Warehouse 13 Rewatch - S2E07 For the Team

F L I C K E R || H//azbin H//otel

lil s//taticm//oth because i'm going insane kink!v/al because reasons

Val's lower arms come to rest on Vox's thighs. The tech mogul repositions himself along Val's hips which earns him something between a grunt and a growl. The moth's upper arms reach up, one hand curling around a lean shoulder and the other pulling at the lapel of his blazer to yank him back into a kiss. As Vox leans in, his screen flickers just slightly. It's slight. Barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But Val is always paying attention. His tongue glides up the flat, smooth surface, feeling the strange static hum on his tastebuds. "Mm, trouble, amorcito?" he asks as his tongue snakes back into his mouth.

Vox peeks a red eye open, "Huh?"

Val's smile sharpens. "Nothing."

He pulls Vox closer by the hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. He feels like starting a fight. It'll make this so much sweeter. Vox is always so much sexier when he's on edge.

Shoving back, he yanks his head away from Vox's mouth and narrows his carmine eyes.

"You're distracted," he accuses.

Vox blinks. He looks surprised, then his expression flattens into annoyance.

"The fuck? No I'm not."

"You are. You think I don't know?"

There's that flicker again. It's a little more pronounced this time. A whisper of static around the edges of his screen, as if someone just gave the side of his box a good whack. Vox is oblivious to it, or at least he's pretending to be. Arousal pools in Val's gut.

"I have plenty of other people I could be fucking, Vox."

"Why do you always fucking do this?" Vox complained, "I was just getting into it."

"Then why are you doing that?"

Another wobble of his screen. It passes in an instant.

"Doing what?!"

Val scrapes a gold plated claw down the edge of his casing. Again, the screen twitches and this time, it comes with a soft, uneven inhale on Vox's part.

"Hhih..."

"You're all...glitchy," Val grins.

Vox wrenches out of the path of his hand and recovers, "Fuck off, no I'm not. Are we doing this or can I get back to work?"

Val leaned back into the chair, smug. "That depends." "On what?" Vox snapped.

"If you're going to just get it over with and sneeze already."

Vox's hypnotic eye went wide and crazed for a moment, the other tightening in clear aggravation.

"I'm not--" "Oh, but you are," Val murmured, dropping his voice low, "I know you, baby."

As if enticed by the mere suggestion, Vox's screen flickered again. This time, he acknowledged it with a slight twist of his expression. He blinked hard and shook his head. Val could hear his fans whirring in earnest.

One of his hands went up the sinuous curve of Vox's waist. He felt his ribs expanding in his palm. "Hiih..hhh..." Vox's screen began to fade with his breath, winking out as he slowly lost control.

"Mmm, I thought so," Val grinned.

Vox's screen went completely black before he whipped to the side with a face full of grey, crackling static and--

"H’AEHHZZSCH'ah!"

"Hey," Val murmured as he watched Vox's expression slowly filter back onto his screen, his pixelated eyes squinting in itchy limbo. Val grabbed the side of his face, turning the Overlord towards him with a forceful tug. "Don't turn away from me."

Vox gasped, planting a hand in Val's chest to try and put some distance between them as his head snapped down with a poorly contained second sneeze.

"hH’NGXtssh!"

"And what have I told you about holding back?"

"For fuuuhcks saake, Val," Vox managed to roll his eyes as his screen glowed erratically.

Val pulled him closer, listening to his fans working overtime, the whine of his internal processors trying to dispel the irritant. There was one heavy inhale, and then another. Vox's chest pressed against his desperately.

"Ghh...hg..."

As much as he wanted to be close, he enjoyed the show far too much to miss the front row seat. Val leaned back once more and watched hungrily as Vox's expression snapped and popped with stray tendrils of wayward electricity.

Finally, he gave in, sneezing freely into Val's lap.

"eH'HTZ҉Z҉S҉H҉IEW!" The power in the building whined as it overloaded and filled every room with blinding light. Somewhere overhead, a lightbulb popped. Third time this fucking month.

Vox groaned in the aftermath. His expression returned to his screen, slightly dazed, undoubtedly annoyed.

"So sneezy," Val praised him his arms pulling the other Overload close once more as he sniffled scratchy, static sounds into his ear.

"Fuck you," Vox muttered in a congested voice. But he melted into Val's touch, rubbing the flat surface of his screen along his shoulder for some relief.

"Are you done?"

"Think so." "Shame."

Picture this, if you will:

The scene opens on a smug villain who has just murdered his wife’s sister. He has planned it all out to the last detail, and his considerable wealth has allowed him to pull it all off. No one will ever suspect him. He smiles. The scene fades.

The next morning the body is discovered. Police in uniform mill around, taking pictures and notes, one of them stepping around a disheveled figure in a tan raincoat.

Myka Columbo. She asks if there is coffee anywhere and does anyone have a match. She shrewdly questions the brother in law of the murder victim. There’s her man. Now. How to get him.

Lt. Columbo, there’s a call from your wife. She ambles off to find the phone, thrilled to hear that her wife is back from her trip back east to see old friends.

***

The days pass. Myka’s hair is uncombed. She’s done nothing but drink coffee and eat Twizlers for the last 24 hours. But finally she claps her hand to her forehead. She’s got it. Or part of it.

The villain owns a chain of bookstores. One of the stores is hosting an author reading. The signs on the front glass door announce that HG Fletcher is reading from her latest murder mystery.

HG Fletcher is introduced to Lt Columbo by the villain. Myka will not be distracted, but takes this moment to hold Helena’s hand for a beat longer than appropriate, all while gushing about how much her wife loves Helena’s stories. Helena, to her credit, only smiles graciously and pats Myka’s hand, a twinkle in her brown eyes.

You had some questions, for me, detective, the villain says. Oh yes of course, how silly of me. There’s just one thing I don’t understand…

HB Fletcher cannot resist a murder. She can see that Myka knows more than she is letting on, and sees a way to be useful. A simple offhand comment, a turn to go… Mrs. Fletcher, just a moment, Myka says, can you say that again?

Our story unfolds in the usual way. Our intrepid author and her new detective friend unravel the villain’s iron clad alibi, catch him in the act of disposing of this or that incriminating evidence.

It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.

Indeed it has, Myka.

They linger for a just a moment, before hugging goodbye. A sly smile plays on Myka’s lips. She shakes her head, lights her cigar, and heads for her car.

She pulls into her driveway, the lights already on at home. She parks in the garage and comes in through the back door. Her wife is seated at the dining table. There is no dinner to be seen, and very little table. It is instead covered in papers, the typewriter tap tap taping away.

Helena pushed her glasses off her nose and onto her forehead. She winks at Myka, who grins back and says, hey honey I’m home.

The Bering and Wells Show

I’ve been working on a fic for some time that is my version of how I wanted Warehouse 13 to end.  I’m still working on this fic - it’s evolved into something bigger than I originally intended, including flashback scenes and an artifact that I’m still trying to figure out the logistics for, so as I’m sure is a surprise to no one, it’s not complete. I hope it will be someday, but in the meantime, this seemed like a good opportunity to share a couple separate excerpts from this story - for which I still don’t have an official title for. 

She was happy for Pete.  Like Artie, life had sought to give him a second chance at love when Kelly walked through the doors of the bed and breakfast again.

And even though he had panicked at first, seeing Kelly again, seeing everything he ever wanted right in front of him, a ready-made family considering Kelly was nearly eight months pregnant at the time, unattached and looking worried for more reasons than her grandmother succumbing to an artifact, things had eventually worked out.

Though the path to true love never did run smooth and Pete was as guilty of that as anyone.  In a last attempt to keep everything the same even though everything was changing, he made himself believe it was Myka whom he was in love with. She shakes her head at the memory, recalling the awkward conversation that had followed.

“How can you say I’m not in love with you, Mykes?  I told Steve I was in love with you, and he knew I was telling the truth.”

“You talked to Steve about this before coming to me?” she said exasperated.

“Well, yeah,” Pete said beginning to look uncertain about the affair.

“Okay,” Myka exhaled a sigh, rubbing at her forehead.  “First of all, Steve can’t tell who you’re in love with, Pete.  He can only tell if you’re lying.”

“Yeah, but he believed me when I told him I was in love with you.”

“Because you believed it!”  Gentler she continued, “And I know you love me, just as I love you, but we’re not in love with each other.  There’s a difference.”

“How can you be so sure I’m not?” Pete asked.

Myka cracked a smile.  “Because you never give me the larger piece of dessert.”

“What?  Dessert?” he startled before remembering a long-ago conversation.  “Yeah, well you don’t eat sugar,” he said half-heartedly, remembering Myka’s long ago profession on the subject but also knowing it wasn’t entirely accurate.

“We both know that isn’t true,” Myka said glancing at an opened package of Twizzlers on the table where she’d been completing paperwork before Pete interrupted her with his revelation.  “I eat sugar – just not in copious amounts the way most of the rest of you do.  And we both know you would give the woman you love the larger portion of dessert.  You said so once before, if you remember.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully.  “With Kelly.”

“With Kelly,” Myka agreed.  “You know before when we had this conversation about her, she wasn’t willing to know about the warehouse and you weren’t willing to give it up for her.  I think that’s all changed now, don’t you?  You’re ready to live a normal life.  And by some… weird coincidence, Kelly is here again, brought back to our doorstep by an artifact, no less,” Myka laughed at the irony.  “It’s as though the universe, or at least the warehouse, is handing you a second chance to have the life you want – to have the family you so desire.  All you have to do is take the first step.”

There was a moment of heavy silence that fell between them then, Myka well aware Pete was trying to get a handle on his emotions.  His voice hoarse when he asked, “What about you, Myka?  Don’t you want a chance at a normal life?”

Normal life.  The words made Myka think of Helena and she swallowed hard at the thought of the woman left behind on a suburban driveway in Boone all those months ago.  Of the way Helena had left everything she knew, everything she was to try to live a normal life.  If only Helena had been normal, Myka wouldn’t have found it so difficult, even now, to let her go.

“Who wants normal when you can have all this?” Myka tried to joke, a hand waving towards the warehouse floor.  “Aside from you apparently,” she smiled.  “I don���t want normal, Pete.  I belong here with the warehouse.”

“Yeah, you do,” Pete agreed.  “And the warehouse definitely needs you.”

That conversation took place well over fifteen years and four children ago.   She really should plan for another coffee date with Pete soon.  It’s been too long since their last meeting.  She knows he’d love to hear about this latest retrieval, joking with her about getting old but so grateful that she was actually getting old because the alternative was unacceptable.

***

They had gotten into another heated argument over nothing really.  A regular occurrence these days sadly.  Myka knew better than to let her emotions run so high - knew first-hand the havoc such emotions could wreak while on the warehouse floor.  She didn’t notice the electric currents gathering intensity and speed until a moment before she and HG were showered with goo.  Apparently, someone else in the office did notice the currents.  

She knew she should be grateful - being gooed was better than being shocked, but it had been a source of pride that she hadn’t been gooed like this since her first week working in the warehouse when she and Pete had been arguing about something.  From the look on HG’s stunned face, quickly morphing into a look of utter distaste, she had never had the pleasure.

“Don’t swallow it,” Myka warned and in a huff of frustration without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked back to Artie’s office, leaving a trail of  goo-covered footprints behind on the warehouse floor.  She could hear HG muttering under her breath as she followed behind.

The climb up the stairs to the office had been tricky at best, Myka’s boots slipping more than once from the substance that was oddly both slippery and sticky.  By the time she finally made it inside Artie’s office, only to notice the smug looks on both Claudia and Pete’s faces at the sight of she and HG covered in the purple, sticky substance, she was trembling with anger and frustration.

“Maybe a shower will cool you both down,” Pete waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Her mood only darkened.

“Which one of you miscreants turned the goo on us?” Helena seethed from beside her.

Claudia and Pete both quickly pointed a finger at the other.  

“It was a joint effort, really,” Claudia finally admitted.

Myka didn’t say a word, only glared at them both before disappearing through the umbilicus door, on the way to her SUV to drive back to the B&B for a shower and clean change of clothing.

Still, the anger had been better than the silence.  Before silence between them had always been companionable, with a pleasant sort of tension, now it was fraught with tension of another kind.

When Myka returned to her bedroom, still towel drying her hair after a long shower to remove the goo, she found Pete sprawled out on her bed, lazily throwing and catching a tennis ball.  She caught his eye briefly before changing course to her dresser to pull out a pair of clean socks.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Pete.”

“I figured you’d say that, but I think we both know you need to talk about it.  About this thing between you and HG.”

“There is no thing between me and HG.”

Pete laughed but it was devoid of humor.  “Come on, Mykes, we both know there’s been a thing between you and HG since the moment she trapped us to her ceiling in London.”

“Says the man who thought he was in love with me little more than two weeks ago.”

“Okay, okay, I was wrong about you and me, but I’m not wrong about this.”

“She left, Pete and then she stayed – with them.”

“So I am right - you do love her!”

Myka glared at him.

“She came back.  She’s here now.   It’s almost like you’re being given a second chance – something you pointed out to me little more than two weeks ago,” he repeated her words from that earlier conversation.

“She won’t stay.”

“Maybe she would if you asked her to.  Maybe you just have to take that first step.”

hey girl! what’s up!! i’ve heard we’re having an awesome hot girl summer party and i would like to join as well 😌💅🏼 i’m requesting for martini 🍸 and song drabble!! i hope this gets answered and tysm!! 💖 for 🧉 i would want my song to be any of the following ( you can pick out of those 3) Hot Girl: Megan Thee Stallion , Focus:Ariana Grande, or Truffle Butter: Nicki Minaj, Drake Lil Wayne. If the spots are filled up for the song drabble that’s completely fine :) i’m a straight female and would like a character from the MCU

info for 🍸

I ship you with...

Buckle up, 'cause it's going to be a wild ride. But it's nothing you can't handle. You'll probably even give Tony a run for his money.

The two of you had UNPARALLELED tension before you actually began dating. All the other Avengers were practically begging for you to actually get together and do something to remedy the incessant back-and-forth, lest they gouge their eyes out. It was true indeed that you were... kind of always flirting in a teasing way with Tony. But it didn't really mean anything, did it - it was how the both of you were, how you had always been?

Well, it turned out to be more than you bargained for in the end. But you wouldn't be the one to complain!

Even if Tony says he doesn't care about the gossip and that he has much better things to do than to keep up with whatever frivolity is going on in the team... he does enjoy it. He knows he's in for a good evening when you come home to your shared flat with a gleam in your eyes and a wide smile that gasps, "you'll never guess what Steve told me!"

Tony would be so proud to have you on his arm during high-profile parties and other events, making damn sure everyone knows you're with him and he's with you. It's hard to say which one of you has the more smug smile.

Both, tbh. You're just a very very playful couple who's always ready to have fun and make fun of the other.... always lovingly.

hgs celebration

Romeo & Juliet (p.2) | Five x Reader

requested: you know it was ;)

part one

Leading him back into the theatre, your heart thudded against your ribs in your chest as lights shone onto your face. Fuck, what on earth were you doing? Taking a deep breath deep into your lungs, you pushed the swirling whirlpool of thoughts away. You needed to do this - just to get it over with. 

Five appeared by your side, the overhead lights illuminating his smug grin like golden sun rays. ���So... where are we going?” 

Refusing to meet his gaze, - you knew if you looked into those harsh eyes you wouldn’t be able to go through with your plan - you concentrated on keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you replied, “Backstage. There’s something I need you to do.”

Laughter bubbled from his chest as he grinned, “Aww, finally taking me up on my offer, are you?” 

Shame flushed on your cheeks like a blossoming rose as you attempted to hide your bashful smile. “I...No, that’s - that’s not it at all.”

Stopping suddenly by your side, Five grabbed your arm and spun you to face him. As his skin touched yours you almost jolted away from him at the feeling that ran up your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. “Holy shit, you actually do want me to kiss you!”

Burning from the inside out, you opened your mouth to speak in response to the shit-eating grin on his face. “No! It’s just - before the play and all... I don’t actually want to kiss you. I’ve just... I’ve never been kissed before and I just - ugh, I hate you.” Reaching up to cover your face, you shrunk inwards underneath his calculating stare, shame slowly consuming you.

A calming heat began to swirl over your skin as Five leaned closer, lowering his head to yours. His hands wrapped around yours, pulling them away from your face in order to meet your eyes. You couldn’t think in that moment - couldn’t breathe - as he drew closer, his nose almost brushing against yours. And his eyes - god, the intensity in those eyes - sea green and passionate, and so, so alluring. 

As you began to lean forward to meet him in a kiss, a soft whisper escaped his lips, rooting you to the spot where you stood. “In your dreams, Y/L/N.”

You stood for what felt like hours after he had walked away, attempting to process what had just happened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t take your eyes off his receding figure as he strode out of the theatre, an awful pit forming in your stomach where the heat of excitement had resided only a few moments before. 

Weeks later, after torturous rehearsals filled with his mocking grin and having to pretend you loved him - impossible in any universe - it was finally show night. The costumes had been adjusted - you had almost swooned at the dress picked out for you - and lines learnt, the cast chattering together in apprehension about performing in front of hundreds of people.

As your friend finished applying a light blush to your cheeks, you frowned at her, asking “Do you really think people will believe that I’m in love with him? It’s hard enough to pretend in front of you guys, let alone a whole crowd.” Covering a snicker, she smiled at you, amusement flashing in her eyes.

“Y/n, the chemistry’s been undeniable the whole time.”

“Chemistry? Please,” you raised an eyebrow at her. “Not with him.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a stirring commotion on the other side of the mirrors. You knew who it was; you could recognise that arrogant voice anywhere. “No way!” Storming around the back to face whatever he was whining about now, your hands came to rest on your hips as you took in the scene before you. Five sat in a chair, surrounded by flustered makeup artists holding all manner of cosmetics. 

“What’s your problem, Hargreeves?”

He levelled a cold glare at you, looking you up and down in your costume. “What’s your problem, Y/L/N?”

“You’re my problem.”

Someone standing behind him grinned at the bickering, adding, “He refuses to wear makeup for the show.”

Scoffing at how ridiculous he was, you waved them away. “Let me handle it.”

As you grabbed some of the makeup from the side, you gradually became aware of how empty the room was; it was just you and Five now. Swallowing the lump that formed in your throat, you stepped closer to the chair he sat in, leaning closer to dab some foundation under his eyes. You did your best to avoid meeting his gaze, which - unbeknownst to you - was following your every move with a deep longing. 

“See, if you hadn’t been so fussy, neither of us would've had to be in this situation right now,” you prodded, continuing to apply makeup to his gorgeous, insufferable face. His skin was smooth, and soft under your fingertips. A strange desire to trace his features washed over you like crushing wave, but you pushed it away, reminding yourself of how he had left you standing in the theatre weeks ago, careless of how he had made you feel.

When he didn’t respond to your snark you did glance up at him, finally noticing how focused he was on you. It felt strange to be under such scrutiny, but not uncomfortable. Ignoring him, you continued. You had almost finished; all that was left was... lip balm. Fuck me, really? You internally groaned, recoiling at the idea of having to relive the closeness of that night. 

Forcing your pride down, you leaned even closer, using your index finger to carefully dab lightly-coloured balm onto his lips. They parted as you touched them, and he let out a soft sigh. In response to the sound, your eyes flicked up to meet his, and you recognised the look in his eyes: he wanted to kiss you. 

“Y/N.”

His voice was careful, apprehensive, as if any noise might scare you away from him. You looked back down at his lips, realising how close your faces were; if you had moved forward an inch, your lips would touch his. You wanted to; every muscle in your body urged you to move forward, a heat spreading through you as butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

He shifted closer in his seat, his fingertips brushing against your bare arm as if asking for permission. You gave it, tilting your head down to move even closer. Your nose brushed against his as your eyes closed slightly, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. Your lips touched his, just a brush of heat as your fingers on his cheek directed him closer. Before your lips could meet properly, however, you pulled away, leaving him cold and unsatisfied. Holding his gaze you began to back towards the door, raising an eyebrow and giving him a smug smile, your head tilting to the side. You hoped he enjoyed a taste of his medicine. 

Later, on stage, everything felt different. Nothing you said had any weight in the real world, and you were someone else entirely. You moved with the grace of an angel, your eyes playfully dancing with Five’s, the almost-kiss lingering between you. Except, he wasn’t the smug bastard you knew, he was Romeo; beautiful and romantic and enchanting. 

He moved closer to you now, teasing, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

Smiling, you recited your lines in return, “Ay pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” He moved closer still, and you could feel electricity radiating off of his skin and onto yours.

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant though, lest faith turn to despair.” Reluctantly, you pulled away from his inviting gaze, your steps echoing across the stage.

“Saints do not move, through grant for prayers’ sake.”

Again, he moved closer, so much more so than ever before in rehearsals. Your heart sped up, blood thrumming in your veins. “Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” His eyes were almost pleading as he looked down at you, his hand raising to your cheek. You could feel the heat rising to your face at his touch, knowing that this time, you couldn’t escape his touch. You closed your eyes as his lips pressed against yours, melting into his touch. It was even better than you had expected, and you pushed forward, ensuring that you were as close to him as possible. He pulled away too soon, his eyes focused on your lips.

You managed to remember your lines not a moment too soon after the kiss rendered you unable to catch your breath. “Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” You couldn’t escape his gaze, intensity burning into you; he wasn’t acting anymore.

He whispered back, “Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” With that, he pressed his lips against yours again, almost desperately. This kiss was different somehow: more urgent and real, something that you both realised was long overdue. Your lips moved in sync as time seemed to fade away, forgetting the crowd. His hands cupped your cheeks, holding you against him gently as you both revelled in the feeling. Eventually - reluctantly - you pulled away for air, resting your forehead against his as a smile played on your lips.

“You kiss by th' book,” you whispered, unable to step away from him, or remove your hands from where they rested on his neck. His grip on your waist tightened as a cheer arose from the crowd, subtly tugging you closer. You grinned at him - at Five, not Romeo - the smugness in his eyes replaced by adoration. “I waited too long to do that,” he muttered quietly, leaning in to kiss you again.

TAGLIST: @sandalwoodstudy @ameliatrh @edgy-teen-wannabe @dadzawas-eyebags @moonflowersandsparkles @maddiecl14  @just-a-bit-odd @wittysidecharacter @campcampie @classyasssuperbitch  @waffle-loving-dragon  @five-hg @lucyrocks86 @idklol707 @gespirida @xxitsaeonxx @yuukiahim  @inlovebby @sheerhotspace  @animemes-trash @lucyrocks86 @i-need-coffee-in-an-iv @emilyt0314  (p.s if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know!)

Old friends, aliens and curiosities - Part III

Listen, I can’t stop thinking about this gifset made by @lonely-night in which H.G Wells (Warehouse 13) & Lena Luthor (CW Supergirl) are old friends and working together in the present to retrieve a curiosity (A ping, darling) meant to kill Lena.

So this is VERY AU-ish and with a crossover no one knew we needed but well, we do. Here’s the third part (it covers the fourth gif, I think) with a little help from Winn and Claudia. Also, I’m making the plot up as I go, sorry about any inconsistencies.  Next up, Myka finally arrives to National City and meets the infamous Lena Luthor. 

---

The voices rising behind the doors of her office pull Lena away from a very urgent email and she lets out a quiet curse, in Irish. She groans and reaches out for her interphone.

“It’s alright Jess, just let her in. She won’t take no for an answer anyway,” Lena sighs, already letting herself fall against the back of her chair. 

Sure enough, Helena Wells enters her office, dramatically pushing the double door open before striding straight to Lena’s office. 

“Hand it over.” 

Lena arches a surprised brow.

“Good morning to you too, HG ... “ She retorts, irony dripping from her tone. “Now, what is it I’m supposed to hand over to you?” 

Helena looks pissed, the frown above her eyes deep and permanent. 

“The artefact, Lena. The one you designed yourself, apparently,” Helena replies, curtly.

“I did what now?” Lena gapes, taken aback. 

Helena’s frown deepens, much to Lena’s amazement. She didn’t think it was possible.

“L-Corp is the company behind some kind of … alien detecting device, programmed to recognise any non-human DNA,” Helena states, slowly and cooly. “It’s what has been modified to kill you.” 

Lena lets out a chuckle.

“That’s not possible.”

Helena’s frown disappear as she arches a brow of her own.

“It’s not,” Lena insists. “That device was created to help identify non-human, it’s harmless. You just put your thumb on a button and the microchip processes your DNA. It turns green if you’re human, red if you’re not.”

“It doesn’t sound like a weapon,” Helena nods but she still looks annoyed. “Could the microchip be reprogrammed into something else?”

Lena goes to reply but then pauses, looking thoughtful. 

The chip was designed to host a tiny software the L-corp bioengineers programmed in association with a team of highly skilled developers but only to process DNA, to recognise markers and transmit the information as to whether or not it was human. 

“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. I’ll have to ask around,” Lena retorts, slowly.

“Well, don’t ask the team that originally worked on it, maybe?” 

“Why not?” Lena protests, not liking the insinuation. 

Helena gives her a pointed look.

“Someone clearly managed to do something to the device to make it so it would kill, but not anyone. You specifically …” Helena explains, thinking out look. “Until we know more about how it happened, I’d say maybe we don’t pull any alarm … I know the level of skills you put in your products so, to be able to hijack it like that and make a weapon out of it ... the person behind the artefact must be some genius too. Like maybe … the ones you employs?” 

Lena doesn’t reply but the thought doesn’t sit well with her. Helena keeps looking at her with suspicions in her eyes and it’s extremely annoying.

“Alright,” Lena sighs, unhappily. “I still need to be sure it can be reprogrammed so I’m going to call … a friend of mine. “

Surprise takes over the suspicion in Helena’s eyes, before it mutates into mischief. 

“You have friends? Beside me, I mean?”

Lena rolls her eyes. She’s walked right into this one.  

Still, Helena is nothing if not single-minded. She crosses her arms over her chest and then sighs “Just hand over the artefact, Lena.”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Lena growls, pushing her chair back so she could stand up. “I don’t have the artefact.” 

She walks around her desk and heads for her liquor cabinet. 

She understands where her friend is coming from but she’s tired of being accused of things she didn’t do. In between the Super, the government, the DEO and the dead Luthor heirs piling up in National City cemetery, she’s been accused of pretty much every evil on the planet. 

“Bit early for a drink, don’t you think?” Helena muses from behind her and Lena just flips her before pouring herself an unhealthy amount of Scotch. 

She brings her glass back to her office and then reaches out for her phone. She searches for a specific name in her contacts and then dials.

“Hello Winn,” Lena greets warmly as soon as Winn picks up. “I need an engineering favor, could you drop by L-Corp at your earliest convenience?” 

She smiles when Winn replies he’ll be there in twenty. He doesn’t sound too surprised, just excited at the prospect of working with her again. 

“Who’s Winn?” Helena asks when Lena hangs up.

“A friend,” Lena replies with a smug smile. “Yes, I do have friends beside you. Winn used to work at CatCo but nowadays, he’s ...“

Lena pauses and wonders if Helena is aware of everything that’s been going on in National City lately. 

“Ever heard of the DEO?” Lena asks, knowing full well she could get in trouble for even mentioning the name of the organisation. 

“Yes,” Helena shrugs.

Lena smiles because of course Helena knows about the DEO. After all, they’ve both worked for the Warehouse, another extra normal government organisation doesn’t seem like a big deal. Not even one that works and deals with alien.  

“Well, he’s one of their tech guy,” Lena explains with a wave of her hand. “He’s extremely smart, far more than they give him credits for. I’ve always wanted to poach him for L-Corp but he’s loyal to a fault, he’s going to stick with Supergirl until the end.”

“Supergirl, uh,” Helena muses, sounding a big distracted.

“She’s everywhere,” Lena nods before sipping at her Scotch.

“I’m going to call Claudia,” Helena states, seemingly out of the blue.

“Erm, sure?” Lena blinks, looking a bit thrown off.

“When your friend arrives, I mean. They’ll have a look at the chip and nerd around together, we’ll get our answers,” Helena explains and Lena watches as she pulls what looks like a --- 

“Helena Wells, is that an iPhone?” Lena gasps, mockery lining her tone.

“Shut up,” Helena groans as she calls her friend. 

---

Half an hour later, Winn is bent over the coffee table and Claudia’s face is occupying the entirety of Lena’s huge TV. 

They’re talking too fast, exchanging orders, ideas and suggestions while using a vocabulary that even Lena sometimes doesn’t get. Pieces of the device are scattered all across the table and Winn sometimes moves the tablet so that Claudia could see better. 

“I need access to the software, can you plug me in?” Claudia asks, her slightly disembodied voice echoing through the office. 

“Sure, one second,” Winn replies, pulling out a laptop from his back and setting it up on a corner of the table. He’s fast and sure and Lena watches, a little mesmerised, as he plugs everything together.

“All good, let me know if it works?” Winn asks but Claudia is already squealing in delight as she enters the software.

“Oh whoa, this is … top notch code,” Claudia breathes, sounding very admirative.

“Why thank you,” Lena laughs, amused. “Now, the important question is … can it be hijacked and turned into a weapon?”

“Easy tiger, let me work my magic first” Claudia mutters, hands flying over her keyboard so fast it crackled across the office. “So, while I am at it, did you two bang, in the 17th or 18th century? I can never remember which one …” 

Lena swears under her breath as Winn lets out a strangled gasp. His eyes become so wide they look about to bulge out of their orbits. 

“Whaaaaaat?” 

“Whoops, sorry I thought you knew!” Claudia winces, her face slightly distorted by the format of the TV. “Sorry!”

“You’re … from the past?” Winn asks, looking at Lena as if she suddenly had three heads.

“Aren’t we all?” Helena laughs next to Lena, looking utterly amused by the situation.

“No I mean … you … 18th century?” Winn squeaks, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

“Breathe, Winn. Breathe,” Lena sighs, motioning for her friend to follow her lead. She inspires and then exhales and watches as he does the same. “Yes, I … was around in the 19th century.”

“19th! I was way off,” Claudia laughs but when all eyes turn to glare at the tablet, she shrugs and focuses on her work.

“It’s … complicated. I got bronzed for centuries but at some point, the system malfunctioned and I was suddenly free, but in the 21th century” Lena explains, eyes traveling back between Winn and her decanter. 

“How did you … managed to have such an extensive and lively background then?” Winn asks, frowning. He looks pale but his eyes are shining with wonder. “I mean, you’re supposed to be the daughter of Lionel Luthor, infamous sister of Lex Luthor … Not to mention your mother, who was a piece of work … No offense.”

“None taken,” Lena lets out a dry chuckle. “I made a deal with Lionel Luthor. I handed over a big part of the fortune I had amassed while being in the bronze and he created some really plausible story for my existence.”

Helena arches an impressive brow but Winn shakes his head.

“No one ever dug deeper? I mean, you do look extremely good for someone who’s over two centuries old but come on, no one ever asked why you never aged?” 

“You never did,” Lena counters with a smirk. “You’re the DEO most talented IT guy and yet, when you checked my background, everything was legit, everything added up. So why would anyone else bother?”

“That’s …” Winn pauses and then relents “... accurate.”

“Sorry to interrupt this lovely story, although you still didn’t reply to my earlier question,” Claudia chimes in, looking very amused. Lena only rolls her eyes but Helena chuckles affectionately. “Anyway, I found something.”

Lena, Helena and Winn focus back on the TV, on which Claudia is now sharing her own screen. Lines of code are scrolling down until she highlights something. 

“See this?” Claudia asks, moving her cursor above a few lines that seems innocuous enough. “It’s like a backdoor to the code, something that allows access to anyone who knows where to look. I don’t know exactly how it works, it seems to be really specific but it’s the answer you wanted. It is possible to access the software on the microchip and from there, anyone who knows how it works can reprogram it. To turn it into a weapon tho, it would require some really specific engineering skills …”

Winn steps forward and the way he looks at the code makes Lena think he’s seen it before. He’s frowning and searching for something.

“You know who’s behind it, don’t you?” 

Winn startles and fidgets with his hands, looking slightly uneasy. Behind him, the lines of code disappear as Claudia’s face returns to the screen. 

“Winn?” Lena insists, taking a step toward her friend. “What is it?”

Winn looks torn and Lena figures it’s because he is loyal to Supergirl first. It stings, but she doesn’t waver and she takes another step. She’s barely taller than him, with her heels, but she still towers above him.

“It’s …. I’ve seen this code before, but I didn’t think …” Winn starts to ramble, nervously looking around. “It’s … the same code that was used by Lord technology, I found something similar in the drones he’s sent to … spy on … Supergirl, years ago.”

Lena frowns.

“Maxwell Lord? Didn’t he left years ago after Myriad?” 

“So we thought, but he’s nowhere to be found …” Winn replies, his voice rising a little from how nervous he was. 

“Maxwell Lord was a very public figure and I heard rumours about him still mooning over Cat Grant, his disappearance is a little strange don’t you think? Did someone investigate this?” Lena pushes, knowing that at least Alex Danvers must have asked about the former tech CEO.

“Alex tried but then with everything that occurred …” 

“Right,” Lena sighs. 

Cadmus took over pretty fast after Myriad and then, it had been one shit storm after another, until Helena Wells all but barged into her office a few months ago. No time to dwell on the absents. 

“Do you still need my help or can I return to my chess game with Myka?” Claudia suddenly asks, startling everyone in the room. 

“Myka’s back?” Helena muses, sounding both surprised and slightly dejected. 

“Yeah, since yesterday,” Claudia answers. “Pete’s still in Chicago though. According to Steve, it’s not exactly going well.” 

“Of course it’s not,” Helena scoffs and to Lena, the underlying jealousy is deafening. It’s well hidden behind disdain but Lena has been around Helena enough to recognise the signs. “You could join us, if you’d like? I have a feeling this is going to require some kind of intervention, soon enough … Your help, along with Myka’s, would be greatly appreciated.”

Lena bites the inside of her cheeks to stop the laughter that threatens to burst out. 

She’s never seen Helena try so hard to catch someone’s attention, it’s a little embarrassing. Even Winn looks a bit uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other and fidgeting with his hands.

“Oh, uh …” Claudia stammers. “Listen, I’ll ask Myka. I’ll text you the answer. Gotta go, bye!” 

Before anyone could answer, the video link goes off and the news immediately resumes back on Lena’s TV. It shows Supergirl saving a bus full of young children and Lena instantly reaches for the remote to turn the screen off.

“Well, that answers it,” Lena muses to no one in particular. 

She finally caves and goes to her decanter, offering Scotch to both Winn and Helena. They both accept and after a minute, they all sit around the couch with a glass in hand.

“Winn, will you investigate the mysterious disappearance of Maxwell Lord? I don’t think it’s him but still …” Lena says, seemingly lost in her drink. “I still don’t know what I could have done to make an enemy of him but then again, it’s not a surprise.”

“So popular,” Helena sasses from her side of the couch, in between two sips. 

“I’ll get on it right away,” Winn retorts, finishing his drink and standing up. “I gotta go, duty calls but I’ll keep you posted. If your friend Claudia comes around, will you let me know? I’d love to pick her brain about a software I’ve been working on …”

“With pleasure,” Helena nods, offering a tight smile to Winn. He nods and then waves at Lena before exiting the office.

“Who’s Myka?” Lena asks as soon as the door closes behind her friend. She keeps her eyes on Helena and doesn’t miss the sparkle that shines in the inventor’s eyes

“She’s … an agent, she works for the Warehouse with Claudia,” Helena says over the rim of her glass.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Lena rolls her eyes. “I meant, who is she to you? Don’t try to deny it, I’ve seen that look in your eyes before.” 

For a moment there, Lena thinks Helena is seriously about to ask what look but then the inventor shakes her head and sighs, looking melancholic.

“She’s … fascinating,” Helena admits, her voice lowering as she gets all dreamy. Lena barely resists the urge to pull up her phone to snap a picture. “She’s smart in ways I can’t quite comprehend, her mind is quick and remarkable and she’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Her heart … She tries to protect it, behind walls made of protocols, laws and orders but it’s pure and generous, giving.”

Lena can only stare, taken aback by the raw affection in her friend’s tone. 

The only person she’s ever heard Helena talk about in that way, all soft and loving, was her daughter Christina.

“I’ve hurt her, multiple times,” Helena confesses and her voice breaks ever so slightly. “I’ve almost killed her once and then … I kept running away. She’s chased after me for a long time but I was blinded by … grief, despair, anger. I didn’t realise how … dear she was to me, not soon enough anyway.” 

The words are like an echo of her own feelings and Lena’s heart aches for her friend. She knows the feeling well. She had National City’s most beloved hero chasing after her for month, trusting her, believing in her and constantly supporting her, no matter what. She’d slowly started to believe it, that’s the worst part. That until it all crumbled under the poisonous revelation her fake-brother offered her before she pressed the trigger. 

Lena leans forward and places a comforting hand over Helena’s thigh. 

“Believe me, I understand. More than I could ever tell …” Lena whispers, thinking back on a pair of bright blue eyes filled with hope and loyalty that told volume of faith and trust. Those are eyes she can never trust again. 

“Supergirl?” Helena inquires, looking at Lena with understanding shining in her brown irises.

“Yeah,” Lena nods, removing her hand from her friend’s lap. “I still don’t want to talk about it though.”

“Fine by me,” Helena simply replies.

They finish their drinks in companionable silence.

Trick Or Peet (Fanfiction - Pokémon HG/SS - Petrel/Reader)

Title: Trick Or Peet Author: ultra-warped / the-dark-fantastic.tumblr.com Fandom: Pokémon HeartGold / SoulSilver Characters: Petrel/Reader, Giovanni, Team Rocket Grunts, Original NPCs Rating/Warnings: General/Teen - Completely SFW fic; the rating is for some mildly-naughty words and bad jokes. Notes: At the end of the fic (along with a 'deleted scene')! Summary: Everybody has a good time at the holidays. Even Team Rocket.

One of the great things about this town is that no one's ever too old for the Haunted Harvest Festival. Even the people who don't go all-out for it still give it a nod, in the way of a hairbow holding a tiny pointed hat, or a porch full of plush Pumpkaboos, or that one incredibly odd fellow with the lapel pin shaped like Mismagius that when you lean in turns out to be an actual Mismagius -

Alright, that guy's a f'n freak. But everyone else is having a good time, including you, though you'd probably be having an even better one if you hadn't gotten stuck taking your little brother around for tricks and treats. Your dad was supposed to do it this year, but -

"He went out for candy cigarettes three hours ago and hasn't come back," your mom said, staring out the window with the most worried expression she could possibly contrieve, and you'd just groaned, dropping your head into your hand. (He really will be back, though. Your mom just thinks that joke is a lot funnier than it is - but your brother's not old enough to understand it yet, so it's probably okay.)

(And to be honest, you wouldn't put it past your dad to have gone out the front door, snuck around the back, and been hiding in the basement choking on his own laughter. The whole family's like this, but at least you know where you got it from. And whose fault it will be when you finally get your sweet, sweet revenge.)

So you're stuck with the kid instead of meeting up with your own crew, but at least it's a nice night for it. Last year, it rained until the garlands of paper Ghost-types turned to purple mush, and the year before that, it was so cold that nearly everyone had ended up in a universal costume of parkas and overfluffed earmuffs. But right now it's warm enough to slip off the light jacket and go bare-armed, and once the temperature does start to fall, you'll have been running around for so long you'll welcome the kind of breeze that scratches leafless branches across a midnight sky.

Your neighbours are nice - and certainly festive (Gentleman Edward and Madame Vivianne do the absolute best amateur spookyard, hands down) - but for the real haul, most people head downtown, where all the local businesses and even a few of the larger chains are stocked with full-size chocolate bars, gift bags so heavy the bottoms are threatening to fall out, and in one case, a berry-bobbing tub deep enough to drown in. It's all about drumming up customers, of course, but it's hard to mind when every window is filled with a living display and the only way you can tell the employees from the guests is by their nametags because all the costumes are that damn good. There's no half-assing it with just a googly-eyed, wiggly-eared headband here.

But what's better yet (or much, much worse, or absolutely hysterical, depending on who you talk to)? Is that Team Rocket gets super-into it, too. No one had been happy when the infamous criminal organization had set up shop here - and it's not like they'd been open about it at first, they hadn't put the Big Red R on their roof or anything; but once the rumours started to spread, they'd spread fast, and once someone actually managed to prove it - by then, they'd become firmly enough entrenched that no one knew how to run them out to begin with, or if it would have been the right thing to do even if they’d found a way. Weirdly enough, Team Rocket puts a lot back into the local economy. So sort of an uneasy truce had formed, with most of the residents looking the other way as long as Team Rocket didn't do anything really publically illegal, and Team Rocket pretending their business wasn't doing things that were...well, really illegal.

But then they'd started up their Happy Harvest, Family Fun! campaign, handing out candy and trinkets and colourful little cards right outside HQ, and the PTA Brigade had lost their minds. “Criminals? Luring our children into their creepy black van? Not in my backyard!” If ever there was a lost cause, though, trying to keep kids away from an increasingly-shiny combination of candy and danger was probably it. Eventually, Moms Against Team Rocket (MoTeR, pronounced exactly like it wasn't actually spelled) had given up on attacking the event directly and settled for grumbling behind the closed doors of what their husbands assumed were meetings full of wine and those lemon bars their hands had been smacked away from.

Your mom hadn't been part of it (though you're not sure if that's because she isn't particularly concerned about Team Rocket or because of the Noodle Casserole Incident that had gotten her politely but firmly invited not to feel as if she needed to continue attending the PTA), and so you don't feel much guilt about taking your brother that way once the frenzy at the shops starts to die down. He's still as wound up as he'd been when you left the house and probably doesn't need any more sugar, but he's easier to manage when he thinks he's getting his way and once you get back, he's going to be your parents' problem, not yours. (Ha. There's your revenge.) He's run into one of his little cronies and they're shrieking about who's collected the most, and by the time you rock up to the Rocketyard, the stories being passed back and forth about all the people they know who know someone who's been to Lavender Town (and occasionally, someone who didn't come back from Lavender Town) are actually a relief, because every time they manage to scare each other silent, it lasts a whole three seconds or so.

Whatever's beyond those heavy red doors is off-limits to anyone not a member of the organization, so the party takes place outside, and outside is packed. Most years, it's been the grunts handling the handouts, but tonight - Seriously? The big boss himself? Those are the murmurs at the back of the line, anyway. You've never seen Giovanni in person before - just his portrait staring into your soul from the posters put up now-and-then - and you bounce up on your toes, trying to get a glimpse over the top of the crowd. You can't - too many taller heads prevail - but a pair of girls you remember vaguely from your senior year are passing by on their way out, and you can hear them giggling and gasping - "Oh! I know Team Rocket's terrible, but Mr Giovanni's really quite dashing, isn't he?" "...did you really just call him dashing? Did Celebi transport me back in time and I missed it?"

So it is him? That adds a further touch of mystery and excitement to a night that's already got no shortage of either. Why here? Why now? It's no secret that Team Rocket hosts these events to boost their image, but they're doing well enough right now (for a given value of 'well enough', anyway) - so is it that he feels safer making an appearance when public opinion is high, or could it be a ploy to push it even higher? Because, face it, ninety percent of these kids would vote the man into office right now. (The other ten percent are too firmly on the Pikachu is Pikafection platform, and by tomorrow, they'll all be throwing their support to Mr Mime's Wall O'Wonder Show. The candy bribes giveth, and the candy bribes taketh away.)

As you get closer, the image you've seen in those pictures begins to resolve. Giovanni isn't costumed (though he is very definitely dressed up - like, to the nines up), but he's made a concession to the festival by pinning a spray of purple blossoms to his lapel. He's seated in a chair padded with the sort of leather that probably shouldn't ever actually be brought outdoors, and though he's generally accompanied in promotional material by the most smug Persian the world has ever known, the Classy Cat is currently nowhere to be found. It seems, too, that the grunts are still the ones running the show, because Giovanni nods and smiles - kind of smirks, really - at the visitors who've made it to the front, but it's his henchmen who are filling bags and making jokes and pulling punches at the teenagers who think they're too cool for fun and just want to say they went toe to toe with Team Rocket.

And while the Persian may be strangely absent, there are an assortment of the other Pokémon people have come to associate with the most poisonous team in town - an Arbok dancing amidst fan-blown ribbons, the full Zubat evolutionary line flapping about overhead, and more Koffing than you can shake a swab stick at.

Seriously, there are so. Many. Koffing. They're bobbing around like balloons, and they're dressed up, too - with hats and body paint and fluttering capes, and one even has a little papier-maché head stuck to its side, so that it can know what it's like to be a Weezing even though it's not quite ready to evolve.

You've reached the end of the queue, and while your little brother is hopping up and down, jabbing the air next to a grunt who's clearly weary as hell but still doing his best to make sure all the kids get to have a good time, Giovanni steeples his fingers and dips his head in such a way that his eyes flash before going darker still, and alright, you can absolutely see why the airheads called him 'dashing'. You only get to hold the thought for a moment before the two of you are ushered away, though, and you don't have time to snatch it back before your brother's shoved his head into the sack and started reeling off a list of his ill-given gains. It's a smorgasboard of crackerjacks and actual jacks, little plastic toys that won't last for more than a day but it doesn't matter because little boys can't stay interested in most things that long anyway, and the reason you know they're going to break immediately is because your brother's managed to snap one in half before you've even made it halfway home.

Unfortunately, 'halfway home' is well before the limits of even the shortest attention span, and delight turns to dismay with a wail that could make a Haunter shudder and turn pale. You do what you can to, if not distract him, convince him that it's not the end of the world and he probably didn't care that much about the trinket anyway, but he's already convinced himself of the exact opposite, and in the end, the only thing you can get him to agree to is to stay right here while you run back to see if they'll give you a replacement. It's a goodwill gesture, right? And they'd all seemed fairly good-natured about it. Maybe they won't mind.

By the time you get there, though, things are winding down; the Rocketyard's mostly cleared out and the remaining grunts are either sweeping up the hundred thousand wrappers dropped by hands that are surprisingly incapable of holding on to anything for being so sticky, or trying to recapture the overly-excited Koffing that are now chasing each other around with all the grace of drunken bumper cars. "Oi! Peety! Come get your freakin' plague puffs!" one shouts, and if this Peety, whoever that is, answers, it's lost beneath the cacophany of cleanup. Your chances of finding (or buying, or begging) a new toy seem to be dwindling as rapidly as the chance anyone's getting those Koffing back in order, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of dapper black vanishing around the building's far side, and screw it, you are going for the gold.

"Mr Giovanni! I'm sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute? My brother -" you call, and then you stop short, because as you come up on the man you're chasing, he starts to strip - no, wait, he's wearing something else beneath that fabulous suit, and you wouldn't have thought that to even be possible, it fit so well. Did he not hear you? He must not have, because he's dropped his face into his palms and raked his fingers through his hair, and when he turns toward you at last -

It's not Giovanni. It's a tall man in the black and white uniform of a Rocket executive, with purple hair swept up atop his head, and if you hadn't seen the transformation yourself, you never would have believed it. He's as surprised as you, now - but for a different reason - and the elegance he'd displayed in Giovanni's suit is gone as he stumbles back. "&#%$!" he yelps, and you can hear every symbol rolling off his tongue. "You, ah, didn't see that, did you?"

You stammer an answer as you edge away yourself, because as fun as it may be to play 'Take On Team Rocket!' when you're eight and loaded up on Vanillish Wafers, this seems a lot more like it's going to result in real trouble, and though your hands have found the wall and you're trying to use it to guide yourself back the way you came without taking your eyes off the executive, it's no use - his long legs outstride yours and he's caught up to you well before you have any real hope of getting away. His own hand plants to the wall, just beside your head, and he leans in, smirking that same smirk that had you so convinced he could really be the Fearless Leader. "'cause if you did, I'm gonna have to make sure you won't talk."

Oh, &#%$, you think, legs shaking, you are going to die here; you are going to disappear and at your empty-coffined funeral, your little brother is just going to scream that you hadn't gotten him another toy before you were tossed off the mortal coil, but before you can manage to pass out so that you at least won't see it coming, the man ducks the rest of the way in and smashes his lips to yours. And then he's gone, darting around that corner you were so desperate to reach yourself, and based on the sound that's rapidly fading as he puts ever-more distance between the two of you, you're pretty sure that he

is

giggling.

"G'damnit, Peety!" you hear as you're creeping out, apparently from the same grunt who'd been yelling for the mysterious Peety before. "The hell have you been?" You don't stick around for the reply, because no one's looking your way - including the lanky executive, who not only has his back to you once more but has suddenly been flocked to by every last one of the runaway Koffing, cloaking him in a cloud of poisonous purple love - and this seems like the perfect time to make your escape.

"Where is it where is it where is it!" your brother demands as you run back up, grabbing his hand to pull him along whether he's ready to go or not, and you mumble a reply you can barely understand yourself; They didn't have any more or They were already closed or something else that doesn't have a damn thing to do with what actually happened but at least takes the blame off you because what are you supposed to do in that situation? Your face is on fire, but as long as he's trying to find the perfect balance between crying over his broken knick-knacks and stuffing his mouth full of candy, he's not paying enough attention to notice, and by the time you've made it back to your house and pawned him off on your parents (Dad was indeed in the basement, and you are not surprised at all), that chill evening wind has mostly washed away what you haven't managed to yourself. The sooner you're in your own room, the better, though, and you spend a few minutes flattened to the closed door, trying to catch the breath that should never have left you in the first place.

...Team Rocket throws a Christmas party, too, don't they?

Notes:

- For @hollowsart, who said there wasn't enough Petrel/Reader fic in the world. - There was a discussion about Team Rocket (or at least some members) doing Random Acts of Kindness to cast them in a more positive light, which reminded me of the Yakuza group that does that with Halloween, which is how we're now getting a Halloween fic in May. >_> - It ended up with a lot less actual Petrel/Reader than I intended (or even Petrel at all), but this is what I do, I make it so we can't have nice things, and also I think it's cute so you'll get this and you'll like it! <_< - =D

Bonus Deleted Scene:

Jessie and James roll out a mechanical Persian, which promptly malfunctions, necessitating a need to whisk it away as quickly as possible lest the Jig Be Completely Up.

I don’t know of another houseguests in any season that it quite like Scottie. Idk if anyone else feels this, but it’s so refreshing to see someone acting the way I would want to act in the house! He is unafraid to butt heads and is purely interested in just being a part in the machine that is the long term social evolution of the house. We can all agree that we’re highly interested in the relationships and social changes of the house as the three months go by. I think we would all like to think we would play the game the same way we watch the game. 

So for me it’s like, Scottie is playing the game in such an ideal way. He’s just damn level headed as fuck and knows that his place in the house, while it’s important to him, is not more important than anyone else’s. He always has a smile on his face, even when nominated, says things like “cool” and “sweet” at times when most HGs would keep a straight face, and isn’t afraid to literally say it how it is. He’s just so fucking unbothered and unaffected by the bullshit. Other HG’s can’t see past their own agendas and think he’s being smug, all the while he’s just being a smart player. He is always of sound mind, has a smile of his face, is unaffected by the emotion of it, and is having a good time. He therefore has the capacity to call someone out on their blatant bullshit and is the perfect person to do so. A true omniscient player and is doing all the things I would try to do. 

If this conversation with Fessy works out, i KNOW he’s got what it takes to win it. Everyone will think they have Scottie beat. Unless it’s two alliance members and him, he will get taken to f2. And he will make the SMART decision on who to take if he was to win the final hoh. *I hate to make this comparison but-* Like when Steve brought Liz over Vanessa. and won. I just love him as a player and he has my AFP vote. This has been an essay. 

［LV／HG］Salome

"Pure blood, supreme glory, the peak of power..."   He repeats the gorgeous but meaningless rhetoric in his mind like a silent mantra, such as walking step by step on a smooth stone step in a dreamlike step by step. At the top of the tower is a mirror without a border that is blurred by the fog, but he can still guess what he looks like from the mirror image - just like the night sky, it’s all black and short hair, because of the sharp edges. The lines are cold and blunt, and the red pupils are filled with blood. He doesn't look like a living person most of the time, but if the ruddy ending looks like an inevitable death, he would rather choose to be a wandering presence. He hasn't found a way to live forever, but he always feels that eternal life seems to be close at hand, where he can reach it, so once he thinks of his footsteps, he will involuntarily become brisk. The moss on the stone wall is astonishingly thick, and the dark green mixed with gray and black looks so disgusting, but he doesn't mind at all. He could see the worm crawling in his eyes in a low-lying way, and all the Muggles in his eyes should live in this way. They are born to breathe the turbid air, which lives in a foul-smelling sewer. In the future of his fantasy, the mud species always lined up in the gloomy graves. There must be no Muggle in the world ruled by him.   However, once he thought that the person he was going to meet now was a muddy species from Gryffindor, his mood was once again heavy.   He still didn't understand why he had ordered them to shut her down to an inescapable place when she was told that Hermione Granger was captured by the Death Eaters - which is something special in some ways. It’s actually a wise choice to shut her down where it’s harder to escape than a normal prison – the Muggle witch from Gryffindor always reveals the Slytherin-style embarrassment at a critical moment. As one of Potter's confidants, she must know the high-level secrets of the Order of the Phoenix, and the information that can be put out with the smuggling agent and the spell of the heart, so that a rare opportunity must not be missed. However, isn’t she being held in a high-level prison to admit that her wisdom is enough to escape the ordinary prison? As a matter of fact, when the mud is caught, it can only be chosen. Struggling for a long time between these two contradictory emotions, Voldemort finally decided to close Hermione Granger on the top floor of the tower.   Thinking about it, he has come to the top. When the two-meter-high scratched wooden door appeared in front of him, he couldn't help but wonder - can it really trap the so-called "the most intelligent witch of Hogwarts in 50 years"? He was puzzled by the high praise that a Muggle was so high, but couldn't help but start thinking about another possibility – if her wisdom really deserves such a name? No, it is impossible, Muggles are the people under the group. He shook his head and pushed open the wooden door after taking a deep breath, and his hands and feet looked like a stupid Muggle. He couldn't believe that he would have created an illusion that Muggle deserves to be admired in that short moment. After all, any Muggle is not worthy of being treated as a normal person, let alone respect or even worship. Voldemort never believed in the real clever existence of the Muggle Wizards, except that a small number of people were extravagant and clever and made others mistakenly think they were smart. That's it, there are no exceptions.   However, when he really saw her, an inexplicable feeling came to his mind - no matter where Hermione Granger was kept, she would escape by her own deceit. This hateful Slytherin wearing a Gryffindor coat!   There was no window in the tower, and then the cold wind blew in, but Hermione Granger kept the same position and never wavered. She closed her eyes and looked up at the sound of footsteps and opening the door, but she still didn't open her eyes. She wore a black skirt, so that she was as thin and horrible because she had not eaten for many days. Her face was pale and no different from the dead. The smooth skin showed a waxy, delicate and sturdy texture. The thick eyebrows shivered slightly, like a moving body. Brown messy wavy curls cover her cheeks, curling like a river. She clasped her lips, pinching her skirt with her hands, as if a devout pilgrim had struggled before she died. The sturdy blue veins that protruded like a worm on the hands of the dead branches showed her strong desire to continue to live. Hermione Granger did not want to be a martyr who died before the light came to the world. She wants to live, but she will never give in.   "Tom Marvoro Riddle." Before he could say anything, she read the dirty name he had used, with a taunting and malicious tone. The arrogance is even more intense than the old-fashioned pure-blooded. She raised her head slightly, and the corner of her mouth pulled out an inconspicuous curvature. This made him unable to help once again secretly complain about his hateful mother. Not only did she marry a squatting Muggle, she did not even leave her surname to him. Even if it is called "Tom Marvoo Gunter"! In this way, he can claim to be a pure-blooded wizard, and he does not have to face and solve unnecessary troubles when he goes to school. He didn't have to waste his precious time, but just because his mother gave him a Muggle surname! This mediocre to incompetent hateful name has no effect except to remind him that his lineage is not pure. Although he later called himself "Voldemort", even though he had been killing his hateful Muggle father for many years now, the anger of nowhere to vent has not completely subsided.   "Why are you closing your eyes?" Although he felt an uncontrollable anger when he was called to the full name, he chose to ignore the problem for the time being. This muddy species is offensive to him, but he does not intend to use the mantra of her for the time being - the rare kindness of the Dark Lord. He would have to listen to what she can say, and what qualifications she has qualified for such a high rating.   "I don't even bother to see you." She still closed her eyes, her eyes sagged inward, and she was extraordinarily proud. He desperately suppressed the impulse to immediately give her a curse, and began to carefully look at her facial features. He observed a groan in her eyes. So this guy is really scared? It’s really ridiculous.   “What qualifications do you have to do this?” he asked in an angry tone, completely ignoring the fact that he could use the heart spell to force her to beg for mercy.   "Get it, what do you guys who know how to use people to incite hateful means to gather people? What's more, you only know how to use violence to solve problems most of the time. On politics, you can't even compare with Herman. Goering." She showed an obvious ironic smile and mentioned a name he seemed to have heard - probably a Muggle.   "What are you talking about, mud?" He unconsciously stepped back.   "The pedigrees in the Muggle world and the bloodlineists in the world of wizards are on the same path. It is not a change of medicine. But even so, there is always a large group of idiots giving their own for the so-called freedom and equality. Life, the banner of justice for your own evil deeds - I am talking about your Death Eaters. But the obvious thing is that most of them are obviously not willing to give life for you because they are right You don't look so loyal on the surface."   “A muddy cock is so arrogant that I think I know enough about my men?”   "Do they have the courage to face death, you know."   "Why do you call my hand and die?"   "They don't want to give their lives for you, so talk about loyalty?"   For a time, he couldn’t think of the rebuttal, but he was unwilling to fall into silence.   For a long time, he made up his mind to ask softly: "What exactly is that true loyalty?" When the words were exported, he immediately regretted it. When he realized that he was doing this as if he was humbly asking for a mud, he felt as if the vines blocked his throat, causing him to barely breathe.   "You don't know that its definition is a good thing for us." Her tone revealed a smug smug, but the ironic smile gradually disappeared into her face.   "I can't believe anyone who is willing to follow you after fully understanding the ugly face of bloodlineism." Seeing him without saying a word, she added another sentence. She bowed her head and seemed to fall into her own meditation world again.   He looked at her quietly and then quietly left the top of the tower. He began to think about how to make this stubborn mud kindly apologize to her for her rude speech, let this "prophet" who is governed by knowledge and reason voluntarily surrender to him, let this arrogance fall to the inexplicable witch. At his feet. Although he knew that this was unlikely, he could no longer stand the arrogant attitude of no one in his eyes. He could not tolerate a Muggle that seemed to be full of wisdom and did not bow to him. He wants to conquer him until she admits that she is humble and low-lying, acknowledging that everything she said is wrong. He once again remembered his sad mother, but he did not intend to use the same behavior with her. The enchanting agent and the heart-throat are nothing but the incompetent and cowardly ruler who likes to use. However, he never imagined how to let her abandon all the irrational thoughts she had in the past. So he found a Death Eater.   "Go and cut her head down." He ordered it with no emotion at all. As it turns out, the Death Eaters are particularly active in some weird and unhumanistic things, and they are much more efficient than usual.   Before the dawn, he saw Hermione Granger's head. Her eyes finally opened - the brown eyes that were unremarkable, as turbid as the dead leaves mixed with mud, and the light of knowledge once shined in the chocolate-colored hazelnuts. It was like a work of art – the place where the skull and neck were broken was cut neatly, like a realistic wax figure. He took her head from the hands of the trembling, unmanned Death Eater, then gently held it in his arms, stroking her almond-shaped eyes, tall nose, and chilling with soft fingertips. Skin and lips without blood. He slowly lifted her head to the position flush with his face, like holding a valuable treasure.   He looked at her eyes carefully, then gently pressed a kiss on the soft, cold lips—before it rotted at dawn.   If she is willing to look at me while she is alive, I will be able to get her unique, supreme love.

Hi! I've been reading your stories for nearly a year now and I really enjoy them - you're a great writer! I have a slightly (very) crack idea for a prompt inspired by Ariana Grande's song Side to Side, where Effie can't walk in a straight line in the morning after a night with Haymitch. I feel like it would open up for a lot of teasing from Haymitch that would be funny to read. Maybe pre-HG or a 5-times-and-1 style one shot? Up to you! X

This was fun and this is crackish ;) [X]

A Sore Price

The kids were skittish and it was why Haymitchusually avoided making an appearance at breakfast, all the more so when Effiewasn’t there to play buffer. He tried to ask about Training, if only to shut uphis guilty conscience, but all he got was some mumbles about bigger teenagerswho were bullies. The girl didn’t seem to know where to look when she addressedhim, she was red in the face. He pulled his dressing gown shut tighter so nohint of his bare chest could be seen. Being a prude wouldn’t help her in thearena but he figured she was entitled to some respect for as long as she couldget.

Although he resented it a little. He had put on pants and a dressing gown. Hewasn’t always that considerate when it was only him and Effie in the penthouse.

He gave them some advices that they didn’t takeseriously enough. He could see it, the looks they exchanged, as if listening tohim would be worse than going to the Games without a mentor. He wasn’t sure atwhich point he had become such a joke that people from his own Districtinstructed their children not to takehim into account. He would have Effie repeat it again later, they respondedbetter to her – not that they liked herbut she had shown from the start she was there to help when he had vaguelyscoffed and declared they should get ready to die. Maybe she had a point whenshe said he needed to work on his introduction speech.

He was relieved when the clicking of heelscould finally be heard. She stormed in with her usual unchecked energy and ablinding smile.

“My apologies for being so late!” she chimed.“Good morning, children! Good morning, Haymitch.”

The kids muttered greetings, quickly fleeingthe table when she hovered behind them correcting their eating habits. Shepouted a little but reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. Shewalked around the table and propped her hips against it to steal what was leftof his blueberry muffin.

“What took you so long?” he snorted. “Tootired?”

Faced with his smug smirk and his twinklingeyes, she huffed. “Hardly.”

“Yeah, hardlyis how I recall it.” he teased.

She pursed her green painted lips, tilting herhead a little to the side – not a hair moved from her silver and blue wigstyled as a huge puffy bun on the top of her skull, it left her nape bare andhe already knew it would be taunting him all day.

“You left marks.” she accused him.

His eyes slowly roamed on her throat and on thesmall amount of cleavage that particular dress offered, checking as much astaking in the view… “Can’t see any.”

“Yes, that would be thanks to the half bottleof liquid foundation I had to use.” she deadpanned. “And that’s only on my neck and collarbones. I couldnot get a proper look at my back but what I saw was enough. Did you mistake myshoulder blades for chew toys by any chance?”

He stood up, trapping her between his body andthe table. “Didn’t hear you complain, sweetheart… In fact… All I heard was ‘more, Haymitch’ and ‘yes’ and some pretty impressive moaning…” He brushed his noseagainst her cheek as he brought his mouth to her ear. “Fucking hot, you were…”

And the memory was enough to give him a boner.She placed a hand on his chest to push him away a little, flashing him achiding look.

“Do not get any ideas.” she warned.

“Bet I could have you screaming right here onthat table before Avoxes show up to clear it.” he challenged.

“Five times.” she reminded him. “Aren’t yousated yet?”

He was thirty-five and he was celibate most ofthe year. He was far from being sated.Besides, one of those times had involved his mouth and his hands so it didn’tcount for him.

Some night it had been though… Once at the veryboring party, once in the car, eating her up in the momentarily stoppedelevator, the particularly hot session in her bed with her on her stomach andthe lazy bout in the shower because some cleaning up had been overdue. He had been forced to carry her back to bedafterward because she had been so exhausted her legs hadn’t been able to stopshaking. She had been deep asleep when he had left for his own room.

“Are you?” he snorted.  

He expected some more banter because theyhadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other lately. There was somethingnew to their affair. It was less hate sexafter a fight and more… sex all thetime for no good reason at all. He didn’t know what it was about theSeventieth Hunger Games but… He wasn’t going to look at it too closely. Theywere having the best sex he ever had.

“For now, yes, I am.” she replied withoutbatting an eyelash. “Go get dressed, we have work to do.”

“Bossy.” he commented, lifting an eyebrow.“Maybe you should help me getdressed, sweetheart.”

She triedto remain serious but she turned her away to hide her smile and she couldn’thelp a chuckle or two. He took the opportunity to press a kiss on the side ofher neck. It tasted like make-up and it made him wrinkle his nose. He hatedthat taste.

“Do not undo my work.” she rebuked, pushing onhis chest again. “Go get dressed, Haymitch. I have a meeting with a sponsorscheduled in an hour, we cannot be late.”

“Fine.” he relented. “But I’m gonna fuck you again before the day isthrough.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved him back alittle more firmly. It was cute that she thought she could make him move whenshe was as strong as a kitten. He humored her though. It was always good tohumor her a little.

The outfit she had picked was good enough forhim – once thing he was grateful for with Effie was that, unlike previousescorts, she didn’t try to impose current Capitol fashion on him, she allowedhim outfits that were trendy but that he could live with, it was a compromisebut one that worked – although he left out the tie.

He came back to the living-room after somefifteen minutes – time enough to get ready and to get a few mouthfuls of liquorin his body – expecting to find her on the couch, reviewing schedules orsponsors files. She was checking hernotepad but she was doing it standing up, leaning against the bay window, afoot hooked around the back of her other ankle.

“I sent the children to Training.” she told himwithout looking up from the page. “We have five minutes before we need toleave. We are going to a restaurant for brunch, Haymitch, so I would thank you to put the tie back on.”

“That tie would look better around yourwrists.” he taunted. It was just a joke though. Tying her up… He didn’t trusthimself enough for that, as appealing as the idea might sometimes be.

“The tie, Haymitch.” she said firmly, still notlooking up.

That annoyed him. He didn’t like it when sheignored him or dismissed him like that, like he was just a chore for her tobear or a toy she took off the shelf when it suited her. He snatched thenotepad from her and pinned her against the bay windows, his free hand on herhip.

The kiss was brutal and it took her aback.After a second, she responded to it just as violently. His fingers left her hipto grab her thigh, hooking her leg up, aligning their bodies enough that…

She drew back with a hiss and he froze.

“You’re okay?” he asked, easing his grip onher. It had been pretty rough the previous night, he had bruises and scratcheseverywhere and he was ready to bet the same was true for her.

“I am fine.” she replied “We will be late.Please, put on your tie.”

She was lying, he thought, but he couldn’tquite decide about what. He let her go and didput on the tie if only to bring a flicker of a smile back on her lips.

He was surprised when she insisted on walking to the restaurant. Districtteams had cars at their disposal twenty-four hours a day and Effie wasn’t a fanof walking when she didn’t have to – and with the heels she was perched on hecouldn’t quite blame her for it. He, on the other hand, liked to walk so hedidn’t protest but he kept watching her in the corner of his eyes.

She was just as chatty as usual, her cheerfulescort self, but there was something off about her. It took him a while torealize it was the way she strode straight on. He usually had to adjust hispace to hers – because, despite her long legs, he was taller than she was – butright then, she was taking purposeful giant steps that made her look a littlefunny.

“We’re late or something?” he grumbled, notreally enthusiastic about this sponsor meeting in the first place. It neveramounted to anything and it was always uncomfortable.

She faltered a little and slowed down her pace.“Not at all.”

She picked up her previous topic again, wavingher hands left and right as she talked, but there was a strain in her voice anda slight wince every few steps.

“You’re sureyou’re okay?” he asked, as they came in sight of the restaurant she usually chosefor sponsor meetings. It was expensive, the staff was haughty and he hated theplace with passion.

“Right as rain.” she hummed, stopping longenough to make sure his tie was straight. “Now, do behave and let me do the talking.”

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes, irritated with her.“I’ll just sit there and look pretty.”

“You do that, dear.” she grinned, patted him onthe arm.

He vowed to pat something else of hers later.

“Don’t call me dear.” he muttered as he pushed the restaurant’s door,automatically holding it out for her – thethings she had drilled into him…

She ducked under his arm to go in, chuckling alittle. “Of course. How stupid of meto forget you have the pet names privileges in this relationship.”  

“Not a relationship.” he was quick to correct,the word making him want to flee to the other end of the city.

She didn’t even blink. “Poor choice of word.”

It calmed him down a little but not a lot.

The fact that the sponsor they were meeting wasone he really didn’t like helped distract him though. He tried to bite back theclever retorts, the bitter comments and the loathing gibes – if only becausethe guy might give them some money.

He hated the way the man was looking at themhowever – at the two of them – likethey were some really mouth-watering dessert he wanted to taste. Haymitch wasalways left with a strong urge to punch the Capitol sponsor.

Effie played it like she usually did: seductive.The man liked to think himself clever so she acted dumb, giggling a lot at herown fake intellectual clumsiness.

Her smile was a bit strained though andflickers of something kept disruptingher carefully constructed mask of flimsy escort. The sponsor didn’t seem tonotice but Haymitch did.

Something was definitely off.

She was squirming in a way she rarely did –never when he didn’t have his mouth between her legs at least – and for a momenthe wondered if she was turned on. She crossed her legs and then uncrossed themonly to cross them again… She leaned forward or backward as if to alleviatepressure…  

The thing that kept flashing on her face, thereand gone in a second, wasn’t pleasure though. It was pain.

He was pretty sure he had done nothing tobruise her ass so it couldn’t come from there, which meant…

Five times might have been a time too many.

“Well, this was a waste.” Effie sighed, as theyfinally exited the restaurant.

“So you say every year.” he mocked. “And yethere we are.”

“You never know. One day he might actually do something more than justbeing a creep and squeeze himself through his pants at the thought of the twous together.” she scowled, not as oblivious to the guy’s fantasies as he hadthought. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by that. She excelled atreading people and the man wasn’t being subtle. It was a miracle he hadn’t yetoffered a threesome – or maybe he had and she had kept the information fromhim. “Perhaps you should go to the mentor lounge and see what you can find outabout our opponents…”

She was usually the one doing the digging.Victors were far too careful to let anything slip, some of the escorts now…

“You’re ditching me. You’ve got plans?” hesnorted.

“Not at all.” she immediately denied. “I stillhave some paperwork to fill so I will go back to the penthouse and…”

“Put ice between your legs?” he cut her off ina teasing tone.

She froze for a second and then quickened herstrides. “I do not know what you aretalking about. How vulgar of you. Truly, you…”

“Save it.” he interrupted again, grabbing herarm to stop her and immediately letting go because they were in the middle ofthe street and he didn’t need anyone sniffing out the scent of scandal. Itwould end up on Caesar’s special before they even reached the Games Compound. “Howhurt are you?”

She studied him and then pursed her lips,averting her eyes. “I am not hurt per se. I am simply… rather sore.”

“Sore.” he repeatedly flatly, acutely awarethat people were pointing at them and that it wouldn’t be long before someoneasked for pictures or autographs if they didn’t get a move on. He nudged heron, careful to adjust his pace to hers since he didn’t know how bad it actuallywas. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It means… It burns.” she admitted, clearingher throat. “I do hope it is just the result of last night and notsome horrible disease you…”

“You’re the only one I go with without acondom, sweetheart.” he sneered. “If anyone gives the other stuff…”

“I am clean.”she huffed. “It is frankly insultingthat you would even imply…”

“Calm your tits, sweetheart. Just joking.” hetaunted. He buried his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward. “You’re sure it’sjust sore, yeah? You’re not… hurt hurt?”

Because hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he had a bad track record.

“I am sure I will be fine tomorrow.” She shothim a side look, her lips stretching into a rare genuine smile. “If you canhold on for that long, that is.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes, not quite able tostop himself from smirking.

Not that he would admit it out loud but heusually held on half the year for her, so… A day wasn’t that long to go.  

Stop the World & Melt with You: Chapter Four

Peeks up from behind rudimentary barricade: Heyyyyy... this is not when I thought this would be going up. Sorry? 

In my defense, it has been a few crazy weeks (I turned 21! And my cousin got engaged! And I could not get this chapter to cooperate!). Also I rewrote about half this chapter and added in a bunch of Edgar. I'm not even going to attempt to say when the final chapter will be up, because I will inevitably fail. But, hopefully soon. Same on Past is Prologue.

Chapter Summary: A foot pop, a pinkie swear, and a break-up... in that order.

Also on AO3

Rolling back his shoulders and cracking his neck, HG adjusted his grip on the flowers in his left hand as he bounded up the steps. Tonight, he and Lenore had reservations at her favorite restaurant, where they would have dinner and dessert, and then perhaps go for a romantic walk amongst the lights of New York before returning to her apartment to say goodnight. Reaching the sixth floor, he gathered himself with a deep breath before knocking firmly.

The door immediately swung open as a dazzling Lenore grinned at him. “Hi. Oh, flowers!”

Mentally patting himself on the back while she smelled the roses, he took a moment to admire Lenore and the breathtaking red dress she was wearing. “You look beautiful Lenore.”

“Why thank you, my dear Professor.” Smiling coyly, she gave him a blatant onceover. “You look quite dashing yourself. And not a grease smudge to be seen, and really you aren’t even working with the tech most days, yet honestly every time I see you, you have-”

Cut of by her own gasp, Lenore stumbled into his arms as he yanked her into him. Her hands fluttering on his chest, she looked about to chastise him when he grinned at her unrepentantly and covered her open mouth with a kiss. He liked to think that made up for cutting her off, and she didn’t seem to be mad at him, if the enthusiasm with which she was kissing him was any indication.

Absorbed in her as he was, the abrupt clatter from just behind Lenore startled him. Especially when she pulled away to curse under her breath and rub the heel of her foot. Confused, he asked her, “What was-”

Shaking her head, she reached around his neck, bringing them back together. He vaguely heard (or rather, felt) her mumble, “Nothing, back to the kissing,” against his lips before he became quite preoccupied once again. Deciding he wanted to try something a bit different, he gave her one more searing kiss before removing his lips from hers altogether.

Peppering kisses along her jaw, he teased her with light nips, finally coming to a stop just behind her ear, nose buried in her hair. Breathless, Lenore placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently until he was in front of her, bumping their noses together. “What’s gotten into you? Not that I’m complaining, like at all.”

“You did say that was how I was supposed to greet a woman I’m going out on a date with.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and I assumed it would be in my best interests to make sure I fulfilled every outlined duty henceforth as your boyfriend. Tell me, how am I doing thus far?”

“Wells, you are definitely meeting any and all requirements. Now, I might be persuaded to continue with that greeting, if you’re amenable of course.”

“As the lady suggests.” Smirking, Lenore pulled him back to her lips, threading her hands into his hair. He smiled into her mouth as he grasped her waist, bringing her in closer again, until they were flush against each other, chest to chest.

Gradually, HG began to notice the uncomfortable whine emanating from inside the apartment. He also remembered they were making out in the middle of the hallway, completely within the view of his best friend, otherwise known as his girlfriend’s brother, who was scowling at them from the couch. Reluctantly removing himself from Lenore, HG’s eyes darted between her confused face and Edgar’s increasingly red complexion.

Realizing they’d stopped kissing, Edgar stood up and crossed his arms. Radiating brotherly disapproval, he mockingly stated, “Oh, so now you realize I’m right here.”

Realizing what HG’s distraction had been caused by, she turned in his arms, facing Edgar. “Well, we were a bit distracted…” Lenore smugly informed him.

Goading him had probably not been the wisest course of action, as Edgar exploded in indignation, throwing his hands up. “Really, you were just going to ignore me? Because that’s mature. This was my apartment first Lenore! You just moved in without asking! Hey what are you- Lenore, HG, seriously. Stop trying to… I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to do, but stop it for Christ’s sake.”

In the midst of Edgar’s ranting, Lenore had reached into HG’s back pocket and squeezed, immediately focusing his attention squarely on her, upon which she dragged his head down and -

“Oi, that’s my sister!”

“So? He’s my boyfriend. Your point is?” At this point, HG decided to let Lenore handle her brother; Poe sibling spats were never something to get in the middle of.

“You can’t just… do that. You’re in public. So quit it with all the, all the-”

“Kissing? Making out? Being gross and happy and disgusting?” Her voice had grown more and more saccharine sweet as each word dripped out of her mouth.

“Stop rubbing it in my face will you? Just, not while I’m here, okay? I’m happy that you guys are happy, God knows it took the pair of you long enough, but-” I’m not happy rang unspoken in the tense silence that followed.

Heartbreaking understanding on her face, Lenore finally walked over to Edgar and wrapped her arms around him. After standing there awkwardly for a moment, he returned the hug, resting his head on her hair. “Oh sweets. Yes, I’ll stop making out with HG in front of you. Pinky promise.” Holding out her hand expectantly, she waited. Knowing her brother was just being stubborn, she poked him until he acquiesced, finally hooking their pinkies together and shaking them.

When Edgar suddenly started to smile at her, HG became more confused. “He makes your foot pop.” Apparently usage of non-sequiturs run in the Poe family.

“I know, it’s amazing. You’ll have that someday, I know you will.”

Feeling confused and more than a bit out of place, HG glanced down at his watch, immediately noticing they were in danger of running late. “Um, Lenore? We should probably be leaving soon if we want to make the reservation.” Not that he wanted to break up the moment she and Edgar were having, but he did actually want to go on their date.

“Yes, yes of course.” Leaning her head back, she adopted a stern look as she made eye contact with her brother. “Edgar… we’ll talk later.”

“No we won’t.”

“You can bet your ass we will. Bye baby bro.” Kissing his cheek, she flounced back to the door, pulled on her coat, and picked up her clutch.

Wiping off the red lipstick print in exasperation, Edgar rolled his eyes. In the manner of one reciting his side of a fond argument, he replied, “You are eight minutes older.”

“Respect your elders boy!” Grinning, Lenore linked her fingers with HG’s and headed for the stairs.

Sticking his head out the door, Edgar called, “And bring my sister back in one piece Wells!”

Rolling her eyes up at her boyfriend, Lenore yelled behind them, “Goodbye Edgar!” After hearing the door slam close, she laughed, a sound HG would never tire of listening to.

“I shall never understand how siblings work.”

“I’m not exactly sure you should consider Edgar and me a prime example of healthy sibling interaction. We’re kind of weird. But mostly him.”

“Of course, you’re completely normal and not strange at all.”

“Hey, I never said I wasn’t weird, just that it’s mostly him. After all, normal is boring. I appreciate a bit of endearing eccentricity in my life.”  

“I’m assuming I should feel flattered here.”

“You can feel however you want, I‘m going to go catch us a cab. It’s cold and we have a reservation to make.” Trailing after her more slowly, HG watched as Lenore jostled tourists out of the way, elbowing and dodging her way to the curb. Raising her hand, she quickly hailed a cab and glanced back over er shoulder at him in mocking triumph. Racing ahead to open the door, he helped her inside then climbed in after, tripping over his foot and landing awkwardly half on Lenore’s legs.

Chuckling, she gave the driver the name of the restaurant and helped a blushing HG out of her lap. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yes, but I’m your dork.”

“That you are babe, that you are.” Lapsing into contented silence, they held hands the entire ride. Once they’d arrived and paid the cabbie, they made their way inside. Learning they had a few minutes until their table was ready, Lenore made a beeline for the bar, pulling HG along behind her. Martini and wine glasses in hand, they returned to the hostess, who led them to their table.

After being seated, HG couldn’t hold his question in any longer. “What does ‘he makes your foot pop’ mean? Your brother said it earlier and I assume it was about me, but honestly I cannot decipher what on earth that could possibly mean?”

Taking a deep breath, she began with, “So you know the movie Princess Diaries?”

“I know vaguely what it’s about, yes.”

Eyes wide, she stated vehemently, “Okay, that needs to be corrected, we’re watching it together.”  

Surprised at her intensity, he nodded his head fervently. “Yes, of course, my dear Lenore.”

“Good, it’s always been one of my favorites.” Shaking her head a little, she returned to her previous thought, though much more calmly. “Anyways, so Mia, the aforementioned princess of Genovia; she wants her first real kiss to be like in the old movies, when a girl would get seriously kissed, her foot would just kind of pop behind her. It was a visual device to show she was into the kissing. And happy.”

“Your foot popped when you were kissing me?” He felt absurdly happy at the prospect.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Immensely.” And smug, he also felt a bit smug.

Rolling her eyes in mock derision, she haughtily continued, “Yes, Professor, my foot popped and I knocked it against the table near the front door.”

“Oh, that was you?”

Tilting her head, she drawled, “We don’t actually have ghosts living in the apartment. That’s just a story Ernest came up with after knocking a bunch of shit over because he was drunk.”

“I know that, but I was a bit preoccupied at the time.”

“Of course you were, I was there.” Pausing, she beamed at him. He laughed, always admiring of her self confidence. “Does that satisfy your curiosity then?”

“You explained the foot popping thing, but why does Edgar know that?” Because really, that was the aspect of the whole puzzle that was mystifying him.

Sipping her martini, she adopted a nostalgic expression. “Edgar may or may not have been forced to sit through that movie an ungodly number of times when we were younger.  I mean, he didn’t object to it as much as when I made him watch Mean Girls, so I’d say I won. Oh, and he can totally quote-”

Cut off by her ringing phone, she looked to him apologetically before pulling it out of her purse and answering it. “Hey- wait, babes, I need you to slow down. Take deep breaths.” Glancing back across the table, she mouthed Annabel to him. Watching as she focused her attention back to her best friend’s voice, HG tried to determine what was happening based on the half of the conversation he could hear. “Okay, what happened?” Whatever it was Annabel had said, it was unexpected, as Lenore’s eyes grew wide in shock. “You and Eddie broke up?” That would certainly justify the shocked expression.

“No, no, no. Sweets, no, it’s not- well then he’s a jackass Anna. No, I’m not saying I told you so, I’m saying- that’s not what I’m saying Anna Banana. I’m saying I love you and obviously I’m on your side.” Heart sinking, he had a feeling this would be another attempted date that ended far too early.  “No, I’m sure I won’t change my mind. Hon, I don’t even know what even happened, but I could never hate you.” Catching her eye, he mimed signing a check, mouthing should I ask for the bill? to her. She nodded sadly, though not before mouthing I’m sorry.

As he was flagging down their waitress to pay for their drinks, he saw Lenore bolt upright in her chair. “Wait, don’t go up there. No, Edgar’s there. No, I’m not saying avoid Edgar, I’m just saying maybe, okay yes, I’m saying maybe avoid Edgar right now.” Finally getting the attention of the server, HG quickly asked for the check to be brought over.

Turning back to Lenore, he saw her slightly exasperated expression. “Annabel, I’m not actually in my apartment. I’m out on a date. Yes, with HG! Who else would… Sweets, we got together a while ago. He asked me out right before… You are not a terrible friend, there was kind of a lot going on, especially if you and Eddie were having issues.”  

Lenore listened again for a moment before seemingly making up her mind to take charge. “Okay, you know what, I’ll be over soon. I’ll grab some Ben and Jerry’s and pajamas and we’ll have girls night, just the two of us, okay? We can watch chick flicks and- okay no chick flicks. Action movies? Sports movies? Disney movies? Alright, Disney movies it is. No, it’s fine, we’re fine, I’ll see you soon. Love you, bye.” Hanging up, she put her phone down before rubbing her forehead.

Reaching across the table, he grabbed her free hand, rubbing the back of her palm. Quietly, he informed her, “The waitress is coming with the check soon, but if you want to head out now, we’re taking separate cabs home anyway, so I can understand if you want to get back to Annabel sooner.”

Standing up, she walked around to his side of the table, pulling him into a hug. Muffled against his shoulder, he heard her murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it sucks! I’ve been so excited for this, especially after last time. The universe hates us, we’re cursed or karmically screwed over!” She huffed, stomping her foot childishly.

“Or we can just blame Eddie.”

“Or that. I like that plan.”

meowth sprite ratings

requested by @dippingpines

look at this fat friend! this is the perfect shape for a friend! very obvious maneki neko origins here, which i really appreciate. love how they have both their paws out! does that make them extra lucky?

RATING: 10/10 strong start (Pokemon Green)

this is my favourite one, by far! mostly because he is on four legs. listen i know most meowths in the game stand on two legs but that doesn’t stop me from having some hangups about it. i love this Classic Kitty Look. y’know like... nya... rth... ?

RATING: 10/10 would pet (Pokemon R/B)

This goofball! he’s so sassy! his arms all crossed! he’s ready to steal your coins and Run and you can bet he’ll have a big smile on his face the whole time.

RATING: 7/10 sneaky (Pokemon Yellow)

omg! what a great stance! she is the martial arts master!

RATING: 9/10 Strong (Pokemon G/C)

i can’t!!!! so much personality!!!! i love it i want to pet it and feed it treats omgomgomg

RATING: 11/10 holy SHIT (Pokemon Silver)

he is Ready.... what for i do not know... but so help u when he Finds It

RATING: 7/10 alert boy (Pokemon R/S/E)

I am fond of this Dancey Gal but i think she would look a little more spirited if she had her mouth open and was letting a proud rrrowr out into the world

RATING: 6/10 lil unsure of herself (Pokemon Platinum)

HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIT

RATING: 8/10 DAMN (Pokemon D/P)

this friend looks patient and like they would sit down with you and give you advice on how to deal with your problems and i just really appreciate that. thank you for always listening, meowth.

RATING: 9/10 a dependable guy (Pokemon HG/SS)

this is that same friend but after they heard the bullshit that your ex did to you. the time for standing still is over. they’re gonna kick the ass of the person who hurt you!!!

RATING: 10/10 we all need this meowth in our lives (Pokemon B/W)

when did the sky turn black? and when will the light come back?

RATING: 1/10 awful but she’s trying (Pokemon X/Y/OR/AS)

this smug mf... he has So Many Secrets within him. be careful with this one. he can be either your worst enemy or your greatest ally.

RATING: 9/10 who is he.......... (Pokemon S/M)

HG prompt- Neal shares his fear of loosing his dad (bonus points if Neal and Rumple share heart felt "love yous")

The House Guest Chapter 71: Read it on A03

Sunday December 18th, 2016

Lacey had kicked him out of the apartment.

“I did not kick you out,” she said beside him as she shoved her bare hands into her coat pockets. “It’s too nice outside to sit inside all day.”

It was not nice outside. It was above freezing, that did not make it nice.

“We’re going to Tahiti as soon as this nonsense is over,” he grumbled as they trudged past Sprat’s.

Lacey snorted. “The cold doesn’t even bother you,” she reminded him. Her own warming spell had flushed her cheeks but Jack Frost still nipped at her extremities. He tried to get a better look down her pea coat but she was walking too fast for him to get a decent peek. “I want to go to Scotland first,” she said abruptly.

“Scotland?”

She nodded. “To tell Mal all about how we decimated Bozo and to see where you lived once upon a time.”

It was his turn to snort. “Last time I stopped by, that old village was some heinous tourist trap,” he told her. “Besides, in Tahiti, you could wear those little skirts you’re so fond of…maybe go on a hike in the jungle…explore old ruins…’

Lacey’s pleased smile was well worth all his time perusing those old travel books she had shoved under the bed. She nodded and made a small humming noise that he took for agreement as they started down the street toward Granny’s. He frowned. They had eaten before they had left the apartment and there was nothing interesting down this way except-

“Neal!”

While father and son did not look much alike, after all centuries of living does have it’s way with people, his son’s face probably mirrored his own. A rueful look mixed with a slight tinge of surprise that they had not seen this coming.

Lacey was as subtle as a bulldozer. She wore a smug grin as she marched straight towards Neal. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“You called and invited me to coffee,” Neal pointed out. “You said and I quote ‘we need to catch up!’”

Lacey shrugged. “Did I?”

“Lacey, my son and I are perfectly able to schedule time to spend together,” Rumpelstiltskin grumbled. “You didn’t need to set up an ambush.”

“An ambush would have involved magic, the werewolf room and no bathroom breaks,” Lacey said archly. “This is simply a strongly suggested tete a tete.” Across the street at the Inn, Jefferson poked his head out the door and waved. “I do actually have plans this afternoon,” Lacey said as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you two later.”

With that, she hurried across the street to disappear into the Inn, leaving Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire standing on the street awkwardly.

“Come on, then,” Rumpelstiltskin sighed. “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Baelfire replied. “You want to…I don’t know…go for a walk?”

Rumpelstiltskin did a quick mental calculation of the last time he had gone for a walk with no destination, plan, or objective. He came up short.

“I suppose,” he said after a moment. After all, the Old One was still hiding out in the other realm and he had a witch’s magic at his fingertips. With that mental reminder, he shot a quick warming spell at his son whose muscles instantly relaxed as the magic took effect.

Baelfire tugged his woolen scarf loose. “Thanks, Papa,” he said. “Where to?”

“The docks,” Rumpelstiltskin answered vaguely. There was something restless about the sea and the sky today. “How are…things?”

Baelfire pulled an amused face but recovered quickly enough to respond. “Not much to do now that Auntie left town. It’s more of a wait and see at this point.”

There was no guarantee that anything would be resolved come the Winter Solstice but every bone in Rumpelstiltskin’s ancient body seemed to know it was coming. The witches were as restless. Lacey had tossed and turned all evening. She had woken up only long enough to grind against him in the darkness until he had buried himself inside her and brought her to the brink again and again until she had collapsed back into the pillows too tired to think straight.

The halfbreeds felt it too, judging by Baelfire’s jerky motions. Anything that moved caught the immortal’s attention, his eyes searching the shadows and tracing the alleyways as they passed through the quiet part of the town.

“Don’t worry,” Rumpelstiltskin said and reached out to grip his son’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring touch. “He’s overextended his hand. After centuries, he’s finally made a mistake.”

Baelfire stared down at where his hand rested but did not shrug him off. “You’ve changed,” he said finally as he slowed to a stop.

“Changed?” Rumpelstiltskin snorted. “Unlikely.”

“No, I mean it,” Baelfire said. He shook his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. “I noticed it this summer….after Maleficent’s death but lately….”

There was a weird prickling in his stomach but Rumpelstiltskin ignored it. “People don’t change,” he reminded his son. “You’ve lived through enough lifetimes to know that.”

Baelfire did not flinch. “Exactly,” he said and folded his arms over his chest. “But you have. I guess falling in love does that to people.”

It did not need to be said that demons were not people. Still, there was no denying he was very much in love. There was concrete proof of it in the fact that the two of them stood in the Maine cold and were as warm if they were on deck in the Caribbean.

Lacey’s magic was in Rumpelstiltskin’s veins. They shared a love that was was uncharted as the stars above and was as fathomless. It defied explanation, expectations, and experience. It simply was.

He had played a role for so long, it had become part of him. Yet, he had not even noticed when he had stopped playing it.

“I like you like this,” Baelfire said quietly. “Love suits you.”

His son’s voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability in the first few syllables that betrayed his stoic face.

“Bae,” Rumpelstiltskin said firmly. “I know you may not believe this, but I have always loved you.”

His son chuckled and looked down to toe the ground with his boot. “Come on, Papa,” he said. “It’s different and you know it.”

“It’s not.”

They had spent centuries misunderstanding each other. Rumpelstiltskin had let it go on, angry at his son for his prejudices, angry at himself for his own choices, content to let the relationship linger in some limbo of familial begrudging acceptance.

“You were my son the moment you quickened in your mother’s womb,” he continued and if his voice shook slightly, his son did not mention it. “You were my flesh, my blood, and my legacy but you were my child first and foremost.”

Rumplestiltskin had never asked Lacey what loving a demon was like. He assumed it was rather like loving a witch, full of contradictions, powerful and volatile, vulnerable in their own ways, prideful and vengeful, possessive and controlling and desperately, utterly, insanely passionate.

He let the facade of Gold drop away. They were close to the docks and his coat’s collar flipped up high enough to mask his face. Baelfire’s eyes did not show any disgust or annoyance, but a simple wariness, a tightness around the lips that spoke volumes.

“I love you,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly. “I may not always agree with you and I may be frustrated by your choices but I have loved you since the moment I learned of you, and it has never faded, wavered or flickered in the years you have walked this earth. Whether it be Baelfire, or Neal, or whatever name you chose for yourself in the near future, you are and always will be my beloved son.”

Bae swallowed and looked away. His jaw was tense and his throat was working as if he was trying to swallow back some emotion. Rumpelstiltskin, familiar with Lacey and mortals now, simply stood there and let him. His son was not a typical halfbreed, no true demon spawn, but a man cut from his own cloth.

“In the futures I saw,” Neal started roughly before clearing his throat and trying again. “In the futures I saw, I thought…”

“You thought the one where the world was ending was the most likely scenario,” Rumpelstiltskin finished for him. “You have, after all, known me as long as anyone.”

“But that’s just it,” Neal said softly. “I didn’t. I believed the one with the church and the wedding and the happy ever afters because you…you’ve grown up. I didn’t doubt it for a second, well, I mean I doubted the whole me getting married to Emma Nolan of all people thing, but not that you and Lacey were happy. Or that you were there for my big day, or that there was so much love in that one building thirty years for now. It felt real. Jefferson said that’s just because of some hormones from the jump but- what I’m trying to say is…I’m proud of you and… I love you too.”

There are different types of love. Eros, Philia, Storge, Ludus, Mania, Pragma, and Philautia to name a few. All of which Rumpelstiltskin had used in the past to get what he wanted. He had always been particularly fond of Agape…for mortals would stop at nothing to when they loved selflessly.

Lacey whispered her love to him in her sleep, she moaned it aloud in his arms, giggled it into his chest, and traced it into his skin. Her love was heady and consuming and intoxicating without the magic that accompanied it.

However, his son’s quiet confession of love was something wholly different but just as powerful. If he had been without magic, it would have warmed him as well as any enchantment or any jacket but as it was he had both and so the feeling was slightly overwhelming. There was still plenty of years of misunderstandings, decades of lies and deceit, and some issues that he knew would take another hundred years to fully resolve, but it was a start.

“I love you too son,” he said gruffly before jutting his chin towards the docks. “Should we go scare some fishes?”

Baelfire shook his head before pulling his knit cap free to pull it down low on his father’s curly hair. “If you insist on walking around in demon form, at least tell Lacey I tried to talk you out of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a wink.

His son’s laugh echoed in his ears long after they rejoined Lacey back at Granny’s for dinner. While the rest of their time together was spent discussing old memories, hopes for the future and his attempts to convince Neal to try some Snapchat filters selfies, there was a quiet understanding between them.

As they walked back to the apartment, Lacey put her head on his shoulder and sighed happily.

“I’m glad you two talked,” she said quietly. It was her quiet way of apologizing for not apologizing for her interference. He put his arm around her, his hand resting on her hip as he pulled her closer to him as they neared Archie’s fence.

“Me too,” he whispered into her curls.

Overhead, the moon grew brighter and the stars twinkled as if just for them.

–

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S ONLY FOUR MORE CHAPTERS!

Oh oh oh.

First of all, again hello and hi to everyone reading this. So happy to get so many wonderful reviews on this story as it comes to a close and I can’t believe next chapter is the beginning of the end.

But what end will it be?

Romeo & Juliet (p.1) | Five x Reader

requested: yes!! just a theatre au but i kind of got carried away (there’s gonna be 3 parts oops)

You’ve got to be kidding me. No way, out of the hundreds of people who auditioned, were you cast as the love interest of the person you hated most in the entire world. Of course, you were ecstatic when you were told that you were going to play a lead role - Juliet, obviously - in Romeo and Juliet. After years of naïve teenage admiration at the tragic love story, you practically vibrated with happiness at the idea of being able to portray the tragedy on stage. Yet when the directors announced that none other than Five Hargreeves would be playing Romeo your heart dropped in your stomach as that signature smug smirk crossed his face, boiling your blood. Great - now he could ruin this for you, too. You simply scowled at him, hoping he could feel the daggers you were glaring at him.

The first rehearsal was strange for you, and - evidently - extremely challenging. Having to stand so close to Five without wrapping your hands around his throat and throttling him was a huge test of self-control, and you occasionally clenched your fists to remind yourself not to. While reading out the lines on the script you could faintly hear your friends snickering at how visibly tense you were becoming as the hours progressed. At the end of the rehearsal, you stormed away from him as fast as you could, sick of being in his presence for so long. God, you hated him.

At one rehearsal, you were practising the scene in which Romeo and Juliet first meet, and as you scanned the rest of the script for that scene, you realised only too soon that the stage instructions instructed you to kiss each other. Your stomach churned at the sight of the words, and you struggled to suppress a groan. You hadn’t even had your first kiss yet, and you weren’t about to allow him to take something that special from you. As the scene trudged closer and closer to that part, your blood began thrumming with anxiety. You could tell Five had already read ahead as a smile laced over his features at your heated cheeks. This was literally your worst nightmare. 

Suddenly the director called out, asking for both yours and Five’s attention. She began to talk but you could barely hear her words over the loud beating of your heart as a million thoughts raced through your mind. “...so we won’t need you to do the kiss right now.” 

Snapping back to reality at her statement, you stuttered, “W-what?” as a weight dropped off of you, and your shoulders slumped in relief.

Five scoffed at your stammered words, turning to you after the director had left, and teasing, “Come on, y/n, I know I’m irresistible, but I never knew you wanted to kiss me that badly.” Leaning down to your height, he moved his lips closer to your ear, and whispered, “You should’ve just asked.” Unable to stop the fingers of ice that traced up your spine so tantalizingly slowly, you shivered at his words. You didn’t move for a few moments after he had walked away, forgetting how to move one leg in front of the other. 

Two weeks before the show, you began having a breakdown. You knew all your cues and your lines, your movements and costumes, yet you still did not know how to kiss. And you certainly hadn’t changed your mind about not wanting your first to be with your worst enemy - especially on stage. What if you messed up? What if you were bad at it, and he mocked you forever? What if he was disgusted by you? What if he didn’t kiss back? 

A pair of hands squeezed your shoulders as your brain ricocheted into panic mode, your friend coming round to sit in front of you. “Jesus, y/n, stop spiralling.” She could tell you were; you certainly weren’t hiding the stress flashing in your eyes. “I get it, Five Hargreeves never was your choice for your first kiss. Like, I know you guys are sworn enemies or whatever, but come on, he’s not that bad. You’ve gotta admit that he’s at least a little handsome.”

Continuing to tease she fake swooned, dramatically raising a hand to her forehead. “That hair, and that smile! His eyes burn with intensity, y/n! Oh, and those soft, soft lips; imagine how they’d feel pressed against yours -”

Choking on your words, you interrupted, “Yes, okay, he’s good-looking, but that’s not the problem. I don’t want my first kiss to be in front of hundreds of people - what if I mess up or something?”

Rolling her eyes at you, her hands fell to your knees, reassuring, “For starters, you’d be fine - it comes naturally. And anyway, who says it has to be on stage?” She smirked, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no way this was happening, no way you were actually doing this. You had been dared to, though, and you weren’t cowardly enough to back down from that. Although, from the frantic thumping of your heartbeat, you weren’t entirely sure you could carry the plan through. As you made your way into the theatre, your eyes scanned the crowd for Five, finding him surrounded by his friends (who were, frankly, just as annoying as him). 

Stalking up to him you grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face you. Without thinking, you blurted, “Can I talk to you after rehearsal?” Blinking quickly, you added an almost desperate, “Please?” 

You could’ve sworn his eyes flashed with concern for a single moment before his face became a mask of self-satisfaction again. He shrugged, “Sure,” and casually turned back to his friends. 

Rehearsal had never seemed to drag on so long before. The entire time, your mouth was dry and your legs had been trembling slightly in anticipation, stealing glances at Five whenever he wasn’t looking. 

Finally, once it was over, you found Five waiting for you at the exit, a smile gracing his lips. Fixating on them, your friends’ words repeating over in your head; ‘imagine how they’d feel pressed against yours...’  Oh, gross, snap out of it, y/n.

This smile wasn’t like his usual smiles, however. It seemed more real, more genuine somehow. Five didn’t look like Five anymore, instead, he looked almost beautiful in the light that shadowed half of his face. Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you motioned for him to follow you. He followed obligingly. 

“Come on, Hargreeves.”

a/n: this was getting seriously long, so I’ve divided it into three parts! this makes me uwu so hard and I love the theatre au more than I thought possible oops

TAGLIST: @sandalwoodstudy @ameliatrh @edgy-teen-wannabe @dadzawas-eyebags @moonflowersandsparkles @maddiecl14  @just-a-bit-odd @wittysidecharacter @campcampie @classyasssuperbitch  @waffle-loving-dragon  @five-hg @lucyrocks86 @idklol707 @gespirida @xxitsaeonxx @yuukiahim  @inlovebby @sheerhotspace  @animemes-trash @lucyrocks86 @i-need-coffee-in-an-iv @emilyt0314 (p.s if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know!)

Nuit de Lune | French!Five x Reader

requested: v much so!!! y’all wanted more french!five so i delivered :)

a/n: i know i used the same gif as another post but...i’m soft pls forgive

After a painful year of attempting to hide your growing feelings for your best friend, you finally escaped to Paris for the holidays. As you left the country, you felt the world lift off your shoulders as you released the façade you had maintained ever since you had first met Five. Being in his presence caused your skin to heat up, electricity crackling in your blood. But, as far as you were concerned, it was just a stupid teenage crush. Nothing more. 

Paris was far more beautiful than you could ever have imagined. Under a bright cerulean sky, you walked around the little streets filled with shuttered windows and flower pots, admiring the vibrancy and the culture that was so different from your own. You couldn’t wipe the grin off your lips as you explored, tilting your face up towards the sky to let the sun rays shine across your skin, painting you with the glow of peace.

---

Holy shit. The last thing Five expected to see in Paris was his best friend. He had travelled the distance there to escape his incessant and nagging feelings for her, yet of course, fate still refused to be on his side, determined to destroy his happiness. Of course, out of everywhere you could have gone on holiday, you had chosen the same destination as he had. Sometimes the similarities between you were more of a curse than a blessing.

If it was possible, Five thought, you looked more beautiful than you ever had before. His heart hammered in his chest like a caged hummingbird as he stood on the pavement opposite you, forgetting the stream of people around him who muttered profanities in a string of languages that he couldn’t recognise. 

As they began pushing past him more violently, he shook his head to clear you from his mind before turning his back to you and walking away. He couldn’t let his stupid, unnecessary feelings for you destroy your friendship - he needed to bury them. Running a hand through his dark hair, Five sighed, wondering why everything always had to be so complicated in his life. 

---                                                             

After hours of casual exploration of the city, you began wandering down more secluded streets, the cobbles under your feet creating echoes against the buildings on either side of you. There were a few shops and restaurants scattered around, including the coffee shop you had stopped in front of. The colourful chalk signs placed outside were too intriguing to walk past, and you couldn’t help peeking inside the establishment. It wasn’t busy, but a few of the tables were full. The lighting was soft and welcoming, and as you opened the door to walk in a bell above you tinkled gently to announce your entry. 

At the sound, a figure standing at the counter turned to look at you, and froze as his gaze locked with yours, his eyes growing wide in surprise. “Five?” you grinned, making your way towards him. As much as you needed the break from the constant pretence you put up, your heart jumped at the sight of your best friend. “What are you doing here?”

Ignoring your question completely, Five turned back towards the waitress and folded his arms together in resignation, requesting an addition to his order. He recited your favourite drink perfectly, each detail correct. A blush crept up your cheeks at the flow of his voice in French (compared to his usual smug remarks, this accent was the most attractive thing you had ever heard come out of his mouth) - of course he knew your coffee order; Five knew everything about you. Except for your feelings for him, you supposed.

Grabbing the drinks and muttering a “merci” to the server, Five led you to a table by the window, a red and white checkered tablecloth laid out on top. He hadn’t spoken yet, struggling to construct a sentence to explain his presence in France. 

Taking a sip of your drink, you peered at Five over the rim of your cup, grinning, “Merci beaucoup, Cinq.”

Rolling his eyes at you - and your slight butchering of the French language - he grinned at you, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. “ Bien sûr, y/n. Aussi, tu m’as manqué. Juste un petit peu.”

Smiling at his mumbled confession, you lowered your gaze to the tablecloth, admitting, “I missed you too.” There were a few moments of tension-filled silence before a chuckle escaped Five’s lips, making you glance up in surprise.

“Loser.”

“Says you. How many languages do you speak again? Oh that’s right, too fucking many for me to count.” In the light filtering in through the window, his eyes glittered green with laughter as he admired you smiling at your own joke. After a moment, you asked, “So, have you seen the Eiffel Tower yet?”

After discussing the things you had discovered separately, you agreed to explore the rest of Paris together. Leaving the cafe, you squinted as the sunlight hit your eyes, temporarily blinding you, and blurted, “It’s a date then,” before thinking through your words. Something jolted through Five at your declaration, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the thought. 

“So it is,” he grinned back, leading the way back into the city centre.

Hours later, your legs aching and your eyes tired, the sun began to set. You continued walking as its colour leached into the horizon, dissolving into night. Five had been stealing glances at you the entire day, marvelling at the curiosity sparkling in your eyes and the way you listened intently every time he explained something’s history (even if you occasionally mocked him for how much he knew). 

Eventually, you found yourselves in a park centred around a regal bandstand, flowers and plants of every colour and size littering the grass that was only broken by winding concrete pathways. As the sky continued to grow darker lights began to flicker on around the park, illuminating the serenity of nature. Finally, the bandstand lit up as if the sun had offered part of itself to the moment, soft music beginning to flow through speakers dotted throughout the area. 

Letting go of his inhibitions, Five moved until he stood in front of you and offered his hand. Hiding the shake in his voice, he asked, “Dance with me?” He wasn’t sure he could handle rejection, but after spending the day with you he couldn’t resist at least trying to confess how he felt.

You scoffed as he raised a his cocky eyebrow, teasing, “Who’s the loser now?” as you took his hand, allowing him to lead you up the steps to the bandstand. You couldn’t explain the feelings that filled you at that moment, but it was as if every tainted part of you had faded away, leaving only the purest and happiest parts of your soul. 

Five stood for a moment, unmoving, as he held your hand in his. You raised a concerned eyebrow, stepping closer to him, “Someone forget how to dance?”

Snapping out of his daze, Five grinned at you, placing a soft hand on your waist. “You wish, y/n.” He led you in a learnt routine, graceful and precise, yet you stopped him halfway through by placing a hand on his chest. 

“You dance like you’re reciting a text you memorised,” you teased, pulling away from him slightly. “And I know you do that, so don’t try to deny it. Just...just go with the music.” Lifting his arm, you encouraged him to spin you, grinning as you settled back against his chest. This time, you led him, allowing the music to flow through your veins and guide you. Every movement you made was a line of poetry and a confession of your deepest feelings.

After a while, he began to feel the music in his muscles too, and any fear he felt transformed into excitement. You let out a squeal as he lifted you into the air, your hands grasping his shoulders to stay steady. He spun you in rhythm with the music, lowering you back to the ground as he inched closer to you. 

As his nose brushed against yours, he whispered, “Je pense que je pourrais être amoureux de toi.” You were close enough to kiss him at that moment, and your eyelashes fluttered against his skin as you opened your eyes at his words.

“Tu sais que je parle français, non?” you asked, bewilderment evident on your face. You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not, and as much as your heart urged you to reach out and press your lips to his, you hesitated slightly.

Closing his eyes so as not to see you pull away from him, he continued, “Ouias, je sais. J’ai juste besoin que tu saches ce que je ressens pour toi.”

Lifting a hand to his face, you brushed back some hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, cherishing the way you could feel his pulse thrumming through his veins. Throwing away doubt and uncertainty, you closed the tiny gap between the two of you, pressing your soft lips against his slightly chapped ones. The kiss was more intoxicating than you had ever expected, and as his lips moved against yours you couldn’t help the way you leaned into him. Passion seeped through Five as his hands slid around your waist, tightening his grip and pulling you closer against him in an embrace. 

When you finally broke away to rest your forehead against his, you smiled at the breathless expression on his face. 

“Je pense que je pourrais être amoureux de toi aussi, Five.”

At that, he leaned in again to steal the words from your mouth, communicating every thought and feeling through the movement of his lips against yours. 

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