BoyKing!Sam/Consort!Dean AU for Sara ♥

Dean says he doesn’t want to die, but Sam can see that his brother is resigned to his fate. There is only one way to save Dean from his deal and Sam is willing to see it through, no matter the cost. But when the only thing that’s left of Lilith are the blood spatters in which they are covered, Dean looks at Sam, shocked and revolted. Dean calls him a monster and things aren’t going as Sam had hoped. Dean runs and Sam lets him, doesn’t do anything as Dean, Bobby, Rufus and their resistance group formulate plans to kill the BoyKing. Dean never goes through with one of their plans though, Sam never makes Ruby his Queen. The pull the brothers have towards one another is too strong and one day Dean gives in to the dark side to be with Sam. Naked, collared and leashed Dean accepts his role as the consort of the BoyKing. Reborn as demon and immortal just like his brother, Dean knows he’s strong enough for them to consummate their relationship. A lot of time is spent in their chambers and when Dean finally reemerges, his stomach is swollen with Sam’s child.

This is for my lovely friend and sister in spirit, forgottenwhispersxo. I have a 16 hour flight behind me and am still not home so please forgive me for the delay ahh. I love you! Yeah this is nalu because apparently that’s the only thing I ever write. Happy birthday!!!:*

You didn’t think Natsu’s first proposal went smoothly, did you? 

It was a cold day.

The wind rattled at the window of Lucy Heartfilia’s apartment angrily, as if it knew the two people inside were indifferent to its rage.

Most people would say that this kind of weather was perfect for a hot water bottle. Lucy would say it was perfect for a Natsu.

"It’s just one of those days, you know?" She sighed. "If it were my birthday then I’d wish we could spend the entire day right here." 

"Sounds like today is your birthday." 

"Eh?" She peeked up at him from her perfect spot under the blanket that had been heated especially for her, by a pair of expert hands. The same pair that was now loosely draped around her torso.

"We’ll simply stay here. Easy!" He grinned.

"But you said you really wanted to go on a job! And the rent…" She shuddered despite the perfect temperature.

"Yeah, but that was before I found this perfect position in which everything is comfortable and warm and I can do this." 

He bent his head to rub his nose against hers. She wrinkled hers against him and grinned.

"You know what, you’re right. There’s only one thing that could make this better." 

"Food?" 

She chuckled. “Exactly. And not just any food.” 

His eyes lit up. “You mean…you bought…” 

"Yup." 

With a grin, she wriggled herself free from his embrace and got up, draping the still cuddly warm blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

She knew he only let her go because of what her journey into the kitchen would bring his way.

When Lucy reached the counter, it took her a good while to get a hand out of the burrito-like blanket without dropping it.

Natsu snorted, but she pretended she hadn’t heard him. That was a triumph she would not let him revel in.

She stood on her tippy-toes to reach the top shelf - the one where she tried to keep the best treats away from Natsu’s never-satisfied hunger.

Oh god, we’re like an old married couple.

She turned around, a box of ‘the most delicious ever’ dragon cookies in her right hand.

"You don’t think we’re turning into one of those boring couples, are you? You know, the ones that always stay at home and start knitting scarves for the day they have grandchildren while maybe playing an exciting game of memory." 

He laughed.

"Pah! We can do that when we’re married." 

When he received no response, he looked up - to find her staring at him wide-eyed and blushing. 

"M-m-married???"

"Well…" He cocked a brow. "I thought it was obvious."

Her jaw dropped.

"That’s…that’s…" She had turned a flaming red, which had nothing to do with the blanket this time. "That’s just not how you ask a girl, you loser!!"

"Aww, Lucy, don’t tell me you don’t wanna. What was that yesterday?" He pouted his lips and delivered what was - in his humble opinion - the perfect Lucy Heartfilia imitation. "Oh Natsu, I love you so much!" 

"Oh no you didn’t! That’s not how I said that! And you’re leaving out that part of how you reacted, Mr. Redder-than-his-flames. And what we did after!” 

He grinned at her cheekily. “I don’t remember that. You’ll have to remind me.” 

Lucy put down his favourite treats on the counter and stomped over towards him. Her hands were on her hips as she glared down at him, but her eyes betrayed her demeanor.

"Natsu Dragneel, you are impossible." 

Giddily, she hopped onto the couch and right between his legs. He still had a sheepish smile etched onto his features, but it quickly disappeared when she smashed her lips against his.

His arms snaked around her immediately, and after a good old long-term snogging session, they rested their foreheads against each other in complete satisfaction and bliss.

"You know I’ll kill you if you don’t propose properly."

"Yup."

"Good." 

All the Red Roses

Based on pastry’s new AU.

Of all the people expected to be tattoo artists, Kankri Vantas is pretty damn low on the list. He shows obvious contempt for his friend, older sister, something or other Porrim who sports beautiful ink. He doesn’t show any tattoos himself even when he’s convinced to take one of his constant sweaters off. He seems to have derision for everyone and everything that’s not some kind of intellectual pursuit or noble cause.

But people aren’t always what they seem.

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Eventually Seatlle

Happy Birthday thecaptainsoiree!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

(AO3)

Dean kicked the door to the motel room closed, wincing at the ominous creak it made as it slammed.  Of all the motels he’d stayed in over the years, this one was definitely on the most decrepit end of the spectrum- the colonies of mold growing blatantly all over the walls probably had a fully functioning government at this point, and Dean could see each and every spring in the mattress, all of them waiting eagerly to stab him in the back.  He might have been better off just spending the night in the car- but then again, the free wifi was just too tempting.  Anything was better than having to get back in the car and drive for two hours just to find a Starbucks three towns over.

He toed off his shoes and pulled his aging laptop out of his bag eagerly.  It took for fucking ever to start up, telling him for at least ten minutes that it would be “just a moment.”  He ignored the browser in favor of opening Skype- anyone he would want to talk to from the Moondor forum he already had as a contact, and anyone else would just be irritating.  He tapped his fingers impatiently as the chat window loaded far too slowly.

The green checkmark next to Castiel’s name sent his heart pounding hard against his ribcage.

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5SOS Preference - Autumn (4/4)

Requested: Nope!
A/N: Based this imagine entirely off of this textpost. lil shoutout to erin for the idea and allowing me to base this off of her post!! (-:

Ashton: “C’mon, Ashton, can’t we go on the haunted hayride? Please?” You looked up at him, giving him puppy dog eyes and struggling not to laugh as you pouted. “It seems really foggy, and it’s getting a bit dark… Don’t you think maybe we should come back tomorrow?” “You’re not scared, are you?” you teased, giggling softly. “No I’m not,” he muttered. “Then come on!” you replied, walking towards the ticket stand for the hayride. “Two tickets, please,” you asked, taking the colorful papers. You sat down on the bundle of straw, shifting to get comfortable. A couple pieces still poked at you, but they weren’t extremely annoying or noticeable. Ashton plopped down next to you, glancing in your direction before saying, “This better be one hell of a good hayride, princess.” The ride started and you were both slowly driven into the fog emitting from their machines. Pre-recorded, inhuman groans and wails sounded occasionally, only adding to the creepy vibe. After going through a field for ten minutes, the ride had finally stopped. Ashton stepped off first, with you following behind him. As you both turned a corner, a man — one of the workers — popped out from the bushes wearing a black cloak and a skeleton mask. Ashton screamed, and you burst into a fit of giggles. “So you are a scaredy-cat.”

Michael: “How about this one?” Michael asked, picking up an extremely tiny orange pumpkin. “No, Mikey, we need something we can carve.” You surveyed the group of moderately-sized pumpkins, until you found two in the back that were the perfect size and barely had any dents or scratches. After paying and driving home, you had gotten the knives and scoopers ready, while Michael set up towels on the floor. “So which design are you doing?” You asked, glancing at him. He flipped through pages and pages of cut-outs and stencils, seeming unsatisfied with all of the designs. “I don’t know, maybe I could just draw something…” He trailed off, looking for your approval. You nodded, and you swore you could’ve seen a smirk cross his face, but you focused on the pumpkin instead. Two hours had passed and you signed, setting down the tools and admiring your finished work. “Lemme see, babe,” Michael said, peering over your shoulder. “Looks great.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “What did you end up doing?” You asked, looking at him. There was that smirk again and he turned his pumpkin around, showing you what he did. Of course, you should’ve known. Michael had cut out a dick shape. “Are you serious?!” You said, trying to hold back giggles. “It doesn’t really resemble the real thing, but it’s still good, don’t you think?”

Calum: “There will be donuts and apple cider, right?” He questioned for what might’ve been the hundredth time on the drive to your town’s annual fall fair. You sighed, a bit over-dramatically, and replied, “Yes, Cal. Ask again and I won’t buy any for you.” He only nodded in response as you parked the car, trying to contain his excitement. He had been hungry all day, only eating breakfast so he’d have room for all of the unhealthy snacks you would be eating later. Approaching the stand, you asked for two apple ciders and four fall-themed donuts. Once they were paid for, you both found a place under a tree, sitting down on the grass and leaning against the rough bark. “Babe, you’ve got something on your nose,” he said, causing you to look up at him. You couldn’t even ask what before his finger reached out and touched your nose, spreading on some orange frosting from the donut. He erupted into laugher as you squealed, “Hey!” and attempted to do the same to him, but ending up with the frosting in his hair. “Hey, Cal, I thought your streak was blonde, not orange.”

Luke: “Luke, can you help please?” you asked kindly, peering through the leaves that were separating you. You went out to pick apples, and he wanted to go get some in the next row over. He smiled at you and soon appeared by your side, giving you a small kiss on the top of your head. “With what, babygirl?” “I can’t reach the good apples,” you pouted jokingly. A grin crossed his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and setting you on his shoulders. Your sight was now level with the top of the apple tree, and you looked down at Luke with a grin. Your gaze returned to the apples, and you picked about fifteen of them, figuring that if you and Luke didn’t eat them you could always give them to the boys. Once the top half of the tree was stripped of practically all of the apples, you asked Luke to help you down. His hands once again held your waist, placing a quick kiss on your lips before letting your feet touch the ground once more.

I used to scoff at the idea of,
‘I’ve never felt this way before!’
Of soulmates.
Of one person being everything you could ever need for the rest of time.

And then I met you.

And you sort of changed everything.

You fit me like a puzzle piece.
I didn’t realize something was missing
until I found you.

And it feels bigger than just us.

It’s in the way we skipped the getting-to-know-you phase and went straight to the talking-as-though-we’ve-known-each-other-forever phase.
It’s in the way I never have to think of the next thing to say; it just comes naturally.
It’s in the way I feel as though I’ve known you all my life
or maybe before
in some other life.
(Which is ridiculous to consider but then again
so is all of this.)

It’s in the way you complete me in every way.
You make me feel
finally
whole.

And I do believe
you are everything I’ve ever needed
my soulmate
and I have never felt this way before.
(And I never will again.)

—  That, I Know For Sure, Even if I Don’t Know How, probablyhavewritersblock
Here is where we stop.
Here is where the words become jumbled,
where our knees become bruised and our bones become weary.
He wears war like it’s his second skin,
and I’ve forgotten how to fight.
I fell in love with a boy who’s skin was too large for his bones;
I fell in love with a boy who fought a river.
His mother told me once
that he reminds her of the ocean,
all capsizing waves
and an unfathomable rage.
Rage and death and war.
I fell in love with a boy who was born a prince;
I fell in love with a boy who will keep my bones.
—  the boy who fought the river, e.h.
i want to take you away.

i want to take you away
somewhere where
the stars will sing
for you
and the breeze is gentle
and your hand won’t be so cold
from all the things
you’re too afraid of

i want to take you away
somewhere where
your dreams don’t sound
like slamming doors and 
unfinished business
and you can smile
without looking behind you
every three seconds

i want to take you away
somewhere where
i can wrap you up
in blankets
and we’ll whisper
about harmless things
as i watch the darkness
in your eyes dissipate

i want to take you away
from this cruel cruel world
somewhere where
you and i
can stay like this
forever

Querido Mr. Stark | projecthappystark

image

My second #projecthappystark submission, the prompt was Director Stark (cough of course I had to pick that one too). Have a little bit of his correspondence with little miss Lucy Cervantes :D

-

Querido Mr. Stark,

My name is Lucy Cervantes and you are my hero. When I goet older I want to be Iron man Girl. I’ve already built armor and everything.

- Lucy

He got tons of fanmail like this, and all of them made him smile.

But Lucy’s letter came with seven pictures and attached blueprints drawn by hand and notes about retro-reflective armor designs that made even he, Tony Stark, do a double-take because kids this age didn’t usually know this much about optics.

Cara Miss Lucy Cervantes,

I am happy to be your hero. I looked over your blueprints.  Has anybody told you how smart you are? Don’t give up. That’s how heroes get started.

“Iron Girl” is a lovely name, but I know you will be able to create your own brand.

- Tony

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anonymous said:

Emma teaching killian to drive but hes having issues and getting embarassed

A/N: bahahaha (you mean the prndl) as a disclaimer, some of the dialogue isn’t mine <3

Two weeks ago, when he’d insisted on fully acclimating himself to her world—and that included being able to captain one of those terrible vessels so often used for transport, love—it was funny. (Seeing Captain Hook glaring extravagantly at her little car like it was some fearsome opponent to be dueled was enough to make her pee her pants. Almost.) It was sweet, too, that he wanted to learn how to drive, despite his fractured trust—considering his first encounter had led to a visit in the hospital.

One week ago, when he’d hunched himself into the driver’s seat of her Bug, swathed in all his bulky leather, it was surreal. Captain Hook—the villainous, deceitful pirate from the story she’d read and revered as a kid—was in her car.  (It didn’t help that she’d come to know he wasn’t anything like the old man with the perm and waxed moustache from the story —the fact that he was a smoldering, brooding, sexy-as-all-hell pirate made everything much, much worse.)

But now, when an hour has passed and they haven’t even moved out of the parking spot, it was frustrating. She can’t even sympathize with him anymore—she gets that he’s not from here, but surely sailing a ship was more of a challenge than remembering to turn the ignition before slamming on the gas. (There’s so many bloody intricacies, Swan, what in the blazes is blue-tooth?)

She sighs, looking over at him—he’s emanating nerves, there’s tension in the stiff way he’s sitting with hand and hook on the wheel, apprehension and – was that embarrassment – in his frown.

“Alright,” she says. “Have you checked your mirrors?”

Within moments he’s regained his pirate-captain bravado, offering her a cheeky grin. “Yes, and I still look as devilishly handsome as I always have. But you already knew that, didn’t you, darling?”

She snorts, arching an eyebrow. He wasn’t fooling her by masking his confusion with thinly-veiled arrogance. “Your mirrors are not for vanity, tough guy, they’re for seeing the view to your rear.”

At this he lights up—his smirk obscene and eyebrows waggling—making her wonder how he can be three-hundred-years-old and still manage to also be a teenage boy who spends his time making that’s-what-she-said jokes.

“Not your behind, behind you,” she emphasizes, but it doesn’t come out the peremptory way she’d wanted to say it as she fights off a laugh. (Those dancing ayebrows of his were her weakness, but she will not let him know that.)

“Now, buckle your seat belt,” she instructs, gesturing to the strap across her chest.

At this, he gives her a pained look. “I had every intention of doing so, Swan, but the last time I did I was—rather uncomfortably restricted and as the captain of this vessel, I should be free of such confines at all costs.”

She gives him a blank look, willing herself patience. “Just do it, Killian,”

“Love—”

“It’s the law!” she snaps, loudly and vehemently. That vein in her forehead—reserved for her days in bailbonds when the perp tried to run—starts to protrude. He gapes at her, slack-jawed—as a captain, he’s not used to being given orders, but he’s come to know that commands from Emma Swan are not to be disregarded—before he nods, turning to buckle himself in.

(He’s fairly capable for having one hand, in more ways than one.)

(She shudders, not allowing memories of last night—and the night before that—distract her.)

“Now,” she continues, as calm and patient as she can manage. “Do you remember the gear shift?”

He tilts his head, offering her a patronizing smirk. “Don’t you mean the prindle, love?”

And just like that, her patience wanes. She glares at him incredulously. “The what?”

“The prindle,” he reiterates, emphatically waving at the gear shift.

“Are you referring to the lever that says p-r-n-d-l?”

“I’m not daft, Swan. Port, reeve, nipper, drag, and lay—quite like sailing a ship, really.”

Who in the hell told you that?”

He considers her for a moment, affronted. “Your father and your lad. They were rather informative.”

(Seriously? At any other time, she would’ve laughed. But all she can think about is how she’s going to kill David, and then Henry, and then David again.)

“This isn’t a boat, Killian,” she grits out, “The letters stand for park, reverse, neutral, drive, and low.”

“Bloody hell,” he curses, “How am I supposed to remember the lot of that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be one hell of a captain?”

“Aye, but sailing a ship is an entirely different endeavor, Swan. One is not permitted to be held prisoner by constraints meant to suffocate and eviscerate, nor does one have to recall the foresight to fill the vessel with such putrid – what did you call it – gasoline before departing,” he snaps, gaze withering, “And all rudiments aside, I’m bloody nervous and your maddening nagging is not helping!”

“Oh, I’m sorry if my nagging is getting in the way of your learning process,” she snarks, “Let’s just relax, sing a sea shanty or two! While we’re at it, let’s have a drink. Why not? It’s not like we shouldn’t impair our faculties while behind the wheel of a moving vehicle—c’mon, Hook, don’t be stingy with the rum!”

“I do not need to be patronized, love,” he bites out, eyes dark and flashing.

“Alright, alright,” she says, trying to recall her former equilibrium. There’s a pregnant pause, the silence full of tension and challenge. “Just – just start the engine and put the car in drive.”

He stalls for a moment, then sends her an inquisitive glance, face pained.

THAT’S THE ‘D’ ON THE GEAR SHIFT!

fin

Hanging Johnny

It was deafening, the sound of Esme’s heart pounding in her chest. Tonight is the night, she told herself with a deep and shaky sigh. You know what to do. After giving herself five seconds to calm the anxious thumping of her heart, she spared a glance to the overhead above her. The rhythmic beating in her chest almost matched the drunken stomping of the crew on the top deck. It was often like this when they docked late in Booty Bay, especially after a particularly good haul. The White Widow had managed to overcome an Alliance ship of the line the night before and had found quite a bit of bounty on it. So much so that the men had purchased nearly three times the amount of rum they normally did.

A perfect distraction, Esme reminded herself. This is going to work.

Drawing her gaze downward, she shifted her weight with the sway of the ship in the harbor and then concentrated. Shadows began to pulse around her feet and then sluggishly made their way up her legs. She had been practicing and it showed, for she soon was hidden from sight of any that might have passed by. She allowed herself a small, nervous smile to herself as she looked down at her own hands, but made sure to pull her sincerity back into place. She wasn’t free yet, not by a long shot.

Listening to the familiar drunken shanties being sung, she crept across the gun deck and towards the ladder leading up. Already, she could smell the stench of rum and whiskey drifting down from the crew. The drunken singing grew louder and the lights from all the lanterns illuminated the way to the top deck.

They call me Hanging Johnny,

Away-i-oh;

They call me Hanging Johnny,

So hang, boys, hang!

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anonymous said:

Supernatural au, freezerburn ?

While mainstream media by and large got many facts about vampires wrong—vampires weren’t undead, could walk out in sunlight, the list went on—they did get one fundamental fact right: vampires needed blood to live. Vampires could eat food, and Yang even enjoyed the taste, but there was no nutritional value in it. It was a bit like snacking, in that respect.                                      

At the end of the day, what vampires needed to live was blood. It was no surprise, then, that among the vampire community a certain reverence had been built around the idea of, well. Feeding on your partner, or partners, whatever you preferred. It was an action that was considered trusting, intimate, and a way of deepening bonds between a vampire and their partner if the partner allowed it.

In situations where vampires dated other vampires, it was always allowed. It was part of the culture.

Weiss, however, was a werewolf. And for a long time, feeding on her had never come up as first they had dated, and then had decided to stay exclusive to each other instead of staying open like the majority did in the werewolf and vampire communities. Being exclusive was strange enough; Yang didn’t know how werewolves viewed feeding on your partner, and so for a long time hadn’t brought it up.

Of course, she had never been good at hiding anything even when she tried.

“Something’s been bothering you, Yang.”

The vampire blinked, glancing from the horror movie they were watching to look at her girlfriend. This one was a real disappointment; it was just bad. Not even entertainingly bad, just… bad. Yang was a bit disappointed, but sometimes that happened. And apparently now it gave Weiss a chance to speak on something she had noticed for awhile.

“… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yang said.

Smooth like silk, Xiao Long.

“You’re a horrible liar.” Weiss squeezed Yang’s hand. “You’ve been thinking about something. I see you looking at me sometimes.”

An easy smile. “I can’t just look at my girlfriend?”

A white brow arched. “You’ve been looking at my neck, specifically.”

Dammit.

Yang needed to learn to be less obvious, it seemed. She smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck, before she shifted and pulled Weiss into her lap, pressing a kiss to her neck. The movie was forgotten for now; it sucked anyway. The head vampire would much rather focus on her girlfriend.

“Do you… um.” Leap of faith, leap of faith. “Have you ever heard of partner feeding?”

Weiss frowned in thought, gently smoothing back golden strands of hair. “That’s a big thing with vampires, isn’t it? I’ve heard the term come up in conversation, but it’s never been defined for me.”

“It’s exactly what it says on the tin, babe,” Yang laughed. “It’s when a vampire feeds on their partner for blood instead of some random person or animal. It’s not something we do all the time, but it’s… you know. A good way to bond. And stuff.”

“And stuff,” the werewolf repeated, amused.

“And stuff,” Yang agreed. “So I guess, well, the reason you see me looking at your neck is because I want to feed on you. At least once.”

Weiss laughed, soft and warm. “And you didn’t ask… why?”

A shy smile. “I thought I was pushing it asking for us to be exclusive?”

“Yang.” It was an amused sigh, as Weiss leaned down to kiss her. “I trust you. If you want to feed on me, go ahead. I know you won’t drain me dry.”

“You’re sure?” Yang nuzzled her neck. “You really don’t have to let me do this if you don’t want me to. I completely understand—“

“Yang.”

It was still a laughing growl, so Yang took it as a good sign and as her girlfriend laughed, let her fangs lengthen out and sharpen. She bared her fangs and bit, and had the satisfying feeling of Weiss’s laugh abruptly morphing into a breathless gasp, her claws sprouting out to dig into Yang’s shoulders as she fed.

Oh. God.

Well. Weiss’s blood tasted heavenly.

This wasn’t fair at all.

Yang only took a few sips, enough to take the edge off of a mild hunger, before she pulled away with a small smile, licking at her lips and gently lapping at the marks that lingered on Weiss’s neck. They would heal in a day or two.

Weiss was nuzzled into her, clinging tightly, and Yang gently rubbed her back. “You okay?” she whispered.

“I’m great,” the werewolf breathed, giving her lover a squeeze. “You should definitely do that more often.”

Yang smiled into Weiss’s neck, bad horror movie completely forgotten.

“Don’t worry. I definitely will.”

Title: twice mistaken on repeat
Summary: she really is such an annoyance
Characters: Sasuke, Sakura

note: my baby is such a little shit

[3/4]

This is for the best, he says to himself as he closes his eyes and turns before her body even hits the ground, she would only get in the way.

He ignores Naruto’s shouts of outrage because the idiot doesn’t know anything. None of them do.

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365 Days of Mystrade: Day 274 - Guitar Lessons

ao3
ff.net

“Here, you need to put your fingers like this,” Greg said softly, leaning closer to Mycroft’s body.  He attempted to ignore the heat radiating off the other teen as his chest pressed against Mycroft’s back, and he wrapped his arms loosely around his slightly thinner body so he could settle his hands in place.  His fingers lined up with Mycroft’s longer ones, so it looked quite comical really, but he couldn’t help but be a little envious.  Longer fingers meant it was easier to reach all the chords and Greg wished he had that advantage. 

“It feels strange,” Mycroft muttered as he let his fingers be pressed against the strings.  Greg grinned. 

“You get used to it after a while,” he whispered, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “This… is a G chord.  One of your most common.” 

“Mmm, yes, I see you hold this one a lot,” Mycroft said after a few seconds of glancing at the way their fingers were positioned. 

“Yup,” Greg confirmed. “Now, just hold that for me.” 

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A Small Problem - Part One

Pairing: None

Rating: T

Warnings: Strong language, nudity

Part One word count: 818

A/N: Many thanks and much adulation to gel-du-cerveau, who created the characters of Edvard and Theodor.  She amazes me with her talent each and every day.

Hans’s brother Prince Edvard has a knack for magic, but he’s not so great at dealing with guilt – or with his hot-headed older half-brother, Prince Theodor. In fact, whenever either of them appears in his life, Ed’s first instinct is to run away,

But when one of his spells goes awry and Theo suffers the consequences, Edvard knows that he must face both his feelings of guilt and his fear of Theo’s temper in order to put things right.  (And if he can’t do it on his own, there’s a money-grubbing sorceress in the back alleys of the Southern Isles’ capital city who might be able to help – for the right price, of course.)

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