door of your classroom to overhear Chenle say your name insisted on eavesdropping. And who were you to say no to her?

“... That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” You couldn’t stop instinctual fluttering of your heart. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your previous conclusion that he was not more than the sum of his parts was thrown out of the window and replaced with schoolgirl butterflies.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.” You rolled your eyes. Park Jisung was a self-righteous dick.

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” You had never heard him defend you before, and you couldn’t help the small smile which grew on your face.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?” Your previously elated heart dropped to your stomach as your face fell. Chenle wasn’t going to let him away with that, was he?

“Oh. Yeah.” He was. Zhong Chenle had the perfect knack of getting your hopes up, and just when your heart had warmed to him again, crushing it, and you were sick of it. You spun on your heel, making your way back out to your car without even thinking about it. You didn’t want to have to look at him.

You thought about the situation as you got ready for dinner that night.  You were sick of this stupid game of cat and mouse, where you inevitably always ended up hurt. And thinking back on the past ten years, Chenle had never been a good friend to you. Ever. He gave away your sheet music, he insulted you and now he was talking about you with his friends as if you were some sort of plague just waiting to infect him. You were sick of it and you were sick of him. Zhong Chenle meant nothing to you anymore.

You had half an idea to march out into the hallway where your father was calling you and tell him that you did not want to go, and he couldn’t make you. You drew together pieces of this declaration in your head before firmly making your way into the hall, entirely ready to tell him where the Zhong family could go, but then you saw his face. He had shaved for the first time in a month, the clothes he wore was ironed and smart, and you could have sworn he smelled better than he had in a while. Your previously parted lips closed again and instead of communicating your desire to be anywhere but the Zhong house, the corners turned slightly, mustering up the most sincere smile you could. You could suck up having to sit opposite Chenle for your family - They had gone through so much recently, you thought maybe you could deal with him for another night. 

Your plans to snub him was momentarily interrupted when you realized, as he stomped down the stairs into the entry way of the house, where your family awkwardly hovered, exchanging greetings with the Zhong family, he had worn your favorite jean jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans combo that used to make you melt at the knees. Like always, it made his dark hair seem darker, but you pushed back the bubbling butterflies. What he had done was unforgiveable.

“Why don’t I show you guys my room?” His sister had emphatically exclaimed to your brothers who glanced to your dad. He gave a disinterested shrug, and the three stomped up past where Chenle came from. “Chenle, sweetie, why don’t you bring (Y/N) up to your room? The adults can talk down here.” His mom suggested.

“No, Mrs. Zhong, it’s okay-” You began, but you didn’t get to finish.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, I know you won’t want to be stuck with the adults. Just no funny business!” You ignored the sly comment which Chenle’s dad mumbled under his breath about, ‘that being unlikely,’ and hesitantly made your way up the stairs, following in Chenle’s footsteps. His house was the exact same as yours - sure his stairs didn’t creak from years of you and your brothers abuse , and it was much sleeker - the black and white modern décor juxtaposed greatly with the warm, yellow tones of your own house, plus the fact they obvious could afford to have their carpet replaced with hardwood floors, but other than that, there was nothing spectacularly upper class about their house that would suggest they had any right to look down on yours. 

His room matched his personality to a tee. With grey-white walls plastered with posters of his favorite musicians and athletes whom you didn’t recognize, the room was small but clean and smelt like him. That familiar citrusy scent you associated with him filled the air, and past you would have been intoxicated by him, but current you knew better.

He sat down on top of the checked black and white duvet cover, (little did you know, he was secretly celebrating the fact he had happened to change the Stephen Curry bed sheets the day before) and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You remained standing.

“Uh- Hi.” He greeted, a softness to his voice you didn’t recognize but nearly succeeded in melting the barricade you had placed around your heart. Nearly. You didn’t respond, staring down at your shoes as if, suddenly your vans were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You look really pretty.” There he was again, trying to get your hopes up only to smash them again. You wouldn’t let him. Not this time.

“I know what you and Jisung were saying about my mom. And I’m done with you, okay? You can stop this act now.” You blurted out before you could even stop yourself.

Chenle’s face fell, and his head jerked to the side, almost as if you had genuinely slapped him in the face. He looked like a wounded puppy. Why was it so hard to stay angry at him?

“I- Look, (Y/N), it was wrong what Jisung said, I know. I wanted to hit him.” You raised an eyebrow, which sharpened your features and nearly made Chenle melt, both from the radiating heat of your anger and the sheer attractiveness of the action.

“You didn’t say anything to him. You just agreed and laughed. Like a coward.” You replied, simply.

“Yeah - I know. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, but look, I’ve had a recent... self-discovery and I like you, (Y/N). If you could just give me a second chance.” He pleaded, standing up to look at you sincerely. His honest, chestnut eyes did not hold the same rotten core you had seen in them a month ago in the charity shop, but you held your ground nonetheless. “Third chance, you mean. Realistically, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. We’ve lived next to each other for 10 years and we’ve had, what, two civil conversations?” Chenle was the one to look down at his feet now, focusing on the hardwood floors. You weren’t wrong - you didn’t really know each other. You relished in the silence as Chenle thought for a moment, before he mumbled,

“That doesn’t change how I feel about you, though.” 

“Well it should.” 

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his mother’s screaming for them to come to dinner. You had turned and left before he even had the opportunity to draw breath and he was left alone in his empty room, which grey walls that had previously been illuminated with the presence of you had dulled in the absence of your vivacity. 

Dinner was a success for the most part, except for the torture of sitting across from you. He bore holes into the side of your head, but you were so skilled in acting as if he wasn’t there, he was starting to question his actual presence at the dinner table; if it were just you and him sitting there, he would have been convinced he was some sort of ghostly apparition.

“So, you paint, right?” His grandfather had directed toward your dad who nodded politely.

“Yeah, I always loved art and - well I couldn’t afford to go to college so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone and do something I love that I don’t need a college education for.” He replied, the bright look on his face when talking about something he loved was so similar to how you used to look at him that Chenle almost felt sick with guilt.

“And you make much money off of that?” His dad had commented, his knife and fork obnoxiously clinking against the plate. Chenle almost sunk down in his chair.

“I make enough.” Your dad replied, stiffly. He spoke how you spoke to him a mere 15 minutes ago.

“Didn’t you used to like art?” His grandfather had asked, turning to his Dad who shrugged, sipping from his expensive wine glass.

“I painted a little.” Chenle had never seen his dad so uncomfortable.

“No, I remember, you wanted to go to art school, right? But my daughter here talked you out of it.” His dad squirmed in his seat as his mother awkwardly laughed, avoiding the topic entirely and asking your dad another question about his job.

The more your dad discussed his ventures into the world of art, the quieter his dad got. He tried to plaster on a smile every now and then, but underneath, Chenle could tell he was sad. He thought about how his dad had always looked down on your family, and the countless times he had referred to your dad as being ridiculous, a low-life who needed to get a ‘proper job.’ He watched the man who had dwindled his life away and wondered, if he was simply angry at himself, as opposed to the kind family across the street. His father was a coward who didn’t chase what he wanted because he was too scared. Chenle swore to himself there and then, that he would not be a coward, like his father. He refused to become the bitter, jealous old man across the street. And so, late that night, after you had all left, he rifled through the papers on his desk and hatched a plan.

Patience and timing were key elements to Chenle’s plan - A month, to be precise. The day of the Christmas talent show. Everyone was excited to watch Chenle perform, especially now that it had been spread that he was dedicating his performance to someone in the audience. Pretty much everyone in the school who was attracted to boys were praying it was them. All except for you, who still hadn’t spoken to him since that fateful night in his bedroom and had resumed your strategic avoidance of him.

He nervously peaked from the side of the stage of the school theatre which had been transformed from it’s boring wood and red velvet into an explosion of tinsel and fairy lights, the excessive Christmas décor almost hurt his eyes. He stared into the audience past Chaeryong’s skillful dancing on stage, despite her optimistic glances towards him, as he clutched sheet music in his hands. He had enlisted Ryujin’s help to ensure that you were sitting in the very middle of the front row, despite her unwillingness. He had to promise her that if he broke your heart again, she had a free pass at kicking him in a very private place. His attention was only broken from the way you hid a laugh as Ryujin whispered into your ear, by Jisung frantically running up to him, whispering as to not to disturb Chaeryong’s performance.

“Dude! There’s a rumor going around that this mystery chick you’re playing for is (Y/N)?” Chenle simply blinked at him.

“And?”

“Is it true?” 

“Yep.” Jisung threw his arms in the air incredulously, whispering as loud as their setting allowed him,

“What the hell is the matter with you! You have every single girl on campus wanting you and you want (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Chenle spun to stare out into the audience again, turning his back to Jisung. “Leave me alone, Jisung. You wouldn’t understand.” He whispered back, watching and clapping as Chaeryong took her bow, exiting at the other side of the stage.

“You’re right! I completely don’t understand! Have you flipped or something?” Chenle ignored him, breathing out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. 

“This is it.” He mumbled, more to himself than Jisung, ignoring his friend who made a last minute attempt to grab him before he walked on stage.

The entire audience sat with bated breath, you included as he sat down at the piano, almost excruciatingly slowly. You stared at your hands, trying not to look up at the stage because you knew that he was probably about to sing some love song to Chaeryong, since his feelings for you had obviously dissipated since that night, and then they would kiss on stage and everyone would be happy for them. You included. Probably. If you were feeling in a particularly positive mood.

“Um, so I’m sure you all know, that I’m dedicating this performance to someone. Which I am, but I’m not going to say who. Yet. They’ll know who they are.” His smooth voice echoed throughout the entire auditorium, officially piquing your interest as you lifted your head up to look at him. He had already moved to face the piano, his fingers - which were unusually shaking - hovered over the keys as he examined the sheet music in front of him, pressing down the first chord.

Your stomach dropped, the familiarity of the scalic motif he played with his right hand causing you to audibly gasp. You hadn’t heard this piece since you were four. You raised a shaking hand to your mouth, ignoring the way Ryujin was almost definitely staring at you with concern. He had kept the sheet music. You had thought all the time, it was in the back of some shop, never to be played again. But here he was, playing your mother’s music in front of the entire school with pride, his skilful fingers dancing from note to note as if it were as simple as breathing, the music enveloping you in a blanket of comfort.

His playing ended too quickly, finishing with a short section you didn’t recognize and ending on a perfect and harmonious cadence. The audience tentatively applauded, the majority - as in everyone but you and Ryujin - more confused than anything, until he walked to the end of the stage, directly in front of you.

“My favorite color is red.” He stated, looking down at you in your chair.

“Wha - What?”

 “I am the worst loser ever. Seriously, if you play a game with me and you win, I will find ways to blame you for making me lose.”

“Chenle, wha-” “You said you didn’t know me, right? I’m terrified of spiders. I love basketball more than football but I’m better at football. You couldn’t pay me to take science the second it isn’t mandatory anymore. I talk in my sleep. I’m crazy ticklish. I would literally die for Stephen Curry. I’ve been an idiotic dick, for lack of a better word, for the last ten years, and if you let me, I would love the chance to get to know you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as you stared into those eyes - those once again dazzling eyes which bore into you, no evidence of corruption, the oh-so-familiar sensation of your heart warming to his words blooming in you once again, as if it had never left.

Your smile resonated within him and he questioned what the hell had he been doing the last ten years. How could anyone, ever want to run away from you?

“If you break my heart, Zhong Chenle, you have Ryujin to answer too.”

He chuckled, the sound of his laugh more musical than anything he could’ve produced on stage, and as you watched him, you came to the conclusion that Chenle was more than the sum of his parts, astronomically. You knew that Zhong Chenle was still walking around with your first kiss. But he wouldn’t be for long.

#nct #nct dream #zhong chenle #chenle #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #zhong chenle x reader #chenle x reader #nct fanfiction #nct dream fanfiction #chenle fanfiction #zhong chenle fanfiction #chenle fluff #chenle angst #nct fluff #nct angst #chenle reactions #nct reactions #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct dream fanfic #chenle fanfic

[supraveng]

Moving On (2/?)

part 1

Summary: you have to confront your past….what could go wrong

Characters: former Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Winchester x reader, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

A/N:  here is the angsty piece, it will have at least 2 more chapters; does not follow any MCU story line; attempting an MCU/SPN crossover; let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters

@iamwarrenspeace  @mythandmagik   @lieswithoutfairytales​   @bbmommy0902  @hailmary-yramliah  @jessyballet

Returning back to the compound after the 3 day mission was bittersweet,  you missed your daughter but not being able to get Roman locked up made you want to continue the task until it was truly completed.  By the time you made it back, it was late and everyone was sleeping but you were far too wired to sleep any time soon so after checking on Joy and Kevin, you made your way to the common room for a night cap.  

Everyone had their own post mission tradition, Sam and Steve hit the gym, Nat and Wanda headed to the movie room, but Bucky was in the kitchen making food. You walked in to get ice for your whiskey and froze in the doorway just watching him. 

He addressed without turning around "hope you are hungry, I made a lot more food than I can eat''   “only if your cooking skills have improved, I don’t want food poisoning” you joked as you stepped closer and took a deep inhale of the food he was making.  

Looking at him shocked, “you’re making curry chicken?”  “Well, i know it’s your favorite and we haven’t had time to sit and talk, so consider this a peace offering” he shyly smiles at you while he hands you a full bowl and nods his head toward the table.  

“Go sit, I’ll grab us a few beers and join you”, you smile and nod as you sit down at the table and slowly take your first bite.   The food is amazing and you are completely shocked that Bucky threw this together, he was never one to do more than boil water or call for take out. 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while you ate, it was nice being friends with Bucky again, but you knew you need to discuss what went wrong if you wanted to truly restore your friendship.  

“Well Barnes, I am impressed, this is delicious” you told him with a smile.  “I’m glad you like it, and if you are going to be here more often, I’ll learn to make some of your other favorites” he grinned at you.  

“Bucky..” you sighed “I don’t think I’ll be back in NY much, I’m based in DC now and I have a great life there, I miss the team, but this isn’t my home any more” you tell him solemnly.  

“I thought we were going to talk, so we could fix us, you aren’t even gonna give us a chance?” he was angry and you didn’t understand why.  He was the one who decided he didn’t want to be with you any more.  He made that choice and you were the one to figure out how to live with it.  

“Bucky, I agreed to talk and get our friendship back, but there can’t be an us. I’m sorry, but It’s too late for us” you try to remain calm but you are shocked that he thought one dinner would fix everything.  

“I still don’t know why you dumped me like you did, and that was hard for me to deal with, but then seeing you a week later with some up and coming model on your arm at Tony’s party, it made me understand that what I thought we had was never real.   I had no choice but to move on, and right now, I’m not even sure there is a friendship to salvage” you stood and cleared your plate, rinsing it and placing it into the dishwasher before looking back at Bucky.  

“I don’t know what else to do here, so I’m going to turn in before either of us say anything we are going to regret. Goodnight” and with that you headed towards your room.  Immediately getting back into your room, you checked that Joy was still sound asleep, then headed to take a long shower.   

The heat from the water washing away the stress from the failed mission and the tension in your muscles from the short conversation with Bucky.   After drying off, you went to pull your pj’s from your clothes when something else caught your eye, an oversized plaid flannel shirt was tucked among the t-shirts you had packed.  With a huge smile on your face you buttoned up the shirt and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost instantly with the added comfort surrounding you.  

~~~~

Before you had fully woken up there was a knock at your door, you opened it to find Bucky with a sheepish grin.   “I was hoping to talk to you before things got crazy, can I come in?” you nodded and stepped to the side.  “I came to say that you are right.  Steve helped me understand that it’s not fair after all this time to expect you to forgive me or take me back, and obviously you have a family now, but i wanted to apologize and explain what happened” he told you as you both sat on the couch.  

“Thank you Bucky, and I accept your apology, but there’s no need to explain, we’ve both moved on and it's in the past.  I know you are a good man, and whatever made you decide to end things was probably to spare me in some weird way.  I’m ok, and I’m happy where I am now, and that wouldn’t have been possible if we hadn’t ended the way we did.” you smile at him, almost thanking him but you weren’t there yet.  

“Yea, you’re right, let’s move on and be the friends we used to be, please?”  “That works for me” you stood up and hugged Bucky, as mad as you once were, he was a good person and deserved forgiveness.  Just as you were about to speak you both heard the soft murmuring from Joy in the next room.  

“I need to get her, but can we join you for breakfast?”  he nods as he heads back out to the hallway.   By the time you were heading into the common room, most of the team was there in multiple varieties of awakeness.  

When FRIDAY announced a visitor coming up in the elevator you gave a questioning look to Tony who just shrugged.  You were too busy cutting up fruit and pancakes for Joy to notice that the elevator had dinged and footsteps were coming towards you, until they stopped behind you, Joy’s eyes lit up and she screamed “daddddyyy”.  

Turning around you gasped when you saw your fiancé standing behind you with a big wonderful grin.  Joy was crawling out of her chair as quickly as her little legs could carry her in order to reach her father as fast as she could.  He immediately scooped her up and pulled you into a hug, his warmth and scent making you feel calm and relaxed, home, you thought.  

When you finally broke apart and Joy started yammering on about all that had happened since you arrived you looked over at Tony, who was surprisingly quiet.  You wanted to question him, but the only thing that came out was a huge thank you.  

Once Joy settled you thought it best you introduced him to the team “So, everyone, this is Sam Winchester, honey, these are the Avengers”  you gestured to the table of your longtime friends.  “I can’t believe you are here, and so early” you joked.  

“What can I say, I missed my girls so much I ditched my morning run and hoped on a flight” he shrugged before leaning in to kiss Joy on the forehead.  

“Well, we were headed out for our run, we can wait for you to change if you want to join us?” Steve told him without really thinking about the whole situation.  

“Heck yea, running with Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, I’m not passing up that opportunity” he almost yelled with excitement.  You giggled at how star struck he seemed, remembering how he was very nonchalant the first time he met Tony, until you were back at your apartment and he could fangirl all over.   

“Is that ok? I just got here, I don’t want to just bail on you, babe” he asked almost worried about your response.   Shaking your head you waved him on “it’s fine, go and enjoy your run” he placed a kiss to your lips before heading off to change.   “my daddy wun weally fas” Joy told the table and you just nodded as you laughed.  

“Well, you guys have a good run, and hey, now Steve and Bucky each have their own Sam to lap” you and the others laughed as the four headed to the elevators.  

“You don’t seem worried about Bucky and Sam spending time together” Nat mentioned as you started to clean up from breakfast.  “I’m not, Bucky and I talked, he apologized, I forgive him and Sam already knows everything, there’s nothing to worry about” you told.  

“Everything everything, or the cliff notes everything?” she asked.   Always the interrogator you shook your head and smirked at her.  “Everything, everything, this is the man I am spending the rest of my life with, he knows it all” 

“Even the kinky shit?” Wanda whispered, hoping your daughter wasn’t hearing the conversation.  You laughed harder and turned toward the two of them, wondering how much you should divulge.  

“Let’s just say, Winchester kinky is on a whole different level than Barnes kinky…..and I am done discussing this topic with little ears close by”  you left the two women gawking as you took your daughter to get cleaned up and dressed to spend the afternoon playing with Morgan.  

Once you had gotten yourself ready for the day, you headed to the gym for a light workout with Nat and Wanda knowing the previous conversation would probably come up again.  As you arrived in the gym you were surprised to see Thor, he had just arrived from Asgard and brought you into a bone crushing hug almost immediately.  

“Lady Y/N, it has been too long, but you look as radiant as ever.  I heard you have brought a suitor with you on this visit, I wish to meet him, find if he is truly worthy of you.”  Blushing you smiled at Thor, he was always so respectful and made you feel far more honorable than you usually did.  “Yes, he is currently on a run with the guys, there’s no telling how long they will be gone”

You were feeling a bit sore from the mission, so decided that some light weights and cardio would be enough for the day, considering it was technically your day off since there had been no new leads on Roman.  Taking a water break you looked over to find the guys coming back from their run.  They were all smelly and dripping in sweat but seemed to be getting along.  Sam came rushing over to you, picking you up and swinging you around with a huge grin on his face. 

“I take it you had a good run?” you smiled up at him once you got your feet back on the ground.  “It was amazing, you never told me how incredible this complex was” he was panting but still seemed happy about the overexertion.  

When you saw Thor approaching, you took a small step back from Sam and attempted to introduce the two.  “Lady Y/N, I assumed your suitor was of Midgard, but he’s much larger than most, sir, are you Asgardian as well?” he asked as if that would be the only logical explanation.   

You busted out laughing, but you calmed down as Sam explained he was born and raised in Kansas and not Asgardian.  Before you could fully understand what was happening next, you see Thor and Sam stepping up to spar.  

“Woah, Thor, he’s not Asgardian, I don’t think this is a good idea” you told them. 

“Lady Y/N, I understand in your delicate condition you are concerned, but I assure you no harm will come to the father of your children” Thor announced as he got into his ready stance.   

“My condition?....children?” you mumbled looking between Thor and Sam trying to figure out what he was talking to.  

“I apologize if I overstepped, I was unaware you being with child was a secret” he told you earnestly, almost worried you would be upset.  

“I what?”  “You’re what?” you and Sam both responded, looking at each other and then back at Thor, dumbfounded.  

“Were you two not aware?” he asked with a smirk, after you both shook your heads no in response he practically cheered “Surprise!” 

Part 3

#Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn au #Supernatural fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff #sam winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #wanda maximoff #tony stark #sam wilson #thor #thor odinson #avengers fanfiction

[imtryingthisout]

Of Flames and Fire: Prologue

[If you hate me for writing this, just remember I hate myself more and that this began because of a joke.]

Warnings: Ask to Tag

Word Count: 3627

Fandom: Disney Descendants

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

Dirt clung to the fringes of Maleficent’s robes as she descended deeper into the cavernous warren. Once upon a time her presence would have struck such fear that not even the dust mites would have dared come near her, but such a time was over now, and now the endings of her black cloak grew more and more soiled with every step she took.

She held a twisted candelabra in one hand and her faithful staff in the other. The small flame burned a deep rouge color, more red than yellow, with how thick and low the air had become. Maleficent was surprised it still burned at all. She was thankful for the candle’s valiant effort. Gone were the days where she could summon a ball of hellfire to illuminate the room, and with all the dust and filth in the air she wasn't sure her darkvision would be of any use.

A drop of hot wax struck her fingers.

Maleficent continued onwards.

As she ventured closer and closer to her destination, the sound of barking began to ring in her ears. Viscous growls, the sound of teeth hitting teeth, shrieks and yelps and oh so much barking. Were she a lesser soul it might have frightened her, or at the very least given her a pause, but she knew that no dog (three headed or otherwise) lived down here, just a lonely master trying to cope with the sound of silence.

(Out of everything her new prison tormented her with, Maleficent never thought she would grow to loathe the quiet. The silence. Even on the Forbidden Mountain she would hear the rustling of wind, the roaring cacophony of her minion’s delight, the sound of Diablo’s deep cawing. But here, even with the tumult of the budding city of thieves and villains, her thoughts screamed louder than any noise. Here she felt more alone than she ever did atop her ruined castle.)

No door was mounted to the cave’s wall, it would be far too impractical to do so, so Maleficent raised a curved fist and knocked thrice on a wooden post instead. “Who is it?” a voice called out from lower in the room, it sounded irritated and gruff, good. Maleficent smiled “Just a passing visitor Lord Hades”.

Quicker than she thought possible, the exiled Monarch of the Underworld stood leaning against the doorframe, one arm draped over the rotten wood and his head tilted with a school boy smile (if a school boy had eyes of glowing brimstone and thorny rows of sharp teeth protruding from his gums). “Why Miss Maleficent, what brings you to my little.. home away from home?”

She took a moment to drink in his sight, he looked more or less the same as he did when they first met, a little more tired, maybe, a little less put together, thick silver-colored cuffs bound round his wrists to drain his godly might. Still something about him seemed different, she couldn't quite place her finger on it, then she met his gaze. “Kohl around the eyes, Lord Hades? I do hope you aren't going Egyptain on me”

He snorted and rolled his- yes, black lined- eyes “Nah those guys are great, but they sure as Me don’t need another Death God. Besides- Blue Hair? Blue Skin? It’s already confusing enough for mortals to get us mixed up at parties, and don't even get me started on the Ptolemaic Pantheon menagerie, cultural syncretism is fun and all but all that rewriting and re-rewriting and who’s who even got my head more turned around than the gordian knot!”

Here Hades stood taller than Maleficent, even with his slumped posture and hunched back. The slope of the floor was curved in his favor. Her horns were a brandished crown growing, twisting, above her head and barely scraping the stone above her.

She let the humor linger in the air for a breath before speaking. “I have a proposition for you, my lord” she said while dismissing the candle and setting it down on a rock ledge. The light from Hades’ hair and lair would suffice to brighten her vision. Maleficent raised a free arm “Shall we continue our conversation inside? I feel it would be awfully rude to lurk in doorways.” Hades’ smile grew wider, almost splitting his face in two.

“My dearest disgrace to all things dignified, it would be my pleasure” He said, taking her arm and leading her inside. Despite herself she snorted. “My lord I am always dignified, it is deferential which I am not”

Hades’s new domain lay deep underground in the heart of the Isle. Despite his many years of hatred of being saddled with the burden of the Underworld, the room appeared very similar to his old home. ‘Perhaps that is the point’, Maleficent thought, wondering if his new dwelling was really of Hades’ choosing, or did he simply wake up on the Isle in a room modeled after his old kingdom, swapping an old prison for a new one. She wasn’t sure if Zeus had it in him...but Zeus wasn't the only one hurt by Hades’ failed machinations, and she knew that Hera certainitly did, fondness for her older brother or not- the Queen of Gods would not have hesitated to rub salt in any wounds of her child’s stealer. Especially when such irony would have been involved.

In another life, perhaps it would have been Hera who Maleficent would be conversing with, she did always have a healthy respect for the Golden Throned Goddess,like draws to like afterall, and there is nothing more similar yet individual than women with power.

Then again, in another life she wouldn't need to bargain, in another life she would have crushed Prince Phillip’s sword between her teeth and swallowed him whole, in another life she would have blessed the infant Princess with a gift of her own, something clever and far more powerful than any of the Three Sisters trivial delights. In another life---

Hades leads her to a sitting area, long tatham benches set interlocking with one another, made of dark ebony wood. Maleficent gathers the excess of her robe in her grip and takes a seat, then slowly lets the fabric flow down and unfurl on the clean gray floor. The Lord of the Dead seats himself next to her, and after a moment’s pause, she allows him to wrap one of his hands around her waist.

“I have come to reclaim my debt, Your Majesty” she begins, he laughs and jokes “I’m not a accountant dollface, you’ll have to be more specific. I think I still got some styx-water sloshing around in my skull” but she can see the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness in his fingers as he cleans his ear and flicks a droplet of water over his shoulder, he knows exactly what she is referring to. He also knows that his newfound lack of power might have put him in a very precarious situation. Maleficent smiles sharply.

The grip on her waist tightens.

“Then let me help to restart your memory, years ago you needed an elixir that would turn anything, even a God, mortal. I concocted such a potion on the clause that you would… how did you say it? ‘Owe me one bigtime mama '’” she said drolling her words and making air quotations with her slender fingers. The God of The Dead had the decency to look sheepish, a bright blue blush blooming under his siltstone skin. “Okay yeah might’ve been a bit drunk on success when I said that…”

“Mmhmm” Maleficent hummed, raising a single eyebrow.

“....sorry”

“In any case, a deal is a deal, and now I see to collect my end of our bargain”

“It would be my pleasure my lovely lady of labilzation--” “that one was better” “Thank you I do try, --- however I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that, unlike before, I no longer have the Underworld and all its resources at my disposal to grant your dark heart’s deepest desire-- “Lord Hades are you implying I ever had a heart to begin with?” “ Ha ha no. But you do have desires that our current predicament might limit me from fulfilling”

“And you do hate to leave your women unfulfilled, don’t you Hades?”

“Yes I- HEY” Hades began with his usual smooth inflection, not even really looking at her, before cutting himself on and standing up in outrage. Face pinched and flushed. He started pacing back and forth in front of her while Maleficent looked on in cruel delight. He was yammering about something, going on about respect and proper dues and getting wonderfully worked up about himself. It almost made her nostalgic.

“I mean I know I’m no roving casanova like dear little Zeus-y, Persphone would gut me for even trying that and--”

Then his body stilled and he turned to face her, running his hands through his hair to gather his thoughts. Pity, she was enjoying she show. “Alright I get it, playtimes over. What do you want Maleficent? What under this damned barrier could be so important that you need to cash in on?”

“You and I both know Lord Hades that there are forces far older and far more powerful than this Godmother’s little trick. Deals, oaths, dept, magic sworn by magic will be repaid in turn. ” Maleficent raised herself slowly, taking small measured steps to where Hades stood shadowed by the cavern’s light. “As for what I want? That's simple, I want your name”

Name, she hissed out the word, the word that had churned and boiled somewhere deeper than her stomach and rose up her throat, that fell down her tongue and turned sharp and low against her teeth. The word that made her eyes flash with a power that no well intentioned Godmother or once cursed King could contain.

The word that made the Lord of the Dead, Hades himself, fall stumbling backwards to his knees. The shadow wrenched away from him in haste, revealing his wide eyes and- oh how she missed this- positively wreaked expression. If she was someone else she would say he was nervous, his face too numb to be fearful, but Maleficent knew better. He was terrified.

Pleas spilt from his lips like ambrosia in a clumsy hand. He was almost begging her now, with more fervor than he ever begged before--

( In times of old when the earth was freshly taken and the sky still red with titan’s blood, three brothers gathered to divide the cosmos between themselves. The youngest made his claim to the sky and took it’s child, the mighty thunderbolt, as his symbol. He gifted the sea to the middle brother who accepted it glady, but to the oldest he gave no pearl-rich land or magnificent heaven, but the burden of the damned and dead. The darkest corners of the world, where no light reached and the wild souls wandered aimlessly in the eternal darkness. His older brother objected, of course, and perhaps he even set aside his pride to grovel, but the youngest was unyielding. )

“Please Mali, don’t, not that I’ll do anything--”

( Once Ra fell sick from a clay snake bite, and called a council of every man and women and God to come and aid him, but they could do nothing. Then he called for Isis, for surely she would have the answers to his prayers. “What ever you need, I will provide” And so Isis said to the sun god Ra, ‘Great king of The Heavens and all we hold dear, the venom in your blood is much too strong, the only way I can heal you is with the knowledge of your Name’. So Ra listed off all of his titles and epithets, of which he had many, but Isis was not deterred. ‘My Lord and King, though those names are as grand and great as you are, they are not the one of which I refer to. If you wish to continue as yourself, ruler of the Gods, I will need your Rem to cure you’ said Isis and Ra knew she spoke the truth. Banishing the other medicine men and healers from the room he took Isis into his wings and bared to her the fifth of his soul, the name in which all his power sprang from. Isis took the name and healed Ra, feeling the universe realign with her at its helm, Goddess above Gods, of life and moon and medicine and magic. The fruits of her cunning rewarded hundredfold. And she smiled.)

“-- you don't want that old thing, I mean, what would you even do with my name anyway? It’s not like it would be of any use to you here”

“That, Your Majesty, is where you are wrong.” Maleficent slammed the end of her staff on top of the end of Hades’ robe, catching him in place as he tried to flinch backwards. She knelt before him, his back arched so completely he resembled more of a semicircle than a fallen God, his body so small here compared to hers. The long tendrils of her cloak sprawled themselves across the floor, their edges slithering like snakes, writhing and engulfing them, Hades was a cold star trapped amidst a sea of dark fabric.

“You asked me what could be so important to me that I would risk claiming my due of our agreement here, under this hell forsaken barrier. Why would I step into the limelight after years of isolation to rule an island of filth and trash” she pressed a single nail to his face tilting it up, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Because here is where my child will be born, and no blood of mine will be powerless while I still live to conquer and provide”

Her child, who was barely an weight in her arms, hungry for magic where there was none, hungry for food unrotten and drink unspoiled. If Maleficent was kinder she would crush it’s skull beneath her feet and spare it from a life full of pain and longing. Years of torment and clawing at it’s own skin spared in a moment’s decision.

(Her child, who could one day release their Mother from her prison, if they had will to do so.)

Maleficent had never been a kind person.

She did, however, on the seldom occlusion, know mercy and how to manipulate the unwilling. She could just rip his name from his chest, leave him broken and shivering on the cold stone floor. The thought was tempting, it really had been too long since she last had the chance to destroy someone so thoroughly, but she knew it would be better in the long run if she could get Hades to cooperate. Never let it be said she wasn’t a patient Mistress.

Leaning her weight forward she gingerly took one of Hades’ wrists in her hand, turning it over and carefully inspecting the thick band that now encircled it . This close she could feel the way it softly vibrated under her touch, the binding sigils carved so delicately and deep into the metal.

Her skin burned on contact, but you would never tell by her expression, eyes trained on the way Hades’ life force flowed. Faint traces of his magic traveling down his veins and funneling into the band, which would pulse slightly and constrict, the sigils would glow and hold, before loosening its too tight grip on its host. Then the cycle would continue anew.

It was one of the most brilliantly constructed and horrid devices Maleficent had ever laid her eyes on.

It was a work of art.

And as she read the runes she began to recognize what artist could have made such a beautiful thing.

“Do you know just how luck you are Lord Hades? While the rest of us villains must serve a penance that will span the rest of our days, you sit here with shackles holding only until you meet their requirements. I always wondered why Auradon would risk the order of the world just to fulfill their pallid sense of morality, and here my questions are answered. It seems the true nature of your punishment is far more poetic than a measly imprisonment, no, the true keys to your freedom lay in siring a child,”

A cold sense of realization dawned on Hades, “Hera” he whispered.

“How does the saying go again? An eye for an eye.” Maleficent pushed her nail deeper into the skin of his arm “A lost babe for a lost babe.”

Something inside Hades’ eyes broke at her words, and he begun laughing, freely, manic not maniacal, the laugh of a man who knew the entire cosmos was a joke and now he finally got the punchline. “Oh Hera!” He cried out, gathering the shattered pieces of himself and pulling them together.

He stood up from underneath her, fluid as smoke escaping from her grasp, as if his body was still atmos and ichor- not confined to rigid flesh and blood. ( A distant part of Maleficent imagines Hades, stumbling and impaling his head against a stalagmite as he has to relearn how to walk again, learn how to live in a body so forign yet familiar.) He did not offer to help her, and she made no move to rise, instead she remained sitting, her back ramrod straight and hands folded across her staff which rested on her lap.

Over the sounds of running water and the everpresent barking, Maleficent could hear the sounds of his brain work. Spinning gears within gears furiously trying to take in the new information and generate a more beneficial outcome for himself. “Alright, you want my name, you want power, you want little Maleficent Junior to grow up with magic, which I can’t blame you for. I want to get out of here and I want my wife not to kill me on my arrival, so I propose a solution that just might work for us both”

“Go on”

“ gift part of my name to the little tyke, giving them- and by extension you- power that not even this blasted barrier can suppress. That means that in the eyes of magic, I’m basically your baby’s daddy”

“And are you willing to uphold that responsibility? I have no need for a husband nor a housekeeper, but both dragons and fae are known for their possessiveness and of them I am both”

Hades didn't miss a blink, shark toothed smiled fixed back in place on his face “My magnificent Mistress of Misery from now until my chains are unfettered and I am called away to return to my Iron throne, I do swear to treat your little demonspawn as if they were born from the rotten fruit of my loins. Now, do we have an agreement?” Now he looked down at her, hand extended for her to shake. “Going once… going twice..”

Maleficent leapt forward, her hand digging deep into the weak flesh of his arm, she used to movementum to pull herself close to him, nose to nose, sharpened teeth to sharpened teeth, her horns haloing her head- two blackened crests protruding from her skull that reflected the dull blue light of the room. “Its a deal” she declared. Smiling viscously as she felt her eyes flare, not gold, but green, green as burning hellflame, fire in its purest form.

If this were anywhere else but The Isle of The Lost, thunder would crack at their declaration, a ring of light would maifest around their grip sealing their oath in color and magic. The air would ignite at their words. However, this was The Isle, and so the only illumination of fate’s rearrangement came from the flicker of light on Hades’ wrists as the runes surged, the taste of copper under Maleficent’s tongue, and the deep bone-seated feeling that something big will come. This was the stone whose ripple will cause the wave years down the line.

Maleficent hoped it would rise and drown the whole world.

She almost smiled at the thought.

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

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

“Huh”

“What?”

“You know when you said you had a baby, I kinda pictured- you know- a baby”

“I do hope you aren't talking bad about our child, it hasn't even hatched yet”

“Maleficent thats not a child, thats an egg”

“You think I would birth a infant mammal? Don’t be so crude, egg laying is a much more civilized method of reproduction”

“Wait does that make you a reptile? Oh sweet Zeus don’t tell me you are? What can you unhinge your jaw? Do you have a hemi--”

“Silence your tongue Lord Hades before I cut it out myself”

“Sorry sweetcheeks I couldn't resist”

“....”

“...sorry”

“Now traditionally Mother and Daughter would pass on a portion of their name until the time came where the Daughter earned to full title of Maleficent, usually by slaying their Mother and taking her name for herself. Until that day a middle name would serve as a placeholder to help differentiate them, a Mal Bertha or Mal Lamia or something of the sort. If you are giving up one of your titles, perhaps Mal Aidoneus would suffice?”

“Yeah, no”

“No?”

“Listen, Fairy G’s little parasite pocket is going to hone in on quote the name of the “The Mistress of All Evil” like a cyclopes at a half-off everything sunglass sale. You want this kid to have even a smidgen of a chance we gotta change it up a bit.”

“Well then Your Majesty I don’t suppose you have any better Ideas”

“........Malenthea”

“Hm?”

“Her name, it will be Malenthea”

“Then so mote it be”

“....”

“....”

“HOLY RHEA YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THE EGG WOULD EXPLODE--”

#disney descendants #descendants #fic #writing #my writing #maleficent #hades #Disney Hades #OC: Malenthea #Of Flame and Fire Au #descendants rewrite #descendants fic #Mal Bertha #mal descendants #fae Mal #dragon mal

[banashee]

Part 24 of my @badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt: “Chained to a wall”

Please mind the tags and warnings in the notes

 Sticking Together

 Bruce can feel a headache pounding through his entire skull. It might as well be splitting his head in two, and the familiar angry roar echoing back in his mind sure doesn't help it.

 Hulk is trashing frantically, itching to break out and take over, but Bruce has got himself under control. He needs to, especially now. If only they could stop arguing, he thinks.

 Tony has been yammering on about this solution for what feels like hours, and if he had his hands free, Bruce would have started to tear out his hair by now.

 A tiny little part of him kind of wants to throttle Tony, but he knows the regret would come soon if he did.

 “I’m just saying, if you were to hulk out right now-”

 Truth be told, fantasizing about it helps a little bit.

   “I would be unable to control anything and the worst case scenario would be crushing both of you while I’m at it.” Bruce snaps at Tony, eyes flashing green for a second. Then his anger simmers back down. He doesn’t      want     to get angry, because he knows that Tony means well and his faith in Hulk for not accidentally or intentionally murdering him is very much real, but it’s getting exhausting. And at this point, Bruce is pretty devastated.  

 The inventor takes a deep breath, but is cut off before he can start again.

 “Come on, knock it off” Clint grouches from his own corner of the damp, windowless cell without even looking up. He’s been awfully quiet so far, and they’re not entirely sure if this is a good sign or not. Usually, he’d be a lot more talkative and probably would have joined the argument, if only because he’s easily bored. Now though, no such thing is happening.

 Clint squirms on his spot, probably attempting to get in a position to get the cuffs off of himself. How exactly he’s hoping to achieve that is anyone's guess, but it would be far from the first time that someone underestimated Clint. It almost always works out in his favor.

 Letting out a shaky breath, Bruce tries to get into a more comfortable position. Which proves to be hard, since he is sitting on a cold floor and with both of his hands tied behind his back. The cuffs are connected to a long chain, which leads to a heavy metal collar around his neck as well as similar restraints around his ankles. It makes it impossible for Bruce to move a lot or even get up, because the chains holding him are firmly bolted into the wall.

 Technically, he could get out, if only he would allow Hulk to take over. If it were just him trapped in this hellhole, he wouldn’t think twice and just do it.

 But as it is, Tony and Clint are in here, too. Their chances of survival would be pretty slim, once Hulk would freak out in a tight room like this. He refuses to try, purely to avoid hurting his friends.

 “Okay, I’m sorry - I’m sorry. Just, you know this would be the easiest way. Hulk likes us, too. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

 To his credit, Tony does look apologetically - it’s not his intention to stress Bruce any further in this already shitty situation that is weighing on him, but he’s clearly doing so anyway. If he could, he would move closer to be able to touch his friend, but as it is, he is just as restrained as Bruce is. That, and the fact that he doesn’t have a suit anywhere near bothers him. While generally able to think, build and improvise his way out of most sticky situations, there isn’t anything even he can do while he’s bound into a tight bundle and chained to a wall - it pisses him off to no end.

 Silence stretches out for a while. The only noise they can hear is their own breathing, thumping heartbeats and the steady drip-drip-drip of water hitting the concrete floor from the leaking water pipe in the corner. Also the faint rustling of fabric as Clint keeps moving tirelessly.

 “Look, I understand why you’re worried, I do. But if it comes down to it, we’ll be okay, Bruce. If the big guy makes an appearance, it’ll be fine. He knows us, and he likes us. It would be fine.” Tony insists.

 Despite everything, Bruce finds himself smiling. While he’s not entirely sure he should be happy about how lighthearted his teammates react to his other half in general, it really helps a lot. His mind wanders to the framed photos on his desk back home.

 There are various team photos, all of them laughing and smiling, arms wrapped around each other, but there are also photos of Hulk letting Clint use his shoulders as a perch, or Tony feeding him greasy pizza after a battle.

 Right now though, the roaring in the back of his head is still very much present, but at least, it isn’t as all-consuming anymore.

 “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate the sentiment, honestly. But even if he were to hurt you on accident, I can’t take that risk. This room is way too small.”

 He shakes his head, and the movement yanks on the chains holding him. He winches, unable to hide it.

 “Okay, so, Hulk is the last resort.”

 With a deep, unhappy sigh, Bruce agrees - but he decides he won’t let it come to that unless absolutely necessary.

 “Alright. So, what is plan A? It’s not like we can do anything with the way they left us here. Or can we? Clint?”

 “Give me a minute, I almost got it.” the archer answers, slightly pressed and out of breath like he’s been working hard on something. Which he probably has - only a little while later, he sighs in defeat, weighing his options and then coming to a decision.

 He really hates this part.

 “Okay, fuck.”

 Then, the noise of popping joints is audible - it makes his stomach turn, and then Clint has somehow managed to successfully free his right hand.

 His thumb and wrist stick away in wrong, nauseating angles.   Bruce winches in sympathy and speechless shock while Tony bites out a half panicked, half disgusted, “What the fuck?!” and suddenly, he is very pale and very silent.

 “Former carney and Shield Agent, at your service.” Clint says with a half hearted shrug, as if that’s the answer they need right now. His features are drawn, but it is clear he won’t discuss anything more.

 ‘Please don’t throw up’ Bruce thinks in the privacy of his own mind - Tony sits directly across from him, and if he were to be sick now, it would absolutely hit Bruce and then he wouldn’t be able to make any promises regarding Hulk.

 “What the fuck?!” Tony repeats quite a few times, and he might as well be asking “Holy shit, are you okay?!” but it feels kinda stupid to say that, given their situation. The obvious answer would be “no”, but he knows that both Clint and Bruce speak his language, so he figures it’s okay. It has to be.

   Clint must be in pain, but he clenches his jaw and starts clawing into the thin mattress on the floor next to him, looking for anything resembling thin wire to pick the locks with.

 Their captors have left this mattress in the cell, just out of reach for the three of them, leaving them on the cold floor instead. It’s thin and shitty and full of holes, but still so much better than dirty, cold concrete.

 Bruce is wondering if this is supposed to be a form of psychological torture, almost certain that he’s right about that.

 Despite being here for a while, they haven't been physically hurt by any of them - yet. At least, they didn’t do more than knocking them out, kidnapping them and chaining them onto the walls of a tiny cell. Which, truth be told, is more than enough for now.

 His breathing gets a little harder as Clint is digging through the stuffing. Trying to use his fingers results in a sharp pain that shoots up his entire arm, but he forces himself to keep going.  His hand is throbbing and will be swollen very soon. It’ll be useless for a while, he already knows.

 But then, Clint lets out a triumphant little “Hah!” as his fingers are closing around something cool and bendy. He lifts it up with a grin, like he just won a trophy.

 Appreciative noises from two sides of the room tell him that his friends share the joy.

 It doesn’t take too long to pick the locks of the cuffs and collars holding him, and then, he’s finally free. Not long after, the shackles are off of Bruce and Tony as well and the three of them scurry their way along a hallway that is just as wet and dark as their former prison.

 Feverishly, they hope and pray that their escape has gone unnoticed - no one has come down the entire time, and while being abandoned in a dark basement is a scary thought, it would also mean that they wouldn’t have to fear another attack now.

 They have no idea where to go though.

 “Where are we going? I can barely see anything!”

 “I don’t know, it’s not like the bastards provided us with a map!”

 “Shut up, both of you!”

 All three of them freeze. Unconsciously, they scoot a little closer together, hands fisted into each other's shirts and cold fingers wrapped around arms to be reassured that they don’t lose anybody to the eerie half darkness in a building possibly filled with hostiles.

 Clint can’t hear any noise, since his hearing is getting worse these days, but the years of experience tell him that something is going on. He is as tense as a bowstring. Inwardly, he curses the fact that he’s only got one usable arm right now - he slowly lets go of Bruce’s arm, preparing to fight, even with his other hand cradled close to himself to avoid any further damage.

 In his left hand, he’s still clutching the wire. It will be most likely useless in a fight, but it’s better than nothing. Even though he hates to admit it, because he is trained in all kinds of combat, with or without weapons, he is not in top form right now. So he feels a lot safer even with the shitty piece of bended wire as his only weapon.

 “Footsteps.” Tony hisses under his breath, and pulls his friends further along the way in hopes of getting away fast enough. If only there was anywhere to hide, but he can’t see anything but walls and a long, cold way.

 The footsteps sound like they’re coming closer now, and Tony really, really wishes he’d carry a gun or anything else. But there is nothing, nothing of use at all.

 He can feel Bruce tense up next to him, and it is obvious that he is working hard on staying in control of himself. Hulk is roaring again, pushing and tearing on his insides. But Bruce fights it with everything he’s got, even as they stumble into each other and along the hallway.

 Suddenly, a door swings wide open and floods the place with an intense bright light.They’re scrambling, eyes shut against the sudden glare of brightness, but it’s already sharp and blinding. This doesn’t stop any of them from throwing punches all around though.

 A mixture of yelling, curses and incomprehensible words ring in their ears as absolute chaos ensues. But the fight is a rather short one, even though it is messy.  

 Bruce is hit by multiple tranquilizer shots, unable to do anything as he drops to the floor. Tony is yelling obscenities at the men as he’s kicking and elbowing at them in seething anger.

 Then, something hard hits Clint in the head, and a second later, he drops to the floor and everything around him fades into a deep, deep darkness.

    *+~

Square: "Chained to a wall"

                            Warnings:

- implied violence - graphic description of injury (intentional dislocating of a hand) - brief mention of vomit - hostagte situation

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #tw violence #tw injury

[hypnobyl]

Okay, I was scrolling through you blog because, honestly, it's a masterpiece and I saw a 5 word prompt "Zero fucks given. Next please." And I would be super hyped if you'd do the flash fiction with it for supercat!!!!!

Kara stood awkwardly by the bar, nursing a drink that offered absolutely nothing to ease her nerves. She couldn’t believe she’d let Alex convince her to do this. She was perfectly capable of tending to her own love life--she just hadn’t seen the point in the last four years. After coming out as Supergirl, she’d abandoned aspects of her personal life, so that she could devote all her energy to saving the people of her adopted home. But she had to admit that her vigor was waning; she could only do so much, and the losses were crushing.

When Alex gave her an entry ticket to a local bar’s speed dating, she’d begrudgingly agreed. Meeting some new people and perhaps trying to resuscitate her social life would help give her balance. As Alex continuously told her, she deserved a chance to be normal. Knowing all of this didn’t make being here any easier.

“Alright, alright, alright! Let’s get started. Find your starting table! Two minutes with your conversation partner, and then the ding of the bell. Are we ready to rumble?”

Kara took her seat and tried not to smile at the host’s overabundance of spunk. Obviously, he’d done this dozens of times before, and he understood his audience: one part hesitant, one part creepily enthusiastic, and one part embarrassed. By being the silliest person in the room, he was setting those who were uncomfortable at ease. She appreciated his tactic.

The first three people were nice enough, but she couldn’t find much she actually wanted to talk to them about. She did not mark them as people she wanted further contact with, nor did she mark numbers four, five, or six. As she shifted around the room, she gradually became aware of a specific voice that seemed to eviscerate all the lame attempts at small talk around her. The closer she got, the more her anticipation--anxiety?--grew. When she finally caught sight of the woman, she couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement that raced down her spine.

“So, anyway, that’s me in a nutshell. You?”

Kara dragged her eyes back to the man across from her. He was pleasant enough and fairly good looking, but she wasn’t interested. Unwilling to be mean, however, she said, “My name is Kara. I work for the government.”

“In what area?”

She smiled and drew fingers across her lips. “The kind I’m not allowed to talk about.”

“Oh, X-Files, I get it.”

“Hm?”

He winked awkwardly. “You know, the aliens division.”

She pushed back too hard from the table, nearly toppling it into his lap as she stood. “T-that’s ridiculous.”

Thankfully, she was saved from further conversation as the bell rang; she moved eagerly toward the woman’s table. Her last conversation partner was lingering, although she didn’t engage her super hearing to learn what he was yammering about.

“Zero fucks given,” the woman said dismissively. “Next please.”

When he wouldn’t leave, Kara tapped his shoulder and stared him down. “I believe this is my next table. If you would…?”

MAX, as his name tag stated, huffed. “Whatever.”

Once he was gone, Kara took a seat and squirmed through the other woman’s appraisal. Finally, the woman nodded curtly.

“You may speak.”

Kara bit back a laugh. “That’s kind of you….?”

“Cat.”

“Kara.”

“So your name tag tells me.”

She flushed, cheeks hot and hands suddenly more moist than before. “Sorry. This isn’t exactly how I like to meet people. Oh, I mean, not that it isn’t perfectly acceptable. I’m sure you have your reasons for being here. But not because you couldn’t find someone somewhere else because--”

Cat leaned across the table and put a finger to Kara’s lips. “Stop, before you ruin how attractive you are.”

Kara’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Sorry.”

“Enough with the apologies.”

Fighting back an apology, Kara nodded again. “Will you tell me something about yourself, then? To keep me from nervously babbling.”

“I make you nervous?” Cat smirked. “Well, I run a company during the day, and I’m a mother during the evening.”

“How many kids?”

“Just the one lives with me.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“I do.”

“May I see?”

Cat shook her head, although her smile didn’t change. “We don’t have enough time for that here.”

Kara watched as Cat lifted the card, full of negative responses just like Kara’s, and placed a sure little checkmark next to her name. Cat held her hand out, and Kara let go of her own card. When it returned to her grasp, Cat’s number was scrawled next to the check mark by her name. Then Cat stood.

“I really should get home to Carter. The rest of this will be a bore.”

Feeling lightheaded, Kara wondered if that was because she was Cat’s sole choice. They’d met, so Cat didn’t have to waste time here anymore. Should she be so bold as to leave as well? She glanced around the room and decided quickly.

“I’ll walk you out.”

#supergirl #flashfiction #fanfiction #Anonymous

[kaoruyogi]

First Lines Meme

I got tagged by @thevikingwoman, @galadrieljones, and @princessvicky01. Thank you, ladies!!! <3

Rules: List the first lines of your last 10 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

“Fucked Up” - How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 19) (coming really soon!)

Belle had bad habits. She had bad habits and she had vices. She touched her mouth too much. She occasionally talked for the sole purpose of filling the silence. She enjoyed cheese more than any one person had the right to do. She had a quick temper. She held grudges. She could be brutal and unreasonable.

She yammered on and on and on about her argument with Cullen as Dorian watched her pace. Unconcealed laughter danced in his gray eyes while she blathered about how angry she was, how obtuse Cullen was being, and how fucking stupid the entire fight had been. She would not allow the mage a word of counsel or retort as she recounted the play-by-play of the entire event in excruciating and undoubtedly biased detail. It was only when she collapsed in a cross-armed huff into the chair opposite his that he managed to ask her a question.

“Cake” - Cullen and Sera Friendship

“Eat it.”

“What did you put in this?”

“Things. And other things. Eat it.”

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“Maker’s hairy danglebag, just eat it, Commander Fuzzy Shoulders! It’s good, yeah? So put it in your face.”

“Oh Give Me a Home (Ch. 1)” - Old West/Wild West AU

The weight of the six-shooter on Cullen’s hip grounded him. He rested his right hand on his belt, fingertips brushing against that dark metal and ivory handle. A part of him hated standing out in the heat and the dust waiting for the daily stagecoach, though he did it every afternoon like clockwork.

He stood there, sweating under his hat, the wide brim of which bore the small mercy of keeping the sun from his amber eyes. He could feel more sweat beading under his arms, and he shuffled his stance to prevent the moisture from touching the smaller pistol tucked against his ribcage. The windless heat bore down on him like an old corpse, rank and heavy and stale. His office would not be much better when he returned. It would have even less airflow, if that was possible. He could not voice these complaints, however. Such was the nature of Solace in the Western Approach. Such was the nature of midday in the summer months. Such was the nature of his position as Sheriff of Val Sable, a small city named for its expanse of sand. Fitting.

“Brother Mine” - Cullen and Mia Rutherford Childhood

The first nips of autumn chilled the sunset air as Mia made her way toward the lake. She took all her shortcuts through wheat fields and herds of sheep and goats. She ran from the mean gaggle of geese in front of the Woodridges’ house, and they chased her for a little while, honking and shouting until she ducked through the far fence. She wished her feet were bare, but she remembered the last time she left muddy footprints in the house and wore her shoes.

“In His Arms” - Cullen Rutherford Fatherhood

Cullen’s neck was sore, but it was not sore enough to stop him from looking down. He had been watching his infant daughter sleep since her birth-swollen eyes had drifted shut. Tiny snores rattled out of her as she slept, and her small chest rose and fell beneath her swaddle.

She was perfect. Down to the speck of a mole on her cheek, she was perfect. She was perfect and she was his.

“Salt Air” - Cullen and Cassandra Friendship

The Waking Sea was not the largest sea in Thedas. Cullen knew that well enough. Their voyage would only last another week. Cullen knew that well enough. His entire life would be changed when they made landfall. Cullen knew that well enough.

Still, his nerves would not be calmed. Perhaps it was because he got seasick. Perhaps it was because he knew that he would stop taking lyrium once they made it to Haven. Perhaps it was because he was expected to command an army following his crushing failures in Kirkwall.

“Among the Bound” - Baby Templar Cullen

The library was, far and away, Cullen’s favorite place in the Circle tower. It may have been his favorite place in all of Ferelden. The sight of it and the scent of it and the way the air seemed to change when he crossed the threshold gave the place a grandiose mysticism that made his heart race. He grew closer to the Maker the closer he came to those books.

In the Circle, time was as material as it was immaterial. Cullen’s life was lived in a series of unvarying rituals and routines. As much as time passed, as much as things always seemed just on the cusp of changing, nothing ever really did. Every moment was planned and accounted for from before dawn until well after the fall of night. There was a time for reciting every Canticle of the Chant. There was a time for every meal. There was a time for every duty.

“The Blood of the Wicked” -  How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 18)

Hauling Samson from the Arbor Wilds to Skyhold was proving more problematic than Cullen had anticipated. The first problem was the limited cadre that would allow them to travel fast enough to get to Skyhold before any of Samson’s information became useless to the Inquisition. Due to their diminutive ranks, the soldiers alternated watch and guard shifts with the members of the inner circle who had not gone into the Temple of Mythal with Max. Not only was it a logistical complication, but Cullen was constantly forced to intervene when Sera decided she was going to kill Samson after he ran his mouth during her guard rotation.

And Samson did run his mouth. That was the second problem. It was all too likely that the man sought to get himself killed by one person or another before reaching Skyhold where his knowledge of Corypheus’s plans would be plucked from his skull by whatever means Max deemed appropriate. Samson pecked and gnawed at everyone around him, and was spat on an punched more than once for his efforts.

“War is Hell (And It’s Not Just a Fucking Cliche” -  How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 17)

Forced marches could suck a fucking dick. Better yet, they could suck two dicks and a left nut.

Belle’s entire body ached from tip to tail. Her head ached more the further south they marched because, apparently, there were still allergens in Thedas to compress her sinuses. Her neck, back, ass, crotch, and thighs ached from riding in the carriage and riding on horseback. She walked when she could, but she almost snapped her ankle on the third day and had to stop trying.

“This Happened Once Before” - Cullen x Belle Dream

“You should not be in here.”

Belle startled beside the kitchen fire, sending her half-eaten Orlesian bread roll hurtling into the fireplace and slamming closed the massive tome between her thighs. Her hand flew to her chest. “Jesus balls on a bike!” She hissed in a breath. “Fuck.”

Things I Noticed: I tend to start with dialogue or scene-setting. Sometimes, with the chaptered fic stuff, I’ll use the first few paragraphs to fill in the gaps between chapters. But it looks like I really like to paint a picture with the first few lines/paragraphs. I want the feeling of it to set in before we go too far. If there’s hear or exhaustion or inertia, I want my reader to have a sense of it.

Hmm.

It looks like most everyone I can think of at the moment has already been tagged, but if you haven’t and you wanna do it, I tag you!!!

#writer meme #fic meme #fanfic #getting meta

[pendragonfics]

There’s No Place Like Home

Paring: Phil Coulson/Reader

Tags: female reader, AU dystopia, end of the world, dreams and nightmares, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. compliant, fluff and angst.

Summary: After everything goes south, at least there's mutual pining. That's it. That's the fic.

Word Count: 2,106

Posting Date:  2017-01-29

Current Date: 2017-06-07

Phil had been out all night, and there was no sign that he was coming home any time soon. You hated being the helpless girlfriend, but sometimes, that's what it came to. The pair of you lived in the centre of town, in a little fixer-upper apartment on his wages as a security guard. Perhaps he'd meant to call ahead, but the phone had died? Maybe the employer needed more time for him on the job. That was probably it.

You often stayed awake, sitting up, waiting for him to come in the door. At first, Phil had dissuaded it; you worked a few hours in the store below the apartment, and he didn't think it would be very professional for you to just wait up. But after a number of incidents which involved a medkit and Phil hissing against the medicine to stitch him up, he nodded, and soon took to waiting until the end of the night, to see your face.

But this night, he looked haunted.

"What's wrong?" you wondered, rushing to him. There was no signs of him being hurt, despite the sad look in his eyes, no tells that he'd been jumped or attacked on the way home. He didn't look to you, only the floor, his feet. "Phillip Coulson, you're frightening me, what's wrong?"

He's already in the door and grabbing things, and chucking them into bags by the time he answers, rushing around in a flurry you hadn't seen him so animated to do so in ages. "I need to leave this place, with you. After working the Howlett job three weeks ago, there's been a little bit of discourse." He grunts. Almost everything in his path is being put into the suitcase bag; your books, your shoes, your - , "There's a gang, the main one, you know of them."

You nod, "The one Lehnsherr runs," you help Phil pack, reaching for his tie, laying on the couch. His hand stops you from gathering it, and it hits you. "They've threatened you, to hurt me, haven't they?" you whisper.

Phil nods. "It's no idle threat," he murmurs, taking the tie from your fingers. "I'm taking you away, to stay with some people who can protect you. It's going to be easier than sitting in here for all the nights you do, and coming home to see you..." He trails off, unable to meet your eyes.

"But what about you? Won't they come for you if I'm not here?" you're worried, and you're sure you're not helping the fact that Phil, a stoic man who you've been in love with for the longest time, since before the apocalypse, is about to cry. When is the last time you can say you remember him this emotional? You can't tell. "Phil, please. I can't go off and hide when I know you're still out in those streets where they are." your vice wavers.

He shakes his head. "You'll have to trust me on this, _________."

You nod, looking anywhere else but at Phil. "There's no place like home."

---

It's been a long night, what seems like the longest he's ever gone through. What the hell had happened? It had just been a standard extraction, and his team, and ______ had gone in, smooth. No red flags. But then Daisy and Melinda had radioed in, and rushed out with _______. He couldn't believe it.

It had been okay four minutes ago.

---

The next night, instead of watching Phil go, you come with him. You're wearing as much of your clothes as you can, and in the backpack, is all the things you rationally thought you'd need (unlike Phil's packing of everything in sight). It's dark, and it's scary, sure. But it's how you need to stay alive. It wasn't like the end of the world brought special powers along with it, no. The authorities cowered from the people, the people cowered from the gangs, and the gangs cowered from nobody. All it had taken was a nuclear war, the loss of healthcare in major states, and terrible leadership from people who never heard the words "doomsday".

Either way, you were being lead to a blue truck, loaded into the back like cargo. He stood by the back, and as you held on to the place where the seat-belt was supposed to be (it wasn't like the end of the world was consisted of regular vehicle safety checks), he nodded to the driver.

Before you could say goodbye, the doors were closed, and you were off. Away. You'd thought that he'd be coming, or at least, you'd kiss him goodbye, but no. Silently, a tear fell onto one of the scarves around your neck.

"Hey, cheer up Beanie Baby," a red-head gave you a sad smile in the rear-view mirror. She patted the empty passenger seat, and added, "Come, sit with me. Talk. You look as broken as my dumb-ass truck."

Shuffling up, you double over as the red-head swerves around a corner too fast, throwing you into the side with a thunk. She gave a chuckle, and raised a middle finger to a truck overtaking her, and a curse in Russian.

"What did you call me?" You ask, snapping the seat belt around your middle.

Besides the one around her middle, it was perhaps the only one in the truck that didn't smell of ranch dressing. She raised a single brow, "I just called that stupid idiot a inbred goat - oh, Beanie Baby?" She asked, and as you nod, she continues, "It's a toy, like, I don't know, for kids? My sister had them when we were yay-high." She snorts. "With all your clothes on you look like this sad floppy beanie baby that needs a good hug. You'll see your husband before you know it."

Your face flushed. "I'm not - we -,"

She hoots, smacking the steering wheel with her dry laugh. "I know, Phil always yammers on about you like you're this fantastic woman. So I just had to be the one to pick you up." She takes her hand from the wheel, and holds it out to you. "I'm Nat."

"________." You shake her palm. When you have your hand out of hers, you notice it smells faintly of gasoline and peaches after touching. "When will I see him again?"

Nat pulls the wheel, steering impossibly fast into a small lane way. "I'm not the leader, but if I were Rogers, say, a week. Stark, three weeks." She gives you a wan smile. "But staying with us, you'll hardly miss him once you meet Clint. Hey! Clint is Phil's nephew, you've got to bunk up!"

---

He's never seen you so still in your life; not even when you sleep. Fitzsimmons said it was something to do with dreams; it was just a part of you and your powers, and it made you constantly move. Phil guessed it was part of the packaged deal of constantly creating energy; it made you the most active of his agents, the smartest besides his science duo. But seeing you here, in the coma, he had to tell himself you weren't sleeping. It was induced. It had to be. 

Melinda had said you'd been injected with something the H. Y. D. R. A. agents had been working on - Intel said it was a reducer, or a blocker. Something which stopped your natural abilities from working. Something which made your constantly moving form still, and become encased in yourself. They had a dialysis machine working, but would it be enough?

He'd never been able to tell you how he felt. 

---

It was a week; you've met everyone; Stark and Rogers, the leaders, who wore armour which was a mixture of fireman uniforms. In fact, that was what mostly all the gang wore; after all, it was after the end of the world, and it wasn't like there were still factories and places selling on-demand clothes. Clint taught you how to always win at Blackjack, and talked often of his wife and kids (it wasn't until Sam told you they'd passed away in one of the nuclear air strikes you realised how sad it was). Nat had been cut off from returning to Russia after her passport had been pulled, and took to the underground business of spying. Sam had been a soldier, but after seeing what the country was doing, ran away just in time as his squadron had been targeted by the leader for "treason". 

A week, a week of laying in your bunk, hoping for Phil. Waiting for Phil. Wishing all the wishes you could -

"Do you ever think when you're sleeping, people talk to you, and it becomes a part of your dreams?" Tony passed you a cup of something hot. "Telling you to wake up, we need you, come on; or something."

You shrug. "I'm not sure, I've never given it much thought," you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. His face turns dark, shrouded in a dark mist, like he was not human at all. Your heart stutters, the cup falling through your fingers. "What's - what's going on?" you feel your hands throbbing, but the broken cup at your feet has not cut you. 

"She's been away too long," Steve's face was dark with the shadows too, voice not like his own, warping, changing. He sounded like...Leo Fitz? "We're going to need adrenaline, stat." 

You might have read somewhere, that hurting yourself in a dream could trigger waking up. Or maybe that had been from an episode of Supernatural? You drop to the ground, and grab a shard of the mug, and scrunch it within your palm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, trembling. You don't belong here. Not in this world. 

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..." you whisper.

--- 

Just as the adrenaline is on hand, poised to be shot, Phil watches in disbelief as the heart monitor races, and at once, you are sitting in the bed, eyes wide, wild, one palm scrunched as if crushing something within it. His jaw loosens, heart running alongside your own.

"There's no place like home," you whisper. 

Slowly, you see Phil, but without acknowledging your superior officer, you see the science duo Fitzsimmons and thank them, muttering something about their words triggering you to kick start your own awakening. At once, he notices that you're becoming more and more fidgety in the bed; a small smile finds its way upon his lips.

"I - we should leave you two alone," Jemma Simmons tugged at Leo's sleeve, dragging the curly haired young man with her from the hospital booth aboard The Bus. 

Phil watched as your fist released, your heartbeat evened to a natural pattern, natural for you and your changed anatomy after the accident; he'd been there when the offshore base had breached, and you'd been left inside as if for dead, shocked by 7, 000 volts inside the laboratory where your experiment had gone sideways. Phil had loved you before that, and he loved you still. 

"Sir. I'm - I should have been more aware of my place in the mission," you address your superior, head lowered. 

He shakes his, edging his chair closer to the bed, taking your hand in his own. "It's not your fault. I really should have equipped you all better to deal with the enemy. But I'm here for a more selfish reason than to see my best agent's improving health," he admits.

You're puzzled, but instead of questioning it, you speak of what's on your mind. "I dreamed when I was under - I'm not sure if that's normal, for comas, or just for my condition," you tell him, voice low, "But the world was over, and ended, and we were still fighting the good fight. Sir." 

"The team?" he wondered. "The team were fighting?"

You shake your head. "You, sir. And I. The members from the Avengers Initiative were there. I know it was a dream, it was clearly so, quite exaggerated. But...sir, it made me realise something about us. I've known you for ten years; longer than I can say of any other of my friends. And in all of that time, Phil, you've been the best person I've known, gone to hell and back, and still rose to occasions simpler men couldn't have." Your praise leaves his cheeks rosy. "Sir, I know it's inappropriate, but I have feelings for you. Sir."

He breathes out, a breath he's been holding for years now. Slowly, he gives your hand a squeeze, and replies, "It's not inappropriate if the feelings are mutual, Agent ________."

#phil coulson #phillip coulson #phil coulson x reader #phil coulson x oc #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #agents of shield x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Sweet Tooth”

So this little bitty drabble was originally written as an Easter one shot, and because I was just wanting some fluffy, happy fun. It takes place probably a couple of years in the future from the end of season six: Killian and Emma are married, they have a toddler daughter, and Henry is driving! I think that's really all you need to know in order to enjoy.

Can also be found in my “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” collection of one shots and drabbles on AO3 or ff.net. 

"Sweet Tooth"

by: @snowbellewells​

"Oh husband of mine…" Emma Swan's voice drifted into the living room from the hall with a playful lilt she'd never had much occasion to use before meeting and falling for Killian Jones. Well, she amended to herself wryly as she came up behind where he sat on their couch, hunched over furtively and clearly hiding something, at least not beyond skips she had intended to seduce before taking them down. Still, using it to toy with her pirate a bit before catching him in some form of mischief was a much more entertaining scenario.

She peered over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and a smug smile on her face, almost certain she knew what she was going to find, even as her fingers ran up his neck and scruffed through his coarse, dark hair before gipping it and pulling his head back a bit to meet her eyes where she hovered over him.

Satisfied merriment flickered across his devilishly handsome face and in Killian's brilliant blue gaze as she stared him down – almost as if he had wanted her to catch him all the time. It was in rare moments like this, precious bits of down time for the two of them together, in their home, safe and comfortable and able to simply be themselves, that Emma saw the playful, boyish side of Killian Jones emerge gleefully. He'd had to grow up so fast, just as she had, that when the little boy he had been before betrayal, slavery, pain, and deprivation, felt assured enough to peek through just a bit in play with her, with Henry, or with their daughter, it was beautiful to see. As a ship's captain in a dangerous realm, fighting beings like Rumplestiltskin or in tenuous cahoots with such devious compatriots as Cora or Pan, his buoyant, youthful nature had found little outlet for hundreds of lonely years. Now, however, it was sweeter, gentler than that, and it warmed Emma's heart.

As her eyes trailed from his, she easily spotted the bag of individually wrapped miniature candy bars which she had been hiding in the kitchen cabinet behind her cocoa mix. There were also three or four crumpled metallic gold Twix wrappers on the coffee table in front of him which Killian had not had time to hide. Not to mention the small trace of chocolate in the corner of his smile that she was already hankering to lick away in a slow, sultry kiss.

"You do know those were meant to be for the kids' Easter baskets, right?" she chided, pulling just the tiniest bit harder with the hand she had carded into his hair – all part of the teasing more than genuine irritation. Though, if he had demolished enough of her stash that she had to go back to Clark's mini-mart for more treats to take to Regina and her mother's ridiculous dressy dinner and egg hunt, then Killian was being dragged there with her to hear whatever town complaint Leroy would be standing at the counter yammering on about, to get an earful of Frederick and Kathryn debating which dog food was best for Ajax's coat and joints while they blocked the way down the aisle, to listen to Marco discussing the merits of hand tools versus power, Archie and Belle comparing notes on which herbal teas were best for calm and relaxation, to be sidetracked by Ashley wanting to get them on the PTA phone tree, or whomever else most felt the need to bend an objective listener's ear and so always managed to get her wrapped up in their conversations. It was why she could never return from what should be fifteen minute errands in much under an hour, and why she tried to stock up on all she could think of when she went. Yep, if her pirate had pilfered all the chocolate she bought ahead to avoid the holiday crowd, then he was getting a taste of the chore that shopping was for her.

Raising an eyebrow at her insouciantly, as if he had read her thoughts and had very much raided her collection merely to get a rise out of her, Killian hissed through his teeth just slightly at the increased pressure on his scalp and shifted restlessly on the couch, clearly feeling the tension and heat in the room creep upward just as inexorably as she did. Running his wicked tongue across his lower lip in an obscene gesture that both infuriated her and made her want to suck it into her own mouth, he brought his hand up to uncurl her fingers from his dark hair and pulled it down toward himself, making her lean further over the couch as he murmured, "Oh yes? Well, if that's the case, come and take them back from me."

Emma's breath stalled in her throat at his words; the look in his eyes as he gazed back at her upside down and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously should not be as devastating as he made it, but he unfairly turned the teasing around on her all too smoothly. By the time he had brought the hand he'd captured to his lips, tracing his warm, wet tongue across her palm and up her wrist to nip lightly at her suddenly racing pulse, she was on fire beneath her skin and ready to crawl over the back of the couch to get to him.

Humming lowly to himself, Killian continued his slow, deliberate path with lips, teeth and tongue up to her elbow, and Emma could only watch, entranced, panting and flushed. How had she lost control of this whole situation so quickly? She only wondered briefly to herself before silently admitting that she didn't really care if she had – only with Killian could she truly relish the relief of not having to take the lead and handle everything all the time. She was just moving around the end of the couch to take back the upper hand, and perhaps give Killian a taste of something well beyond pilfered chocolate, when Henry came thundering down the stairs into the room.

"Guys, come on!" he groaned, immediately flushing as red as his mother and turning away slightly. "You're in the middle of the living room!" He hadn't really seen anything scarring – yet – but the way both of them had sprung backwards and given him matching deer-in-the-headlight looks made where things had been headed crystal clear. It wasn't the first – nor would it be the last – time he'd walked into a heated moment about to turn into a raging inferno.

Shaking his head at them in good natured exasperation while Killian chuckled lowly with a shrug and his mom offered a sheepish "Sorry, Kid", Henry plowed on, holding up a somewhat crushed-looking, pink beribboned Easter basket. "I found Morgan's basket grandma made her last year," he announced wryly. "Don't ask why it's buried in the bottom of my closet, but here it is. I knew you were looking for it. She might actually be old enough to put something in it this year."

Both his mom and stepdad smirked with him then, remembering the vision of his year old sister contentedly trying to stuff a handful of grass into her mouth the year before.

With an added explanation that he was off to pick up Violet, and twirling his own newly acquired set of keys to David's old pickup – now his – in his hand, Henry was off with a teenaged warning to keep it PG, he thought he'd heard his little sister stirring from her nap on his way downstairs. "See you at 5!" he called at last, and then was out the door.

Emma sent Killian a devious little smile full of promise as they did indeed begin to hear the sounds of their young princess waking up and moving around in her room overhead. Morgan Ruth Jones was not afraid to make her presence and wakefulness known, and as if on cue, she began to call out for "Mama!" and "Papa!"

Still grinning as she jogged up the stairs to fetch their little girl and get her ready for the party, warning Killian that the rest of the chocolate needed to go in the plastic eggs not his mouth, and quickly, Emma contented herself with the anxiously happy thought that she still had a treat awaiting her when they got back home.

Tagging: @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​@tiganasummertree​ @laschatzi​ @winterbaby89​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @lfh1226-linda​ @shireness-says​ @snidgetsafan​ @ineffablecolors​ @let-it-raines​ @spartanguard​ @mayquita​ @thislassishooked​ @linda8084​ 

#cs one shot #ouat ff #cs fluff #cs future family #ouat Easter au ff #self promo sunday fic #sweet tooth

[snowbellewells]

“Sweet Tooth”

By: snowbellewells

So this little bitty drabble is in honor of the upcoming Easter holiday, and I just wanted to write it for some fluffy, happy fun. It takes place probably a couple of years in the future from where our show is now: Killian and Emma are married, they have a toddler daughter, and Henry is driving!  I think that’s really all you need to know in order to enjoy.  

Tagging some lovely folks who may enjoy...  @flslp87 @bromfieldhall @drowned-dreamer @mossandmushroom @kimmy46 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jackieorioncat @kitkattin92 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @rere105 @blackwidownat2814 @spartanguard @startswithhope @revanmeetra87 @jennjenn615

           “Oh husband of mine…” Emma Swan’s voice drifted into the living room from the hall with a playful lilt she’d never had much occasion to use before meeting and falling for Killian Jones.  Well, she amended to herself wryly as she came up behind where he sat on their couch, hunched over furtively and clearly hiding something, at least not beyond skips she had intended to seduce before taking them down.  Still, using it to toy with her pirate a bit before catching him in some form of mischief was a much more entertaining scenario.

           She peered over his shoulder, eyes sparkling and a smug smile on her face, almost certain she knew what she was going to find, even as her fingers ran up his neck and scruffed through his coarse, dark hair before gipping it and pulling his head back a bit to meet her eyes where she hovered over him.

           Satisfied merriment flickered across his devilishly handsome face and in Killian’s brilliant blue gaze as she stared him down – almost as if he had wanted her to catch him all the time. It was in rare moments like this, precious bits of down time for the two of them together, in their home, safe and comfortable and able to simply be themselves, that Emma saw the playful, boyish side of Killian Jones emerge gleefully.  He’d had to grow up so fast, just as she had, that when the little boy he had been before betrayal, slavery, pain, and deprivation, felt assured enough to peek through just a bit in play with her, with Henry, or with their daughter, it was beautiful to see.  As a ship’s captain in a dangerous realm, fighting beings like Rumplestiltskin or in tenuous cahoots with such devious compatriots as Cora or Pan, his buoyant, youthful nature had found little outlet for hundreds of lonely years. Now, however, it was sweeter, gentler than that, and it warmed Emma’s heart.

           As her eyes trailed from his, she easily spotted the bag of individually wrapped miniature candy bars which she had been hiding in the kitchen cabinet behind her cocoa mix.  There were also three or four crumpled metallic gold Twix wrappers on the coffee table in front of him which Killian had not had time to hide. Not to mention the small trace of chocolate in the corner of his smile that she was already hankering to lick away in a slow, sultry kiss.

           “You do know those were meant to be for the kids’ Easter baskets, right?” she chided, pulling just the tiniest bit harder with the hand she had carded into his hair – all part of the teasing more than genuine irritation.  Though, if he had demolished enough of her stash that she had to go back to Clark’s mini-mart for more treats to take to Regina and her mother’s ridiculous dressy dinner and egg hunt, then Killian was being dragged there with her to hear whatever town complaint Leroy would be standing at the counter yammering on about, to get an earful of Frederick and Kathryn debating which dog food was best for Ajax’s coat and joints while they blocked the way down the aisle, to listen to Marco discussing the merits of hand tools versus power, Archie and Belle comparing notes on which herbal teas were best for calm and relaxation, to be sidetracked by Ashley wanting to get them on the PTA phone tree, or whomever else most felt the need to bend an objective listener’s ear and so always managed to get her wrapped up in their conversations.  It was why she could never return from what should be fifteen minute errands in much under an hour, and why she tried to stock up on all she could think of when she went.  Yep, if her pirate had pilfered all the chocolate she bought ahead to avoid the holiday crowd, then he was getting a taste of the chore that shopping was for her.

           Raising an eyebrow at her insouciantly, as if he had read her thoughts and had very much raided her collection merely to get a rise out of her, Killian hissed through his teeth just slightly at the increased pressure on his scalp and shifted restlessly on the couch, clearly feeling the tension and heat in the room creep upward just as inexorably as she did. Running his wicked tongue across his lower lip in an obscene gesture that both infuriated her and made her want to suck it into her own mouth, he brought his hand up to uncurl her fingers from his dark hair and pulled it down toward himself, making her lean further over the couch as he murmured, “Oh yes?  Well, if that’s the case, come and take them back from me.”

           Emma’s breath stalled in her throat at his words; the look in his eyes as he gazed back at her upside down and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously should not be as devastating as he made it, but he unfairly turned the teasing around on her all too smoothly.  By the time he had brought the hand he’d captured to his lips, tracing his warm, wet tongue across her palm and up her wrist to nip lightly at her suddenly racing pulse, she was on fire beneath her skin and ready to crawl over the back of the couch to get to him.

           Humming lowly to himself, Killian continued his slow, deliberate path with lips, teeth and tongue up to her elbow, and Emma could only watched, entranced, panting and flushed.  How had she lost control of this whole situation so quickly?  She only wondered briefly to herself before silently admitting that she didn’t really care if she had – only with Killian could she truly relish the relief of not having to take the lead and handle everything all the time. She was just moving around the end of the couch to take back the upper hand, and perhaps give Killian a taste of something well beyond pilfered chocolate, when Henry came thundering down the stairs into the room.

           “Guys, come on!” he groaned, immediately flushing as red as Emma was and turning away slightly.  “You’re in the middle of our living room!”  He hadn’t really seen anything scarring – yet – but the way both of them had sprung backwards and given him matching deer-in-the-headlight looks made where things had been headed crystal clear.  It wasn’t the first – nor would it be the last – time he’d walked into a heated moment about to turn into a raging inferno.

           Shaking his head at them in good natured exasperation while Killian chuckled lowly with a shrug and his mom offered a sheepish “Sorry, Kid”, Henry plowed on, holding up a somewhat crushed-looking, pink beribboned Easter basket.  “I found Morgan’s basket grandma made her last year,” he announced wryly.  “Don’t ask why it’s buried in the bottom of my closet, but here it is.  I knew you were looking for it.  She might actually be old enough to put something in it this year.”

           Both his mom and stepdad smirked with him then, remembering the vision of his year old sister contentedly trying to stuff a handful of grass into her mouth the year before.

           With an added explanation that he was off to pick up Violet, and twirling his own newly acquired set of keys to David’s old pickup – now his – in his hand, Henry was off with a teenaged warning to keep it PG, he thought he’d heard his little sister stirring from her nap on his way downstairs.  “See you at 5!” he called at last, and then was out the door.

           Emma sent Killian a devious little smile full of promise as they did indeed begin to hear the sounds of their young princess waking up and moving around in her room overhead.  Morgan Ruth Jones was not afraid to make her presence and wakefulness known, and as if on cue, she began to call out for “Mama!” and “Papa!”  

           Still grinning as she jogged up the stairs to fetch their little girl and get her ready for the party, warning Killian that the rest of the chocolate needed to go in the plastic eggs not his mouth, and quickly, Emma contented herself with the anxiously happy thought that she still had a treat awaiting her when they got back home.

#cs fluff fic #future domestic fluff #easter candy