#He wonders why sometimes a man in a black long coat follows them (dizzy says the man is good and safe. Why does she know?)

[kelpiemomma]

Khan didn't know much.

He didn't know where he was or what he was. He didn't know why he felt so relieved to wake up every day, his mind blank and the sun warm. He didnt know why Dizzy's eyes were gray, or why she sometimes didn't respond to her name, or why she looked so sad at him sometimes...

He was just glad his sister was with him, honestly. As long as he had Dizzy, he'd be perfectly fine.

[siennahrobek]

Ahsoka couldn’t stop staring at him.

Vaguely, she knew some things about her lineage, although honestly, it always had felt like it was just her, Anakin and Obi-Wan. She knew a man named Qui-Gon Jinn had been Obi-Wan’s master, and that Anakin sometimes wouldn’t shut up about that guy. She knew that Count Dooku was Master Jinn’s, which was just so weird to think about, especially him being part of their lineage. Or supposed to be. It made some sense, on some level, she supposed, because Dooku had kept complimenting Master Obi-Wan, and she had even heard that the man tried to turn her grandmaster. It sounded ridiculous, Master Obi-Wan ever leaving the Order.

Master Obi-Wan didn’t talk about his own master that much. Apparently, he hadn’t even met Count Dooku until he had left the Jedi and the war was about to start. Anakin had only known Qui-Gon for something of a week and didn’t know him that well, despite the way he talked about him, one would have thought that he was not only Anakin’s hero but also knew him for a long time. She supposed it made sense that Qui-Gon would have had other padawans before her own grandmaster, he had achieved the rank of master and was around the age of sixty by the time he had died.

If Master Obi-Wan knew about Qui-Gon’s other padawans, he didn’t really say anything. Although then again, they had been in the middle of the war. There was not a lot of time for that sort of thing.

She wondered if Master Obi-Wan knew about Feemor.

Somehow, she kind of doubted it.

Ahsoka and Feemor had been sequestered in one of the rooms in the Healing Halls, as the glue on his cut was drying and she was trying to get her mind back in working order. She hadn’t answered him when he said he was Master Obi-Wan’s brother. She had just stared at him for a moment before completely changing the subject. He seemed to get a hint of some kind and didn’t pursue it. He told her that Rex was either prepping for or in the middle of a surgery, that it wouldn’t take very long as it was a rather straightforward and short surgery and explained a little more about the chips that had been in the clones’ heads. It made her sick. If Rex or any one of the 322nd had gotten those orders during flight…if Master Obi-Wan hadn’t warned her…she didn’t want to think what would have happened.

The fact that Commander Cody had attacked Master Obi-Wan seemed insane enough.

She wasn’t thinking of Anakin when she spoke again, and it had been nearly half an hour. There had to be something more to that. Perhaps he had a chip in his brain. Ahsoka couldn’t even imagine a thought on why Anakin would murder children without being forced.

“What do we do now?”

Feemor looked up at her, but he didn’t seem to have an answer. She figured he would suggest going back to the fight. It was a horrifying choice, she didn’t want to fight anyone, much less the 501st. They were her family too.

“We prepare,” a new voice replied, calm and stern.

Both Jedi glanced over. Rex was in his blacks, standing tall with a bandage slapped on the side of his head where the incision must have been. He looked scared and tired but determined.

“What do you mean?” Ahsoka asked.

“They have the near entirety of the 501st legion,” Rex pointed out, grimly. “Even with defensive positions and the defense of the Temple itself, the Jedi can’t hold out forever, especially with most of their warriors being out in the field with the rest of the troopers.”

“Evacuation,” Feemor pointed out, stroking his chin as he glanced at the floor in thought. Ahsoka stared, as it was rather reminiscent of Master Obi-Wan with the same action. “When Obi-Wan contacted Kamino before the battle started, he mentioned that we may have to flee. He also mentioned it when he talked to one of the troopers in the 212th, warning them about communications. I think he was certain we would have to. And I think he is right.”

Rex nodded, even though he had shot Master Feemor a look Ahsoka couldn’t identify. “Us three aren’t going to be a lot of help in the battle itself. We have to trust the leaders who are doing it for the moment to keep the others at bay. But we can get a head start on preparations for evacuation.”

“Obi-Wan’s 212th knows,” Feemor added, gesturing above them. “They are blocking all communications so they can’t get Orders. From what we can gather, the chips are activated when the Sith Lord says certain things and then can be activated if a clone trooper is near an activated chip of another. So right now, the 212th is relatively safe. The only problem is, I don’t think we will be able to contact them. If they followed Obi-Wan’s instructions, there is only one clone with communications, and I don’t think he will accept anything from anyone but Obi-Wan.”

“Let me guess,” Rex said in some sort of tone that was a mix of amused and flat. “Waxer or Boil.”

Feemor blinked. “Uh…Boil I think.”

“Knew it,” Rex muttered with a faint smirk. Given an odd glimpse, Rex just shrugged. “Pretty sure those two are General Kenobi’s favorites.”

“We should contact Jesse and the 332nd,” Ahsoka added, quickly. She already got up from her cot, a little dizzy, but continued to move. “We may still be able to save them.”

Feemor shrugged. “Alright. I’m sure Master Healer Che would be okay with us using her office for a holocall,” he continued, following Ahsoka into standing. Without another word, he turned towards the door. It took a few minutes to find her office – Ahsoka didn’t really know off the top of her head, but they did.

Ahsoka clicked in the number for her ship, Jesse and Echo’s forms popping up in the signature holo blue. “Commander!” Jesse greeted. “You just took a shuttle and hightailed it out of here. What happened? Were you going after Maul? You should have brought back up!”

Feemor glanced at the young togruta. “No. I didn’t go after Maul. Jesse, have you gotten any communications from anyone planet side?”

“No, sir. We blocked communications like you ordered. We weren’t entirely sure what you wanted after you left,” he admitted. “What is happening?”

“No, you did good,” Ahsoka assured. “There is a lot going on down here. I don’t have a lot of information but there are chips in every trooper’s head’s and the Sith has been using that to brainwash them into killing Jedi.”

Both Jesse and Echo’s face fell as they stared at her wide-eyed. “Tup.”

“Yes.”

“Fives was right then,” Jesse whispered.

“It appears so,” Ahsoka replied mournfully. “It seems the orders are transferred verbally from a single source and then passed on as one chip is activated, they all do according to proximity.”

“We need to get them out,” Echo hissed.

“I agree but things are…bad down here.”

“Bad?” Echo questioned, warily.

Ahsoka hesitated but Feemor answered for her. “The 501st legion is laying siege on the Temple, killing Jedi.”

No one said a word for a long minute.

Feemor continued, speaking in the silence. Ahsoka didn’t know what to say, how could she? “We are going to be evacuating once we can press the troopers back and have an opening. You need to be ready to flee when it happens. I’m very sorry but if you stay, the Sith will enslave you.”

“I understand, sir,” Echo’s voice was quiet and soft. “We will be ready for your communications and ready to come down and help if necessary.”

“Thank you, troopers,” Feemor replied. “We wanted to warn you about this before anything happens. A lot of soldiers are activated but please, don’t give away your location. We can’t help your brothers without a plan, and we don’t have enough people to do anything yet.”

“Understood, sir,” Jesse muttered.

“We have to go,” Ahsoka finally chimed in. “I will contact you soon.”

The holo blinked out. “I know that was hard, Ahsoka,” Feemor said quietly. “And we will save as many as we can.”

“We have supposedly been trying to do that for the entire war,” Ahsoka grumbled bitterly.

Rex came to the rescue. “We should move.”

“We should rescue Anakin.”

Feemor’s head snapped so fast, both nearly thought he would break it. “Save him?” he asked, with emphasis. Rex tried to get them through the door and out of the office. He mostly succeeded. “What does he need saving from, Ahsoka?”

“I think he might be chipped,” she replied, a bit defensively.

“You think he might be chipped.” Feemor echoed, flatly.

It appeared Rex didn’t really know where he was leading the two Jedi, but all he knew is that he needed to get them moving.

“Yes,” Ahsoka pouted, her lip curling. “He was my master. I know him. He would never do something like this.”

“He is leading a massacre on the Temple, against the Jedi, against his family,” Feemor added. Rex shoots an uneasy glance at the both of them, slowly working through the halls.

“He wouldn’t… there must be some explanation.”

“What possible explanation could there be for this?”

“You don’t know him!” Ahsoka snapped.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Feemor agreed, fighting to remain calm. Tensions too high would do them no good, even she knew that. But she was frustrated, and this was much all too difficult for her to understand or wrap her head around. It didn’t make any sense. “But I don’t need to right now. I saw him lead the siege on the Temple. I saw him cut down Jedi like they were nothing. You and I both saw him murder a defenseless youngling and young padawan. They were children,” he pointed out, bluntly. There was no sugar-coating the truth. Rex’s jaw clenched as he looked behind at the two of them again. Feemor shook his head and his voice softened. “This is what it means to be a Jedi, putting others’ lives above that of one, above oneself. You didn’t see the look on Obi-Wan’s face when he had to fight Anakin.”

Ahsoka stared at him, her feet moving without her even noticing.

“He knew,” Feemor shook his head softly. “And it was tearing him up inside. You don’t have to trust me or take my word for it, but you should trust Obi-Wan. He does know Anakin. Better than you.”

She hated that he was right; that if anyone knew Anakin, it would be Master Obi-Wan. He raised Anakin since he was young. But that didn’t mean she wanted to believe it. There was nothing to be said for a few moments before Rex stopped in his tracks and the two jedi nearly ran into him. “What is it?” Ahsoka asked.

“Do you hear that?”

Once they settled into silence, they could hear faint banging against a door. The three of them ran down the halls towards the sound. It became apparent once they got closer, the door moving as someone was throwing themselves at it, furniture and debris blockading it. They all looked at each other curiously. As Feemor and Ahsoka used the Force to move the debris, Rex readied his blasters. The two Jedi swung to the sides of the hall, just out of sight. As the door unlocked and opened, several troopers fell out.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” one of them mumbled.

Rex narrowed his eyes, slamming the butt of one of his guns hard against him, knocking him out. Feemor and Ahsoka ran into the brief fray as well, Ahsoka tangling around one of them to knock him unconscious while Feemor sent a wave of a force suggestion to the others.

“These are 501st,” Rex realized.

“The Jedi have been trying to trap them instead of kill,” Feemor answered. “We should get them to the Healing Halls to get their chips removed. Perhaps they can give us some information on how to stop the attack.”

Ahsoka didn’t look at him for a moment but quickly hooked her arms underneath a body to move it. Rex and Feemor had an easier time but eventually, they had gotten the troopers to the medical rooms. Ahsoka didn’t leave their side as Feemor found a med droid free and practically pushed the droid over.

The surgeries were quick and efficient; it didn’t take much.

When the first soldier came to not a couple of minutes later, he had immediately burst into tears which quickly turned into full out sobbing. Rex looked a little shocked but knelt at the soldier’s side. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay now,” he tried to comfort him. It was to little prevail, as the trooper just kept crying into his hands, his shoulders shuddering and his chest heaving heavily. Feemor reached out towards his presence and projected better feelings. Calm, safe, peace. It only helped a little, as it was enough that the trooper could get himself to speak.

“We thought we could trust him,” the trooper let out, gritting his teeth. He was quaking near violently, trying to gasp in breath. “We thought he cared. About us…but…he…he doesn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What is your name, trooper,” Feemor approached and asked, quietly.

“CT-.”

“Your name,” Feemor urged, softly.

“Impulse, sir,” the soldier responded, trying to keep down his cries. The tears still came but the sobs had died down.

“Hello Impulse, my name is Feemor. Can you tell us what you mean?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, although the jedi was fairly certain he knew who the trooper was speaking of.

“General Skywalker,” Impulse winced. “He…he led us on the Temple. We just killed everyone. No one is safe.”

Ahsoka’s face twisted. “He may be chipped or something, like you. We don’t know what is going on,” she tried, quiet and gentle.

The trooper stared at her, wide-eyed. “He was so angry when the Jedi put down ray shields at the doors and he couldn’t get in quietly. And when the jedi there spoke, he got frustrated and lashed out. He took my brother’s head clean off. He was just…just standing there! No one could do anything, no one even could even flinch! His head and helmet rolled to my feet. He was my batchmate, my best friend!”

Rex put a hand on the trooper’s shoulder and muttered quiet apologies but everyone could see his body became as stiff as a board. Ahsoka was nearly in tears as she stepped back, wide-eyed and horrified and Feemor stood up and ushered her away and out of sight of the two soldiers. She shook her head again and again. “It’s not possible.” She sounded more like she was talking to herself than anyone else, trying to convince herself that it couldn't be true. How could it be true?

“We don’t know what is going on yet,” Feemor assured but even he knew he didn’t sound very convinced. Ahsoka was fighting everything. From what she had learned, the chipped clones had been trapped inside themselves, unable to do much of anything outside of orders. Unable to express or speak when wanting too. Anakin seemed to be the opposite. But how could what she knew of Anakin be so wrong? “Is there anyone you can speak to for any insights or answers?”

“Padme,” Ahsoka replied, in realization.

Feemor’s eyes narrowed, confused. “Who?”

“Senator Padme Amidala,” Ahsoka repeated. “She’s a friend to the jedi and Anakin’s friend.”

She said friend like it meant something different. Ahsoka was pretty sure he understood what she meant. Ahsoka bounced back into Che’s office, the older master on her heels. She clicked in another number, but it took a few moments for the youthful face of the Senator to pop up. Her expression washed away into something of relief and joy when she saw Ahsoka. “Ahsoka!” she greeted.

“Padme,” Ahsoka smiled. “I have a lot to ask you and I’m not sure if I have much time.”

Her face turned to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on Coruscant-.”

“You are? Have you seen Anakin?”

Ahsoka frowned. “You don’t know where he is?”

“He has been acting stressed for the past couple of days. Obi-Wan has seen it too, he came to visit me about him the morning before he left to Utapau. Anakin has been under a lot of stress and having nightmares…I don’t know…”

“Nightmares about what?”

Padme hesitated.

“You can tell me.”

“I’m pregnant, Ahsoka.”

Although Feemor was off screen, he and Ahsoka exchanged looks. He wasn’t nearly surprised as Ahsoka thought he should have been. Did he know?

“He’s been having nightmares about me dying in childbirth,” Padme confessed. “He said he had found a way to save me, even though I told him I wasn’t going to die in childbirth. The likelihood of that, here, is…well, it doesn’t happen. Ahsoka, are you alright? It looks like there is smoke and fire coming from the Temple.”

Ahsoka glanced down. How to explain this. “The clones are chipped and brainwashed. They are leading an attack on the Temple.”

Padme gasped. “How? Why?!”

“The Sith have control over them,” Ahsoka’s eyes darkened at the thought. “But…that’s not all. Padme, Anakin is leading them. He is killing Jedi, masters, Guards…younglings.”

Padme’s eyes widened. “That is impossible, he would never do such a thing. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t!”

Ahsoka couldn’t meet her eyes, but Feemor caught hers, a silent question passing between them. She steadied herself and looked back up. “I’ve seen him killing younglings,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I…he’s turned to the Dark Side.”

The Senator just stared. And stared some more.

“My apologies, Ahsoka, someone is at the door. I must take my leave,” her voice was just a bit wavering, but she somehow kept a straight face. Ahsoka opened her mouth to try and stop her, but Padme interrupted her with little emotion aside from a strained voice. “I will call you later.”

Without anything else, she turned off the call.

Ahsoka swallowed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Living up to the Name pt 2

Jack calmly walked down the path that leads to Ramshackle. He just finished his jog with Vil and now on his way to pick up Valerie.

The wolf bit his lower lip at the thought of Valerie in Savanaclaw. Yes, Valerie can take care of herself, and Ruggie and Leona were protecting her too, but the tiny brunette was too lax.

Running up to a beastman whenever she sees one, asking to pet their ears or touch their tails if allowed. Which is usually yes, complimenting how soft their ears are and how fluffy or smooth their tails feel in her hands.

Unaware how their eyes flash when she touches them or how they frit their teeth when she coos how much they're enjoying it. Jack, whenever he can, would always stand near her whenever she goes up to a beastman and ask to pet their ears.

He would glare at them to make sure they behave and not say anything vulgar in front of her. But sometimes, he's almost convinced Valerie wants to be prey.

The sound of Ramshackle's gates snapped him out of his thoughts; stepping out was a familiar man wearing a fur coat. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his brows were knitted to a frown. He carried a small bag in his left hand. The sound of footsteps caused him to turn his head.

"Ah, one of Valerie's loyal puppies." The potions professor remarked.

Ignoring the remark (and the blush on his cheeks), he questioned him.

"Good morning, professor. Why are you here at Valerie's dorm?" The man sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The pup and her monster were at the lab yesterday to re-create their potion. Unfortunately, some students were playing magift and threw their disc too far and flew inside the lab. Amid the chaos, one of them dropped something in the cauldron."

Jack's ears flattened against his head, biting his lower lip. He asked one more question.

"Is she alright?"

"See for yourself." That was all the man said before leaving.

The wold made a dash to Ramshackle, worry flooding his system. Once he reached the porch, he grabbed the door handle and ripped it open. As soon as he did, a sweet and sultry scent attacked his nostrils; it had him reeling back and buckled his knees. His tail wagged wildly behind him and started to drool a little; Jack inhaled deeply, intoxicated by it.

It was almost familiar.

His body jolted when he caught Valerie's scent in the mix. Remembering why he was here in the first place, he took long-legged strides following the smell. The more he followed, the stronger the scent became to the point he had to cover his nose to not get overwhelmed. It lead him to the lounge; he peeked inside but wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Valerie sat on the couch wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. Grim was on top of her head, which had a long pair of rabbit ears. There was the same color as her hair, and the inside was a dark shade of pink.

Valerie was caressing her ears, staring at herself wide-eyed in a mirror. While familiar was feeling the softness of her ears.

"Cute." Jack whispered.

Her ears twitched.

"Jack?" The opal-eyed girl and her monsters turned and found him peeping from where he stood. The wolf flinched at being caught but sheepishly entered the lounge.

"Hey, Val." He greeted, staring at her ears.

"Hey." She replied, noticing his stare. She chuckled.

"Like my new look?" She cutely posed, making his blush deepened.

"Y-You could say that." He rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes.

"I met professor Crewel on my way here; he explained how you got them." Valerie gave him a shaky grin. As she stood up, Grim fell off her head and grabbed the closest thing he could reach. Which was her robe and it fell down with him.

She laughed at him and picked him up. However, she had forgotten she was not alone.

Jack, who attempted to help. But got caught off guard when Valerie removed her robe to catch her monsters. No matter how many sleep-overs they had, he still blushes at her sleepwear. Seriously, this is a boy school, and she should be more careful; maybe he should ask Vil to give Valerie pajama pants.

To make matters worse, the scent she gave off amplified the moment she took off her robe. Jack was trying hard not to drool; he brought his arm up to his face to block out her smell and his vision from her. But it didn't do much.

Somebody...Please, save him.

"Oi, henchwoman. Put your robe back on; your scent is killing Jack." Grim remarked, seeing how much Jack was suffering. Valerie glanced behind her; she quickly dropped her monster on the couch and put her robe back on.

Jack took an experimental sniff and lowered his arm. The opal-eyed girl gave him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Jack."

"It's alright."

"D-Did I smell that b-bad to you?" She stammered. She had her head down, a blush covering her face that reached the tip of her ears.

"NO!" The Ramshackle residents jumped at the wolf's heated denial. Jack, realizing what happened, coughed.

"No." He answered more calmly. "You don't. It's just overwhelming, that's all. You actually smell incredible."

Valerie smiled at him. "Thank you." Grim snickered.

"Hey, youngster. We managed to re-design your outfits for today- Oh, hey Jack." Wilbur greeted, having to phase through the room.

"Thanks, Wilbur." She turned to face Jack.

"So care to join me for breakfast before we head to Savanaclaw?

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

Leona yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth as he stretched his arms behind him.

The lion beastman sat on the bench, gazing at his dorm mates as they stretched. Today's training focused on speed and stamina lately; his dorm mates began to fall short on those. Truthfully they still have no idea on the training method to use. But thankfully, Leona knows the perfect herbivore to help.

"Yo, Leona. Is Jack back with Valerie?" A familiar (and semi-annoying voice) asked. Walking up to him was Ruggie, adorned in his dorm uniform like everyone else.

"Do I look like his babysitter to you?" The brunette growled.

"The hyena held his hands up in defense. "Alright, alright. Just asking."

The lion huffed and went back to observing his dorm mates. He inhaled deeply; before bursting into a coughing fit. A sweet and tantalizing scent filled his nostrils as soon as he inhaled, and it looks like he wasn't the only one. All the beastmen stopped what they're doing and stood there. Some in shock and others were trying to locate where it was coming from.

"Ughh, Leona...'Ruggie groaned. He was clutching his head in one hand and covering his nose with the other.

"This scent smells...Familiar." He muttered. The prince grunted in agreement and craned his neck to the side.

"Hi, Leona!"

And he found the source standing next to Jack and a pair of rabbit ears on her head.

Wait

What?

Leona blinked at the sight before him, wondering if he was taking a nap right now. He rubbed his eyes; before looking at Valerie.

She's still there with those ears.

What the fuck?

"What the fuck?" Ruggie voiced exact thoughts when he caught a glimpse of Valerie.

Valerie wore a standard savanaclaw uniform; with a few modifications. Unlike the rest of the uniforms, she had a low circular neckline, denim mid-thigh shorts, and black combat boots.

"Well, this is interesting." Leona chuckled.

He casually made his way to the now rabbit beastwoman and stopped in front of her. He lifted a finger and gently caressed one of her ears.

"Who would have thought calling you herbivore enough times would actually turn you into one?" He surmised, amused at the development.

Ruggie questioned on how did Valerie turn into a beastwoman. The girl glanced down at the monster in her arms, who grumbled under his breath. She gave them a brief explanation of what happened and adding that Crewel might be done with it by the end of the day.

When she finished, the two upperclassmen gave her a dead stare. Ruggie opened his mouth.

"Should have left the cat to suffer."

"Hey!" Grim tried to breathe flames in his direction, but hyena side-stepped out of the way.

"I'm alright. Seriously I feel...Weirdly energized." As if to emphasize her point, she bounced up and down; like a rabbit.

Grim, who was starting to feel dizzy with all the motion. Jumped out of arms and landed on the ground.

Without warning, she sprinted towards the field, maneuvering through beastmen. She leaped up and landed a kick to a nearby training dummy, destroying it instantly. The action caused a bubble of excitement to rise within her. She turned her attention to the rest of the training dummies and began her assault.

Left to right, she unleashed a barrage of kicks to every dummy within her line of sight, destroying them in a matter of seconds. A small crowd began to form; the boys stared at her in awe, admiration, and perhaps a tinge of fear.

Leona and Ruggie felt fear creeping up within them. They were having war flashbacks of the women back in the Afterglow Savannah. Ruggie briefly wonders if she might get along with them.

"'Oi, Ruggie." Leona spoke up. The hyena glanced beside him, noting the way his dorm leader kept his eyes on Valerie's movements.

"Yeah?"

"I figured what our training method is." He announced, walking over to the tiny girl.

Valerie delivered a roundhouse kick to the final dummy; it broke into dozens of pieces. The crowd around her cheered; none of them has ever seen anyone knock over, let alone destroy, every single dummy in a short amount of time.

"You got one helluva kick, Herbivore." A familiar lazy tone called out. At the corner of her eyes, she spotted Leona walking up to her.

He bent down to her eye level, smirking at her.

“How do you feel about a hunt?”

[wormtoxin]

Carrion Flowers

Prologue

(yes, under the cut is some long-form original fiction, and yes, i am embarrassed about it, but it’s fine)

When he hears it was through the eye, he remembers that day on the lake.

It’d been cloudy for a week, but the skinny black kid in the dark suit wouldn’t have known the difference. The curtains had been replaced, and the windows and mirrors shrouded in heavy, black cloth. Pictures of his father in his cap and uniform were everywhere, each adorned with a black satin ribbon.

He hated it. The air was getting stale and hot in his lungs, and the black wool suit was suffocating. He didn’t understand back then why he and his mother had to set out white lillies and wear these awful clothes and shut out all the light. The two of them weren’t dead yet.

His mother wasn’t really meant to travel yet- especially not to a friend’s- but she hadn’t been meant to go the cemetery either. Regardless, she had followed the hearse with the men through all of Paris weeks ago, and she would help her son load his black wools and silk into a suitcase now. They both caught an early train out of the city, then a cab, and he was thankful for the sharp, cold smell of green earth and ozone.

When he arrived at the cabin, a woman he didn’t recognize threw open the door. She wore another black dress, like his mother’s, and they kissed each other on each cheek.

“Madame Stein, my love, je suis désolé,” she said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Since the funeral, he had seen many of his mother’s friends, but each carried the cold pity of a mourner, veiled beneath formality. With this woman, whoever she was, there was an instant connection. He saw his mother light up with warmth and comfort, and felt himself warmed along with her. His mother pulled him from behind her skirts and introduced him.

“Madame Hyde, c’est Jacque”, she said, and the other woman bent down to hold him tight.

“You’re so grown,” she said, “I haven’t seen you since you were in your cradle”. She stood, and a young boy, about Jacque’s age, emerged from the cabin behind her. He held a hand out for Jacque.

“Je m’appelle Cyrus!” He grinned broadly.

Jacque took his hand and shook it, “One of your teeth is gone”. Cyrus took his other hand out of his pocket, and placed the milk-white baby tooth in Jacque’s open palm.

“I was gonna leave it for the tooth fairy, but I want you to have it!” Mme. Hyde rolled her eyes, and Jacque’s mother stifled a laugh.

“Thanks,” Jacque said, and pocketed it.

“Shall we?” Mme. Hyde said, and stepped into the cabin. The hearth was roaring, and something must’ve been cooking in the heavy iron pot, because the smell was incredible. Jacque and his mother unpacked, and the first night, the two women made apple pie together. Jacque’s mother was rolling the pastry and the butter together when she started to cry, and she cried for a long time while Mme. Hyde held onto her. The butter melted out of the pastry, but they all ate the sweet, buttered, cinnamon apples out of a great wooden bowl, and his mother slept through the whole night for the first time since they’d gotten the news.

It was still raining the next day, so the two Madames sat by the hearth and stitched old clothes while the boys ate porridge.

“Mom, I want to show Jack the lake”.

“Alright dear, but take an umbrella, and lend Jacque your boots. It’s still muddy out”.

Cyrus took Jacque by the arm, and they set out together in the rain. Jacque held the umbrella while Cyrus talked excitedly about the games he’d play at the schoolyard, or facts he’d read about in books.

“Did you know? Sometimes a dragon isn’t actually a dragon, so instead they’re called wyverns,” Cyrus said “Weye-verrns” with the distinctive lull of an English accent, and Jacque wondered how long it’d been since he came to Paris. “They’re only called Dragons if they can breathe fire, and then they’re called ‘True’ Dragons, which I guess makes all the other ones ‘Liar-liar-pants-on-fire’ Dragons”.

“It’s not fire,” Jacque said beneath the hood of his black cloak, “Papa said it’s called ‘radiation’. They call it Wildfire because it spreads”.

Cyrus was dumbstruck. “Wow!! Really?? You must be so smart, Jacque!” Jacque had been praised a lot in the last few weeks by the mourners, but always because he was So brave or So strong or The man of the house now in a way that felt like You poor thing. It was nice to hear smart for a change.

When they got to the lake, it looked so high from the rain that Jacque thought it might spill over. Thick trees blanketed the banks from the rain, allowing only a few heavy drops to spill over onto the moss or the water, each creating a soft plonk.

“It’s pretty,” Jacque said.

“Have you ever skipped a stone before?”

“Um, no”.

Cyrus sorted through the mud for a while before finding a smooth flat stone, and tossed it into the clear water. Instead of sinking, it touched the water and flew, hopping three or four times before finally dropping down into the lake.

“Amazing!” Jacque picked one up and threw it, but it only made a splash. Without a word, Cyrus found another skipping stone, and put it in Jacque’s hand. He held Jacque’s wrist and moved the rock between his forefinger and thumb. Even at his school, Jacque didn’t often touch hands with the other students. They’d throw balls or play hopskotch. And of course, Jacque’s mother held his hand often, to cross the railway or walk to the store, or just to comfort him. But Cyrus’ hands were small like his own, warm, and rough from years of scrabbling up trees or over brambles.

“You have to throw it like this”.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Jacque asked, “You just feel bad for me like everyone else”. Jacque pulled his hand away, and threw another rock straight beneath the surface.

Cyrus picked up another for him. “Am not,” he said, “Momma said you need some cheering up, s’all”.

“You do feel bad for me!” Jacque threw it, and again it failed to soar like the first one did.

“Do not!” Again, Cyrus put a flat, muddy rock in Jacque’s light palm. “And I know you’re sad. What’s wrong with feeling bad for you, anyways?”.

“Am not!” Jacque threw it, hard, but it missed the water altogether, clacking against a big rock on the shore, and ricocheting out towards the boys.

Jacque found himself crying. Hot, wet tears spilled down his cheeks, and he found his breath coming out in little hitching gasps before he knew why. Jacque wasn’t sad. He missed his dad, of course, and he wished his mom wouldn’t cry. But he wasn’t sad. So what was he feeling now?

Cyrus sat next to him in the mud. When Jacque looked up, he realized the rock had hit Cyrus, cutting his eyebrow. Blood streaked down his cheekbone, and his eye had already purpled and swollen shut. Even still, he smiled. Cyrus’ grin was so wide, it showed his gap tooth and curled his other eye up in delight.

“What?” Jacque muttered.

“When my papa died,” Cyrus said, “everybody told me I had to be big and strong for my momma. It took me a long time to cry. I thought I was dead too, because he was. But I felt better when I cried.”

Jacque laughed a little, sniffling. “You wanted to make me cry?”

Cyrus took the sleeve of his coat, and wiped one of Jacque’s tears. As they sat together, and Jacque finished crying, a cloud finally broke. Sunlight reflected from the shimmering surface of the lake. Cyrus’ hair and eye were dark, but in the light, Jacque saw their fiery warmth, each eyelash shining gold. Jacque felt the sun move over him, heating him to the bones.

That was when he first fell in love, Jacque thinks.

Years later, when a dragon had flown too close to Paris, the military police shot it down over the lake. The water was ruined, along with the rest of the countryside, and a few years after that, Cyrus joined the Dragon Corps. Jacque went to University, but they still saw each other often. Cyrus would sneak out of the barracks to visit, and to tell Jacque stories about the latest thing he had seen, or the place he had just been. Cyrus would tell him about being stationed in Italy. Verona had huge open-air cemeteries, he would say. You’re studying cemeteries, aren’t you, Cyrus would ask. I’ll take you someday, he’d promise. Now, this morning, his picture was in the newspaper.

It was through the eye, the newspaper said. That same eye Jacque had hit with his skipping stone, and that bore a mark on its brow from that day at the lake. That eye that shone gold in the sunlight, and that peeked out at Jacque, only Jacque, with a wry delight from beneath the military cap, making his chest ache.

It went through that eye, and lodged itself somewhere in the back of his skull. Jacque keeps rereading it, looking back at that picture. He must be reading it wrong. He feels dizzy, keeps expecting the words to change as they spin, but each time they stubbornly refuse. Pronounced dead at 4:32 this morning. Jacque doesn’t know what to do. Then, all at once, he does.

[tenderlyrenjun]

The Rich Truth

part twelve | part thirteen | au m.list

7,0k words

You peer down at your small cross-body bag, sliding Renjun’s phone out of purse for the last time. The final message from your phone makes you smile when he tells you to look for him, that he is just around the corner. All your thoughts are consumed by thoughts of a handsome young man as you pull his phone over the exposed portion of your chest, cherishing it like a high school sophomore who got a Valentine’s Day gram from a secret admirer, like a Victorian women who just awed over the ending of Pride and Prejudice for the first time. The phone adds another layer of cold that makes you shiver, so you tighten your thighs together, rubbing them together for friction, for warmth, while you stick your neck out, looking for one Huang Renjun.

An unfamiliar Tesla pulls into the parking lot, stopping in front of a temporary 1-hour coin meter. Renjun steps out the backseat, broadening his shoulders in his stretch then buttoning his dark blue sports coat over that black shirt he has to know you ogled during all those nightly FaceTime chats. You watch him effortlessly spin on his heels ambling back to the shotgun mirror. He bends down to comb through the tips of his black hair, and you wish you could see his expression, see if he is as nervous as you are. Although ... you think that it would be absurd for him to be nervous - he is always so suave when you talk, flirting with you coolly.

Renjun turns around and his artistic eyes immediately find you, giving him the green light to wave at you. His smile falters a bit when you freeze a little bit, almost returning your nerves, not catching the way your eyes light up, mistaking that little glint in your eye for a reflection of the golden hour just before sunset, but that beam comes back to his face when you motion at him, when you finally see him - and he means really see him, in real life, off your phone away from those filtered photos he sends to make himself appear more attractive, though you think he always looks good and he thinks the same about you, especially at this moment.

When he finally joins you on the curb, you bow awkwardly, unsure how to settle the nerves in your stomach, unsure how to act in front of him now that he stands in front of you at last. He laughs at you deeply through his throat, his smile giving away those dimples you cannot see just yet, but he bends down to meet you once again, dipping slightly lower to peer into your eyes. Your eyes follow his out-reached hand creeping onto your face and bringing you into his body. You stumble forward a little bit as he draws you up to meet him softly muttering something about wanting to finally see your face in person. His gaze temporarily leaves yours, glancing at your lips then back to your eyes like he is asking for your permission or telling you about his plans.

His embrace feels sudden to you, but he actually moves in slow-motion, falling onto your lips millimeter by millimeter. He brushes his thumb onto your cheek until his fingerprint paints his homely touch onto your skin, not stopping until your outline is coated by his touch, memorized by his digit. His eyes flicker open for a second, maybe a little longer than half a second, and he catches sight of your eyelashes fluttering on your cheeks. His eyes shut again, even slower, as his mouth opens, drawing on your bottom lip, buried in your mouth, changing the angle of his embrace. The kiss leaves you even more breathless, but his soft exhales onto your cheek warm you temporarily in the brisk autumn weather.

Eventually he pulls away. And you think he does so at the moment right before you completely fall in love with him, like he wants to leave you on your toes. You thought the kiss was abrupt, but now you just want him closer, want his face to never leave yours, want him to make you fall so deeply in love. Your heels find the ground again and you peer up at him, stopping at his lips; the tips of his fingers still barely pull you into his embrace as your gaze asks him to kiss you again while your heart beats in tandem with his.

Despite having pulled away first, as fast as he leaned in, Renjun stays close to you. His eyes try to find your gaze but you are still focused on his lips, not catching the way he is bending down to kiss you again. He steals one more quick kiss, placing your hands around his neck while his breath hitches in his throat, a loss at words for once in your presence.

You pout when he draws back again, eyes trailing from his lips to pupils. He cannot be leaving you this breathless, he cannot. Well, maybe he can, and he is, but god, can he please just kiss you again? You had to suffer during all those nightly FaceTime chats, watching his very kissable lips talk your ears off, pucker at you like duck or fish lips, get too close to the camera sometimes. And now, now he is finally right in front of you like a romantic comedy lead, kissing you exactly like one, kissing you better than one, except he stopped. Why did he stop?

“I told you not to be surprised when I kissed you,” he mumbles quick and softly, the tone sparkling like the smitten twinkle in your eye. His confidence is still present in front of you, just maybe diminished a little bit at finally seeing you, not wanting to scare you off.

But your level of coolheadedness, or, really, lack thereof, matches his.

Your tongue twists in your mouth behind your teeth, lips parted and waiting for, no anticipating another kiss. Your body feels warm in the cool weather, and you cannot tell if it is from the way his stare makes your face heat up or his close proximity that traps you between his sports coat. Maybe it is the sports coat, you think, the same one that captures his perfume and makes you kind of lovestruck dizzy. And the only Tylenol is another kiss.

“But you still surprise me,” you whisper back, equally softly. Your heels come off the ground, all the weight in your body shifting forward onto your toes, into his chest. Your foot kicks up like a pop, like his fingers ghosting behind you sent you falling for him again. He wants to kiss you again, you can tell; he is just waiting for you to make the move this time, wondering if you want him as badly as he wants you. So you kiss him again, tugging him back down by his tie until your sudden embrace leaves him breathless, leaves his lips covered with your 24-hour lasting lipstick.

“Should we, um,” he exhales over your lips, his breath visible in the air, “Should we go inside?” 

You slide your arms under his sports coat. Your cold fingers trail up the black shirt, causing him to shiver in your arms, his waist trying to meet yours. His arms circle around your neck, resting on your shoulders while your head tilts up to look at him through your eye lashes- and he loves the sight, his head rushing through so many thoughts. 

“Yeah,” you answer him, stepping back, almost dragging a stumbling Renjun with you. “Come on, let’s head in before we miss those reservations.”

Renjun kisses your temple, his leg standing between yours to balance himself, then he de-tangles from your limbs quickly, though he never lets you go - he only reverses the roles, slipping his waist from your grip, sliding his hand in its place, preferring to hold your hand. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says cryptically and laughs at your confused face before tugging you to the door you need to unlock with that key reserved only to let interns into the museum after hours.

You bend down to the bottom lock, thrusting in the key and turning the door knob. You glance back at Renjun, the door now unlocked, with a satisfied smile, but when you catch him staring at your bum, your lips curl into a smirk and you cough to get his attention. His neck pops up to meet your face, a slight blush creeping with his hand going to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. He tries to form more words, stuttering minuscule excuses, then his hands come to touch his sideburns and brush his hair behind his ear. You reach out, laughing, and grab his hands, tugging him into the building.

“Wow,” Renjun speaks slowly, his lips ending in an awestruck pout. His eyes lead his head while you lead his body through the rooms. All the pieces kept stealing his attention and you nearly fall in love with the way he shares your interest in art, then a thought echoes in your brain: an artist and his analyst; the poetry in those words alone nearly makes you swoon.

“Hurry up, slow poke,” you joke, tugging him a bit harder but his longer legs easily meet yours and soon he is dragging a giggling you through the corridors while you give him quick directions.

He pulls you around his exhibit, almost missing it, but you anchor yourself into the ground, making him stop. You do not think he is so lanky but the way he awkwardly flails, still connected to you by your hands, has you laughing otherwise. And he wants to keep hearing that sound for as long as possible. 

“Is this yours?” he asks, taking a step closer to your body.

You nod twice, slowly, biting your bottom lip between that forming timid smile on your face. You dart your eyes to the side, staring down the dimly lit exhibit room just before the intern offices. 

“Do you,” you swallow a nervous lump, “Do you want to head in?”

Renjun watches you, I mean, how could he not? You are absolutely beautiful and he cannot miss the way your smile grows a bit more at seeing the collection you are so passionate about, so obviously proud of. And of course, he returns your beam when your gaze returns to him asking him to dive into your world for a little bit before you cross the Han River into his. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss onto your lips, his breath hitching in his throat so his lips urge against yours briefly. He pulls away again, then grazes your hair behind your ear so he can whisper about how much he loves the fond, dazed look on your face so, yes, with his entire heart, does he want to see what you have been working on.

“So I’m analyzing seven pieces in this exhibit and organizing another wall of paintings,” you brief him, vocals drippin’ with a honey voice that nearly gives him a toothache from all the sugary sweetness. “But I think, I’ll just show you one or two for now.”

“You’re going to make me comeback here?” he asks teasingly. You look away, mortified, and nod but he tilts your face up to his with a comforting smile and light-heart chuckle. “Don’t worry; I’d comeback here. For you.”

It sounds silly, but he keeps making you smile, like an infatuated smile, like a ‘just the thought of you makes me smile’ smile, like a ‘doodle your name in my notebook thirty times over’ smile. And you don’t know how he manages to elicit that kind of behavior from you, but he does, and he keeps doing it while you two tread through the exhibit.

You explain to him the complexities of Neolithic Chinese art, going back and forth between cultures in different provinces, in the same era though, and how those cultures both used jade but for different reasons. After he lets you talk uninterrupted for maybe 3 minutes, you stop to wring your hands back and forth, giving him the opportunity to say something, to change the topic if he wants.

“Why’d you stop?” he inquires almost immediately upon hearing your voice fade into silence. Renjun has told you, been telling you over all those nightly FaceTime chats that he loves to hear your voice and he loves what you have to say.

“I just wanted to give you the opportunity to say something, to hear what your thoughts about everything; I don’t want to overpower the conversation because I know that I can go on and on forever,” you laugh nervously and hollow at the end, trying to make the situation more cheery than your statements resonate.

“You didn’t even talk that much.” He shakes his head but complies with your request, moving to hold your hand in an effort to relieve both his and your nerves. He had not realized how insecure you were about certain things, always appearing so confident over the phone or FaceTime, but he guess that it is easier to be suave when you can maintain an image. “I really like the concept of jade to be honest, and I didn’t know that there were different uses for it outside the Confucian values or displays. I really just want to hear what you have to teach me, more than anything really. I usually study figure drawing and more modern art to draw things from my imagination.”

“Oh that’s also really cool and could probably be applied these pieces. A lot of the functions and names for these things are unknown, so the curators and art historians have been applying modern social laws of morality and whatnot onto these pieces, which I think is super cool, yanno? What ... what are you doing?”

You lean away from him, back finding the wall in this faintly lit room. He did not scare you, other than the potential of this relationship, if you could even call whatever the two of you are doing a relationship, which would fail more on your part than his, but Renjun stepping towards you makes your heart rate go up, makes you lose your thoughts, makes your breath vanish. It is like all those things go straight to that incredibly charming smirk on his face, the one under his sparkly eyes. 

“Sorry, the way you talk about art, the way you have so much knowledge,” his breath falls out of his mouth with adoration, sinking into your protruding pout he is leaning down to. “It’s all just so pretty.” His eyes flicker to yours for a second with his next words. “You are so pretty.”

Renjun leans down again, this time his pace seeming so normal but you want him, you want him to go faster. And you think, there is no going back from this, your relationship with him will always be so charged, so lascivious. So what else is there to do? You tangle yourself into him and return his embrace with more desire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between your kiss, his hand grazing through your hair with a touch as equally soft as his voice. “I’m listening to you, I promise,” he says, again in your mouth, again subdued by the compassion hidden between your lips, again drinking in the sweet nectar you produce. “But I can’t help it.” His mouth is open, breathing irregularly while you pull and tug at his body. “You - I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long - God.”

Your tongue kitten licks at his, asking him for more, telling him that this is all okay. His yearning groan beseeches you with a request that only your body understands. You pull at the ends of his hair and his hands fly to your hips, one trailing behind to your lower back, then slightly below. He pushes you against the wall, a smug grin tugging on his lips like your fingers in the wisps of his hair, and he dives a bit deeper, pushing his pelvis with your arching back. 

“What time is it?” you ask him after a moment, turning your head to give him room to breathe, to pull away, to answer your question.

But he just pecks at your neck. His wandering palm ends on your collarbone, fingers dancing towards your cheek to keep you in place while his lips insist on littering 24-hour long-lasting love bites as payment for your lipstick rubbing onto him.

“It’s five minutes before I tell you the time,” his hot breath sends shivers down your spine, shivers that he can feel as you get closer to him, coming off the wall so he has to push you back down. A little over his estimated time passes and he lets up from your neck, though he still stands incredibly close to you.

Renjun flexes his wrist, shaking his Apple Watch free of his sleeves, and you relax a little bit, watching him like a smitten high schooler with major heart eyes bugging out your face.

“It’s just a little after six.”

He puts his arm down and curves in to kiss you again. You giggle puerilely, accepting his last embrace before he and his boyish grin drag you outside. Occasionally you trip at how fast he is going through the museum he wanders through like a maze, like Theseus guided through the Labyrinth by a golden string, by the paintings hung on the wall you are so passionate about - Wait, no, he, like a courageous youth, leads you, a beautiful maiden, through the Minotaur’s Labyrinth before you get devoured by that time crunch. He laughs at the analogy and turns back to make sure you are all right, not actually being chased by a bull hybrid.

God, it should be impossible for Renjun to look so pretty, so blinding, like he brightens the entire world. And he might as well be, setting off the motion sensor light system while the entrance nears. You catch golden hour outside the building and dig your heels into the ground, stopping the both of you, but Renjun’s momentum had built up so he staggers into you, almost sending the both of you falling over.

“Hi,” he whispers, looking from your lips to cheeks to eyes again. “What’s wrong? Do you not want to go?”

You tap his pout quickly, not over those craving for his touch. “I just - Can I take a picture of you? The lighting looks really pretty and you’re really handsome, and, oh, God, is this weird?”

The dazed look on Renjun’s face never leaves and actually motivates him to fall forward, his lips crashing onto yours again.

“Yah, we’re going to miss golden hour,” you tell him, leaning away but his lips follow your pull, giving you one, two, three, four more quick smooches, eliciting your pretty laugh.

The picture you take of Renjun in the moment parallels and contrasts the picture he takes of you in the Tesla. You laughed with the poses he took on, continuing to snap shots even as he moved toward you, his smile becoming more relaxed. Renjun, on the other hand, turns off his shutter sound and steals a picture of you watching the sunset out the window, illuminated by the glow like an angel. Hmm, he just might have found your permanent nickname.

You turn around, hearing his hum. “Did you say something?”

“No,” he hums in response, still staring at the new picture on his phone, atop the others from your ootd snapshots. 

Renjun smiles at you and leans over. You think he is going to kiss you again but he goes a little further, fingers curling between your thighs around your leg, pulling you closer. The seat belt pulls over your neck, choking you a little bit. You instinctively lean back to stop the polyester from depriving you of air, but it locks, trapping you in place. Renjun unbuckles your seat belt with his free hand and the hand itching at your bare skin tugs you over his lap. He brushes the hair out of your face, then lets his palm sit on the part where the seat belt dug into you, rubbing at you almost in a soothing manner that electrifies you more than eases you.

“Can I?” he asks you, searching your eyes though you are focused on his lips. He tilts your head up, thumb sliding across your neck, to make you look at him. “Can I kiss you again?” he whispers softly, the moment suddenly more intimate and charged now that you sit in his lap.

You nod your head and he mimics you, the both of you staring at each others lips. You think that your seat is unsafe with just his hand wrapped above your bum as your only protection from a crash. But you survive one anyways - the crash against his lips. This time is your moment, is your turn, so you push him against his chair, forearms laying on both sides of the headrest with his face in the middle. His neck extends him up towards you, your arms steadying over his shoulders, pushing him down into the seat.

“Oh, my god,” he whispers in Chinese, pressing his chest to yours, letting up from the seat to make you arch your back. “You’re so pretty.”

You want to make a comment about how he reverts back to his home language, about how attractive it is, but he slips his tongue into your mouth, his lips parting to connect with you more, his hands gripping a little tighter. Before you can even let out a whimper, his touch provoking every nerve in your body, his phone rings, blasting that standard iPhone tone all over again. You wonder how many calls are going to interrupt your actions, just like that initial moment in the library a month ago.

Wow, the time has gone by quick, you think about your rapid relationship, as Renjun answers the phone - his phone for the first time in forever. He gives you a small apologetic look that you return comfortingly by brushing his bangs away from his forehead, from his guilty sparkly eyes, a thought coming to mind to show him that you accept his repentance, that it is not a big deal, that you just want to focus on him in this moment.

“Did you get your phone back?” Jaemin asks without a greeting, anticipating Renjun’s voice.

“Yeah, but why are you - oh, God,” he breaks the common language for his native tongue once again while yours drags along his neck to his collarbone, his hands slipping onto your waist. 

Your companion of the night loses his cool during the phone call he is quick to abruptly hang up then clamor back onto your lips until the restaurant comes into sight under the nearing pitch-black sky.

Renjun steps out the car first, having sat behind shot gun, and you grab his out-stretched hand, gliding out of the Tesla like you did into his life. He smiles when you link arms and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then leads you into the restaurant, giving the host his name secretly.

“Right this way, sir,” the host says, preparing the menus and leading you through the restaurant.

Renjun guides you, again, through this simple maze while you gaze around. One wall imitates a wine cellar, rows of diamonds outlining the few bottles pumped into each hole. The entire floor seems to be made of glazed wood and you ponder the innuendos and implications of that. Opposite the wooden wall are windows between every table. You notice how they alternate from containing grills/steamers to nothing but a candle on top.

“Watch your step,” Renjun tells you, interrupting your thoughts. You grip his arm tighter, turning around the corner to head upstairs.

The second floor is even more aesthetically pleasing. The tables sit next to the windows, separated by pretty flowers. Instead of that bland khaki color, the chairs are black and the tables coated like marble. You wonder if the two of you are sitting in this setting, not seeing very many people up here. You guess that the higher up you go (there are four stories), the more exclusive it is, but the two of you slip into a room all the way on the right side of the building, a room with only one table. You have a private dinner, and suddenly you are hyper aware of who exactly Renjun is, of how you acted towards him previously, of what this place means for you.

“Thank you,” you murmur faintly when he pulls your chair out and smoothly propels you to the dinner table. Oh, God, you are completely going to silently spiral in the middle of this date, overthinking the past.

“Just live in the moment,” Renjun says casually, behind his menu so that you cannot see his lips, cannot see how he trembles a little bit. But the same is for him - he reads his menu; well, not really reading, more like boring his eyes into the words he has read so many times over his million visits to this restaurant with his parents and friends. His distracted eyes cannot see yours perk up, snapping to attention at the reminder you heard from your friend. “My friend Jaemin, the one who called me, er, uh, in the car, while we were ... you know -” He takes a sip of water then goes back to his menu, flushing up a little bit at the information he is going to reveal. “- He, uhh, told me to just live in the moment.”

“Any reason why?” you ask, coming off your seat, leaning closer to him, trying to further the conversation to make this date one of many. Also, his words echo your best friend’s and all the confirmation bias swirls in your brain - you may not believe in soul mates but he is really pushing it.

“Yeah,” he stutters, blushing a little bit more through his neck. He brushes his short hairs over his hears, not really altering his combed hairstyle, more altering the conversation and mood. “He says I’m a little dreamy, a little like Peter Pan sometimes.”

Your elbows come onto the table, providing support for you to rest your chin on your palms, completely compelled by the handsome boy somewhat ranting in front of you. You hum, telling him that you are listening, completely focused on hearing every word out his mouth. It is something people fail to do on most dates, in even most settings like class, meetings, family dinners, etc.: just listening, without thinking of what to say next or getting distracted by anything.

“I love Peter Pan,” you tell him honestly, indicating that you share an interest with him, hoping that this comes off to hint your compatibility more than anything else. “Do you think that you’re impulsive or careless like him? Or just childlike and wanderlust?”

“Maybe?” he questions himself, his voice lightening up at the end. “Do you think I’m impulsive or am I innocent like a pure boy?” He poses for you again, his chin resting between his fingers shaped like the Nike check mark.

You laugh breathlessly at him, because he keeps stealing your breath. You lean back in your chair, feeling a bit more comfortable with him since he keeps the whole situation real with you, unafraid to tell you that he is nervous, that he talked to his friends about you and his worries for the date.

“Maybe you define the word pure different than the traditional sense,” you offer, mildly analyzing his personality but not too much to come off as too strong. “I think you have that childlike glint in your eye, like you might be idealistic for the future. It’s not a bad thing, it’s refreshing in this somewhat cynical world, you know? I like that about you,” you trail off at the end, face heating up a the tidbit you vulnerably revealed.

“Ha,” he laughs oppositely to you, nervous but a good nervous, “Maybe.” 

The two of you keep saying maybe, waiting for the potential of this relationship, finally letting all those built up emotions run the course of this date. You retreat back into the menu but not as much as before and smile at your thoughts of Renjun in front of you. The waiter comes into your room, closing the door behind him, and trekking over to the table radiating expressed feelings. Renjun orders the most, from the appetizers to your desserts, and explains a few of the dishes he thinks you might like, asking for those to be brought out as well. He makes sure to ask the waiter to bring out a dessert menu when the food comes, just in case you’d want to extend the day - he knows that he does and hopefully dessert is one way. Although, he might have an actual dessert place on his mind for the end of the date but that is too far in the evening to think about - Jaemin did tell him to live in the moment.

“Did any of this make you nervous?” Renjun asks you, folding his arms onto the table, leaning forward at you over the maroon dining cloth, biting at his lip. “This whole date, all the buildup?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” you relent. “Or, a lot, really, heh. It’s funny; my best friend Rae actually told me the same thing Jaemin told you. She thinks I get a little wrapped up in my head too, but more about the past than the future.”

“Opposites attract right?” he flirts with you, sending you an assured smile. “We might balance each other.”

“Yeah, like Wendy and Peter Pan.” You smile at him but your eyes get a little nervous and he picks up on it.

“What? Is this not going as well as I thought it was?” Do you want to leave? To never see me again? 

“No! No,” you reassure him before he spirals like your racing mind. “I’m just worried and thinking about to discuss, you know? I don’t just want to have an electronic relationship where we can only talk over our phone and all we do is make out in person - not that you’re a bad kisser or anything; I really enjoyed it. I’m just ...” You suck in a breath. “Yeah,” you exhale, somewhat defeated, unsure how what else to say, putting your barely coherent thoughts out there.

“Hey,” he reaches out to you, grabbing your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles. He is tempted to kiss you again, this time your hand like a knight declaring his beloved, but he refrains, preferring to talk to you and hear your honey sweet voice. “Don’t worry about it. We can just talk about anything. What’s your favorite childhood movie?”

You give him a look, a mix between incredulous and amazed.

“What?” Renjun asks, his lips slightly parted. He is metaphorically on the edge of his seat, awaiting your response.

“Why are you asking me about my past, pure boy?” you bring up the nickname teasingly. You look down at your hands, interlacing your fingers, and smile when he exhales - perhaps you two are going to do a lot of this tonight, taking turns reassuring each other after revealing things about yourselves.

“I’m just trying to get to know you, angel,” he answers with a smile then picks up your hand, kissing at your knuckles. “I really like you and I will keep confessing to you.”

“Is this an incentive to get me to confess back?” you ask. He questioned you about your past to give you a sense of comfort, to tell you that you can spiral or overthink all the previous events, and now you reference the future, albeit the immediate future but still, to return a sense of comfort. “Regardless, I really, really like you too, Huang Renjun.”

“I’m glad, really.”

“Me, too. Most people are not so forthcoming with their feelings in my experience.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, exhaling hot breath softly, “But I think we can reveal it in art, you know.”

“I hope so. It’s why I decided to analyze art - it’s so vulnerable and intimate.”

“And beautiful?” Renjun asks, staring at you, telling you again that you are beautiful. He wonders if you can tell that he does not just mean your appearance but the way you talk about your passions, wishing on the Second Star to the Right to be one of your passions or, at least, to be adored by you like one.

“Exactly my thoughts,” you tell him, you say about him, returning his sentiments. He is an art you cannot help but want to know the history, present, and future of - he is like that favorite masterpiece you keep dear to your heart, looking at for comfort and familiarity and home. “Do you reveal yourself in your art? Do I have to analyze your art to know you, to really know you?”

“Probably not,” he pauses, not because he lacks for a moment, unsure what to say, but because he has to think, uttering a deep throaty uhh for a second. “You can ask me anything; I’m all accessible for you.”

“Seems ... intimate.”

“Only for you.”

You squirm a little bit in your seat, not used to this sudden or outward praise from another person, especially since it reveals romantic intention towards you. But it warms your heart nonetheless, Renjun warms your heart.

“Maybe you should analyze my art,” he offers. “You never did tell me what you thought about the eye I sent you.”

“Oh, right.” An embarrassed smile slowly breaks into your face. You do not want your lips to automatically curl up like they do, displaying your teeth a bit more, as the smile widens with your deepening fluster, but you cannot help it - he makes your brain go empty, your heart sing, and your body react. You lick your bottom lip then bite it to stop the grin from spreading deeper onto your face, but it is all for naught because you have to answer him. “I though it was an interesting body part to choose because eyes are the gateway to your soul, and,” you inhale a little bit then mutter the next few words, kind of muddying them together, “and you managed to make them as sparkly and captivating as yours.” You lift your head up, eyes pouting innocently at him.

Your eyes make him let go of your hand so he can pick up his chair and slide next to you, not caring how this could interrupt the fixed date-setting set up by the employees. You watch him establish a seat next to you, marveling with all the stars this Marco Polo dude stole and presented to your eyes. Renjun picks up your leg, crossing it over his, and stretches his arm over the spine of your chair, giving him the perfect opportunity for the both of you to lean into each other. You think he is going to kiss you again, especially since he is so close again and since he must see the way your eyes keep automatically finding his lips, but the waiter is back, placing dishes all around you. You cough awkwardly, pulling away a little bit, reclining into his arm a little bit. His hand finds your shoulder, massaging it comfortingly, and he finds the embarrassed smile you keep hiding cute, so he tells you as the waiter walks out again.

“Stop,” you tell him, not really wanting him to stop though.

“Can’t help it.” His arm falls onto your shoulders and snakes around to tilt your face back to his. “You’re cute.” He kisses your nose then pulls away, still keeping your leg over his thigh though, to dip his metal chopsticks into the small, neatly wrapped mountain of vermicelli and feed you a bite. “I know you’re a grown adult and that this is super cheesy, but indulge me, okay?”

You nod, sliding your other leg over his lap and inclining to his pretty hands, taking a bite of the Chinese noodles. You think he is cute, being cheesy, because he still seems cool. And you cannot tell if you like it because you like him or because he is not going overboard, reaching greasy territory - either way, you might fall for him a little bit harder. 

“Does this mean I should feed you too?” you laugh behind your open palm, hiding the food in your mouth as you chew.

Renjun opens his mouth playfully, not really expecting you to copy him, but you do anyway. You pick up a piece of chicken, breaking it off from the body and slip it into his mouth. He purrs in amusement, in agreement, enjoying you feeding him more than the actual chicken, although the dish does taste good - which he both is thankful for and expected from the restaurant he thinks highly of, having brought his mom to during the rare moments she visits him.

“Oh, I hope talking to my mom wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, or too nerve-wrecking at least,” he broaches the topic, wandering into uncharted territory as his fingers wander to the hem of your clothes, just fiddling with it - but still enough to spike your nerves because it feels like he is dropping hints about being serious with you, like going steady with you kind of serious, not that you mind, you feel the same way as him, if not more for him.

“It wasn’t too bad,” you answer, stuffing a bit of the vegetables that fell out of the gua bao bun into your mouth, reflecting on the conversation just a couple days ago. Is your relationship with Renjun progressing too fast? No, you think, recalling that all of your conversations flowed easily, like you two were slowly building a foundation for something without rushing into anything too impulsively - the whole situation is a little risky you think, his fingers occasionally touching your bare upper thigh as he fiddles with the hem of your clothes under the table, but it is not wildly out there or so spontaneous that your lives are thrown upside down. “I think I was just caught off guard at her calling me, especially since I may or may not have been a little hungover at the time.”

Renjun laughs with you. “Yeah, you went to a party just last weekend.”

“And I might go to one this weekend too, for Chuseok, because, you know, it’s a time to go go home,” you stutter from teasing to over-explaining, suddenly embarrassed at the implications, not wanting to give off the vibe that you are not serious about this relationship because you are, you definitely are, especially if he keeps looking at you like you are the only girl in the world.

“Should I give you three hickies then?” he taunts you, his hand shifting between your thighs, just holding your leg enough to stimulate you, and for the second time tonight, as he snickers, you find yourself grinding your thighs together, knees pointed inward, trapping his hand. “You know, since you did make me think that it was your neck in the snapchat? It’s like some sort of payback but one that is hopefully enjoyable for the both of us.”

“Why are you always that horny, pure boy?” you reference your texts to him just two days ago.

And he seems to vibe with you on the same wavelength, responding in the same manner. “Why are you always that gorgeous, angel?” He leans in, his breath hitting your lips harder than any kiss he has given you all night, making your own breath hitch in your throat and you bite your lip nervously. “Two can play this game.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, while pulling away to drink a large sip of cold water.

Dinner fluctuates the same way, between arousing flirtations and random facts about your lives. The only constant is his hand on your thigh, not that you really mind. You finish two hours after you arrived, ending the meal laughing.

Renjun is the first to stand up and his hand reaches out again to help you up. You glance at the table, smoothing your skirt down, eyes immediately finding the closed dessert menu - neither of you even looked at it, or, at least, you did not, too distracted by your charismatic date. You do not mind not getting dessert; honestly, because dinner was a lot, but you want to continue the date and cannot think of anything else other than more food. You turn around,  rolling your eyes when you find him staring at your backside again. You mutter something about the location of his eyes and he smirks, although you can see the slight tint to his cheeks. This dinner was progressive for the two of you, especially your confidences, letting you two grow more familiar with each other and a little more intimate both emotionally and physically.

“Do you want this night to end?” you ask him.

“No,” he answers honestly, an ice cream parlor at the front of his mind. It is another surprise but he wants to hold your hand and show you all the constellations he used as maps when he was a kid in China, wandering to his grandma’s house. It is an insight to his life, both past and present, an intimate detail he wants to reveal to just you. But he has to ask if you feel the same way, if you want the same thing. “Do you?”

You smile, again on the same page at him. “Nope.”

“Good. I’ve got so much to share with you.”

[officialleehadan]

Sword and Shield

+++

“My life changed in my nineteenth year. At nineteen, I made my first, perhaps my only, friend.”

~From the journal of Telian, the White Sword

+++

The problem, Bordan thought to himself as he fought to hold back the seething wall of undead, armed with a broken sword and a bad attitude, was that the undead didn’t know when to give up.

Of course, neither did he, which was why he was in this particular situation in the first place.

The road to Ridmar was a long one. Oh, sure it was shorter by train, and Bordan fully intended to take advantage of that, but first he had to get to a town that was big enough to actually have a rail connection.

But wen he saw the cloud of miasma flowing down between two of the foothills towards the next town too small to even have a name, well, he couldn’t pass them by.

He told himself it would have been different if he knew that the town was dead already, hit by another cloud of miasma only a few hours before dawn. If he had known that the town was dead already…

It didn’t matter. He came into town, hoping to warn them in time to get everyone out of the way, and found nearly a hundred twisted, mutilated undead where there should have been a bustling town.

He wouldn’t have stayed, if he hadn’t heard a child crying.

The child turned part of a tiny family who lived in the town’s bell-tower, and who were just high enough to be above the miasma as it rolled through.

He got them clear, but the undead took note.

Now he was trying to hold them off, desperately fighting to buy enough time for the little family to run.

The reason for the miasma became all to clear as he backed up, step by step, hemmed in by old buildings that kept the undead form surrounding him. He thought those walls looked odd, but now he saw the signs he should have seen before he ever risked the town.

The way the hills sloped away from the town.

The deep scars, distinctive and visible if he had been smart enough to look.

The way the miasma crept out of the soil as much as it rolled down the hills.

A blast crater, from one of the bombs that fell during the War between Ridmar and Sidonia. The damn-fool people built a town in the crater of a bomb. No wonder the miasma was so bad here. What could have possessed them to build in a place that practically leaked miasma?!

But when he saw the reactor, burned out and half-destroyed up on the hillside, he understood.

Thee were the workers, the people who survived the war and had no where else to go.

No wonder they refused to leave.

Bordan fought, sword long broken on one of the Undead that was covered in some sort of half-fused metal. He killed it, but his sword, which had been with him since before he could remember, was broken off almost at the hilt.

The miasma cloud, thick and brown but lit inside with eerie blue light, flowed down the hill, slow, drifting fog that left everything it touched blackened and twisted.

Bordan looked over his shoulder. The family was almost clear, but he couldn’t follow them or he would lead the undead straight to them.

But that reactor might offer more than just a stark reminder of the War only two years past.

Bordan kicked one of the undead, what used to be a man and was now a shambling corpse, riddled with maggots and baring blackened teeth, away. The reactor wasn’t far, and it was high enough up that the miasma probably wouldn’t reach him there.

“Hey!” he yelled, waving his arms to make himself a bigger target. “Hey! Ugly! Over here!”

The undead, who were already interested, turned as one, empty, rotted eyes fixing on him.

“This was not my best idea,” Bordan muttered to himself, and waved his arms again. “You want me?! Come get me!”

He took off running, not after the family, but up the rocky trail to the reactor. It had probably been a decent road, once. Now it was a wreck, ruined first by the bomb that cored out the reactor itself and then by years of disuse.

Two years wasn’t long for a man, but of a road, it was an age.

Bordan leaped a small creek that cut through the worn concrete and kept going, pausing only to make sure the undead were following him, not the family.

They were.

This was definitely not his best idea.

The reactor was a ruin. It was clear that the bomb hadn’t struck it clean on, but the damage was done anyway. When Bordan scrambled up the stairs, ducking under branches and through the scrub until he broke into the reactor’s main hall.

Here, the signs of the blast that had destroyed the reactor were visible in the destroyed walls, and the huge chunks of rubble that littered the shattered floor.

But worse, worse was the sign he hoped to avoid.

Where the miasma slipped into the town, born by the wind and seeping form the dirt, here it puddled, thick and viscous.

If he made a single bad step and fell into the thick fog… it was a bad way to die, and a worse way to come back.

The undead were on his heels as he ran through the reactor, following the easiest path through the rubble. Here and there, he paused long enough to take down the closest pursuers, but it was a losing game. Every time he stopped, the rest of the pack got closer.

He was running out of reactor, and ideas.

A glint of light caught his eye as Bordan paused, back against a boulder, to try and catch his breath. Something in the back of his mind prodded him forward. They made artificial lenz in these old reactors he remembered. Maybe…

That feeling in the back of his mind came again, and before he could think better of it, he shoved his hand through the fallen leaves and the rubble, seeking that elusive glimmer that might just be hope.

It was a lenz, but not like any lenz he had ever seen before.

Sharply faceted as all lenz were, most of them were red, or blue. Yellow sometimes. Even white. Their color showed what sort of magic they focused best.

This one was black, heavy and inky like the dark just outside a fire’s reach. Swirls of red shot through it, endlessly moving, and somehow, deeply ominous.

Before he could drop it, instincts creaming that this was not the hope he prayed for, miasma fog, foul and reeking, flooded through a crack in the wall.

Bordan managed three steps before it was on him, overwhelming and so thick it was almost impossible to see through. He stumbled, eyes burning from the acrid fog, and somehow, impossibly, kept breathing.

Miasma fog was a quick death. Bordan knew that better than most. He had seen farmers caught in it, trying to save their animals. He had seen the way they choked and coughed as the miasma filled their lungs and twisted them inside until they died, or worse, fell and rose again.

But this… this was, somehow, no worse than the fog that rolled off the river back home. It stank of rot, but the pain never came. The horrible, wrenching mutilation that Bordan still dreamed about, years later.

Never one to take good luck for granted, Bordan shoved the strange lenz in his pocket, and ran for the exit. With any luck, the undead would be stuck in the miasma, and if he couldn’t see farther than his own arm, maybe they couldn’t either.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The whine of an airship cut through the miasma somewhere overhead, and Bordan didn’t slow as he shoved through the undead, ducking swipes and snarls, as he tumbled out one of the gaping holes in the reactor’s side.

When he cleared the thick concrete walls, the source of the airship’s whine became clear. The ship itself was dropping lower towards the town, and Bordan could just barely see the family he saved, surrounded by soldiers and being hurried, one by one, onto the ship.

Good. They were safe. That was what mattered.

Bordan was somewhat less safe, but he could deal with that.

While he was distracted, the undead closed on him again, and he muttered a curse even as he vaulted up onto a boulder, and scrambled for the wall above. The undead could climb, but not well. Once the miasma faded, he could run for it again. He didn’t want to chance his improbable luck more than he had to. He was already living on borrowed time as it was.

Before he made it to the wall, claws raked down his leg, and Bordan slashed blindly with his broken sword. He hit… something, and the claws vanished, but the damage was done. Blood soaked his pants and left red smears on the stone below as he forced himself to keep climbing.

So much for running. He could feel the gashes in his leg seeping his strength as the moments passed.

One bad slip, on his own blood ,damn it all, was all it took. Bordan scrabbled at the worn concrete but with one leg down he couldn’t catch his balance. The nauseating feeling of a bad fall swept through him, but suddenly there was a hand, a human hand, on his, yanking him back to safety.

“I would say hello,” the man said, blonde hair tied back, into a loose tail, free hand filled with a rapier that looked like it was worth more than Bordan made in three years. He was that striking kind of pretty that Bordan thought wasn’t real. The kind in the newspapers, that always seemed to be talking to someone important. He was also, Bordan noted, lightheaded from blood-loss, about nineteen. Maybe younger. “But I think look out is possibly a better use of breath.”

“You’re definitely too young to be fighting monsters,” Bordan told him, too dizzy for any kind of good sense. The kid cracked a smile, and hauled Bordan up onto the boulder without the slightest difficulty. Enhanced, maybe, or using a lenz Bordan couldn’t see. Maybe both. “You got another sword in that coat?”

“No. Can you use lenz?”

“Yup.” Not well, and not for long given his general state of exhaustion, but he could.

The kid pulled his coat out of the way and reviled a sophisticated lenz harness across his chest that was filled with high-grade lenz in half a dozen colors. He pulled two out of the harness and handed them over. “Heal yourself and cover me.”

“I don’t know where your mama is, but I’m not telling her I got her kid killed by undead.”

“My mother is dead, and wouldn’t care if she knew.”

“Fine. My mama would be pissed and I’m not explaining it to her either.”

“Is your mother alive?”

“Nope, but I’m not disappointing her memory by getting a kid killed.”

“I am not a child, and your mother will understand, I assure you.”

“She will definitely not.”

Bordan let the banter distract him as he channeled mana into the Heal lenz until the gashes in his leg faded to something manageable, and then switched to the other. It was, it turned out, a higher-test version of the Fire lenz he sold to get enough cash for the trip to Ridmar.

This one was much nicer.

Bordan immediately set to setting everything around them on fire.

The kid blinked, taken aback by all the fire, but took the opening Bordan bought him. The kid, as it turned out, was unreasonably fast. He was also unreasonably lethal with that long-bladed rapier of his, and the two together made short work of the undead crowding around their rock.

Who knew?

Undead handled, Bordan slid down off his rock, winced at the sticky feeling of his blood-soaked pant-leg, and offered the lenz back to the kid.

“You got a name?” he asked when the kid waved t him to keep the lenz. “I’m Bordan.”

“Telian.”

Wait.

Bordan knew that name.

“The White Sword!?”

“I hate that name.”

“But you’re him?”

“My sword isn’t white.”

The White Sword was the A.P.O.C’s youngest general. He was unstoppable. Rumor had it he could take a hundred men by himself. During the war, he fought for Ridmar and when the A.P.O.C formed, they made him a general.

He was also, Bordan noted, about nineteen, definitely uncomfortable with Bordan’s awed surprise, and was trying not to fidget with his sword. There was something about the way he glanced at Bordan out of the corner of his eye that told Bordan just how badly this kid needed someone immovably in his corner.

“You definitely need a friend,” Bordan decided on the spot, and clapped Telian’s shoulder firmly. “You’re stuck with me now. So, is that airship yours, or are we gonna go be airship pirates next?”

+++

CB - Before the Black Lenz:

Lenz is power. the crystallized blood of the planet. Magic, for those willing to junction it. Power for those who control it. Terrible, for those who face the lenzmasters, who wield magic to terrible effect.

But before they can be junctioned, lenz must be found, and only a few are brave enough to brave the mana fountains that mark the birth of a new lenz.

Fountain Above

Miasma Born (Free on Patreon)

+++

More Stories!

+++

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 20: Magdalene

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 20/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

Severus paused at the top of the steps leading into St. Thomas’s Church and exchanged a glare with the green copper head of a wild man that stood guard over the door. He tugged at the sleeve of his dark gray suit, agitated that it was not nearly long enough. In spite of Mr. Frost’s insistence that Muggle clothes became Severus far better than the ‘damned clerical dress’ that was his usual attire, Severus hated wearing them. They reminded him of all the days of his childhood that he had spent in clothes from Cokeworth Priory's charity bin that had neither matched nor fit. It wasn’t as though his father had been unable to afford proper clothing for his son. Tobias Snape had never paid for anything that he could get for free. And he had been very good at getting things for free. Ever since Severus had attained his majority, he had taken all of his clothing, magic and muggle alike, to Mr. Frost, Cokeworth’s venerable tailor. The man was free with his opinions about Severus’s sartorial sins, but he did good work and he was far more affordable than Madame Malkin’s or Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley.

But the christening of the Lee child was to be held in this Muggle church, and so Muggle clothes it had to be. The brass knocker dangling from the wild man’s mouth was rough and heavy in Severus’s hand, and he was once again plagued by the indecision that had been troubling him all afternoon. A fit of good humor had addled his brains after his pleasant excursion to Romania, and he had accepted the Lees’ invitation to the event. He hated changing plans once they were made but, the closer the actual day came, the less his mind dwelt on Miranda and her smiles, and the more it dwelt on everything that could go terribly wrong. Being caught in a church with his Muggle-born lover and a slew of Muggle-loving purebloods would not do much for Severus’s precarious reputation among the Dark Lord’s minions. Not that it was terribly likely that any of those minions would cross his path today in this church or at the Embassy afterwards. He had gone to Spinner’s End to change after his classes, rather than risk leaving Hogwarts dressed as a Muggle, and had lost some time taking a circuitous route from Spinner’s End to St. Thomas’s in an attempt to ensure he was not followed. Beyond going home now and forgetting the whole thing there wasn’t much else he could do. With a sigh that was equal parts irritation and resignation, he jerked the ominous door open and took his decision.

“Bless my soul, Severus, you did come!” exclaimed Molly Weasley in a loud whisper.

She appeared from the shadows of the dimly lit church. It was late afternoon on a lethargic, cloudy day, and the flickering candles grouped around various pictures and statues provided more light than what managed to filter in through the windows. For a terrible moment he was sure that she was going to attempt to embrace him, but thankfully she stopped short and her outstretched arms dropped to her sides so that her hands might fidget with her bag. She looked a mess, her dress a clash of patterns and colors that had no business being seen in the same room, let alone on the same person. There was a reason that Severus stuck to black and gray.

“Molly,” he said shortly, barely inclining his head to her.

“It’s so good to see you somewhere outside of a meeting about You-Know-Who or a meeting about one of my children making trouble,” she went on bravely.

“Indeed.” Merlin, how long was this tête à tête going to last? “I was under the impression that Arthur would be here as well.”

“He should be along any minute once he finishes up at the Ministry. Did you have a nice day at school?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s a shame. I hope it wasn’t one of my children’s fault.”

“No more than it is any other day.”

“Aren’t Aaron and Rachel lovely people? They’ve come by for dinner a few times and it’s so sweet to see a nice young couple right at the beginning of starting their family. Makes you nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes widened and she started laughing. “How silly of me, of course you wouldn’t know. Yet. Arthur tells me you have a friend that you’ve been hiding from everyone and that she’s quite a catch. Maybe you will know before too long.”

Severus was starting to feel dizzy from Molly’s chattering and, worse, the back of his neck was getting hot the way it did when he was particularly embarrassed. He had a strong desire to turn up the collar of his coat and he wished that he had left his hair down instead of tying it back. All of his usual masks were gone in these wretched Muggle clothes, so he made do tugging at his sleeve and glaring at his companion.

“I hope that Arthur was not remiss in explaining to you the dangers both to Miranda and to myself if you were to repeat that nonsense anywhere, even to our allies,” he said coldly.

The effect was instantaneous. She stopped laughing, the smile fell from her face, and the intelligent woman who sometimes hid behind the facade of the doting mother revealed herself.

“I understand completely,” she said seriously, putting a hand on his arm. “And while I’m sorry that things have to be this way for you, I am happy to know that you find other things to do with your time besides disciplining students and risking your neck. Your secret is safe with us.”

She gave his arm a brief squeeze that he supposed she meant to be consoling, and released him.

“I am aware that you and Arthur are capable of keeping a secret,” he allowed.

They lapsed into a silence that lasted long enough for her to return to fidgeting with her bag and him to wonder if he would fray the hem of his sleeve with tugging on it. He would have been perfectly happy to remain silent until the others arrived, but he was concerned that Molly would not allow such a thing to happen. In an effort to avoid speaking any more about his friend, he attempted to think of some topic of conversation, but neither magical tactics nor the behavior of potions students seemed quite the thing for the occasion.

“How did you meet her?” Molly asked abruptly, returning to the unfortunate topic.

Severus could feel his eyebrow start twitching. “By the caprices of fate.”

Thankfully he was preserved from having to continue that explanation by the noise of the door opening and the arrival of the rest of their party. Both he and Molly turned at the sound, perhaps equally grateful to be rescued, and Molly was halfway across the church to meet the group before Severus could blink. Amidst the tumult of embraces, introductions, and the crying infant, Severus took the opportunity to drift up the aisle, making a show of studying the stained glass pictures in the windows as he worried the hem of his sleeve. The sun outside made a feeble attempt to break through the clouds, and the rich colors of the glass responded with a pleasing glow. Judging by the obscured, but undressed figures and the riot of animal and plant life, it depicted the Garden of Eden. He busied himself picking out the various flora in an attempt to ignore all of the doubts that were creeping to the fore of his mind.

“You look nice,” Miranda said, her light step coming to a stop next to him.

She was near enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, but she did not attempt to touch him. He looked from the window to her and, from the blush that pinked her cheeks when he did, he rather suspected that his own face was betraying how pleased he was to see her.

“And you appear to have recovered from your illness,” he replied.

“Now, I already admitted you were right. I don’t think I should have to keep stroking your ego.”

“But it makes me so agreeable when you do.” Her flaring temper amused him, as usual, and he could not deny even to himself that at that moment he didn’t give a damn if all the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s army burst into the church and caught him.

“I don’t think you’d know agreeable if it bit you.”

“Fortunately I have you to explain these things to me. And perhaps I merely commented on your appearance in order to admire it.”

This won him a smile, and, as the others were busy settling the child and speaking to the priest, he allowed himself the indulgence of returning it with one of his own. The sun outside the window continued its mission to break through the clouds, drawing his eyes back to the image.

“There is a fascinating mix of plants in this window,” he observed.

“Is there?”

“Yes. There are chamomile and comfry tangled together with belladonna and cicuta. I had thought that this was supposed to be a picture of paradise, but perhaps it is some other strange, Popeish thing.”

“No, it is the Garden of Eden. But it’s before the Fall.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Before the Fall, all of the plants were helpful and benevolent. It was only after that some became deadly. Or, that’s what my brother Columba used to say.”

“I see.”

“I’ve always wondered what those sorts of plants were like before. What sort of good use they might have been put to.”

“Interesting question.”

Footsteps approached and a well-dressed but obviously sleep-deprived Aaron interrupted their conversation. His face was haggard enough that Severus decided not to glare at the new father when he gave Severus’s back a friendly slap.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal Miranda for a while, Severus. Thanks for being here,” Aaron said.

“Of course,” Severus replied.

He followed the Americans to a small alcove in the back of the church where a pair of clerics and the rest of the company were waiting. Severus fell back to stand behind Molly, the other extraneous person in this business, and his height enabled him to observe the rite from that spot. A pale but lovely Rachel cradled the infant who was all but swallowed up in a voluminous gown of satin and lace, and the efficient, owlish priest began intoning Latin texts with a rapidity that bespoke his understanding. At first Severus took the trouble to translate the words to himself but, before long, the rhythm and the quiet lulled him and his mind began to wander.

During his childhood, Severus had gone to service most Sundays, morning and evening. As Tobias had refused to darken the door of Cokeworth Priory, unless it was to receive some embarrassing form of charity that the Snape family did not actually require, this had been a welcome escape for both Severus and his mother from Tobias’s mercurial temper. Severus had found the morning service to be tedious, especially when it was interrupted by overlong and circular sermons, but he had found Evensong to be much more pleasant. There had been something about the way the afternoon light would break into the run-down church. It lit up the sad, neglected space, making it seem clean and otherworldly—almost magical. Sometimes, if they were lucky, Tobias would be gone when Severus and his mother returned home, and they would spend the rest of the evening together. Those were the times when his mother had given him the most attention, and he had held those moments close during the long hours and days when she had none to give. If he were asked, he would say that he had seen too much evil in the world to believe that God and Christianity were anything other fables and fairy stories, but he did remember the peace of those Sunday afternoons with something that bordered on fondness.

That same magical afternoon light broke through the clouds now, and came slanting in through the windows of St. Thomas’s, haloing the infant, her tired parents, and Miranda in its radiance. As Miranda held the child over the font, her face displayed an open, honest joy that made Severus’s breath catch to see.

“Magdalene Tokoyo, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti,” the priest murmured, pouring three measures of water over Magdalene’s head.

The infant blinked, as though surprised, but did not cry. Silence really was the order of the moment, and Severus found that he could recapture that fleeting feeling of peace that he had experienced during Evensong, far from his tormenting father. He could forget for a moment about the Dark Lord, and Albus, and the war, and Potter, and all the rest of it. He could just be.

*****

“Eh, you’ll be in the same boat soon enough, Severus,” Aaron observed between puffs of smoke. “It’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” Miranda interrupted as she came out onto the Lee’s charmed porch. It was a nice piece of spell-work, just worn enough to seem real. Aaron, Severus, and Arthur were seated in the group of well-used chairs that looked out over the white painted wood and onto a lawn that was a replica of Aaron’s childhood home. The false sun had set, and the sky was a hazy grey as the stars started showing their faces. There was even a breeze of sorts, and it was easy to pretend that they were not far underground. Aaron’s face was jovial and pink, Severus was giving the man a narrow glare, and Arthur was staring up at the slow-turning fan on the ceiling of the porch, apparently trying very hard not to laugh. Miranda raised her eyebrows in order to give Aaron the ‘you’d better quit while you’re ahead’ warning.

“Oh nothing. Nothing at all,” Aaron hedged, offering Miranda a cigarette.

“No, thanks. I’ve been sent to collect Severus. Rachel wants to thank you for the present you gave to Maggie.”

“That would be preferable to continuing this conversation,” Severus said.

He rose silently and followed Miranda into the living room, both of them pretending not to hear the laughter that erupted from Aaron and Arthur as soon as they were off the porch. Rachel and Magdalene were snuggled together in the rocking chair and Molly was cleaning up the wrapping paper and dirty plates. Severus’s offering was currently floating above the sleeping baby; a rotating mobile of animated figures on silver strings. The figures went about a soundless play of a young woman slaying a sea serpent at a stately pace.

“Severus, thank you,” Rachel said, her tired face serene. “It was so nice of you to come and to bring this for Maggie. Wherever did you get it?”

Miranda could see the tips of Severus’s ears pinking and he cleared his throat before answering.

“I made it. You can change the scene as well, thus,” he explained.

He flicked the top of it with his long fingers, and the players transfigured into a new set. Now there was a young woman, flying up to the sky in a chariot of flowers.

“A nicely done piece of magic,” Miranda said, moved that Severus had taken so much trouble. “I had no idea that you made children’s toys.”

“It is not my habit but, as I did make one for Draco Malfoy on the occasion of his christening, I thought it would be acceptable to do as much now.”

“Draco Malfoy’s christening?” Molly asked. “What was that like?”

“Obnoxiously loud and insufferably crowded. Not at all like today.”

“I assume you didn’t put scenes from Japanese fairy tales and the Tenchi on Draco’s mobile,” Miranda said.

“No. Constellations. I thought it best not to depict the Miss Lee’s actual namesake. Rachel, I have no idea why you would choose to name your child after a woman who was murdered by being hung upside down in a vat of refuse.”

Rachel laughed. “Catholics sometimes make little sense to people who aren’t Catholic. But there are many martyrs with more gruesome deaths.”

“Besides,” Molly added, “you invoke a martyr to prevent whatever happened to them from happening to you.”

“It still seems macabre to me,” Severus insisted.

“It’s important to give expression to all sides of the human condition. And Magdalene is a lovely name,” Miranda countered.

“I never said that it wasn’t,” Severus protested.

“I’m afraid it will be a while before I’m able to finish the translations of that potions book I mentioned,” Rachel said, stifling a yawn.

“I quite understand. I look forward to when you are able to complete it, but I am aware that you have other demands on your time,” Severus said. “I do not have much reference for judging, but you appear to have produced a fine child. She has all of her limbs and seems able to eat and cry.”

“Why thank you. She cries especially well at night.” Rachel was not able to stifle the next yawn.

“So I see. I shall take my leave of you then, before those festivities start. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank you for being here. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal one of these days. Maybe three years or so from now.”

He gave Rachel a short bow and Miranda accompanied him out of the room, amused by his gruff kindness to Rachel. But Rachel was a woman who made it easy to be kind. When they reached the door, his eyes darted about the room briefly. It was empty, and his kiss was surprisingly tender, but his expression when he pulled back was dark, as though he were thinking of something unpleasant.

“You are staying here tonight, correct?” he asked.

“I am. Tomorrow night too. Maggie doesn’t like to sleep unless someone is rocking her or walking with her, so I’m going to take a shift to give Aaron and Rachel a chance to rest,” Miranda replied.

“And you are meeting with Lucius tomorrow?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, Arthur will be there right on time to escort me away.”

He frowned and started tugging at the sleeve of his suit coat. “You should know that Lucius is fully aware that Black is not in Romania. He doesn’t know what you are doing there, but he is certain that whatever it is, it is not his bidding.”

Ah, that must be why Severus was acting so seriously. Miranda was touched by his concern, but she’d been handling Lucius Malfoy for the better part of a year now. She could take care of herself.

“Well, the Aurors are doing a pretty good job of watching my family. It may simply be time for me to cut ties with Malfoy. We’ve had a good run.”

His frown deepened and he traced her cheek with his finger. “Do try to be careful tomorrow. Lucius is not to be trifled with.

“I know. You warned him about me months ago.”

“I did, but sometimes warnings seem to go in one of your pretty ears and straight out the other.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow evening for supper? You can sit up with me while I rock the baby and we can hold hands like a pair of love-sick teenagers.”

This wrung a smile out of him, and he replied haughtily, “I have never been a love-sick teenager. I was born at the age of forty-five. But I will come, if only to hear about the afternoon’s disaster.”

“And to give me my birthday present,” Miranda reminded him.

“Yes. And to do that as well.”

*****

“Good day, gentlemen, it’s been entertaining. Papa will send over the exit papers tomorrow,” Miranda said as she sailed out the door, shutting it in her former employers’ sputtering faces.

Her heart was pounding in triumph, although she knew Papa was going to give her an earful. He’d understand though, he’d been at this long enough to know when a job was sour. Albus might be angry as well, but he’d just have to deal with it. She was doing enough for the Order in Romania that he’d better be happy with that.

The meeting had been unexpectedly short and Arthur wasn’t there waiting for her. The lift was out of the question at the moment, for she was far too jittery to be that confined. The stairway was deserted when she reached it, and her boots echoed off the ceiling as the torches flared to life and helpful signs on the walls chirped at her to watch her step. She was nearly to Arthur’s floor when she heard another set of footsteps on the stairs above her. Their rapidity and haughty sound told her they were Lucius’s. She quickened her step, but did not run, and she was not surprised to find the door leading out of the stairway locked. With a bored expression fixed on her face, she turned to watch Malfoy descend the final flight of stairs.

“A moment, Miss Rose,” he sneered.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we’ve said everything we need to say to each other. I’m no longer in your employ, you may wash your hands of me and my behavior.”

He halted an arms length from her and his height forced her to look up at him.

“I don’t think you understand,” he continued. “You are meddling in forces that are far larger than Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry.”

“I think I understand plenty.”

“All the more reason that you should watch your step. You are still my pet to do with as I like.”

Only the knowledge that whipping out her wand and hexing Lucius within an inch of his life would bring down a host of Aurors and mountains of paperwork kept Miranda from doing so.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we both know that I can kick your ass any time, anywhere. When you’re ready for a rematch, you just let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige you. And this time let’s say that the Unforgivables are on the table from the start. I think a nice round of Crucio followed by a quick Avada is just what you need.”

He grabbed her chin the way he had the night of his Christmas party, and Miranda decided she’d had enough. The way that his face blanched in surprise and confusion when the barrel of her pistol hit his chest was worth all the trouble of the day. He stared at it stupidly, and then let go of her chin to retreat a few steps.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now if you have anything further to say to me, why don’t you do it from right there.”

“If you think that Severus won’t hand you over when the time comes, you are sadly mistaken. And he will be the first in line to torture you when it comes to that,” he said, his voice shaking with rage.

She laughed harshly. “Do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know? Of course he’ll hand me over. I’m nothing but his plaything. All American women exist for the sole purpose of fulfilling the sexual fantasies of repressed Englishmen.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his nether regions. “Go back upstairs, Mr. Malfoy. Before I get really angry.”

“You wouldn’t dare! We’re in the middle of the Ministry of Magic!”

“You sure you wanna try me? I do this for a living. I can get rid of you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and no one will know where to start looking for the pieces.”

Lucius glared at her, but continued his retreat. When he reached the landing, he turned and started stomping back the way he had come. The door behind Miranda unlocked itself, but she kept her gun in her hand until she was safely through it. Just as she was closing the door, she heard Lucius’s parting shot from above her.

“I am going to thoroughly enjoy your demise, Miss Rose. I promise you that.”

*****

“Sit down, Miranda, your pacing is making me dizzy,” Severus complained that evening. He was sitting on the sofa in the Lee’s homey living room, reading Coleridge aloud while Miranda paced with the sleeping Lee infant in her arms. The constant movement was distracting Severus from sorting the many thoughts twisting through his mind into appropriate categories in a vain attempt to pretend that he was in control of the situation. He knew he must bring up a terrifying subject this evening, before Miranda returned to Romania, and he found that he would prefer a meeting with the Dark Lord to the current situation.

“I’ll try, but I’ll probably be up again in five minutes,” Miranda agreed. She lowered herself into the rocking chair smoothly and Magdalene remained asleep. After the two of them were settled, she added, “You should have seen the looks on Malfoy’s and Fudge’s faces when I quit. I’ve never seen that particular shade of purple.”

Severus snorted. Although he would rather not deal with this new complication, part of him did wish that he had witnessed the scene in the stairwell. It was not often that Lucius met someone willing and able to stand up to him.

“I suppose it was impossible for you to continue playing that game any longer. I wish that I knew why Lucius is so sure about Black’s whereabouts. The idiot must have left cover when he well knows he is to remain indoors at all times.”

“What’s Black like? I’ve been pretending to hunt him for so long that I feel like I ought to know him.”

“He is a disgrace of a wizard and I do not wish to discuss him.”

“Sorry. We can talk about something else. I hear you have a birthday present for me.”

Yes, the present. That was by far the more comfortable topic. He was more than willing to postpone the other, even if this show of sentimentality on his part embarrassed him almost as much. He cleared his throat and pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

Eyeing Miranda’s full hands, he said, “Perhaps I should do the honors.”

“Please do.”

As uncomfortable as he was, he could not deny the warm rush of pleasure that went through him when he opened the box and saw her reaction to the tear-drop filigree necklace that waited inside of it. A lovely line of pink spread over her cheeks, her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes became the soft, calm gray of the sky after a storm.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled up at him and added playfully, “Although Mama would say I have no business accepting jewelry from men.”

“I assure you that this is purely a practical present.” He hung the necklace lightly around her neck so as not to disturb the infant. It was a handsome piece of frippery if he did say so himself. He’d passed it in the village near Miranda’s cabin several times before finally going back to purchase it. With a few well-placed charms it had become the perfect vessel for the real gift he had made for her.

“Oh? I see, there must be a potion inside of it. Is it a new one?”

“Correct on both counts. A Stasis Potion.”

“What does it do?”

“The next time you decide to get yourself maimed, you will drink it and it should keep you alive long enough for you to find further help.

“Should keep me alive? I don’t remember volunteering to be your test subject.”

“One of the hazards of keeping company with a Potions Master. I have tested it and it shows great potential.”

“Potential?”

“Being as you should only take it in a dire emergency, you will have nothing to lose should it fail to work. Of course, if you don’t care for it, you needn’t keep it. I am certain I can put it to another use.”

“No,” she said quickly, putting a protective hand over the pendant. “I love it. All of it. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He leaned down to kiss her but, before he could make contact, the infant started fussing again, requiring Miranda to resume her pacing. Reluctantly, he reclaimed his spot on the sofa and opened the book. His agitation returned full force as he fidgeted with the pages without starting to read. Aaron’s off-handed remark from the day before had been plaguing him, as it had brought on the realization that he had been careless in the extreme. Carelessness was a trait that Severus despised and one that he could ill afford. Much as he dreaded the next topic of conversation, he knew that it was as unavoidable as it was tardy.

“You should keep reading,” Miranda said. “I think your voice was helping Maggie stay asleep.”

Best to get on with it before the infant started squalling again.

“There is something that I need to speak to you about first,” he began. It was good that he had left his hair down tonight. He could already feel his ears growing hot.

“If it’s about Malfoy, I know that you’ll hand me over to the Dark Lord if you have to. I understand.”

“That’s not at all what I was going to say. And I would not give you to the Dark Lord.”

“Yes you would. If your cover depended on it, you would do what you had to do.”

“I should think that I am clever enough to avoid doing that if at all possible.”

“I know that too. I just wanted you to know that I understand that it’s a risk.”

“Now that I have your permission to sacrifice you, would it be quite acceptable for us to discuss a more pressing difficulty?”

“More pressing? What might that be?”

“It has come to my attention that we have not been terribly cautious in our relationship.” Not his best opening.

“I’ve never been cautious in all my life. So?”

“I don’t think you take my meaning. I was referring particularly to the carnal aspect of our relationship.” She blinked and bit her lips, and he knew she wanted to laugh at him. “I mean to say…I am concerned that long term consequences may develop…or may already be developing….”

Mercifully, she interrupted him, although she couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of her voice. “Severus, are you asking me if I’m pregnant?”

He was almost pathetically grateful she’d said it for him. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”

Did that mean she was? “Be that as it may, there are plans that need to be made. I cannot think of a worse time for such an event, but that is all the more reason we should deal with it purposefully.”

“I see you have a plan.”

In an attempt to manage his discomfort, he stood and paced over to the fireplace, tapping his fingers irritably on the mantelpiece. The figures in the framed pictures perched on it were whispering and grinning at him, but his stern glare sent them back to minding their own affairs. His eyes drifted down to the merry jumping of the flames and he forced himself to continue.

“I always have a plan. There is no escaping from either your current obligation in Romania, nor can I leave my position at Hogwarts. I will explain the situation to Albus and I am certain that he can be persuaded to spare us a member of the Order to help you and to ensure your and the child’s safety. Once you are free of your blasted mission, you will return to your family in America and stay there until the problem of the Dark Lord is resolved. We should also get married sometime before the child is born, but I expect that you will have some opinions about how that is to be accomplished.”

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I was remiss in not thinking of it before. I hope never to be so incautious again. It is highly unusual for me to be so careless.”

“Severus, stop. I’m not pregnant. And, before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”

“Ah.” God, he was a idiot. “Well. Good.”

“Did this have to do with whatever Aaron was teasing you about yesterday? For a diplomat, he can be pretty tactless when he’s sleep-deprived and inebriated.”

“His comments merely reminded me that I had not been cautious with regards to that aspect of our relationship. I could not recall ever seeing the necessary potions in your cabin, nor the ingredients for them. And, in any case, I would rather prepare such potions myself.”

“You didn’t see any of those potions because I don’t need them. I can’t have children.”

Her voice was light, but there was a strange undercurrent of tension in it. When he turned his gaze from the fire to glance at her, the mask of her smile reminded him of the one she’d shown him during that wretched exchange of insults at her cabin when they had first met.

“There’s no need for you to worry, you’re quite safe,” she went on. “We can be as careless as we like and there won’t be any mud-blood brats running around afterwards.”

“Don’t use that word,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Call a spade a spade. Why else are you so relieved that I’m not knocked up?”

“I should think that it were apparent that now would be a terrible time to have a child. You are trapped by bond in a dangerous mission in Romania and I am bound to the precarious life of a spy.”

“It’s not because you don’t want to further pollute the Prince bloodlines?”

“When did I ever say that?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her mask falling away. When she opened them, they were soft again, but with sadness, not with pleasure.

“You didn’t,” she conceded. “That was unfair of me.”

The sorrow in her eyes hurt him, and he came away from the fire that he might run his fingers over her dry cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the sweet smell of the balsam oil the priest had put on Magdalene’s head the day before filled his nose. Miranda held the infant tucked under her chin with a natural grace, the way she did everything. The pair of them made such a comfortable image that he felt irrationally disappointed he could not hope ever to see Miranda pacing by his fire, cradling a dark-haired child of their own.

“It is true that I have never desired to become a father,” he said, his eyes on Magdalene’s downy black curls, “but, if it had to happen, I would not be sorry that it was with you.”

The child began to stir and Miranda broke away to resume her pacing. He could not bring himself to look at her face after such an admission, and he was relieved that her voice was returning to its usual sanguine tone when she spoke.

“I…I could use a cup of tea, I think. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Relieved to have something mundane to do, he started for the kitchen. But he could not quit the room without his curiosity prompting him to say, “Miranda, I must ask why you are so certain that you cannot have children.”

“Just trust me on this. I don’t think you want to hear all the gory details.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.”

His thoughts were a tangled mess as he went into the kitchen and began the calming ritual of making tea. Methodically filling the kettle, setting it to boil by charm and measuring the tea leaves into Rachel’s white and blue teapot brought him back to earth. All the while, his instinct was pricking him, telling him that there was more to Miranda’s explanation, and he had the urge to continue digging until he uncovered what it was. He did his best to crush the urge and let whatever it was lie. Their relationship was quickly becoming confusing and more complicated than was at all prudent.

It was for the best that she would be returning to Romania tomorrow. Distance would help to put things back into their usual places. Their casual relationship was perfectly pleasing as it was. Best not to think of anything else.

Somewhere in his heart he knew this was a lie. He embraced it like a lover and poured out the kettle over the leaves.

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

End Notes:

Belladonna is deadly nightshade and Cicuta is water hemlock.

Magdalene Tokoyo Lee is named for St. Magdalene of Nagasaki, who was brutally martyred in 1620 and Tokoyo, a young lady who killed a sea serpent.

Newly baptized babies are the best smelling creatures in the world.

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

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

[aliceslantern]

Until We Meet Again, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

The last thing Ienzo expects is to fall in love during the war. Unfortunately, impulses are much harder to fight when one is human. But then Demyx disappears under mysterious circumstances... and leaves Ienzo in a wholly unexpected and indelicate situation. But how to deal with such a thing when he can barely deal with being human?

Post KH3, during Re:Mind, Zemyx, Ienzo is trans

Chapter summary:  Six months after the war ends, Ienzo realizes something devastating.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Something wasn't right.

Ienzo had felt dizzy all day. The dizziness wasn't new , per se--he'd been having it on and off for a few months--and he usually attributed it to too much screentime, or not enough water or sleep, or any of the other myriad deprivations he put himself through, and especially all his stress. He felt human needs so much more acutely as Ienzo.

The numbers. They weren't right.

Ienzo looked through the data again. If the simulations he'd been running were correct, this should be of use to help them understand Kairi's heart. Had he misplaced some code? He felt sweat running down his face and opened the source, digging through line after line, trying to find the mistake, if there was one, or maybe he should try running it on another OS? Would that help?

Something inside of him twitched.

It was an odd feeling. Gas? He wondered, though he did not usually have those kinds of problems. But Dilan did so love to try questionable recipes, so perhaps--

Something twitched again. It felt odd, like being poked, something nasty like a parasite. Something… alive--

Ienzo paused, backtracking, a finger of panic running down his spine, the numbers blurring further--he considered how he'd felt the past few months--

Dizziness. Fatigue. Strange aches and pains. Fogginess. Little things that were easy to discount on their own, but--

A third twitch. He gasped aloud. His hand shot down to his stomach. He'd thought his pants had been a little tight--

No. God, no. If that were the case that meant he'd have to be--what--

Before the last battle, before Demyx disappeared somewhere beyond reach of his duly-awarded gummiphone. Some… six months. Those days had been a haze of exhaustion, of pain, of more and more time passing, Demyx not coming back despite the fact that he told Ienzo he'd stay. Ienzo should've known better than to throw himself into the arms of the first person who was willing. It was easier than ever to drown himself in his work, in his supposed redemption, but if the one person he’d felt anything for had abandoned him, was he really worth anything?

Ienzo felt faint. Surely if he were…  it would be far more obvious now? There had to be something else wrong with him--

He took a sharp breath, trying to will the blackness away from the corners of his vision. It wasn't like stories of yore, he could not simply go to a pharmacy and buy a test. Radiant Garden, after the war, was not quite up to that level of development. Even might have something that would prove it, chemically at least. But that would mean Ienzo would have to try to find a time when the man wasn’t in his lab, which was hardly ever--he sometimes slept there, on an old camp cot, getting a bare minimum of rest to continue his work, his supposed atonement.

And if Ienzo were… and if he were that far gone… then what?

He almost did faint then, having to catch himself on the counter. Why had he let himself do this? He’d known it was a bad idea at the time. But seeing Demyx again… the pull he’d fought so hard as Zexion had collapsed entirely. Demyx’s willingness to help changed everything about how Ienzo had seen him. Taking him aside… feeling the warmth of his breath near Ienzo’s face… his exhaustion had caught up to him, and he just needed to feel something other than guilt for once. The way his hands had felt on Ienzo’s body, so gentle, so understanding of his… situation there.

But he’d disappeared only a few days later, right as the battle startled. He’d left . And Ienzo found out that despite all he’d learned about the heart, he still did not know his own enough to avoid breaking it.

And if Ienzo really was… ? What then? He couldn’t possibly have a--

“Ienzo? Are you quite alright?”

His head snapped up, and he forced his hand away from his abdomen.

Even took a closer look at him. He also looked pale, washed-out, his eyes bloodshot from too many hours in front of books and screens. “You look positively peaked.”

“I’m afraid I feel a bit unwell.”

He frowned. “Then what are you still doing here? Go on, boy.”

Ienzo left, woozily. His mind was spinning, desperately trying not to think about the reality of the small twitches he’d felt. A thick, cloying anxiety almost made him sick. He needed to check. To be sure, somehow.

Aerith on the restoration committee was a healer; she’d tended to one of Dilan’s wounds a while back that would’ve taken a long time to heal without magic. He hoped he could trust her to be… discreet. So few people knew the reality of his gender, and he was fine with that. Growing up as a Nobody had allowed him quite a few liberties with his appearance--their bodies were more easily influenced by the will, so he could appear more like himself than he ordinarily would’ve, and the changes seemed to have stuck. But he couldn’t change everything, and the only thing about that part he didn’t care for were the periods.

Ienzo took off his lab coat and left it in his bedroom. He tried not to catch sight of himself in the mirror, suddenly hyperfocusing on the feeling in his abdomen. Was it heavier than normal, the skin tighter?

In a haze, he left the castle gates and headed for her house.

---

“Oh, Ienzo! It’s good to see you in town for once.” She winked. “Did you come by for a visit?” The restoration committee--Aerith and Yuffie in particular--seemed eager to befriend him. He’d always been taken aback by their kindness, their willingness to… let things lie. His many, many mistakes. He bit his lip.

“I actually… have a favor to ask you. Of a sort.” He swallowed down the panic. “Would you be able to… prove something, for me?”

“Oh, like a medicine thing?” She cocked her head. “No problem. Come in.”

He followed her through the small apartment. Plants spilled off of almost every surface--flowers, herbs, ferns, full of color and greenery that almost hurt his eyes after the sterility of the lab. There was a small room towards the back that seemed to have been converted to a sort of clinic, with an apothecary chest, a sink, and a small, low exam table.

“Pop a squat,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Ienzo couldn’t help but clutch the rim of the table. Just say it, he tried to will the words past his lips, to her earnest green eyes.

She sat on the stool near him. “Take a deep breath. It’s okay.”

He tried. “I, um. I believe I may be…” He shuddered. “Pregnant?”

She appraised him for a second, but barely missed a beat. “When was the last time you had a period?”

He tried to think. “They’ve always been… irregular…” Light and short during the times he did get them. “But at least… at least six months.”

“Six--” Her eyebrows shot up. “How long have you been symptomatic?”

“About that long, but I… I always attributed it to other things, like… stress, or exhaustion… I know I don’t eat or sleep nearly enough…” His eyes were watering. “I never felt nauseous, I never--”

She touched his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“I think I felt something move, inside me, this afternoon. Otherwise I’m not sure I would’ve put the pieces together--”

“Lay down. That I can figure out.”

He did so. He’d never felt quite so vulnerable, feeling her hands hovering just above his stomach, an odd warmth. Another twitch went through him, and he exhaled. Aerith’s eyes had softened.

“You can sit up now,” she said gently.

He was trembling. He’d never cried in front of a stranger, but he felt like now might be the time. “It’s true, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. It is.” She offered a sad smile. “You’re pregnant.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Can’t something be--done?” he asked, through his teeth, panic making him vaguely itchy. “Couldn’t I--”

“Well.” Aerith looked awkward. “If you’d… come to me a few months ago, absolutely. But you’re… you’re at roughly six months, Ienzo, nearing third trimester. I couldn’t… get it out of you unless something was really wrong. It’s pretty unusual for the quickening to happen this late.”

“No.” He pressed his face against his hands. He thought of all his sleepless nights, the tons of caffeine, the quick and questionable things he’d been eating. “I’ve been...it must be… so sick.”

She shook her head. “It seemed pretty healthy to me. You might not be showing much, but the fetus is a good size.”

He gasped a breath.

“I know this has to be overwhelming,” she said, taking his hand. “But… you do have some options.”

“Like what? I have to… finish this out, how is that--”

“You don’t have to raise it.”

Ienzo considered what he knew about the orphanage system--now packed with refugees of the darkness, of Radiant Garden’s own Fall. He couldn’t give a child that kind of life. What could he do?

(What about Demyx? This baby was his as well… Was that why he had disappeared? Because of the potential? Had he somehow known before Ienzo, smelled it on him, some weird Nobody instinct they hadn't known about?)

“Is there someone you can talk to about it?” Aerith asked. “Provide some support?”

Ienzo thought of everyone at the castle. Ansem may have forgiven him, and he and Aeleus had little change about their relationship now that they were human. But telling Ansem that he was… pregnant? Disappointing him again and so soon? What about Even? He’d be lectured endlessly for being irresponsible, and god how would they all react if they knew who the child’s father was?

“Yes,” he said woodenly. “Yes, I… shall.”

She smiled. “I’ll send you back with some supplements,” she said. She talked to him for a few minutes about proper diet, about water and rest and sleep , things Ienzo already knew. Then, “I want you to come back in a few weeks. Just to check in. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yes… thanks.” He swallowed. “Thanks for your help.”

In a haze, Ienzo returned to the castle (not quite “home” yet, in his mind). He could feel the fetus--the baby --moving gently, as though to make up for all the lost time it hadn’t moved before. “You couldn’t have shown yourself sooner?” he murmured. He finally made it back to his bedroom, shut the door behind him, slowly, he crossed back over to the mirror, pulled up his sweater. It wasn’t quite obvious unless one knew what to look for. Even if it weren’t… he still had his power, aside from usage of the dark corridors. Covering it up would be easy. He had to, at least until he could process, at least until he could plan. He was so young, and so broken , to be raising a child. He’d committed so many atrocities; how could he ever be a good parent?

Maybe giving this child up would be for the best.

He took out his phone. Dialed Demyx’s number. But like his last attempts over the past few months, the call didn’t connect, there was just an odd static. Ienzo wondered if he were okay. Hoped. Maybe the idiot just lost his phone, he thought, but it was a hollow notion.

He took a deep breath. Took two. He’d have to tell someone about this eventually. But who? And how?

He couldn’t raise this child here. After all that Even, Dilan, and even Aeleus had put him through… This child deserved a chance at a normal life, a happy life. He wasn’t sure he could provide that. He could barely reckon with the emotions of typical humanity, how could he reckon with fatherhood? How could he give a child what they needed ?

He wasn’t sure he could.

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind of Magic

3

“A ‘hello again’ after the final goodbye is sometimes harder than just keeping the goodbye as it was.”

Robyn was laced with extreme guilt as she boarded the plane to head back to Dublin. She had cried as she packed up the last of her belongings in her flat, shoving everything she hadn’t already boxed up and sent home last week into her case. She was so cut up at leaving Taron and had almost told the taxi to go to the hospital rather than the airport but knew it was the right thing to do, even if the decision had plagued her dreams for the last four nights, waking her up with a jump as Taron’s tearful face kept asking her why she left him without saying goodbye.

Work was a good distraction for her as once she stepped in the door on Monday morning, she was met with a new staff member who did not enjoy following the policies of the creche that kept the children and staff safe. She felt like she was dealing with Christina all over again and her healing shoulder took a hard knock when she caught a child who wasn’t sitting on their chair properly and fell, Robyn taking the impact off the corner of the table, rather her shoulder then a child’s head as it was not an accident she could have dealt with her first day back. The reason why she had to step in was because the new staff member left the room to fix a false eyelash that was falling off and she had left the children alone to do so.

It was dreadful start to a Monday that already was blue, as she had to explain to Emma why she was bruised and knackered, leaving the finer details out of what had actually happened. Robyn respected Taron and knew his job came with some unwanted media attention and did not want to put him through the pressure of having the media spin a story so the less people that knew what happened the better, plus Robyn’s hands shook anytime she thought about it and uninvited emotions bubbled up so it was easier for her just to overlook one part of her time away in Florida and throw herself head first into work.

Monday evening found Robyn blaring the Rocketman soundtrack throughout her apartment as she ignored the unpacked case and baked white chocolate chip cookies. It was her way of avoiding reality. Singing and baking, though listening to Taron’s voice was not such a great choice as once Tiny Dancer came on, she found a new ingredient being added to her cookie dough – tears.

Tuesday found her stuck in paper work and it was a great distraction until the constant writing and typing burned her bruised hands, little uncomfortable cramps affecting the time it took to complete her work. However every time she stopped thinking about work, her thoughts immediately flashed to the nightmares that kept her awake all night, where she forgot how to do CPR and Taron’s body lay lifeless under her hands and she could do nothing to help him, Richard screaming at her to save his friend, so even with the increasing discomfort she kept going.

Wednesday wasn’t even worth mentioning, as Robyn’s patience was worn thin after another sleepless night, her case still unpacked and a lemon meringue pie now added to the baked goods in her fridge. False nails were obviously not permitted when working in a creche but Valerie, the newest staff member, was donning long nails and once again Robyn found herself pulling out her supervisory hat to make sure she would be listened too. An hour after Robyn had gotten home, she had two key lime pies in the oven.

The developing heat wave that Ireland was currently facing, was not helping Robyn’s mood as she arrived for work on Thursday morning. Dressed in a pair a black pin stripe high waisted trousers, a white short-sleeved blouse, her trusty converse and her unwashed hair in a messy bun, Robyn was so glad she worked in the office which was the coolest room in the creche, where windows could be thrown open wide to let air in. She had been spoilt in Clearwater with air conditioning available everywhere.

Once again, she found herself, quoting another page of policies to Valerie when Emma came upstairs looking for her.

She followed her manager down the stairs, wondering who on earth could be calling to see her, knowing he was more than likely her mother, checking to see if she had slept the night before. She hadn’t - more upsetting dreams keeping her awake which was why she was so taken aback at seeing the person in her dreams sitting in her chair, that she dropped all the pages she was carrying in her hands.

“Taron!”

Robyn could have sworn she was back in the 7/11 as she looked to the man she had left sleeping in a hospital bed five days previously. His face was coated with a light sheen of perspiration, his hair messy as it stuck up at odd angles, an obvious sign that Taron had ran his hands through it many times. He looked like she felt, just full of pure exhaustion and dog tired but while she could cover her dark eye circles with concealer and make up, Taron didn’t have that option and those black circles under his eyes almost matched the colour of the bruising on his right cheek, his eyes pale and glum, his body language just dejected and miserable.

“Hey Robyn.”

“I am going to give you two a few minutes.” Said Emma as she slipped out of the office, picking up the paperwork Robyn had dropped on the ground, giving them space to talk.

“Taron, I… What…” Robyn for one of the first times in her life was speechless. That was until Taron got to his feet and she had to step forward quickly to steady him, watching as his eyes closed, hearing a groan she was all too familiar with leave his lips. “Taron.”

He had stood up too quickly and a dizzy spell hit him that made him sway but he felt those hands of protection move to catch him. “I am ok. Just stood up too fast.”

“Jesus Taron what are you doing here?” Asked Robyn as she kept her hands firmly on his waist, feeling the heat of his body through his t-shirt. “You should be in a hospital bed.”

Taron placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at Robyn straight in her eyes. “I woke up and you were gone.” And then he pulled the very crumpled letter from his jeans pocket. “And this was left on my pillow.”

Robyn lifted her right hand to her forehead, covered her eyes, her thumb and index finger rubbing away threatening tears before moving her hand down to her mouth, not being able to look Taron in the eye but with no words being exchanged between the two, she had to give in and looked up to him and seeing him fighting his own tears, she threw her arms around his waist pulling his body tight against hers, feeling his arms squeeze her just as hard as she was holding him, his head going straight to her shoulder. She could feel his body quiver against hers, the letter falling from his hands to the floor as he drew her closer to him.

It was a more than a hug. It was an apology and reunion that was filled with unspoken emotion, Robyn running her hands up and down Taron’s back. He lifted his head from her shoulder, giving Robyn the small space she needed to rest her head against his chest, under his chin, his left hand moving to cradle her head and as his cheek rested against her forehead. Robyn could feel the wetness from Taron’s cheeks on her skin and was sure she had left her own tear stains on his dark navy t-shirt but neither were ready to let go yet.

It was a connection that meant so much to Taron and all of his worries about coming to see Robyn melted away as she continued to rub his back and when he saw the tears in her eyes, something Taron never thought he would see from Robyn, he knew she was just as built up with emotions as he was.

It took at least another minute before he felt Robyn start to pull away from him and he reluctantly let her go but even though he felt thoroughly drained, he still found the energy to smile as Robyn lifted her hands to wipe his tears away but as she felt him stagger on his feet she guided him back down to her chair, hunching down in front of him, taking his hands in hers and that small gesture was what Taron had needed and been looking for since he left the hospital and he could feel his whole body melt into her touch, immediately becoming relaxed.

“I have no words that will explain to you how sorry I am that I left you like that.”

“It’s ok Robyn.”

“It really isn’t Taron. It really really isn’t. After everything we had been through; me, you and Richard needed to sit and talk to each other and I just took the cowards way out and I left.” She gave his hands a small squeeze. “I should never have left the hospital Taron. I should have stayed with you at least until you woke up and said goodbye face to face but doing it when you were asleep was so much easier for me but not fair on you and now you have bloody travelled to come and see me because I left a stupid letter for you.”

“And Richard.”

“And Richard. Oh God I had forgotten about the letter for Richard too.” Her head fell down to their intertwined hands.

“Robyn, look at me.” Taron pulled his hands from hers and lifted her chin so she had to look at him and he could see the guilt on her tired face. “Why didn’t you leave a phone number for me?” Robyn had no answer for the question. “I would have loved to have been able to call you and speak to you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Asked Taron confused.

“Why would you want to talk to me? I mean once you got to the hospital, you had the doctors to take care of you and Richard was there too for when you woke up. I had done all I could have done to help you.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Taron took her right hand and turned it around so he could see the large dark blue bruise that was still clearly noticeable on the back of her hand and turning her left hand over he could see more discoloured skin on her palm. “You call this ‘all I could have done’. Robyn, you saved my life and your wondering why I would want to talk to you after?” Taron let go of her hands and bent down, stretched and picked up the letter from the floor behind her, not caring about the moan that came with the effort of bending uncomfortably. He opened the letter. “‘I need to get back to my reality and you to yours’. What does that mean? The rest of the letter I could try and make sense of but this…” Taron put the letter on the desk and pointed to the words. “I just don’t know what this means? My reality?” Taron was starting to feel angry at Robyn’s excuses and although he had not planned to confront her immediately, he found it hard to ignore the cryptic message in her letter.

Robyn got to her feet and ran her hands over her face as she started to pace around the small space in the office before she stopped in front of Taron. “Our worlds are very different Taron. I was coming home to this.” She leaned on her desk beside him looking around at unboxed toys that sat on the floor and full packets of nappies that needed to be delivered to the baby room. “And you would be going back to what you are so good at but I know I don’t belong in that ‘entertainment’ world, one that scrutinises every single thing and well, I don’t exactly ooze Hollywood glamour, do I.”

“Do you really think I care about all of that Robyn?” Asked Taron furiously as he stood up, absolutely appalled at what he was hearing. “I know we don’t know each other very well but Jesus.” Taron ran his hands through his hair, completely frustrated with the woman who stood in front of him. “I thought you didn’t care either. The way you spoke about Rocketman filled me with so much pride for the role I played, one I struggled with in many ways but you didn’t even mention the way I looked and you stood up for me in front of that bastard who held a gun to your head in a way that no one ever has. Robyn, did you leave me because you were worried about what people would say about you when the media got a hold of the story of what happened in the shop?”

“Well I don’t exactly fit the movie star look, do I?”

“Fucks sake Robyn.” Taron was starting to see a sudden vulnerable side to his new friend. “I don’t care about any of that shit.” It was a conversation that stung him as he looked at her, strands of blonde hair falling into her eyes, eyes that were wide, bright blue and sad. She looked different in her smart work clothes, her hair tied up from her face, an elegance of authority surrounding her which was the opposite to the laid back look she had in her jeans and t-shirt when he saw her last but it was still the same Robyn standing in front of him that kept him awake and safe in the 7/11 and he didn’t care anymore that she had left him in the hospital.

“Taron…”

“No Robyn. I didn’t take three bloody flights to come and see you and listen to you talk like this. If you left because you think you don’t belong in my world, well that’s bullshit. It’s my world and I get to decide who gets to live in it and you are right up there with my mam, sisters and friends. Robyn I am standing here because of you. I am alive and breathing because you did something for me that I am struggling to cope with and after talking to Doctor Keane, I know you are too. It’s a conversation we need to have, or I need to have at least because you are the only person who knows how I feel at the moment and you are the only person who has been able to stop my hands from shaking by placing your hand in mine.” Taron grabbed her hands in his. “I feel like I am going to either explode or breakdown and the last time I felt like that, you were there to stop that from happening.”

“You helped me too Taron. I told you that in the store, I would have been a very different person if I didn’t have you to keep me occupied. I am so sorry that I left. I just thought it was the best decision.”

“I understand why but don’t let that Hollywood shit get into your head. Please believe me when I say I get it, I have been there but you are a beautiful, selfless and intelligent woman.” Robyn finally looked at Taron and was taken back by how serious his features were as his green eyes darkened with the sincerity behind his words. “And you are going to be stuck in my world for a very long time so you had better get used to it, particularly when my mam gets to speak to you.”

“Your mam?”

“She wants to discuss the ‘simple first aid’ that you told her about.” Taron gave her hands a squeeze. “I don’t care what happened in the hospital. I care that you risked everything to save me, that you did something remarkable for me without a second thought. I just need you to understand that I am struggling with it all and you might be the only person who can help me understand everything I am feeling. Please tell me we are on somewhat of the same page now.”

“We are very much on the same page Taron. I have definitely struggled with the fallout of what happened and honestly, I am finding it hard to believe you are actually here. You have been the subject of my nightmares since I left you.”

Teary blue eyes looked his way and Robyn found herself in a hug that Taron initiated this time, strong arms engulfing her in a proper cuddle, both needing the comfort as their emotions ran high, both finding reassurance and relief from each other.

“I’m really sorry I left.” She mumbled into his shoulder.

“It’s ok. I understand, just don’t leave me like that again, without saying goodbye.”

“Again? Are you planning on repeating what happened in the 7/11 in a shop here?”

“Absolutely not but you have to promise me, we will always say goodbye with a hug just like this one.”

“I promise.” She agreed giving his body a very light squeeze, feeling completely overwhelmed by the fact that Taron had accepted her apology but more so by the fact that he was physically standing in her office.

“Hey Robyn! Is that your boyfriend!”

She lifted her head from Taron’s shoulder to see some little faces looking at her from around the office door, a smile on her face at the preschool children gathered in a group to look into the office, their favourite thing to do before they went outside.

“Hello guys.” Robyn gave Taron a grin as she let him go and side stepped him to look at the four years old who were giving her funny looks, crouching down to be at their eye level at the door.

“Do you kiss him?”

Robyn enjoyed the laugh that came from Taron behind her, only because she had never heard a laugh that sounded so real and genuine from him before, though they never really had the chance to laugh and enjoy it.

“Ewww you can’t kiss boys. Only mammies and daddies can kiss!”

“I kissed Séan.”

“Ewwww!” Came another chorus from the children in front of Robyn along with a lot of giggles and laughter.

“He is just my friend like you are all friends.” Robyn quickly quietened the noise down. She felt Taron crouch down beside her and from the corner of her eye, did not miss the flinch on his face as he moved. “This is Taron.”

There was a chorus of hello’s towards Taron.

“Hello.” He cheerily replied.

“Are you all going outside?” Asked Robyn and another excited response came her way. “And do you all have your suncream on and your hats?”

Taron watched on as Robyn patiently listened to and answered each child, giving each one equal amount of attention, making them feel like they were the most important person in the world as she spoke to them. It very much reminded him of how she made him feel as she took care of him.

“So, you all have your hats and what about your suncream? It is very hot outside.”

“I don’t have any suncream.”

“I’ve got none.”

After Robyn heard another child say they had no suncream she stood up, her patience officially gone. She knew these group of children were from Valerie’s room. Taron had stood up tentatively beside her and saw a complete change in her stance and facial features, very much like the one he had seen when she had stood up to Frankie in the 7/11.

“Taron will you just excuse me for two minutes. Please sit back down in my chair. I will be right back.”

Robyn didn’t turn to look at him but walked out of the office and took two long strides down to Valerie who was in the locker room, holding the door open with her foot as she routed for something in her bag.

“Where are my fucking sunglasses.”

“Watch your language please. There are young children here.”

Valerie turned around and looked at Robyn, almost ready to roll her eyes as she saw the woman who had spent the last four days giving her nothing but grief. Valerie had heard about the supervisor who was due back on Monday and so far, was unimpressed with the blonde who strode around like she owned the place.

“Did you put suncream on the kids?” Asked Robyn.

“Sorry?”

“Suncream. Have you put suncream on the kids? It’s really warm outside. That sun is quite hot.”

“I’m only bringing them out for ten minutes. They will be ok.” Said Valerie as she turned away from Robyn and routed through her bag for her glasses again.

“Actually, no they won’t and it is in our policies.”

“I don’t think I have read that one yet.” Valerie found her sunglasses and as she closed the door of the locker room, Emma came out from the baby room just down the hall, holding some paper in her hand.

“Emma, are they the policies I dropped on the floor a few minutes ago?” Robyn looked to her.

“Yeah they are. You need them?”

“Just the one about the suncream please. The one I updated on Tuesday and got all the staff to sign as we knew the weather was going to be warm this week and we wanted to make sure that all the staff were knowledgeable about the policy before they went outside with the children.” Robyn took the pages of Emma and flipped them over to get to the signatures at the back. “Yeah I thought as much. Ok great. You have read this as you signed it to say that you understood what it says, so that means you know that when it is sunny outside, especially sunny like this, that every child needs to be suncreamed before they get to the garden.”

“I forgot.” Answered Valerie, sulking now that the manager and supervisor were beside her.

“You forgot.” Replied Emma. “Valerie, suncreaming the children is our top priority at the moment and this was mentioned at our staff meeting last week too. You have these children lined up and ready to go outside but they cannot go without suncream. You will have to bring them back upstairs and cream them up.”

“It will be dinner time before I get them all done.”

“I will come and help you.” Said Robyn. “Two of us will get it done really quickly. We will have it done in five minutes and then you can still get them outside for a run for a good twenty minutes before dinner.”

“I can do it.” Said Valerie stubbornly.

“I really don’t mind.” Countered Robyn. She knew her lack of sleep and concerns about Taron were the reason for her short temper and mood but it didn’t mean she wasn’t a team player and at the end of the day the well-being of the children came first.

“I can really do it by myself.”

“I know you can but you were probably looking to get outside yourself to get some air. I know the rooms are incredibly stuffy. Two of us, five minutes, done.”

“I don’t need your help plus you are too busy with that man anyway to help me.”

“Valerie!” Exclaimed Emma. “Apologise to Robyn right now please. You have no right to talk to Robyn like that, who may I remind you, is your supervisor and whatever that man is doing here is none of your business.”

“It’s ok Emma.” Robyn turned to look at all the children who were behind her still lining up waiting to go outside, “Right guys, silly Valerie forgot to put your suncream on, but if you go back upstairs and into the room, she is going to do it really quickly and then bring you outside and if you make sure you have your listening ears on, Valerie has promised that she will take out the parachute for you! And in the afternoon, you can have your tea outside too!” A loud chorus of cheers filled the hallway, Robyn leading them. “Ok well up you go. Make sure you hold the railing.” Robyn turned back to Valerie. “Because you are going to be so busy doing the sunscream by yourself, I have just made your morning so much easier for you by planning your activities. I know being new in a close setting like ours can be daunting but we are all here to help each other and make sure we work as a good team.” Robyn turned to walk away but spun on her heals and looked to Valerie. “And I accept your apology. Make sure you fill in the paper work once you have their cream on and just so you know, that man I was hugging, nearly died five days ago and it was first time I have seen him since I left him in the hospital.”

This time Robyn turned and she walked straight back into the office, with Emma following her and once they were both in, Robyn closed the door.

“I am sorry.” She said immediately.

“No need.” Replied Emma. “You kept your cool and even offered to help her.”

“And planned some activities.” Robyn grinned a little. “She hates doing activities outside with those kids.”

“Only four days back and you are already causing me trouble.” Smiled Emma. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you back. I need someone like you to keep staff like her on her toes but you didn’t hear that from me!”

“I am sorry for being a bit cheeky.”

“You did exactly what I would have expected of you. Handled the situation calmly. Oh Robyn, I think your friend is asleep.”

Robyn turned around and could see what Emma meant. Taron was slumped in her chair, his left elbow on her desk as he rested his cheek on his hand, his right arm thrown across his stomach as he slept. With the stretch of the material of his t-shirt over his upper right arm, she could see the bottom of the dressing covering the flesh wound he had from the bullet, obvious bruising on his arm too. Robyn walked over to him and crouched in front of him again and sighed. She wasn’t surprised to see him asleep, long eye lashes touching his red cheeks. It was then that Robyn realised that Taron must have walked from the bus or train stop to where she worked. It was about a twenty-five minute walk into the town and Robyn could only imagine the effort it took Taron to walk in the morning heat carrying his bag after travelling for so long, his injuries making the journey more difficult and tedious. It was no wonder he looked flushed.

“Did I hear you tell Valerie that he nearly died?” Asked Emma as she watched Robyn almost stare intensely at Taron as he sat in the black leather chair. Robyn took a glance her way before looking back to Taron. “I knew you were keeping somethings from me.”

“It’s just hard to talk about.”

“Anything to do with all the bruises on your hands? I have the same training you have Robyn.” Emma noticed how Robyn didn’t look back at her, but kept her eyes on her unexpected visitor. As Emma stood out in the hallway, she had heard some of the conversation between the two but moved quickly to the baby room when she realised the conversation was one she had no right to hear but Emma knew there was an almost desperate need for the two to spend some time together. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eleven thirty. She knew Robyn’s lunch break was in half an hour but with how quickly she had returned to work, Robyn was already ahead of her duties for the week. “Ok Robyn go on lunch.”

“What?”

“I want you go on your lunch break and I don’t want to see you back here until one thirty at the latest. Don’t argue with me. You have already worked five hours overtime this week and it is only Thursday. You are to go home with Taron and get him settled and then come back to work if you can. If this is something you need to take the day off for, I don’t mind. Just give me a call to let me know.”

“I won’t need to do that.” Said Robyn firmly. “I will be back.”

“Honestly Robyn, he looks just as exhausted you do but with him, I can’t tell if its bruising or tiredness. He has travelled a long way to come and see you for a reason and I believe it’s for the benefit for both of you and not just him. So, look, go home now and see how it goes. There is no pressure for you to come back to work today.”

“Ok.” Robyn didn’t have the energy to argue with her manager and with Taron in front of her, taking in his frayed appearance, it was easy to agree to an early lunch.

“Ok? Well that was easier than I expected. Normally I have to have a good old fight with you over these things.”

“I am learning to listen and take advice.”

“I like him.” Smiled Emma. “He’s good for you.”

Robyn laughed a little. “I like him too.”

A sleepy sigh left Taron’s lips and Robyn was quick to her kneel up straight to catch his head as he moved in his sleep, his elbow slipping off her desk, his head falling from his hand.

“Shh it’s ok.” Robyn found herself in a familiar position as Taron gasped a little with the pain he felt as he woke sitting up, her hands on his face as she knelt in-between his legs.

Emma walked past Robyn, giving her right shoulder a squeeze, providing her with some moral support and understanding before she opened the office door, walked out and closed it behind her.

“You are knackered Taron. Did you sleep on any of the three planes that you took to get here?” She asked him.

“You remember that part?” He asked through gritted teeth. He had automatically leaned his head on his hand on Robyn’s desk as he listened to her speaking out in the hallway, but with the fresh warm breeze blowing in the window it wasn’t long before he found himself drifting off from a combination of weariness, a full day of travel and knowledge that he had found an emotional refuge in Robyn. Her hands were on his face again and in the same way that when she held his hand, when she gently rubbed his cheeks, it was a gesture that just sent a wave of calmness through his whole body.

“Three planes?” She questioned again as Taron opened his eyes and shrugged his shoulders as Robyn took her hands from his warm face. “And no sleep?”

“I had the middle seat.”

“Enough said.” Robyn stood up and sat on the edge of her desk beside him. “It’s my lunch break. Let’s head back to my apartment and get you settled for some proper sleep. Remember we spoke about that cosy bed feeling?” Taron raised an eye brow. “I think it’s finally time.” She stood up and stretched past him to the shelf at the wall and grabbed her car keys, purse and phone. “Good to go?”

“Please.” Taron wasn’t able to put into the words how much he longed for a cosy bed and knowing he would finally get some sleep, because Robyn would ensure he would sleep, he was ready to go. He didn’t even question it. He completely trusted Robyn and was happy to go wherever she went.

“Don’t even think about lifting that bag.” Scolded Robyn once Taron wearily got to his feet and went to take his bag. “I will get that. I can see the pain on your face. It’s nowhere near as bad as before but your body is feeling after-effects of all that travel.”

“Robyn it’s a bag.”

“And if you collapse on the floor on me, I don’t have Richard to help me lift you so listen to me and let’s go.” Robyn picked up the straps of his duffle and lifted the bag.

“I really should know by now not to argue with you.”

“You come from a family of women Taron. You should know not to argue with a woman already.”

Taron opened the office door and Robyn secured it open with the door stop and she then hit the green button to release the main door and he followed her out into the sweltering heat of the day and walked across the small car park to Robyn’s silver Kia. She unlocked the car and threw Taron’s bag on the back seat before hoping in the driver’s seat, Taron easing himself into the passenger seat beside her, closing the car door and putting the seatbelt on.

“Let me get these windows down. This heat in here is insane.”

“Good music there Robyn.” Said Taron as Freddie Mercury’s voice reached his ears once Robyn had started the car and rolled the windows down.

“Can’t go wrong with Queen.” She laughed as she closed her door. “It’s literally a three-minute drive to where I live. It won’t take long.”

Taron couldn’t have cared if it was a three-hour drive. He felt safe, secure and ready to sleep.

[bythieves-a]

SNAPSHOTS OF MODERN VIC. ( based on the story im writing about him ! many of the usual tw’s apply. )

you’re only thirteen the first time things become too much. a shadow in your school, no one there would even know you exist, if it weren’t for the smell of stolen cigarettes that follows you around. a short thing, with your mother-ruffled hair, the sleeves of an old, tattered, black coat stop just before your fingertips; and all your shirts are hand-me-downs——you think they were your dads. you wouldn’t really know. but your mother puts a ‘lucky flower’ in your coat pocket, every day, and that makes each school day bearable.

the baggy clothes make it easier to steal snacks after school, the darker make it easier to disappear. you hardly even go to class; the teachers don’t notice you, anyways. until they do——the children that do see you love to remark on what you lack; on money, on fathers, on new clothes, on lunch. one comment becomes too many and you’re in the office; don’t call my mum, you plead, you practically beg, she’s working. i can’t take her away from work. but they do. there’s no one else to call. it feels like robbing your mother of money. the embarrassment of taking her away.

when you’re home, you hit your lowest; lock yourself in your room and cry until morning. your chest is so heavy. such a mild dilemma, not the worst thing you’ll face, yet you find you can’t breathe because of it. why does everything hurt so much?

*

sixteen years old and your favorite spot has become a bridge; you sit with your legs swinging through the rail, watching the water flow below you, sound of cars rushing behind you--------the honking horns make you jump. you reek of cigarettes and fireball, when you come here, concealed bottle half-empty and hidden between your legs. arms and chin lean on the railing, tears flowing yet often concealed by a rainstorm you never bother to notice. 

she’s so convinced he’ll come back. you hate yelling at her, but it hurts, to live sixteen years without someone, and watch your mother continue to set a place at the table for him each night. maybe tonight. its never tonight. and its your fault, you know that--------your mother would be happier without you, her drunken, drop-out, thieving son; she’d still have walter. she’d still have money. you don’t realize you’re her only joy. 

the jacket you wear over a torn prince t-shirt is black denim, finally your size, the cuffs and collar lined with a fake-feeling, puffy sort of fur. its your favorite jacket, it keeps you warm--------but you find a picture of your parents together, and note your father wearing one of the same style. you never wear that jacket again.

*

you’re not sure why you cry on the plane to america, but you do. perhaps its homesickness. the change, the sudden wave of how different everything will be. its overwhelming. amos scoffed when he saw you, in your sweatpants and band shirts---------what? you’d asked. its just a plane ride. sat between him and your anxious mother, you hold her hand and wonder if he might do the same; its better not to try, you decide. he might just think you’re strange.

does he have weapons? he must. amos always has a knife, somehow. but how would he bring it here? maybe he’ll teach you that, someday. you’d like him to. he’d like you to stop crying.

*

smiling boy leaning against the counter of your pawn shop; everything feels better, now. amos has made you a partner in crime, his right hand man--------this cover-up is yours as much as it is his, and sometimes you wonder if you make him proud. you’ve grown into yourself; dark hair tickles at the tips of your ears when you let it get too long, you don white button-ups with two buttons always undone, and a long tan trenchcoat is the one thing you’re never seen without--------though, when you’re home you dress the way you always have; a steely dan tshirt has become your favorite, and it never takes you long to break out sweatpants after a days work. you lay on the floor like that and play guitar; mother likes to stand in the doorway and listen, sometimes.

there are knives on you, everywhere. they rattle against the phone in your pocket when it buzzes; you have two friends now who send you pictures of their cat, and they’re so normal, far different from the thief tommy you occupy your nights with---------but you enjoy them. they’re a taste of the life you wanted, as a child. but you think now that life might bore you, if you tried it. its not like you’re good at anything else, anyways. you and amos both know that.

*

your memory is coming in flashes, in blinks of light and sound tearing through the gaps of nothing, the times where you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing-------what time is it? have i eaten today? where’s mama? 

the last thing you remember is the funeral. you tried to cry into amos’ arms, but he pushed you away; knocked you to the ground. get it together. m’not yer dad, kid. he left you crying on your knees before her grave--------but now, suddenly, you’re walking into your friend’s apartment. they’re each holding one of your arms; adrien looks worried, like he’s been crying. ray says something to you, but you don’t understand. you say okay, anyways. 

then you’re on the couch with tea in your hand; you look at your phone and start crying. you haven’t been home in hours. mum would have texted you, by now. your chest is heavy again. you’re dizzy. adrien takes your phone and sets it away. you think he might have kissed your forehead, too.

*

the bottle of mum’s pain killers is empty, now. you don’t remember waking up. something burns. you’re screaming at your father in your doorway, but you don’t remember him knocking. ray looks mortified. she’s leaving today. wheres she going? italy? germany? please take care of yourself, she mutters into a tightened hug. wheres your father gone? she mentions him--------he must have been real. 

you don’t remember the party, you don’t remember coming home, but you remember being warm. it felt like mama was back. you want to feel like that again. 

* 

adrien tries to take you out for christmas, but he has to bring you home. all the children were outside playing in the snow with their parents. mama liked to take christmas walks to look at all the lights. you can’t breathe again, so he holds you for the rest of the day, he pets your hair, kisses your head. its almost feels ok. 

* 

you watch the new year’s ball drop from the discomfort of a hospital bed. you still don’t remember much, but you remember screaming. you remember amos sitting nearby-----was that two days ago? he threatened you. walt was here, too. you threw a flower vase at him. the nurses won’t let you have flowers in the room, anymore. they’re watching you like hawks; better act like you’re alright, so they’ll let you out of here.

you check yourself out early. there’s no reason for you to be there. amos will get mad if you’re gone any longer. your father yells at you when you get home. why is he there? leave me alone. 

* 

the park bench is cold. you don’t remember running here, but you know amos was yelling at you. you haven’t brushed your hair in days. your tears feel like they’re freezing to your cheeks. distant police sirens. are they for you? your chest tightens------but they breeze past the park. you can’t stop shaking. your head hurts. 

walts with you, suddenly, sitting on the bench beside you. he’s put your head in his lap, he’s been muttering things to you the whole time. how long has he been here? please, he says, the first thing you’re able to make out; let me get you home, i know you hate me, but let me be your dad for ten fucking minutes. you’re a mess, kid. 

you’ve never spoken to him without screaming, before, but this time you let him. he helps you up, puts his coat around your shoulders. its the same one as in the photos, but older, it has holes in it. he keeps an arm around you the whole way home, lies you down on your couch, drapes mum’s couch blanket over you. he makes you a grilled cheese, complains about the spoiled groceries in your fridge. it feels nice. he should have been here to do this twenty three years ago.

*

for the first time since you’ve known him, you think amos is going to kill you. he’d never do that, you’ve always been so sure; but this time there’s rage in his eyes, they look hollow and dead---------you’ve seen this look before, its always followed by the snapping of bones. you can’t get that sound out of your head. you saved tommy from this look, once, but he’s not here to do the same. it hurts. you’re supposed to be partners, you trusted him with your life, but he’s going to kill you. oh, god, he’s going to kill me.

but he doesn’t get the chance. bent over from a kick to the ribs, the second you’re out of line with his head you hear a shot--------suddenly you’re covered in blood, but its not your own, and amos has a hole in his head. when he drops, you’re faced with your father stood nearby; shaking, out of breath, mortified-------holding a gun. jesus christ, he whispers.

dad? you sound helpless. you’ve never called him that, before. 

[hannahmcne]

Westward Sc 1

Ben watched the carriage turn into the driveway, feeling expressionless. He watched the servants load his suitcases into the back and the horses fed and watered as they waited for him. This would be the carriage that would take him to the Cinderellasburg Castle, where he would be conversing with King Chad on the state of his kingdom.

Ben was twenty-seven and the High King of the country of Auradon. Underneath him were about a hundred other royals of various backgrounds who had either inherited their kingdoms or had them gifted to them in thanks for extraordinary acts of bravery. The country was beautiful – high purple mountains in Arendelle, deep blue seas in Oceania, thick forests in Sherwood and hundreds of magical places in between. Ruling at Ben's side was his queen, Audrey, whom he had known since he could walk. They'd been married seven years and had one child between them, a stubborn and often cross girl whom they had misnamed Belle Joy, after his mother.

"Is Audrey coming down?" Ben asked with a sigh, casting a glance to the side at a servant who was standing at attention nearby.

"No, your majesty," the servant declared. His hat slipped down on his forehead even more. "She's in the spa. Her back has been hurting her more. She says to come see her when you return."

Ben nodded. Audrey wouldn't want to see him when he returned, he knew. He hadn't seen her for three and a half weeks now. Little Belle sometimes came into his office to gift him flowers and demand candies, but she had a nanny and the nanny took care of her. He and Audrey didn't need to.

With a sigh, Ben stepped out from under the overpowering shadow of the castle and towards the carriage. No one was there to see him off despite the fact this was a two-week long meeting. Audrey was in her spa, Belle was probably taking a mid-afternoon nap, his mother had moved out with the death of his father and now resided in a small home where Ben took Belle to visit weekly, and there was no one there to say goodbye or tell him they'd miss him.

"Let's go," The king nodded to the driver of the carriage. A few shouts rang out – orders for servants and directions for others, and the carriage began to move as Ben was sitting down. He fell into his seat, hitting his elbow against the side of the door, and rubbed it slowly as the noise diminished and the castle disappeared.

Ben rested his head against the frame of the carriage and winced when they went over a rock and he knocked his skull into the wood. It was going to be one of those journeys. One where he went over all the decisions he'd made and reminisced over his life and wondered how things could be different.

Auradon was one of the center-most kingdoms. Charmington was closer to the sea and had a large dock, which was used to export goods to the outermost province of the Isle of the Lost. The two were separated by a very large and thick forest known as the Seeoderschwarz. About 250,000 square miles of nothing but forest and forest and the occasional stream or river and more forest. It was teeming with natural resources, he was told, and the majority of the land was owned by the Charmington Forest Service and the Charmington Logging industry, which made for pleasant interactions. Ben supposed that King Chad had been dealing with land disputes between the two for as long as he had been trying to get Weselton and Arendelle to get along.

Ben got a glimpse of the ocean before the road took them into the heart of the forest. For several dozen miles, the roads remained nice, but they soon began to rumble and clatter down a thin, unpaved, barely-cleared road. Ben watched mile markers give way to large boulders, fallen tree limbs, and wild plants. He ought to petition Chad to improve all the roads, but knew that his old friend was busy with other things.

The sun remained high in the sky for what seemed like several years before it suddenly jumped to the horizon and the trees began to cast thick shadows around them. Ben supposed he must have dozed off as the armed escorts and the driver lit up their lanterns. He pulled a thicker jacket out of his travel bag to wrap around himself as the cold spring air started to nip at his fingers and ears. Winter had just ended, but the nights were still frigid.

The sky grew so dark that the trees blended into the atmosphere. Ben couldn't see any stars past the lanterns and the roof of the carriage, but he supposed they were up there somewhere. He tried to curl up into his seat, but every bump knocked his back a little more out of joint and every shout from outside kept him feeling like he was supposed to be awake – supposed to be doing something important.

What was he supposed to be doing?

They continued on, switching drivers once at half-past midnight. No one checked in on him. That was fine – he'd been on long journeys before. Three minutes before three a.m, they rolled to a stop. Ben startled out of a daze. He'd been tracing the wood grains in the beams with his eyes, and now struggled to see in the dark as hushed whispers came from outside. He tried to listen but couldn't hear much. Slowly, he reached for the carriage door, expecting them to jump into motion at any second. His hand twisted the latch. The carriage made no motion. He opened the door and leaned out. "Why have we stopped?" He asked a soldier, who was staring ahead in shock and confusion. He didn't answer.

Ben followed his gaze. Everyone's eyes were focused ahead on a green orb swinging in the middle of the road. Like some sort of haunted ghost. Ben felt his eyes falling out of focus as he watched, but he was used enough to it that he was able to rip his eyes away to step down, out of the carriage, and onto the ground. "Who goes there?" He asked loudly, without hostility. "Are you in need of help?"

The light came closer. It's presence was overpowering. The urge to look and to fall into a deep, deep sleep was almost irresistible. Ben put a hand up to block the light and spotted someone behind it, swinging it in a dizzying pattern. They had a cloak on – or possibly a cape – and wore slim, tight fitting boots. Either it was a girl, or a man with very slim, feminine ankles.

Then, a voice, as overpowering and alluring as the light, which penetrated every particle of him, straight to the bone. "Why have you brought soldiers in our midst?"

A girl, he thought vaguely. Definitely a girl, but a powerful one. He could feel her authority.

"They are here to protect me," Ben explained calmly. "We're not here to hurt you."

It occurred to him too late that perhaps he shouldn't have insinuated he was anyone important. In the dark, his identity was mostly concealed. With great trepidation, he swallowed and asked: "Will you allow us to pass?"

The light stopped swaying and its wielder held it closer to the side of the carriage. Ben swallowed as he recognized the Auradon crest on the side of the craft. "You are from the high kingdom?" She asked slowly, cautiously.

Ben swallowed. "Yes," He affirmed.

He could barely see the woman behind the light, and it became much harder as all of the lanterns in the company – all the ones that had been held by the driver and the guards – turned green. "Take them," The woman ordered, and then her light disappeared. The driver and the escorts came back to life, gasping for breath, and several loud battle cries echoed from the forest. Sturdy arrows the length of his arm with ropes attached to them flew through the air, going through the roof of the carriage and splintering the wheels. The horses reared up almost as one as figures with black, green, and purple torches rushed through the trees.

"We're under attack!" One of the horsemen yelled. "Barbarians! Yield!"

"Don't hurt them!" Ben struggled to be heard over the whinnying of the horses. He reached out and caught the reins of one and pulled them back down to ground level as he tried to calm the frightened creature. "I think they're only frightened of the weapons! If we throw them down-"

"You'll have us all be murdered?" The man bellowed, wrenching his reigns away from Ben and shoving him back. "Get down and take cover! We already have a soft man on the throne – we don't need one on the battlefield as well!"

Ben fell to the ground, and the soft dirt gave way under his frame. The officer had, it seemed, not recognized him in the dark with his coat covering his jacket. "Wait!" He yelled as the men spurred their horses to action and they began to hurry away. The carriage, with one broken rim and at least five broken spokes, more than tripled its previous pace as it took off into the night. The horsemen followed it. Ben spotted a horse's hoof coming down on him from above and rolled to keep his skull intact. He crouched, face down, into the dirt as horse hooves plundered the ground around him. A scary vision of a hoof severing the connection from his head to his neck made every hair stand on end as he gasped, shaking.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Chances were, if Ben had stayed inside the carriage, he'd be safely away with them. As it was, he was afraid to even move as shouts echoed through the forest and then fell to whispers around the road. What were the chances they wouldn't spot him; that he'd be left to wait for his caravan to realize he'd been left and return to retrieve him?

Hands seized his shoulders and yanked him up, keeping his knees pressed into the mud. He gasped at the same bright green light was shoved into his eyes, blinding him from the people holding him captive. "Who is he?" The woman holding the light asked.

"Can't tell," A smooth, male's voice replied. "He's unarmed."

"I don't mean any harm," Ben gasped, closing his eyes as the bright light made his brain feel like it was pulsating inside his skull. "We were just passing through the area."

"Heading to where?" The female demanded.

"Cinderellasburg," Ben provided.

"Where?" The woman asked.

Ben paused and opened an eye to see if he could see her. "It's… King Chad's kingdom?" He asked. "I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow afternoon."

"He's important," The woman decided. A little fear had crept into her tone. "He was traveling with a guard to meet someone."

"Who are you?" Another man – one with a little bark who was tightly gripping his left arm – demanded.

"I-" Ben faltered. "I'm… just a representative from the High Kingdom."

"He's lying," The first man accused. "He paused!"

There was a long silence. Ben tried to slow his breathing as he waited for his own verdict.

"We'll take him to E. She'll make a decision," The woman declared.

Ben's eyes flew open. "Wait!" He gasped. "I'm being expected! And the carriage will come back for me. Let them come back and I'll convince them to let you walk free!"

The first man laughed. "We can't trust him, can we?" He asked.

"No," The woman agreed. "Tie him up, and we'll take him back to camp."

A blindfold was whipped across his eyes and his head was wrenched back. Ben tried to call out, but before the blindfold had even been fastened, a gag was tied across his mouth and a thin rope was strung around his wrists several hundred times, so they were biting into his wrists. He was forced to his feet and the three began to lead him away, though he could hear first the footsteps and then the heavy breathing of many others around him.

"Who is he?" He heard someone whisper.

"Someone important," The woman whispered back. "We're taking him to Evie."

Evie. He was going to be judged by a girl named Evie. A leader? What sort of leader might a band of… outlaws? Misfits? Castaways? He wasn't sure what to call them. But what sort of leader could they possibly have?

Ben tripped over tree roots as he tried to keep pace with the two men leading him. Behind him, he heard shouts and distant 'Find him!'s. The carriage had returned too late.

They marched for about an hour, and then the leader called a pause. "We're going too slow," She decided. "Take the blindfold off of him, and cover your faces. We'll move faster if he can walk straight."

The blindfold was removed off of her command, but everyone was already covered. They removed the gag off with the blindfold, and Ben took a deep breath of the fresh air. Ben's head swiveled to examine his surroundings. They were in the middle of the forest, hidden in the thick underbrush, and there were about twenty people in number. Two held onto his arms, and others surrounded them, armed with knives in case he tried to run. The person on his left, who had spoken with the bark, had bright blue eyes, and light hair and skin. The person on his right, with the smooth voice, had more ethnic skin that reminded him of Aziz, from Agrabah, and long brown hair poking out from under a cap. Black, beetle-like eyes caught the light of the stars as they examined his face, which was still covered with mud and dirt.

Up ahead, he caught a rush of long, thick hair as the woman who he assumed had been the one to previously hold the light turned away from him. He could see, in the light of the stars, that her hair had an odd quality to it. Something that looked very, very different from the others. "Let's go," She commanded, and the group continued on.

The uneven forest floor was more compatible with his feet now that he could see where the roots, rocks, and uneven spots were. The fresh night air brought a soft of calmness to his bones despite the tense situation. And holy heavens – he had never even known this many stars existed. He had to rip his eyes away from the vast, glittering expanse above in order to keep from tripping. There was no moon to outshine the pinpricks of light as he stared, dumbfounded, at the constellations and beautiful clouds of heavenly fog.

Hours later, as the sun began to light the sky, Ben heard yelling, and then saw smoke rising into the sky. They walked into a camp, and his mouth dropped at what he saw. Hundreds of people – not one older than he was – were living in the center of the forest. He could see hammocks strung up and small lean-to's and two or three half-made teepees. They weren't of the greatest construction, but had clearly been here for several weeks, if not months.

Ben was led to the largest teepee by his two captors. The other group broke away as they took him inside, forced him to his knees in the center, by the supporting pole, and tied his hands and ankles together around it. "Try and get some sleep!" The smooth-talking one snapped. "E will be in soon to question you." Ben didn't fail to notice how they'd positioned his back facing the entrance, so that he'd never be able to see who came in.

"Could I have some water, please?" Ben requested. His throat had started to become a little dry as they had walked, though the night air hadn't made it too bad. Now that he was sitting though, he was feeling a little light-headed.

The two snorted. "Ask E," The man with the bark in his tone replied. He spoke a bit childishly, as if he hadn't quite wrapped his head around what they were doing yet. "She's the compassionate one of the three." There was the sound of someone hitting someone else, and Ben realized that the reason they were trying to be secretive about the camp is, because, if he was someone important, he would know who to prosecute. He decided it would be wise to pretend he'd never heard the name 'Evie'.

The teepee flap closed, which was unfortunate because it blocked out most of the sounds from camp outside. He shifted against the frost on the ground, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes to fall into a restless sleep.

[goddessofmadnessheiress]

The multiverse is wonderful – A Flash fanfic

Fandom: The Flash

Pairing: Barry Allen x reader; Carlos Valdes x reader;

Request: Anonymous asked:

Summary: You are accidentally send to the Flash universe and now you need to explain to the characters how you know what is going to happen while trying to find a way of going back to your own dimension.

Warnings: Spoilers for season two of The Flash; Mentions of Savitar and sad Barry;

Words: 4033

Notes: Maybe some scenes are wrong but it is being a while since I watched this season. And I changed the request a little bit because I only write for season one and two of Flash (as I said in Characters I Write For).

(Y/e/c): your eyes’ color; (Y/n): your name; (Y/l/n/): your last name; (y/n/n): your nickname;

             You don’t know what happened. In one moment you were talking with Stephen Amell and in the other everything went black. You can’t feel your body; you can’t hear your thoughts. Everything is still black.

               And then there is light.

               So strong that you can’t open you eyes properly. The flashlight is aimed at your face. You blink sometimes till your surrounding enters in focus. And then you see Grant, Danielle and Carlos bending over you.

               You smile at your friends but they don’t return it. Truly, they seem confused with your presence. And this makes your stomach turn, you try to sit up in the bed you are laying but Danielle’s cold hand stop you from doing so.

               You look around and you find yourself in the studio which imitates STAR Labs. You shake your head. You probably have fainted in the middle of the recording and they laid you in the stretcher.

               But if you are in the studio where are the cameras? Or the rest of the staff? Or even Stephen that you were talking just minutes ago? How long have you fainted?

               “Carlos, baby.” You call your boyfriend, who is occupied with a tablet in hands, and he doesn’t look in your direction.

               “Who is Carlos?” Grant asks with a worried expression. Why is he in fully Flash clothes?

               “C’mon Grant, you know who is Carlos. You two are best friends.” You answer pointing to Carlos, who now is looking at you confused.

               “Who is Grant?” The green eyed man asks you. “My name is Barry, and he is Cisco.”

               “Oh no. Not again with this stupid joke!” You scream trying to stand up but Danielle hands clued in your shoulders don’t let you move a single muscle. “Dani let me go!”

               “I think she hits her head when she fainted.” Danielle simple says and you roll your eyes. Why are they putting a prank on you? It is not April 1th yet. Or it is? You are a little dizzy and lost track of time.

               “Where is Stephen?” You ask simply but before you can say anything a loud sound of interference interrupts you and them a siren fills the small room you are in. In the little screens in the wall close to you is possible to see a big and black figure in front of the gates.

               “Flash.” Zoom’s distorted voice can be heard on the speakers. It fills your brain in the worst way. A shiver run down your spine making you feel trapped in a big and endless nightmare.

               Why is Zoom in the fifth season of The Flash? Is he back? Is this some kind of flash back or they called Teddy to prank you? ‘Maybe is Stephen in the clothes.’ You think to yourself. ‘Yeah, maybe it is.’

               You see Grant running in the doors’ direction. But it is so fast that you almost don’t see it, if you didn’t knew he was going to confront Zoom you wouldn’t look at his direction. All the papers fly around and Carlos is left looking for his friends.

               Wait… All the papers fly? You almost can’t see him? How is Grant running in this speed? The Flash’s runs are a special effect. Only a metahuman could run this fast. Truly, only Flash could run this fast…

               “Oh my God! “ You scream and the two left in the room look in your direction. You have fallen in the TV show. How? You have no idea but here you are. “Barry no!” You scream but it is already too late.

               You look in the wall direction just to see a red suit stopped in front of the black and big figure from before. They run so fast around the building that they let you confuse. You want to throw up but you can’t.

               When you see Zoom lifting Barry on the air and his knees meeting Barry’s back you jump from the stretcher to the ground screaming so loud that you can’t even hear the echoes of your own scream.

               You feel your eyes watering and soon enough you face is red and wet with all your tears. “Save him.” This is all you can ask before Cisco starts running in Barry’s rescue while Caitlin knee before you and try to clean your face.

               “Are you okay?” Caitlin asks you with concern in her tone. She probably thinks that you are crazy. You shake your head and look in her brown eyes. You feel your heart heaving; you knew this was going to happen with Barry.

               But you thought all was just a big prank on you. Now Barry is drastic hurt and you could have stopped all of that before it even happened. You start subbing in Caitlin’s shoulder.  

               “This is my entire fault.” You answer between subs and waves of tears. Her soft expression instantly turns in one of confusion and then worry again. She definitely thinks you are crazy or hallucinating because you hit your head when fainted. “I should have stopped him.”

               “What are you talking about?” Caitlin asks with concern for you mental health being.

               “I should have stopped Barry before he confronted Zoom.” And then an expression of fear and worry takes the beautiful features of Caitlin. ‘Now she is wondering how I know about Zoom.’ Your brain warns you with fear of the consequences of talking too much.

               “How…” But before Caitlin finishes her statement Cisco enters carrying Barry, who can’t walk with his own feet, and the Latin boy starts shooting for help.

               Caitlin leaves you on the ground trying to catch your breath and stopping your crying. You stand with difficulty and you are ready to run in Barry’s direction to help him stand when Iris enters the room.

               You feel your heart heaving more and your throat closing. You feel the water coming back to your (y/e/c) eyes. How will you explain everything to her? You hear fast steps approaching and then Joe is by the side of his daughter.

               Harry, the doctor Wells from Earth- 2, comes running into the room from another part of the building and his faces goes pale when he sees Barry on the other side of the room. Why everyone decide to show at once?

               “What happened?” Joe and Harry ask at the same time. The first one’s tone is filled with concern with his adopted son while the second is angry as if Barry done something really wrong.

               “Zoom happened.” You answer without thinking. And at the sound of your voice everyone’s eyes are clued on your small figure. You gulp, maybe you should have being quiet.

               Joe, Iris and Harry seem to only acknowledge you now after hearing you voice. Joe looks at you suspected while Harry looks at you surprised. Despite that you don’t feel uncomfortable. What makes your stomach turns is Iris’s stare.

               Her dark eyes never leave your figure and you are almost sure she didn’t blinked at all. You can’t decipher her facial expression but you can feel the fire emanating from her eyes. Is she jealous of you? Why she would be jealous?

               Your (y/e/c) follows the direction of her stare and you look down at yourself. That is when it hits you. You are with one of Grant coats except that it isn’t really his, it is from his character. That means you are using one of Barry’s coats in the real universe of Flash and in Iris’s mind that could only mean that the two of you are together.

               “Who is she?” Iris asks looking in Barry’s direction, who looks at her just as confused as the rest of them, but she seems to not notice it because her stare is quickly on you again.

               “I’m (Y/n). (Y/n) (Y/l/n).” You say smiling but none of them returns it and you sigh looking at your own feet. ‘This will be hard to explain’ you think to yourself. “And I’m not from this dimension.” You say raising your head when you have the courage to do so.

               “Are you from Earth 2?” Cisco questions you excitedly and Caitlin elbows him. You are successful suppress a laugh. Barry shakes his head confused and his strong stare stops on you. It is hard to divert your eyes from his green ones.

               “Not exactly…?” Your voice fails you and it sounds more like a question than an actual answer.  “Truly, I don’t know from which Earth I’m from.” You say shaking your head disappointed with yourself. “But in my dimension you guys aren’t real.”

               “What you mean by not real?” Joe asks moving closer to you and you instantly take a step back till your back hits the stretcher behind you. Harry is already by Barry’s side in this moment of the conversation while Iris refused to move a single muscle.  

               “I mean that you are only characters from a TV show.” You say shyly. “Where I came from the metahumans are just sci-fi from HQs.”

               “That is how you know about Zoom?” Caitlin asks you and you shake your head in a ‘yes’ motion while biting your lips.

               “Truly, Zoom is the villain for season two and they are already recording season five.” You then explain to them about the TV show called ‘The Flash’ that they are from, how you met the actor who portraits Cisco and how the two have fallen in love and start dating.

               “Are we a couple in your earth?” Cisco questions you with a huge smile on his face.

               “Sort of. I’m dating Carlos for two months now.” You answer showing him the alliance he gave you two weeks ago.

               “This Carlos’s guy is lucky.” Cisco says while Caitlin elbows him and Barry tries to hit his head but he stops in middle act when a scream of pain leaves his lips.

               “I forget this happened.” The velocist says sadly. You finish your explaining of why you thought that everything was a prank and how when you realized it wasn’t it was too late to help Barry.

               “So… Do you know why Barry isn’t healing?” Caitlin asks while you are looking in Iris’s direction that now seems more relaxed with the fact the coat you are using isn’t Barry’s, or at least it isn’t Barry’s in your earth.

               “Yes. Barry lost his velocity.” You answer and Cisco laughs at you. You feel your heart broking; it is hard to see the replica of your boyfriend not believing you. You look at Barry’s direction, which is looking at his friend with a disappointed look too. “Do you not believe me? Ask Barry to vibrate himself.”

               That is when all eyes lands on the boy. He tries to vibrate his hand but nothing happens. He tries again but gets the same result as before. So he looks at you in disbelieve. And you smile sadly at him.

               “How did you know?” He asks.

               “I told you. I already watched all of this. Now you are not feeling your legs but I promise you that you will be alright.”

               “Can you help us with Zoom?” Iris talks to you by the first time and you smile at her.

               “I think so. But I need to go back home, for Carlos and my family.” You answer looking at your hands reposing in your lab. And then a bigger hand interlocks with your smaller ones.

               “You help us defeat Zoom while we try to figure out a way of sending you back.” Barry promises with his green eyes locked with you (y/e/c) ones. You look back to your interlocked fingers. Your (y/s/t) stands out of his white fingers. That is the moment when you realize that he is paler than you remember Grant skin tone to be.

               ‘But he isn’t Grant (Y/n). And Cisco isn’t Carlos too. You don’t know any of them and they don’t know you.’ Your brain remembers you this little fact that you seem to always forget in this hour or so you have being here.

               “Deal.” You answer looking in Joe’s direction who smiles that you with some way of hope mixed with relief. Now his son has a chance against that abomination from Earth 2.

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

               You have being in the STAR Labs for days now. You almost forget that you aren’t from this world. The Flash team treats you like you always have being one of them and not a woman who appeared at their door some days ago calling them by strange names because you are from some different dimension that they never existed.

               You still don’t know how you traveled the time and space and emerged in the Flash universe but Cisco is working on that. The boy is confused of why his metahuman powers hadn’t warned him of you appearing and Caitlin is trying to calm him down of one of his rage quits on the other room.

               You look over your shoulder and see Caitlin hugging Cisco against her chest. Your heart seems to tighten in your own ribcage. You know that Cisco and Caitlin don’t have a thing but you are afraid that your mere presence in this universe can change things.

               You know Cisco isn’t your boyfriend, Carlos is. But seeing him, a guy who looks a twin of your boyfriend, flirting with every girl, especially one who is identical to your best friend, is as hard as seen Carlos doing it. You feel betrayed by the two people you should trust the most.

               You are organizing the paper on Caitlin’s desk when you feel something on your knee but before you can understand what is happening you feel your own body falling till hit something warn and strong.

               You look over your shoulder just to see Barry face on resting on it. He is smiling a big and cute smile for you. You turn in his lap as much as you can because his arms around your waist are too strong for any proper movement.

               “What are you doing?” You ask while he tries to move around the wheel chair with only one hand. Barry isn’t healing as you remember him doing on the TV show but he decided that it isn’t a problem since he could sit you in his lap and move the two of you around in the laboratory.

               “You seem sad so we are walking or rolling a little.” He answers you playing with his own critical situation.

               “You shouldn’t be carrying me like this Bar.” You say but he lets a kiss on your right check.

               “But I want to.” He answers whispering in your ear while his face moves away from your shoulder to kiss the back of it. As you discovered that you didn’t have a house in this dimension Caitlin and Iris borrow you some clothes but you are still using Grant’s coat. “Have I already told you that you look amazing in this coat?”

               “You just say that because it looks like your own coats Bar.” You answer trying to get up but his strong arms pull you closer to his warm chest. You know this seem wrong because you already have a boyfriend but it feel so right. Carlos isn’t one of PDA and Barry is exactly the opposite.

               Every time the green eyed man has a chance of hugging you or holding you close to him he will do it. And the fact that the replica of your boyfriend doesn’t appear to feel the same for you just makes it easier to forget the right or wrong or the different dimension. And that makes you more attracted for Barry and his affection. Apparently the only thing that makes a future with him impossible is Iris and her jealousy.

               Talking about the devil…

               Iris enters the room and her dark eyes instantly stop on the two of you. She looks at you with fire in her eyes because you are in Barry’s lap. You know they stay together and have a beautiful daughter together. And that is another reason you don’t want to interfere because you still don’t know how your presence can affect this timeline.

               But you feel that Barry needs someone and apparently he is sure you are this someone. You probably already have changed the timeline but you are sure you still can make it go back to the original patch you know. So you jump from Barry’s embrace and he makes a sound of complain when the coldness of the room hits him.  

               “(Y/n)?” Iris calls you and you go in her direction. “Can I talk to you please?”

               “Yes of course.” And then you follow her till the two of you are outside of the Cortex. “What is it?” You ask smiling when she makes a stop far away of the room you two just left.

               “Are you planning in going back?” She asks.

               “Yeah. I think my plans hadn’t changed.”

               “Do you realize Barry is a good person, don’t you?”

               “Yes.”

               “Someone who deserves happiness.”

               “I couldn’t agree more with you.”

               “He is attached with you. And this can’t happen.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Don’t you see he is falling for you? And he will be devastated when you will need to leave.” She says. “Because of you. Please don’t let his hopes of you loving him up.”

               And then she turns in the elevator direction and goes away leaving you alone in the cold corridor. You shake your head. You are not playing with his feeling, are you? You can hear Barry’s wheel chair getting close to you.

               “Where is Iris?” Barry asks you but he soon changes subject when he see your expression. “What happened? What she has said to you?” He says pulling you to his lap again and you hide your face in the crotch of his neck.  

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

               You are sleeping in Caitlin’s apartment since all of you agreed that a fourth person in Joe’s house could be hard to hide from curious eyes. So you enter the small apartment after your friend.

               You froze in place. This place is ironically too similar to the one that you once divided with Danielle and this takes you back the feeling of nostalgia of the university days. When the two of you would stay up all night giggling and gossiping while warped in each other in her room with an empty bottle of ice cream on the ground.

               And while Caitlin is taking her coat off you run to her and hugs her from behind. Your tears wetting her shirt. She doesn’t make any question when she turns and hugs you back. Caitlin isn’t much fan of hugs but something about you makes her ignore it every time.

               “What happened?” She asks sitting you in her couch.

               “I’m afraid of hurting Barry’s feeling.” You answer moving away of her and opting in hugging your pillow instead.

               “And do you feel the same?”

               “I don’t know. I’m confused.” Your hide your face in your pillow and starts crying again. You feel Caitlin leaving the couch.

               “Lucky of us that I have this.” She says from her kitchen and you look up just to see Caitlin coming back to the living room with a bottle of ice cream and two spoons in hand. She sits by your side and offers you one metallic spoon. “So what you want to watch?”

               “You choose.” You answer smiling while she bents to take the remote control in the small center table. “Have I already told that Danielle and I used to do this?”

               “Danielle? Oh, the me of your earth.” She answers your statement laughing. “Is she your best friend, isn’t she?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Can you have more than one best friend? Because, you are my best friend.”

               “Of course I can.” You say laughing and hugging Catlin stronger this time. “You are my best friend too.”

               “I have never had a friend like you (Y/n/n).” Caitlin hugs you stronger than she ever done before. “So what you say about some cartoon?”

               “Hell yeah!” You answer taking the ice cream from her hands while she puts in some cartoon you have never seen before.

               You guys watched the movie till the end and decided in watching some episodes of a show that Caitlin has being following for some weeks by now. Apparently even the programs on the TV are different for the ones of your earth.

               But this is a good thing because you won’t see anything repeated. After a while the sleep got to you and you fall asleep in Caitlin which is already fast asleep with the remote still in hands. When your eyes close the empty ice cream bottle falls of your hand to the ground without making a sound.

               The night is silent. It seems that the whole city knows that the two of you need a good night of sleep without the chaos of this life of helpers of a famous and cute superhero.

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

               You really don’t how or when you guys defeat Zoom because you are too caught in the more than friends but not dating yet relationship that you and Barry have. And soon as Zoom was out of the way you hear that name. That exactly name that makes a shiver run down your spine, that name that makes Barry have sleepiness nights, that name that makes you pray for Iris’s safety.

               But the thing you aren’t expecting to hear leaving the team mouth is that Savitar isn’t looking for Iris but his true target is you. That is the moment you realize that is too late to save the original timeline because you already have changed it too much.

               And it is the same moment when Cisco decides saying the truth he was hiding for weeks.

               “Wait. Have you guys discovered how to send me back weeks ago?” You ask in disbelieve.

               “Yes.” Barry says ashamed with himself. “But you were helping us and I had thought that you would stay after all we passed together.” He says going closer to you and you fall in his arms hiding yourself in his STAR Labs sweater.

               “Yeah.” Iris agreed with Barry what choked you. “But now it is safer if you go back. Savitar can’t reach you in your earth.”

               And that is the reason you are all in the STAR Labs’ basement in front of a big and metallic machine that Cisco passed weeks in. He is in front of the computer screen taping angrily in the keyboard.

               You are in between Barry’s arms. He is hugging you from behind with his chin resting at the top of your head while your hands are resting over his own that keeps you clued to him. He is hugging you as tight as he ever had. He doesn’t want to lose you.

               “It is ready.” Cisco announces after a while. You turn in Barry’s hug and he looks down at you. His green eyes filled with tears as your own and in this moment he dives to you stilling your lips in his soft ones.

               This is the first time he kissed you. He whispers a “Stay please. I love you.” After the heartbroken kiss ended and you two broke apart.  You shake your head, which is clued to his own, cleaning the tears that escaped his eyes while he does the same with you.

               You leave his arms, turns in your wheels and walk in the portal’s direction in this moment a white light opens itself in front of your fragile figure. You look over your shoulder jus to see Harry, Iris, Joe, Caitlin and Cisco looking at you with an expression you can’t decipher and you feel your body shaking with the shiver running down your spine.

               Barry is still in tears and you can understand his expression: He is heartbroken just as Iris predicted weeks ago and that makes your own heart breaks.

It is now or never.

It is your own choice:

Going back or staying.

               You choose your eyes and take a deep breath.

               Your foot in middle air.

               You have chosen to…

[singingcookie]

X me, xion and roxas, Dance with me!!

Leave a “X Me” in my ask, and I will write whatever it is that you wish, [specify.]

Another day, another mission.

But even fighting Heartless for, you know, the hundredth time–it wasn’t as bad today. The last few times Roxas had been assigned to Beast’s Castle, he had been paired with Xaldin. And while he didn’t exactly hate anyone in the Organization (apparently he couldn’t with “no heart” or whatever), the man with side burns didn’t really make his, ah, top-picks as far as partners went. Most of the things he talked about went right over the blond’s head. And Xaldin seemed to get exasperated with his cluelessness pretty quick.

But for the first time in a while–Roxas was paired with one of his top picks! He glanced over his shoulder after finishing off his own Heartless. Xion hopped back on one foot, her black coat fluttering around her, and sent a fireball at the Shadow now a fair distance away. Once it faded, she spun around to the final enemy, hefting her own weapon above her head to land a finishing blow. She clearly had it handled.

The Keyblade faded away from his grasp in a shimmer as he decided to take in the room now that it wasn’t crawling with their targets. It was still as bright as the last time he had arrived. Xaldin had said when they investigated the castle before, that it was clear the Beast avoided this room. Judging from the lack of destroyed decor that littered every other inch of the castle. There were hardly even scuff marks on the floor, it was pristine even.

Roxas actually…really liked this room. There really wasn’t much in it. No furniture even. Just the banisters that held up the U-shaped second story, encompassing the wide open space that he and Xion had been clearing the Heartless from. And then full-length windows that showed off the dark forest past the castle grounds. Perhaps it was the lighting. Yeah. The warm red surrounding the windows, the tanned flooring with the pattern in the center, and the powerful glow of the candles… It reminded him a lot of the best view in Twilight Town.

He dropped his head back, gazing at the gigantic chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Somehow it felt like the centerpiece of the mural. Even though he had no idea how a golden chandelier would relate to the mural of clouds, filled with–what had Xaldin called them again?–cherubs, that’s right. He couldn’t explain why but it just worked.

“All right, that was the last one here!” He hummed in reply to her cheerful tone, tearing his gaze away from the artwork above them. He was about to turn around, when she passed him with an interesting hop in her step, her eyes ever forward. “The ballroom’s pretty nice, huh?”

Ah. Ballroom. That’s what Xaldin had called it before too. “Yeah…” He took a few steps further in, his gaze following hers to the windows and the inky scenery that lay through them, dotted with the sparkle of stars. “But what’s this room even for anyway?”

He heard her tinkling laughter beside him, and he suddenly felt very warm in the face. “Roxas, didn’t Xaldin tell you?”

“I mean,” he started, raising a hand to rub the back of his head feeling a bit awkward as he admitted, “sometimes I don’t completely listen when he starts being a downer. Which is, y’know–”

“Often,” she agreed with another peal of giggles. She said that she and Demyx had talked about it on one of their missions here together–another person who was on the lower end of Roxas’ picks for partners–which explained why she had actually listened to the explanation. “It’s for dancing. The people here would hold big parties with upper class people and everyone would dance all night long!”

He tilted his head, mumbling the word under his breath as though it might get it to stick in his brain this time. The word was familiar somehow. But he knew it wasn’t from his time in the Organization. Perhaps in his old memories–his old self and what he couldn’t truly recall–was where it originated. “Xion… Do you know how to dance?”

A grin spread across her face so bright that it had the corner of his lips tilting upwards too. “Yeah! I mean, Demyx told me all about it! He even showed me how it would go at these parties! You wanna try?”

He didn’t know what exactly to expect here, but he gave a tiny nod anyway. “It’s like this…!” He pitched forward when she grabbed the hand closest to her, tugging him closer. They had a step between them and he wondered vaguely if they had ever stood so close before. From the pink that dusted Xion’s cheeks, and how she mumbled an apology about pulling him so suddenly, he didn’t think so.

After he assured her that it was fine, she started to change their position, telling him as she went. First, they were to keep holding their hands this way. He didn’t mind that. It was warm. And then he was supposed to put his other hand on her waist. He was about to ask if that was really alright when she rolled her eyes, and used her free hand to place it there herself. Okay then.

Once that was done, she placed that same hand upon his shoulder. Now there was even less space between them. Now everything was warm. Their hands and definitely his face. Yes, his face was very warm now. “Um, is this it?” he wondered. That was hard to ask–his throat was dry now too.

She was laughing a lot today. But it made him smile and forget about his hot face. She started to explain how the steps went, telling him to watch his feet at first. She counted them out and smiled patiently if he accidentally trodded on her feet. It took a little while but…

“I think I’m getting it!”

“Demyx said that it’s not getting it if you have to stare at your feet the entire time,” she informed him with a giggle. He hummed, giving the smallest nod before glancing back up. Only realizing now that dancing this way, there was no way to really look at anything except for her.

Her short, black hair was messy and all over the place. Probably from fighting earlier–and all the bouncing around she tended to do probably didn’t help. Her face was more pink than it was earlier and he wondered if she felt as warm as he did.

But it was her eyes that mesmerized him. He knew they were blue. But had they always had that purple tint to them? And did they always sparkle like that in this light? He had never really looked at her straight on like this at the clock tower.

He didn’t know how long they spun around the floor. All Roxas did know was that time was definitely passing. And they needed to RTC, but he really didn’t want to stop. “Roxas, I’m feeling a little…dizzy.”

“Oh. We have been dancing for a while.” Their eyes were still glued to each other, and he wasn’t really sure what to do here. And it felt like his words were leaving his lips without him willing them too. “Maybe we should stop.”

“We have stopped.”

And she’s right. They’re no longer spinning, but they’re still holding each other. As though they might pick it back up. Maybe they would, if they stayed like that too much longer. Axel might wonder what happen if they got back too late. And it’s with that thought, that Roxas removes his hand from her waist, taking a miniscule step back. “W-we should probably be heading to the clock tower.”

She takes a step back as well. “Right. Don’t want Axel to eat our ice cream, huh?” Their clasped hands finally separate; and they only look at each other for a moment before Xion starts to lead the way back. It was quiet as they made their way through the silent castle corridors, to return to their portal home. “So”–he sees her brush some hair behind her ear and the pink dust is back on her cheeks–“did you like dancing, Roxas?”

They aren’t standing as close, but he still feels just as warm as when they were dancing. He doesn’t even have to think to answer her. “Yes.” They should do it again, someday maybe. But he doesn’t say that part out loud.

[subtlerain]

Mask - Part IV (final)

→ Yoongi x Reader

I ♥ II ♥ III ♥ IV

Genres: MAJOR FLUFF & ROMANCE, angst, just a lot of emotions

A/N: Hello everyone! So I’ve decided to end ‘Mask’ here. I’m sorry it has taken such a long time to get up, but I wanted to make sure I took time to work on the ending. Thank you all for the support on this series, and please look forward to new writing coming very soon! <3

Ask/requests  ♥  Masterlist

You rubbed your tired eyes, blinking at the white paper in front of you.

You glided your pencil over the surface, making a smooth line before shading in the drawing.

After a successful job at dying the member’s hair, the head stylist, Jisu, had told you that you were to start doing what you had been hired for, styling.

It was time for you to show your skills, in the form of sleek and sexy outfits for the seven idols.

You were sketching some ideas in your sketchbook, using inspiration from what Jisu had told you, and the title track of the new album.

So here you were, sat at your desk, sketching the last outfit at very late hours of the night.

You were tired, but needed to finish, which had taken you much longer than you anticipated, the glowing sun now below the horizon.

You dropped your pencil as you finished drawing, bringing your arms up over your head in a much-needed stretch.

Sighing, you closed your sketchbook, satisfied with your work.

For a moment, your mid wandered to Yoongi, the dark haired idol who had seemed to be invading your thoughts even more since when you dyed his hair.

That interaction had been cut short, just as a familiar image flashed in your mind. Yoongi had left abruptly, and you had not seen him since.

He was just to mysterious, so captivating.

And so familiar.

Shaking your head, you gathered your belongings, holding your sketchbook to your chest.

It was quiet in the building, the usual hustle-and-bustle of the workplace replaced with a peaceful silence as you made your way down the stairs.

As you were about to leave the building, your eye caught onto something behind you.

There was a light on down the hallway.

You furrowed your brow, wondering who else would be here so late. It certainly wasn’t any of the other stylists.

You made your way down the long hallway, passing the dance studio and dressing rooms, noting that no other staff member’s belongings were here.

You turned the corner to see a door cracked open slightly, light casting shadows down the dark hallway.

Your eyes flicked up to the sign on the door, heart beating faster as you read the name.

It was Yoongi’s private studio.

You knew he had one in the building, but you had never visited it, nor had a reason to.  

You approached the door cautiously, daring to look inside the room.

Yoongi was hunched over his desk, headphones strapped to his head as he clicked away at his computer, obviously working on a new song.

His hair was covered with a black beanie, giving him a casual look.

You watched him work, his head sometimes tilting or shaking as he clicked away.

You could almost feel the passion radiating off of him as he worked, the room completely silent around the musician.

Yoongi was so quiet most of the time, except when he was with the other members. You had watched him sometimes, laughing with the other guys, feeling slightly disappointed that he had barley ever smiled at you.  

All of a sudden, he abruptly turned around, causing you jump in surprise, your sketchbook falling from your arms and onto the floor.

Yoongi stared at you wide eyed before standing up and opening the door wider.

“Y/N?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he looked down at you. He looked just as tired as you, large bags under his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve been spying…” You trailed off, picking up your sketchbook.

Yoongi didn’t respond, his eyes grazing over your face. He surprised to see you of course, but that didn’t stop the butterflies from forming in his stomach as he stood in front of you.

Flustered, you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, staring to turn away, “I’m sorry again, I should get goi-“

Your words halted as Yoongi grabbed your wrist, the sudden action making you turn and look at him.

His eyes were wide, filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Just…I need some input on my song.” He stated simply, his eyes still looking into yours.

You felt lost for words as you looked away, feeling a shiver crawl up your back.

“Please.” His voice was softer now, almost begging.

“A-alright.” You said, your mind growing fuzzy.

Yoongi let go of your wrist, your hand falling limply to your side.

You watched as he pulled an extra chair so his desk, before sitting at the one he was in before.

You carefully walked in, letting the door close behind you.

You shrugged off your coat and bag, placing them down on the small table.

You looked around the studio, the whole room covered with posters and awards and pictures. It truly was his studio.

You sat down carefully, suddenly realizing how close you were to the Idol. You gazed at him from the corner of your eye as he clicked around on his keyboard, the bright light from the computer monitor making his pale skin glow.

You swallowed and looked away, focusing on the small figurines that were sat on the desk.

“Okay…” Yoongi said softly, opening a file on his computer.

He seemed flustered for a moment before turning to you.

“I want your honest opinion. I’ve been working on this for a long time. It’s kind of a secret project.” He explained.

You were completely surprised by his forwardness, nodding slowly as you looked at him.

For a moment, you wondered if you were even allowed to do this. Was it really okay for you to be here alone with him?

It’s for his music, it’s fine.

You felt your heart speed up as Yoongi carefully placed his headphones over your ears, all sounds being immediately muted around you.

Yoongi glanced at you once more, his finger hovering over the play button. He hadn’t planned for this to happen, but the need he felt to share his emotions for you were just too overpowering. He couldn’t tell you how he was feeling, but he could do it through his music, and this was his only chance.

He hit play, watching you carefully.

You blinked as the song started, a simple piano melody in the background. You breathed in as you heard his voice, a soft rap flowing into your ears.

You had listened to BTS music before, but this was different. His rap was soft and open, hesitant even.

But the words were powerful, passionate.

You felt butterflies explode in your stomach as you listened to the music, letting your eyes flutter shut.

It was beautiful. The lyrics were about love, a topic you didn’t think the rapper would focus on.

In the rain, a soft touch

She walks, a simple smile on her face.

I want to know her,

I want to see her,

She’s here, but so far

I want to hold her, so close to me

The girl who walks in the rain

Set me free

Your chest tightened at the words, heart speeding up as you let them settle in.

It was too real. It couldn’t be.

The song faded out, the lyrics imprinted in your head.

This song was different, it was raw emotion, something you hadn’t expected from the idol. It wasn’t Suga or Agust D, it was Min Yoongi.

And it was beautiful.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Yoongi was looking at you, lips slightly parted as he looked for any emotion on your face.

You looked back at him, your eyes tracing over his features. Soft doll-like lips and high cheekbones beneath pale skin. Those eyes that you had wondered about ever since the day in the dressing room.

You carefully lifted the headphones off your head, placing them down on the table.

He watched your movements carefully, his own heart beating out of his chest.

You suddenly had a thought, one that could change everything.

You slowly reached into your back pocket, Yoongi’s eyes following your movements closely.

You produced the wrinkled black face mask, the one you had taken with you everywhere ever since the night in the rain.

“Y/N…” Yoongi said slowly as you unfolded the mask.

He looked at you, eyes wide as you brought it to his face, carefully tucking the strings around his ears.

You let your hands fall to your lap, a soft smile gracing your lips.

Those eyes that you had seen on the night in the rain were peering back at you, from between the face mask and black beanie.

The eyes that belonged to the man who had saved you, the one who made you laugh when you were crying, who you had felt something for ever since you first met.

“It’s you.” You said simply, feeling warmth flow through your body.

Yoongi stared back at you, feeling butterflies form in his stomach. “You’re so stupid, Y/N.” He said slowly, eyes crinkling as he smiled beneath the mask.

You laughed, the sound making the air around you less tense.

You looked back at him, “All along. It was you all along.” You shook your head in disbelief.

He flicked his eyes back to yours, “Now you know why I couldn’t tell you my name…”

You nodded. It all made sense. The expensive coat, dark clothes and hidden face. He was an idol. He was Min Yoongi.

You felt a shiver go through your body as his hands found yours, his fingers brushing against yours lightly. You swallowed as he held your hands in his, his soft touch making you dizzy.

“Why were you really out in the rain?” You asked, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I know for real now that it probably wasn’t for drug money or bank robbing…”

Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head at the memory, “I needed inspiration. I had been trying to write a song, but I couldn’t do it. I felt empty.” He rubbed his thumb softly over the back of your hand, “And then I saw you getting attacked.”

You looked away at the memory, remembering how scared you were, and how relieved you were when the mysterious man had come to your rescue.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You smiled up at him, “I can finally say it now.”

He laughed at that, the sound taking you back to your conversation in the rain.

Without thinking, you leaned forwards and took the mask off his face, earning a questioning look from the boy in front of you.

You let the mask fall into your lap, “You don’t need to hide anymore.” You said simply.

“I thought you would’ve thrown it out.” Yoongi said, looking down at the black mask in your lap.

You shook your head, “This might sound weird, but it’s my good luck charm. I haven’t taken it out of my pocket since the morning my first day.” You admitted.

You glanced up at Yoongi. A small blush had formed on his cheeks, the sight making butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

You felt an intense pull towards him, suddenly allowing unspeakable thoughts into your head.

You suddenly felt your stomach drop, realizing what you were doing.

You stood up abruptly, causing the chair you were sitting in to topple to the ground.

“Oh my god.” You said quickly, running your hands through your hair, “This is-no, I shouldn’t be here. Oh god, what am I doing?!” You exclaimed. How could you let this happen to you? Why were you feeling this way?

Yoongi looked up at you, feeling confusion course through him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You said, covering your face with your hands. You were so dumb. He’s Min Yoongi, an Idol for your company. This could get you in deep trouble, or worse, fired.

“For what? Y/N?” Yoongi stood up, starting to step forwards. He felt his stomach drop, his heart clenching with fear.

“You’re an idol, Yoongi. You’re my client, I was hired to be your stylist!” You shook your head. Your mind was racing. What was happening to you?

“What does that mean? Y/N, I wrote that song for you.” He said, eyes wide, “You’re not a stylist to me, Y/N, you’re different. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since the day we first met. Didn’t you hear the lyrics?”

Your heart clenched at his comment, but you looked away. “Yoongi, I just can’t. I’ll get fired, I’ll get charged for taking advantage of you-“

“Do you not feel the same way?” Yoongi said harshly, his eyes dark.

You stopped in your tracks, looking away. All your feelings came rushing down on you, your night in the rain, the song lyrics. “I can’t give in to my feelings. It’ll be bad for the both of us…”

“So you just forget? I’ve been trying to do that ever since I first saw you. Y/N, you’re killing me.” Yoongi moved closer to you. You knew you needed to leave, but you couldn’t. “You’ve been driving me crazy.”

You took in a breath as he stopped just feet away from you, his eyes bearing into yours.

“Yoongi…” You looked down. How badly you wanted to kiss him, feel the electricity flowing between you.

Yoongi tilted his head, “I’ve felt all these strange new things since I’ve met you. I never thought I’d seen you again. And here you are. You always appear right in front of me, Y/N.”

You swallowed, feeling your heart clench. Your body was pining for him, yearning for his touch.

You finally lifted your head to meet his eyes. They were wide and passionate, his words during into your mind.

You felt an overwhelming feeling wash over you, and Yoongi’s eyes darkened.

Yoongi flew towards you, slamming you against the wall as his lips smashed onto yours. The kiss was full of need, want, and passion. It made your head spin as he pressed you against the wall, his hand cupping your jaw, his lips moving against yours.

What you were doing was wrong, but it felt so right.

You let your hands trail up his back, letting the beanie fall to the floor was your fingers brushed through his soft hair.

Your body was on fire, the burning passion flowing through your veins.

With his body pressed against yours, you could feel the hum of his heartbeat, perfectly matching yours.

You let out a soft whimper as he kissed down your neck, each brush of his lips leaving you more and more breathless.

He stopped right before he reached the top button of your shirt, knowing that if he continued, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

You leaned back against the wall as the two of you broke apart, heavy breaths escaping your lips.

Although your head was swimming with thoughts, your mind was clear, clear that the boy in front of you was right where he as supposed to be, pressed up against you, your hearts beating as one.

Yoongi pulled back from you, resting his palm on the wall behind your head, gazing down at you.

His lips were puffy and red, his face flushed, “Y/N, you’re everything to me. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

You gazed at him, all doubt seeping away, “Everything in the world seemed to be going against me when I first arrived.” You said slowly, intertwining your hand with his. “But then you came along, my knight in all-black armour."

Yoongi chuckled at your comment, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before pulling you towards him into a tight embrace.

You sighed into his chest, feeling safe in his strong arms. You heard a familiar sound, and opened your eyes slowly to peer over his shoulder through the window, watching as small raindrops began to fall softly from the sky.

You smiled, everything fading away around the two of you, the soft rain matching the rhythm of your heart.

[brightlybound]

In Every Universe: Erased

Prologue

Chapter 1

Read on FFN or AO3

CHAPTER 2: SALT

PART I (Ginny)

When Ginny arrived at her pitch black flat, she grappled with the light switch, the front door opened wide for easy escape. Only after the living room’s ceiling light illuminated did she fully enter, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. Something could be hiding in the shadows…

She’d been terrified of the dark since the accident. Since the car crash. Since Tom Riddle.

Oh, Christ. Oh, God. Oh,… Merlin, she thought wildly, slamming the door shut and throwing every lock into place. She ripped off her coat, pawed at her constricting scarf, and took huge gulps of air.

Finally, finally. Something was happening. His name was a trigger, a burst, a crack of lightning igniting hundreds upon thousands of nerve endings and neurons so that little pieces of her memories were reconstructing. She was nauseous, dizzy, and a headache like never before hammered at her temples as she began to remember a different darkness now, of being swathed in hellish green. Had it happened in a badly lit garage or car park, maybe? And the dripping, dripping, dripping, right beside her. What was that? And the hissing? It no longer sounded quite like rain on steaming pavement or burning metal...

And then there was Tom. She paused midway to the kitchen as the image of him flared in her mind’s eye. He was handsome, but cold, and ghostly white, as if behind some kind of veil…

She dropped her bag, her keys, and tried to shake the vision, but again and again it resurfaced. She stumbled half-blind around her apartment, feeling sick, disoriented. Riddle’s ghost followed her, flickering in and out of focus, smirking at her the entire time. What a joke her brain decided to play. What a nightmare.

This must have been why they’d sent her away. Had her parents told her what had happened? Had she gone mad with the knowledge of it? It would make some amount of sense, because now she felt the impression of starch sheets wrapped tightly around her legs, smelled strong antiseptic.

She staggered to the bathroom and vomited in the sink.

Sink, sink, sink. I could slide down the sink.

She heard herself laugh deliriously. It echoed back, high-pitched and not her own. Her insides froze. Again, she struggled to take a substantial breath.

She threw herself into her bath fully dressed, tipped the knobs on, and was immediately sprayed by ice water. She shrieked and spluttered but did not move away. The incessant whirling of her brain was quick to focus on the uncomfortable cold seeping through her jumper and onto her skin.

Ginny hadn’t had a minute of peace since she’d walked away from Harry’s calming aura just three hours ago. Work was slow and torturous as memory after memory pounded away at her, making little to no sense, jumbled up as they were. She’d tried to divert her attention hundreds of times, but ended up spilling two cups of coffee, hers and a colleague’s- how she hadn’t burned herself was still beyond comprehension- when a vision of Harry, covered in blood and mud and grime, materialized in the forefront of her mind. After that, she’d given up hope.

Why hadn’t she asked for Harry’s number when she’d given him hers? She had so much to ask him, so much to say. He’d been so nice to her, listened to her intently, promised not to seek out her family, family that had been kinder to him than to her. And now she was alone in her flat, fighting off a panic attack. Why was she always alone?

Because no one likes you, little girl, a voice whispered from the depths of her mind.

Ginny choked on a sob.

Sometime later, she walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a threadbare towel, leaving her clothes draped over the shower curtain rod, heavy and waterlogged. Her feet dragged, her arms hung limp from her shoulders, and her head was fit to explode. She turned on the overhead light of her bedroom, then the tiny lamp with a fringed shade that sat upon her wobbly nightstand, and collapsed into bed.

Shivering against the chilly sheets, Ginny shut her eyes and was instantly transported back in time, where she was immersed in darkness and there was a strange something ebbing further and further away from her. She reached out for it, wanting it desperately, but her heartbeat was slowing, pulse weakening, and the fight she’d wrought was dying. She was dying.

There was an explosion of light, and Ginny sat up in bed with a gasp and the image of a great, scaly monster with bloodied eyes burned into her retinas.

The sound of her phone ringing from the living room streamed into her consciousness, and Ginny tripped out of bed, heart in her throat because she knew exactly who was calling. She searched for the mobile, saw it glowing through the thin fabric of her purse, and fell to her knees to wrestle it out of the bag.

“Hello?” she said, clinging the phone to her face.

“Ginny?”

Relief swept through her very bones at the sound of Harry’s voice, and she pressed her back against the entryway to the kitchen, resisting the urge to cry. It was dark here, and the faucet was leaking… She hovered between the present and past.

“You called me,” she said, concentrating hard on the light switch just feet away.

“I said I would,” he responded.

There was an irrepressible tug up at the corners of her mouth, and a warm, fluttery feeling beneath her ribcage. Ginny tucked the mobile between her shoulder and ear, freeing the hand that wasn’t clutching at her uncomfortably damp towel. She hadn’t had such a good excuse in a long time.

Without looking at it, without touching it, Ginny waved her hand sharply...

The light switch flickered up, and the kitchen lit up in fluorescence.

“Good. I’ve got a few questions.”

PART II (Harry)

He got no more than a raised eyebrow from Ron when he raced into the Auror office twenty minutes late from lunch, and an “alright?” was his acknowledgment when Harry arrived at Grimmauld just before 7 rather than minutes past 5 o’clock.

Hermione was not so easy to bypass.

“Where were you today?” she said as they gathered in the basement kitchen for dinner.

“Hi to you, too,” Harry said, hoping the new mobile phone he’d purchased roughly an hour ago was completely shut off. If his pocket started ringing, he’d be in for it.

Hermione shook her head. “Sorry, it’s just… Ron said-”

“Mentioned in brief passing!” Ron interjected, throwing him an apologetic grimace.

“-that you were late coming back from lunch. Is everything okay?”

“Great,” Harry said. “How was the fitting?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Hermione said at once, gimlet-eyed as she helped herself to a generous heap of shepherd’s pie. “But… if you must know, it went amazing. Better than last time! The sleeves were actually cuffed correctly, and the bodice…”

Harry zoned out and thought instead about Ginny and how relieved she sounded when he’d phoned her less than an hour ago. They were meeting at her flat tomorrow evening upon her insistence, promising her that he would not seek out her parents and divulge her location to them when she provided him with her address. She’d asked it of him so desperately that the stab of guilt at keeping her a secret was negligible; he found himself unable to deny her.

Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her earlier that afternoon, convincing her to come around, to reconnect with the Weasleys and bring them light after so much darkness was at the forefront of Harry’s mind. It was going to be tricky. Ginny did not seem the type to be easily cajoled. But he held himself accountable for the torn family, and he owed them so much. He wanted this for them. And if it took him a day, a week, or a century to bring together such a family reunion, so be it.

PART III (Ginny)

A sleepless, dizzying night. An unproductive, migraine-encumbered workday. Ginny was spent by the time she arrived home, more than ready to collapse into bed and never get up again. But Harry was coming over, so she forced herself to move, and did so sluggishly, with the sky like black treacle behind her gauzy curtains.

He’ll be here soon.

She went about picking up shoes, wayward articles of clothing, tidying her awful, threadbare couch and dusting her bookshelf. She started a pot of water to boil instantly, just with a twitch of her fingers, and stared through the steam, wondering when she’d gotten so comfortable doing this… whatever this was.

Things tended to move for her when she wanted them to. The first time it had happened, she’d just been sent off to live with Matilda, and her mug of tea, sat on her nightstand, jumped several inches over into her outstretched fingertips. She had screamed then, but now it was almost second nature; flipping switches from across the room, heating food just by willing it, summoning the television remote to float into her beckoning hand. Ginny liked to blame it on her animal magnetism (ha!) because she thought she was clever, but she always figured the car crash was the turning point. Maybe she’d been injected with metals and magnets by the doctors who had seen to her after the accident. Maybe she was an experiment gone wrong. Maybe she was a monster, and had killed a man, a man named Tom Riddle, because he’d taken advantage of her, a foolish, lonely child.

Crack!

A car backfired just outside her building, and Ginny jumped and accidentally dumped an entire box of dried spaghetti into the water merrily boiling away of its own accord. She grimaced, added a generous dash of salt to the pot, and hurried to her door to peer through the spyhole.

A minute later, Harry’s form obscured her view, and before he could even raise his hand to knock, Ginny swung the door open and managed not to throw herself at him like a common hussy.

Sometimes she surprised even herself.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly.

Harry stood before her dressed in dark wash jeans, a thick cable knit jumper, and black coat.

Correction: Harry stood before her, looking to be fucking devoured.

“Alright?” he said, slanting a smile at her.

Now, yes.

She swallowed her words, nodded, and stood aside for him to enter, only just realizing that she hadn’t changed from her usual Friday work attire of faded, company logoed shirt and plain denim trousers, that she probably smelled of old coffee and ink, that her hair must have looked like a ragged mess, piled as it was in a messy bun held up by a single pencil.

Heart sunk, she led him through the small, near freezing sitting room, grateful for its semi-darkness as her cheeks heated in embarrassment, and into the kitchen, where she took a deep breath in hopes of soothing the sick feeling that had been blooming in the pit of her stomach since yesterday.

Once she needlessly checked on the spaghetti, and felt her blush mostly recede, Ginny turned to Harry.

“I can hang your coat. And you can take off your shoes, if you want. Make yourself comfortable.”

Harry shrugged off his coat and handed it off to her, and she scurried to the hall closet to put it up. She opened it quickly, hoping for the best… but an old football rolled out and a stack of books came tumbling onto her sock clad feet. Ginny gritted her teeth, hissing at the sting of pain.

What a disaster.

She set everything right as speedily as she could, and when she walked back into the kitchen, Harry was standing in the middle of the room, holding a bottle of wine by the neck and staring quizzically at the stove.

“I don’t drink,” she announced upon her entrance.

Harry whipped around to look at her. “What?”

She nodded towards the bottle. “Wine. Or anything alcoholic. I never fancied the idea of losing control of myself, you know?”

“Right,” Harry said. He placed the bottle down on the Formica countertop. “That makes sense. It was Hermione’s idea, anyway, not-”

Dread spread through her chest like a spilled ink bottle. Ginny pressed a hand to her heart as it began a quick staccato against her ribcage.

“Hermione? You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”

“I haven’t told anyone anything,” he said hurriedly, taking a step towards her, worry marring his face. “Hermione thought… she thought I was meeting up with a girl.”

She managed to glare at him. “What the fuck am I then?”

Harry blanched. “I know you’re a girl. I just meant, you know…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, feeling only marginally better now that Harry had confirmed he hadn’t revealed her to her family, albeit worse, too, since he had inadvertently ripped open a metaphorical cut that’d healed over long ago, and rubbed salt all over it like he was born for it. “I get it.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re very pretty.”

Suddenly, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the flat.

Ginny stared at him. His cheeks were ruddy. “Excuse me?”

“Is something wrong with your stove?”

Thrown by the subject change, Ginny said, “I- what?”

“Your stove. It’s not on, but the water’s been boiling all this time.”

.

.

.

.

“Who, who can I look to? ‘Cause I'm not like you, you. And I don't believe in the truth, truth, ‘Cause all of my life's built on lies.”

Salt- Bad Suns

[imgilmoregirl]

Vowed For Eternity (Chapter 11)

AO3 Link

Dealing With Fate

Life had been cruel with Rumplestiltskin many, many times, but this one, he felt like the ground beneath his feet had simply disappeared. He couldn't contain the anger inside himself and he spent a whole night awake staring at the fireplace, as he tried to fight against the tears that he refused to let fall from his eyes. The Dark One hadn't cried in a long time, not even when Cora broke his heart, but the force of Belle's betrayal was so strong, that it was impossible for him to control the rage.

He loved her. Rumplestiltskin loved Belle more than anything in his life, he trusted her, but she just wasn't able to trust him back and now, between all of their mistakes, there was child. Gods, he couldn't just believe it, he never meant it to happen, not even for a second, that was why he gave her the most powerful contraceptive potion he could have made. The Dark One had known about the prophecy for years now and when he started to get involved with Cora and the Seer predicted that she would only give birth to girls, he thought that he could have it all with her and never get to have the baby boy that was destined to be his destruction.

There was an important detail that differed Cora from Belle, and it wasn't the fact of which kind of children they were meant to have, because he never consulted the Seer about his wife, to ask if she saw a boy being born to them, but it was the love they felt for each other and the goodness in Belle's heart. He had never been truly in love for Cora and her heart had always been dark, they couldn't possibly create something good enough to extinguish the darkness.

But Belle, his darling wife was pure and kind, exactly like the prophecy mentioned. She could have lied to him, but deep down he knew that it was his own fault. Now, he had to step back, because he would be lost if he looked into the beautiful blue eyes of hers, copied in the small face a of a wee babe. He would surrender, love it and raise it until it was no longer a child, but a man willing to slay the beast he had as a father.

If that was a normal situation, he would be astonished, full of happiness, with the news of his wife's pregnancy, but it wasn't and the only thing he could feel was tormented and afraid, like coward he was. But as beastly as he felt at the moment he couldn't help, but also feel a terrible ache in his heart for the cruel words he had spitted at Belle about the child, because even if it was meant to kill him, right now it was just an innocent, caught in the middle of a storm.

Rumplestiltskin needed a lot of time to think about his next step, he didn't visit Belle for a week after their fight and even then, all he did was to keep wandering around the castle, too agitated to simply seat and spin some gold. He needed to find a way to fool the fate that had being traced for him and his son, or he would have to do something drastic about that situation and Belle would hate him forever. Of course, he had his backup plan, but he wasn't willing to use it and he would like very much to just be a good father for the child that was to be born.

He even managed to sit himself with face buried in his hands, begging to the gods that Belle please gave him a daughter, so it all could be forgotten, but he knew that even if there was someone listening his pleadings, the person wasn't going to do anything about it, not for him, the monster that locked his wife in a tower and rejected his baby.

But now, after being his weakest, the Dark One was in control of himself again, walking through the grey corridors of Regina's castle, hearing the voices in his head make fun of him, about his immense remorse over his attitudes with Belle, telling him that she would have a little demon in her arms in no time, that the thing would be so dark that it wouldn't even look human. He shooked his head, trying to concentrated in what he had come there for and opening the door to the Evil Queen's chambers.

She was looking at herself in a mirror, brushing her hair with care. Crossing his arms, he cleaned his throat to call her attention and Regina turned to him with a sided-smile, when she noticed the frown on his face.

"Someone doesn't seem to be in his best humour," the queen mocked, standing up. "What happened?"

"None from your business," Rumplestiltskin quickly replied in his most harshly tone. "I have better things to do, so if you did not call me here for what I wanted, then I'm going away."

They had been working together for months, both wanting something they couldn't reach without the help of the other. And that was what deals were for, making sure they strictly got what they wanted and nothing more.

Regina smiled lazily in an almost annoyed way as she adjusted the sleeves of her black dress. Rumple had no time for her silliness today, he still had a lot to think and the anticipation of finally getting what he was waiting for, made his nose wrinkle in anxiety. After a long moment of hesitation, the Queen finally made a movement with her hand and a purple cloud of smoke, brought a young blonde girl to the room, eyes wide in panic, hands cuffed and her green dress in rags.

"Fine," Regina said. "Here she is."

"Finally," Rumplestiltskin breathed, approaching the blonde and going to stand behind her, checking for the scars that should be there.

He withdrew the collar of her dress, just enough to look at them and the girl tossed to free herself from him.

"Get away from me," she spitted.

The imp stepped back, just not because she asked for, but because he had a question for Regina.

"Are you sure that she knows where to find her?"

"Of course, she does," the Evil Queen assured. "Now I want my part of the exchange."

Taking off a small bottle from his coat's inner pocket, he placed it on Regina's hands. The solution of her problems, she hoped, just like the girl could be the solution of his, if only she had the right information.

"Our deal is over," he bounced at the Queen.

The blonde was desperately trying to free herself from the cuffs, which Rumple thought to be slightly amusing, as all of them knew that only magic could take it off and the girl had none of it anymore.

Regina walked towards him, glancing between the two of them. "Will you share with me your plans for Green?"

"It's Tinkerbell," the fairy screamed.

"Who cares?" Regina returned.

Tipping his fingers together, he gave the Queen an expressionless glance, trying not to show how much agony he was feeling, because it had been really long, since Rumplestiltskin felt like one of the desperate souls that seek him and he didn't like to be in this position. He felt weak and right now, that was the only thing he couldn't be.

"Let's just say that she will be more useful, than the last fairy I caught," he explained standing in front of the blonde with threatening eyes and a dangerous voice. "So, tell me, Green, where can I find the Blue Fairy?"

"You can't," Tinkerbell answered in a petulant tone. "The fairy's place is hidden and only people with a pure heart can enter there. You will never find her, Dark One."

Grunting furiously, he waved his hand and the fairy's eyes rolled back, before she fainted in front of Regina's astonished expression. He vanished from there, appearing back to his castle, inside the secret tower, where the Seer was locked.

His breath was coming hard with anger and he wanted to break the whole place, but he needed to keep searching, he needed to find the Blue Fairy and make her reverse the situation or bring her to damnation with him. Either way, she would suffer. But just for now, he would relish in getting anything that could give himself some hope.

He stepped closer to the cage, lifting the Seer up with his magic.

"What do you want from me today, Rumplestiltskin?" She inquired.

"I want to know if my wife is the one that shall bear the child destined to kill me."

The seer smiled, enjoying to know how tortured he was.

"Lights she might be, pure and true."

"You've already told me this many times. I want something concrete, just like what you told me about Cora," he yelled. "Will the baby be a girl?"

"You know, the future is always foggy," the Seer said. "I see your wife holding a heathy child. That's all."

Rumplestiltskin let her fall to the floor with a muffled noise.

"You're useless."

"And you won't reign as the Dark One forever," she mocked.

Then, he left her alone, retiring to his own chambers, where he could start to think about another way to fool the fate.

Belle had never felt so concerned in her whole life as she did during the horrible two weeks that followed her argument with her husband. He really locked her in there with no real intention of ever seeing her. She had become so usual to crying her heart out, that the tears didn’t even came anymore, leaving her wonder what the future had reserved for her and if it would ever allow her some happiness.

Her ultimate preoccupation was her child and what might happen to it. Belle couldn’t just convince herself that it was meant to kill Rumple and she could only get more affectionate to the child. She watched the bump grow as the days went by, with the certainty that the babe would be healthy and strong, sometimes wondering if it would inherit its father’s magic or thick greenish skin. It wouldn’t matter to her, not as long as both could be safe.

The sickness Belle felt, however, wasn’t willing to pass. She drank lots of tea and ate mostly nothing, even though it started to make her feel weak and dizzy, which got her spending more time in bed than doing anything else. A pile of book of books, laid down in her nightstand, just at her reach, so she could read aloud when she wasn’t feeling so distressed and bring herself some distraction.

That night however, she couldn't read, she kept petting her belly nervously with a lump on her throat as she felt a panic attack arriving. Her mind worked quickly with a million different questions, but the greatest of all, insisting in make her guess if Rumple would keep her locked in there for the rest of her pregnancy or the rest of her life. She wanted him to come there, so she could apologize and assure him that everything was going to be alright.

The girl would take his hand in hers and press it to the place where their child was growing, reminding him that it was made of their love and would be a great joy in their lifes. But she knew him well enough to be sure that that he wasn't going to swallow his pride and do it so soon, if someday he would actually come. Belle felt afraid that he would never want to see the baby and would just forget about them in that tower like he did with the other prisoners.

Sliding off of the bed, she walked to her dresser and picked the magic mirror, knowing that like in every other night she would only see the darkness, however what Belle stopped in the surface, was something that she surely wasn't expecting. A woman's face.

"Belle?" Fiona questioned, startled.

"How can you see me?"

"I have another linking mirror hidden with me, quite smaller than yours, but still works," she answered with a sigh. "I've been using it to hear the things that happen in your chambers for quite a while now. And I'm sorry for what happened between Rumplestiltskin and you."

In any other occasion she would have stormed at Fiona for invading her privacy, as only gods knew what that woman could have heard, but the truth was that Belle was too wrecked to even complain about that. She went back to bed, holding the mirror grateful to have someone to talk for once.

"I need to protect my child," Belle whispered. "Please, tell me what you know about the prophecy."

"I know that fate can't be chanced and your child is likely to be the boy of the prophecy," Fiona said. "You should have taken the potion."

That certainly would have made things easier. Maybe if she had drank the potion, her relationship with Rumple could have evolved enough for them to trust each other and end the secrets, so they could have analysed the prophecy together and get to someplace where a pregnancy wouldn't be unwelcome and they could form a family.

"I couldn't," she admited, worrying at her lip. "Do you think that he will kill both of us?"

"Rumplestiltskin?" The other woman laughed weakly. "Oh, please, he would never do such a thing."

"You haven't seen how mad he was. He hates me and he hates the child. I'm afraid."

Belle had been truly frightened of Rumplestiltskin twice, first when they go married and she had no idea of who he was and second, the night he found out that she was having his baby. He was so angry that she really feared for her own life.

"You should be," Fiona warned. "But I don't think Rumplestiltskin will ever harm any of you, he would rather die than hurting someone he loves."

But he doesn't, an insistent part of her echoed in her mind, he doesn't love any of you, or he would have chosen to fight for this family. She breathed in, analysing Fiona for a second, thinking that she definitelly seemed to have too much acknowledge about the Dark One's life choices for a prisoner.

"How do you know him so well?"

"I don't," she quickly replied.

"Fiona, do you think that he might try to get rid of just the baby then?" Belle inquired, worriedly. "I've heard stories of women that drank special teas to bleed until there was no child growing inside them anymore."

At this point Belle didn't know what to expect anymore, but the idea of losing her baby made coldness settle heavy in her heart, bringing a despair she hadn't yet known. That child was important to her and she had to consider every possibility so she could prepare to defend herself if it needed be. She didn't want to believe that the man she loved was capable of doing something like this, for the sake of the baby, she had to prevent herself.

However, Fiona that so seemed to hate her when they met, was now trying to calm Belle down, her voice a sweet assurence of hope.

"I may not know Rumplestiltskin very well, I but I'm sure that he is not the kind of monster that would so such a thing. As I said, he cares for you," the prisoner guaranteed. "And anyway, you're too long into this pregnancy, the baby is already strong and if you drank something to get rid of it, you die as well."

Belle's face went pale, but she had her eyes glued on Fiona's brown ones and the pain present in there was so big that she couldn't just ignore.

"Why does that seem to hurt you so much?" The girl asked, curiously, because the ups and downs of her life weren't supposed to affect anyone but her.

"A long time ago I had a child myself, but I lost it," Fiona told her and the princess felt an enormous pity and compassion. "Care for yours, Belle, but go very far away from here in the first opportunity you have, because father and son facing each other is not something you will ever want to see."

Sighing, Belle nodded, taking the advice from mother to mother. She had to do what was best for her child, even if that meant never seeing Rumplestiltskin again.