#I haven’t felt this obsessed with anything since discovering ao3

[1random-starfish]

Ignoring everything else about this weeks episode HES HERE! this may be my favorite nightcrawler in animation ever.

Endless X-Men 97

[sherlhawk]

the demiurge | a dream of the endless x reader fanfic [part 1]

[ao3] [part two] summary: You stumble into the Dreaming by accident. When Morpheus realizes you have been altering his realm in your sleep and creating freely, something no mortal has ever been able to do, he decides to take you in as a guest. To test your abilities, of course, and to discover who you really are. What he really finds are answers about himself, and about what he truly needs. word count: 2.7k warnings: none yet. gn!reader. a/n: well, this was truly inevitable. my soul was sucked away by this series and I have no idea how you're supposed to enjoy anything without obsessing over it, so, well. please tap once if I'm not alone in this. /sighs jumping on the train of lucid dreamer!reader, but I'll be giving it a twist for, erm, entertainment purposes. english is not my mother tongue, so ignore any blatant mistakes. comments and opinions are very appreciated! see you soon. _____________________________

demiurge [dem-ee-urj]

an autonomous creative force or decisive power

 In the beginning, there’s nothing more than a languorous blackness and a feeble, tingling white dust. But then its particles crust over the darkness to form the gritty shapes of crumbled walls, steps, and brittle concrete, shaping a scene of hopelessness and destruction. Distantly, you recognize you must be dreaming. And yet, somehow you feel strangely alert.

This must have been a castle, somewhen. The rounded and regal disposition of the staircases tells you before you can recognize the dimensions of the room, but among the debris and eerie atmosphere, it’s hard to form an idea of what the palace truly must have looked like. It’s an unsettling and sinister scene. Still, you find yourself somewhat curious. Fragments of glass crumble under your shoes as you take a first, tentative step, but otherwise, silence continues to reign the deserted castle. 

You wonder if there’s a throne somewhere. Regal artefacts, furniture, and effects are usually the last to decay since they’re often jealously conserved and protected from degradation. But mostly, you are drawn to the centre of the palace, like an alien, unknown gravitational force was pulling you forwards. You take a second step, then another, approaching what must have been an arch nestled under the pair of stairs, leading to a ballroom.

Suddenly, the cracking sound of concrete ceding. You raise your eyes just in time to see one of the pillars sustaining the stairway crumbling at its base and bowing towards you. Faster than you can react, the massive block of concrete plummets towards your body. You gasp and freeze, waiting for the pain of the impact – but then, unfamiliar energy seeps through your muscles, your body tenses, and a sudden gush of wind whips your hair away from your face. Then – stillness. 

“Sir?” 

The voice is unanticipated and unknown, and a frantic repetition of the one word is followed by rushed steps crumbling debris and getting closer to you. Though it calls you, you find it hard to concentrate on it and decipher it, because all at once you’re feeling yourself fazing away. Your toes instantly wriggle in your shoes to keep you awake, your hands grab on walls and bannisters to find balance for your wobbling body, but it’s too late. Before you wake up, your eyes manage to glance to the side of the room. There it is, the pillar – laying five meters away from you, collapsed. The moment you see it, you know. You moved it as it fell towards you. Even though you haven’t moved a muscle, you’ve felt the energy travelling through your body to the air above you, displacing the pillar, saving yourself. Your skin tingles peskily.

“Sir? Is that you?"

The voice is getting nearer, but before you can get a glimpse of its owner, your body fragments, and crumbles on itself just as the pillar had done. Your knees give way, your lids tremble, and a strange, but familiar lethargic feeling grabs you and pulls you away.

You wake to find yourself in your bed. For a few seconds, you continue to feel the sensation of gravel, crunching underneath your feet. But it was just a dream.

Standing in the palace hall, Lucienne stares at the empty room. For a moment, she could have sworn – but no. If Lord Morpheus had been back, right there in the palace, she would have surely felt him. 

And still – still, she could have sworn she’d seen a pillar move…

**

There’s something strange in the dream you had yesterday. First, you remember it remarkably well. Dreams and nightmares usually fade away hours, sometimes even minutes after you’ve woken up; sensations and fragments are all you usually are left with. But this time, the details of the dream stick to your mind like glue and refuse to leave their place. The dust, the hall, the staircases. The voice. And then, the pillar – moving away from you, as if controlled by magic.

You know that dreams follow no precise rules, that physics cannot put up with what your imagination and subconscious can create. But even in your rare, brief experiences of lucid dreaming, your impact on the worlds your mind created had been limited and feeble. Most of all, they hadn’t been this detailed. Days after dreaming of the castle, you still remember that voice, like you’d listened to it in real life. And your skin still feels tingly, energized. For a while, you hope the dream might come back. That your subconscious will conjure up the image again. But a week passes, and though your memories don’t fade, your nights are dark and dreamless. 

**

You wonder if you could force yourself into that world again. You’re not sure the dream you had was lucid, and you have little experience in dreams you have actual control of. But you’ve heard of people who exercise to be able to shape their dreams and construct worlds of their desire. The thought intrigues you. That energy you since have never ceased to feel tickles lightly on your skin when you think of the possibility.

The book you manage to get your hands on suggests exercising with reality checks throughout the day. By asking yourself if you’re dreaming or not while you’re awake, you create a habit it’s possible you will follow in your dreams, too. The book talks about hands and written text, the things your brain has most difficulties replicating in sleep, and suggests looking at your fingers or books multiple times a day, so to convince your mind to do that in sleep as well. In dreams, words and fingers often appear wobbly and unstable and should induce you to recognize your dreaming state. You’re not sure about it. Still, you try. 

There are no results for the first four days. On the fifth, you dream of looking at your hand and thinking about something, but you’re tired and lethargic and the dream ends before you can realise what it is. To your dismay, your small success leads to nowhere, because you spend the night unaware and clouded still. But you can still hear the voice of that woman, and your skin continues to tickle. Animated by strength you didn’t know you had, you carry on. 

It takes a sixth night for your exercise to pay off. Through your dream you’re reliving a test day in your first year of school – you recognize the shape of a table you thought you had forgotten. Gripping your pencil tight you start to scribble your name in the corner of the page… but the pen replies to your attempt with disorientation, scribbling wobbly letters that keep changing shape and moving freely on the blank paper. Distantly, you recognize this to be abnormal, but you cannot remember why. Then, your mind reminds you there’s something you should be doing, something you do multiple times every day: checking your hands. Your dominant hand lays the pen on the table and then rises towards your eyes. And indeed, your digits are wobbly and indistinct, their confines unstable and unfamiliar. It looks like you have four fingers. Then, fifteen. Your brain can’t elaborate the image properly.

Are you… sleeping?

Dreaming?

You feel something dragging you away, again, but this time you won’t let it. Quickly, your now lucid mind scatters to change the scenario of the dream. You concentrate, and where tables and children were, rubble and debris start to appear, the walls shift from pallid, child-friendly varnish to the dark hue of concrete, and the crumbled remains of two familiar sets of rounded stairwells slowly build at the sides of a large hall. 

You’ve come back. 

But somehow, though it was your imagination that formed the scenario in your head, it looks… different. Worse. The stairs have lost many of their steps. Dust has accumulated on the crumbled remains of the palace. And the light has changed to project longer, creepier shadows on what is left of the walls, like tall, menacing silhouettes observing you.

Is it then so strange that you feel compelled to go on?

It’s irresistible, that feeling – you’re lucid, yes, but to an extent, you feel like you’re being nudged to walk by a force that isn’t entirely yours to control. You feel… curious. Enticed. This time, your steps are more secure, fearless, purposeful. Immediately, without really knowing why, you head for the stairs, feeling a forceful pull to explore the first floor. There are twenty-six steps to reach the remains of the balcony dominating the hall, and when you reach the middle step of the stairwell you look up to peek at what’s on the other side of the arch. Suddenly, you see it: a big stone throne at the end of the room, deteriorated, yes, but intact nevertheless, illuminated by the feeble light coming in through shattered windowpanes.

Who lived here?

Your feet move to continue towards the top of the stairs. But you notice with disappointment that a portion of the staircase is missing, a large gap of five or six steps separating you from your destination. Could you jump? You’re not sure – though you can still feel your skin tingling in that weird energy, you don’t feel like you can trust it in such a long leap. And mostly, you fear that any misstep could drag you to awareness and wake again. So, what can you do?

Instinctively, your eyes trail to that corner of the room you know the pillar had fallen to. And indeed, you find it there, still. Crumbled and crooked just as you’d left it. 

Could you… perhaps…?

It’s a dream, you repeat yourself. The whole purpose of lucid dreams is to be able to control what you’re seeing. If you’ve changed the dream and recreated the image of the palace, then why couldn’t you do this? A few steps, just enough to climb to the next floor?

Yes, you think, yes, of course you can. And immediately, that static, that energy returns to fizzle on your skin and through your muscles, waiting. Uncertain, you stare back at the void and try awkwardly to imagine the missing steps, to let them arise from your imagination. 

At first, nothing happens. If anything, you feel that sensation again, the one that signals your concentration is pushing the boundaries of your dream and threatening for you to wake. No – You push forward, anchoring yourself to the floor. Digging your fingers in the stale air, grasping it.

And slowly but surely, six, unstable and undefined steps begin to emerge from thin air. Wobbling, transparent and weak, they’re not anything like their original counterparts, missing the streaks of marble of the rest of the stairs, signals of a distant, richer past. But they are steps, and the right number, and the right dimension, and they feel real. You let out a gasp of marvel and accomplishment when the steps settle with a thud against the rest of the staircase, relieving you of your mental fatigue. But your feet remained fixed, your brain perplexed, as it studies the angles of stone, their defined structure. It feels… strange. Like the molecules that made these new steps were somehow resisting you. Assembling to create something new, but with hesitation. You feel watched by them, stared at, as if you’d done something forbidden. Slowly, wearily, you kneel to try and touch them.

“You should not be able to do that”.

Oh. 

You know that voice. 

Instinctively, you raise your head to look at the top of the staircase, towards the source of the words. And there it is – a black woman dressed in an elegant, no, refined suit, the purple, tailed vest standing out noticeably against the whiteness of the shirt. A speck of composure and richness in a scene of desperation. And only after a few seconds do you notice her round glasses are resting on a pair of almost elfish, pointed ears.  

There’s a moment of stillness as she with a shocked stare waits for an answer to her observation, but you cannot phantom a single word to say. “I –”, you pause, looking back at the steps, their molecules still kind of watching you, “I… think that too”.

For a second, shock fades to confusion as the woman processes the words you’ve just pronounced. But your concentration is drawn away when a familiar ring starts echoing through the empty palace, abruptly. 

“What is that?”, you mumble, trying to search for the source of the sound. But nothing else has moved in the hall, and your thoughts are somehow becoming slower, foggier.

“What is what?”

“The ringing”, you reply, groggily. “I know… I know this ringing”.

Through blurred and wobbling vision, you manage to capture the image of her visage falling to disappointment. Distantly, while you reach to grasp for a handrail that isn’t there, you catch the sight of her arms crossing, the sound of a breath being exhaled.

 “You’re waking up”, you hear her say, lips drawn in a horizontal line. Then, the image of the castle whirls on itself till it’s swallowed and sucked away by the pull of the darkness. 

When you open your eyes, your alarm clock is ringing. It’s half an hour past your waking time. And still, you could swear it seemed to you like the clock had barely ringed for half a minute in your dream. Tentatively, you look at your hand; when you recognize the familiar sight of your five digits, you reach forward to stop the alarm.

**

You open your eyes the following night to see that same blackness and dust that had brought you to the castle for the first time. But when you follow it and try to lift your hand to grasp the shining particles floating in front of you, the dust swirls and settles to form a brand-new scenario. It’s a beach, or at least you think it must be, because all you can see is a desert of white, blinding sand stretching limitlessly to the horizon, flat. In the distance, the quiet, lulling sound of waves. You have no idea what your subconscious has conjured up this time, and you’re feeling almost disappointed, with no castle in sight – but then the rhythmic slaps of the tides are covered by the sound of whirlwinds, and when you turn around you are startled to see a dust devil forming, tall and menacing, just in front of you.

You take a step back when it seems to enlarge and move to engulf you. But then, just as quickly as they’ve picked up, the winds ease and let the sand fall back to the ground, like a veil dropping. 

What they uncover petrifies you.

It’s a man. But it’s nothing close to a human.

Pale and tall and skeletal to the point of appearing ghastly, he would surely loom above you if it wasn’t for his crooked and hunched stance. Amidst the white and blinding sand, the black coat that wraps his bony figure stands out almost painfully for your eyes. But it is his face that captures your attention. Pearl white skin, marmorean, almost unnaturally so, and a pair of gelid blue eyes, red and lucid, staring at you.

For a fraction of a second, none of you says anything. A pained exhale slips from his parched lips as his eyes study you, a small line of bewilderment forming just between his brows. Then, a slender, scrawny hand emerges from the darkness of his coat, reaching for you, grasping thin air. The other clenches his stomach tightly. 

“Help me”.

A voice deep and plush like velvet, desperate and assertive at the same time.

You want to ask what he needs. You need to know what you can do. But then his eyes roll back to show bloodshot whites, his lids flutter and close, and his knees give away as his body falls ungraciously to the sand. 

Suddenly, you feel as if you’ve just woken up from a trance. As if some strange energy had just released you. Instinctively, you crouch before him and try to call him, but no word escapes your mouth, your body a tense shambles of trembling muscles and cracked breaths. When you kneel to him and try to turn him so his face isn’t smothered by the sand, his own body weighs lifelessly in your arms, unresponsive and heavy.

In desperation, you turn to look at the desert around you. There’s no one around, not a movement, not a soul. Just the stillness of the quiet sand, and distantly, almost inaudible now, the uncomforting sound of tides. 

There is no time to wait. 

You must travel back to the castle. part two!

[q-gorgeous]

Stardust

Prompt: Someone in Amity dies and becomes a ghost. Danny has to help the ghost through their death. The other ghosts stop attacking to welcome and respect the moment. Meanwhile the town has to grapple with the idea that ghosts use to be human is finally clicking in their minds. (PR220) 

@briarlovesu @mystyrust

Word Count: 1427

ao3

ffn

continuation of my ghost farm series

fallen star, ghost farm

i know i didnt use any of your prompts for this mystyrust but its a continuation of your prompts i filled last year so im tagging you anyways

Star cried as she was stuck with a needle. The feeling of ectoplasm burning through her veins. Agent Z looked so happy as he pulled the needle back out, bidding her farewell.

She felt so sick, she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to last for. She didn’t want to die, but she wished more than anything that this would all be over soon.

Star’s ghost ripped itself from her body as she screamed, shining brighter than any of the stars she could see in Amity Park’s night sky. She remembered what Agent Z’s face looked like as she picked him up and started throwing him around inside her room. The memory forever seared into her mind. 

Then suddenly, she was falling. She had just died and yet she was still in so much pain. What would it take for this to all be over?

It wasn’t until Phantom showed up. A month after she had been taken, after so many of her friends and classmates had been taken. As soon as Danny Fenton showed up, Phantom wasn’t far behind. 

When Phantom came up to her after everything was done, she could see everything. He wasn’t just a ghost feeding his obsession. He was just a kid protecting a whole town of people who didn’t like him. Both halves of him. 

Her eyes filled with tears and she wept. 

QQQQQ

It's been quiet ever since Phantom discovered the secret GIW facility. 

All the ghosts who would attack Amity Park on the regular haven't shown up in over a month. They were horrified by the actions of the ghost hunters that claimed to be doing this for the good of their fellow humans. While the ghosts loved causing mayhem and destruction, they’d never stoop to that level. They knew what it was like to die. 

So when those kids died as they were being experimented on, they all agreed to give them time to adjust and process the trauma they had been through. 

Star almost wished that everything was just the same as before she had died though.

Not only were the ghosts treating them like they were helpless even though they were on equal footing now, but all of the humans that recognized the teenagers from when they were alive were acting like they were walking on eggshells. They weren’t sure what to make of them. 

Sure, the ghosts had stopped attacking and none of the kids who died had made a move yet, but it was as if they were expected to start attacking at the drop of a pin. That they were supposed to be monsters now. 

She didn’t know what they were supposed to do. 

Star stared out across Amity Park from where she sat on top of a tall building. She heard a rustle to her left and when she turned Phantom was sitting next to her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

They sat there, a pause of silence. Phantom swung his legs over the side of the building. 

“So… How’s it going?”

Star gave him a look. Phantom held his hands up in a placating motion. 

“I’m just wondering. You haven’t come to any of the after school meetings that me and Lancer set up. We just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Paulina too.”

Star curled further into herself at the mention of her best friend. “I shouldn’t be anywhere near the school. I’m a monster now.”

Phantom scoffed. “Are you kidding? You’re the most human looking ghost I’ve ever met. Except for your stardust though.” He gestured at the sparkly dust that was constantly falling off of her. 

“I’m a ghost.”

“Yeah?” Phantom said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I killed a man.” She snapped back at him.

He sighed. “I know. And I know you feel awful. But that man. He was an awful man. You were doing what you had to to protect yourself. No one is holding that against you.”

“I had already died. What else was there to protect anymore?”

“Look.” Phantom said. “Whether or not you’re a ghost or human doesn't decide how good or bad you are. Protecting yourself as a ghost is just as important as protecting yourself as a human. It doesn’t matter what you were when there were people doing awful things to you.”

Star’s eyes welled up with tears. “But everybody looks at me like I’m a monster.” She hid her face behind her knees. “My parents looked like they didn’t even recognize me. They mourned the fact that I died but it was like they didn’t really think it was still me here with them.”

Phantom rested his hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at him.

“How do you do it?”

He had a quizzical look on his face. “Do what?”

“Live with the fact that everyone thinks you're some evil ghost that’s manipulating the whole town. Especially your parents.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” He looked up at the sky. “I guess it helps that no one knows it’s me. They just think I’m some random ghost that came out of the zone.”

He sighed. “I’ve seen timelines where my parents accept me for who I am, but I’ve also seen timelines where they don’t. It makes it hard because I don’t really know how things are going to go, but I want to have faith that my parents' love for me is stronger than their hatred for ghosts.”

“What if it’s not though? What if my parents always hate what I’ve become?”

“They just need time to grapple with your death. The whole town does.” He looked back at Star. “I don’t think any of the townsfolk really thought about how the whole ghost thing meant that the ghosts had to die. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I guess.” Star looked up at the sky and they sat there in silence for a bit. 

Then Phantom was standing up. “Well, I gotta run. I have to go home and do my homework.” He groaned. Phantom turned to go, but before he flew around he turned his head to look back at Star. “And think about coming to those after school meetings. Everyone really wants to see you.”

“I’ll think about it.” Star whispered.

Phantom smiled and waved. “See you!” He shot into the sky. 

“See you.”

QQQQQ

Star stood outside of room 202. Her legs felt like jelly but she needed to do this. 

She took a deep breath, turned the door handle, and pushed the door open. 

Inside the room she saw Mikey, Dale, Sarah, Dash. A lot of the underclassmen were there too but she didn’t know many of their names. Lancer and Phantom were in the corner having a hushed conversation with Sam. The kids around them were goofing off though, showing displays of their new ghost powers. 

Star balled her hands into fists. They weren’t supposed to have ghost powers. They were only like this because of what those terrible men did to them. This was too much. She didn’t know if she would be able to-

“Star!” 

The panicked thoughts racing through Star’s head stopped. Her eyes focused back in and they darted to Paulina who was running up to her. 

Paulina almost bowled her over with a big hug, sending a big puff of stardust flying.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you so much! Everyone’s been wondering when you were going to come!”

Star smiled softly and wrapped her arms around Paulina. “Heh… Sorry. I was dealing with stuff.”

Paulina pulled away, her hands still resting on Stars shoulders, and she looked down at herself. “And what is this? Is it glitter? It looks really pretty!”

Star chuckled. “Phantom calls it my stardust.”

“Ohhh.” Paulina said. “That’s a very good description for it actually.” Paulina let go of Star’s shoulder and she grabbed onto one of her hands. “Now come on. Everyone wants to know how you’re doing.”

Paulina dragged her over to the group of kids, all who gave her a very warm greeting. When Dash walked up to her she was engulfed in a bear hug. When he set her down she looked past him and made eye contact with Phantom. He smiled at her.

It would take some time for the town to come to terms with what happened, but Star had people who understood her and who were there to support her. 

Maybe that would be enough for now.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Not a Duo

Summary: Aizawa informs Midoriya and Bakugou that the paperwork Bakugou submitted for their hero duo partnership is wrong. Midoriya's reaction surprises him. More so when more is revealed.

Shoutout to @legallyspawned and @nyx3927 for some of the suggestions.

On AO3

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  When Shouta got the papers, he had simply accepted them without much thought. Much like many others in UA, he had figured that Bakugou and Midoriya would eventually form a hero duo. Bakugou had taken the news that he was weaker in winter hard when they had figured it out, more so the news that he probably would have to be part of a duo given the volatile nature of his Quirk. Exploding hands weren’t great for rescues or apprehension.

  Everyone also knew that Bakugou had a thing for the green-haired girl. He certainly warded off any boys who might go near her but seemed to want to focus on his own school before asking her out. Shouta had figured eventually he would hear about them finally getting together, even as Nemuri argued that Midoriya wasn’t interested in Bakugou at all.

  When Shouta looked through the papers later though, he noticed that Bakugou had written independent on the papers as their agency, plus a few other minor things. It somewhat struck him as odd, that he would get it wrong, but as Midoriya had only haded in her signed copy of an acceptance to an agency across the country a day before Bakugou handed these forms in, perhaps they hadn’t had time to talk.

  The papers did need to be fixed, and so the next day during homeroom he brought it up.

  “By the way, Bakugou, Midoriya. You need to fix your hero duo papers- you put independent instead of the Kingsman Agency.”

 “...What the fuck?!” Midoriya asked and suddenly Shouta was staring down an angry teenage girl.

  Well… someone was dead.

 -0-

  Izumi stared at her teacher in shock and horror, before looking to Kacchan who looked annoyed and looked back at her.

  “What the fuck?” she repeated just ask he asked her,

  “You fucking signed a contract shitty Deku?!”

  “Yeah!” she said staring at him. “The Kingsman Agency is one of the top agencies in the country, plus it’s far away from you which was my plan.”

  “...What?” Kacchan asked.

  “I know that no agency other than some local ones wanted to sign you on. So I decided to get to the other side of the country so I could avoid you.” Izumi told him bluntly, glaring at him.

  “...What the fuck, is it because I haven’t asked you out yet?”

  Izumi jerked back, feeling very confused as she stared at him. Kacchan scoffed at her.

  “Of course it was. Look, Deku, my plan was to give you the papers so we could form a hero duo team and be independent together, and then ask you out.” He rolled his eyes. “Kingsman contract can’t be hard to break right? So-”

 “What the fuck!?” Izumi burst into loud laughter, slightly hunched over her desk, her laughter continuing as Hitoshi snickered along with Ochako.

  “I… doesn’t he know?” Tenya asked Yuuga who shrugged in answer from what she saw.

  “Oh god, my sides.” Izumi snickered. “What the fuck Kacchan?”

  The look on his face had her howling in laughter again, clutching her desk and wheezing.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded angrily.

  “...She’s dating me.” Hanata voiced, the other girl lifting a hand and waving it. Izumi cackled again, laying her head on the desk.

  “Oh fuck this is good.”

  “WHAT?!” Kacchan shouted. “When the fuck did you start dating?”

  “Like second year?” Izumi snickered. “We just… haven’t said anything cause mom is homophobic as fuck.”

  “What?” Kacchan asked, glaring. “Auntie Inko?”

  “Yeah, god she hates anyone gay. I was like very in the closet for a long ass time Kacchan. I got lucky when I discovered that UA takes over part of the guardianship duties and I got confirmation she couldn’t like force me into an arranged marriage I was really worried about that.” Izumi felt a stab of pain in her chest.

  She loved her mom, she really did but she was very set in her ways and very firm. She had an idea of what life should be like for Izumi and would get upset when she even thought of altering it. Izumi was also aware that her mom would love for her to marry Kacchan which made her want to puke at the idea.

  Even if she wasn’t very gay, she would rather die.

  “Or well, hate is strong. Dislike yeah. Toshinori…” Izumi looked down, feeling very tired.

  All Might’s death had been a shock to everyone. He just didn’t wake up one day. His injuries finally caught up to him in the end.

  “Toshinori left me all his money so I can finish UA without worrying mom would stop paying for the schooling.” Izumi finally said. “I finally told her last month I was dating Hanata, reminded her she can’t sign any contracts for me not only because UA is in charge of that but also I am 18 now and left. I haven’t spoken to her since. I tried, she didn’t answer.” Izumi felt that pain hard.

  She wished her mom would talk to her.

  “How didn’t you know Bakubro?” Kirishima asked in confusion. “Sero like told us all when they got together.”

  “I told my friends,” Hanata corrected him shrugging. She reached out to grab Izumi’s hand and Izumi copied her, squeezing her hand. “Bakugou isn’t my friend. I’m friendly with him but like… gave up on ever considering him a friend when he kept calling me awful nicknames and treating me like shit.”

  “Yeah,” Kaminari admitted. “I kinda… I kinda just hang out with him cause you do Kirishima. I don’t like him all that much.”

  “Same,” Ashido said, rolling her eyes at the yelling that sparked in Kacchan until Aizawa flared his Quirk.

  “To simplify, Midoriya. You do NOT want to be a hero duo and Kacchan submitted false paperwork.” He asked.

  “Correct,” Izumi said. Kacchan shot her a look and she frowned. “Why are you so obsessed with the idea anyway? I mean… now I know apparently you want to date me which eww I am way too gay for that.” snickers came from everyone at that. “But like… why? I had no clue you even liked me. I sure as hell don’t like you at all.”

  “You call him Kacchan?” Sato asked in confusion. Izumi shrugged.

  “Because when we were kids he hated it? It’s a habit now. I just said it to piss him off like he used Deku to actually mean useless.”

  Her words had the class shifting slightly, looking to each other confused.

  “Hey, Kacchan,” Hitoshi spoke up then.

  “Don’t call me-” Kacchan stopped and Hitoshi asked before Aizawa could erase his Quirk,

  “Why do you want to be a hero duo with Izumi so much?”

  “None of the agencies who want to hire me plan on letting me do much. I wanted to use the money All Might left Deku and do heroing my way without having to listen to an agency. I also know the nerd won’t rise that far without me, she’s to useless-” Kacchan’s reply was cut off by a punch in the face from Izumi.

  “Are you fucking KIDDING ME?!” she screamed at him. “You… I knew you were low. I’ve known it since you told me to go fucking kill myself but this?!”

  “He what?” Hanata asked, raising from her seat herself. Izumi ignored her, glaring.

  “Fuck, well it’s fucking true! I’m going to be number one-” Kacchan started but she laughed in his face, hard.

  “Momo! We looked at the projection made by several different companies, right?” Izumi asked. Momo nodded, her face disgusted as she looked at Kacchan.

  “We did. All of them project that Midoriya Izumi, the hero Dekiru, would be in the top hundred within the next five years. Dynamight would only be in the two hundred at best.” Momo announced.

  “What?!” Kacchan cried but something about his tone had Izumi baring her teeth.

  “Liar. You knew this, you just don’t want to fucking admit you’re not as great as you claim, so you pretend it’s to help me.” She snapped. “Why am I not surprised, you always prefer burying your head in the sand than actually stepping up and admitting you did wrong. You did it when we were kids and you do it now.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m glad I’m getting the fuck away from you.”

  “You’ll have to deal with me sometimes,” he threatened. “We’re to good a team to-”

  “Are you trying to threaten me with requesting team-ups with me?” Izumi asked. He sneered at her. “Oh buddy, you do not want to go there.” she pulled out her phone and pulled up an audio file and pressed play.

      “Take a swan dive off a roof and pray for a Quirk in your next life.”  

      “Oi, Deku.”  

      “Kacchan, give me back my homework.” The sound of an explosion echoed. “Kacchan!”  

      “Ha! Serves you right fucking nerd. You didn’t deserve that mark on our last test.”  

  Izumi stared down Kacchan who went paler and paler as the audio went on. She finally stopped it after another verbal threat, well aware of the classroom.

  “I planned for years to release that after high school graduation. To watch you get what you wanted and then have it ripped away from you.” Izumi snorted, shaking her head. “I decided against it for a simple reason. I’ve met too many villains like you to think you would stay on a civilian path.”

  “I’m no villain!” he shouted.

  “You’re sure acting like one.” she shot back.

  “Agreed,” Aizawa spoke then, his voice cold. Izumi glanced around the room. Hanata looked pissed, about to do something to Kacchan by how her hands were clenched. Kirishima looked heartbroken. The rest of the class stared in disgust but truly not much shock.

  The shine of Bakugou had worn off years ago. He was nothing to them now.

  “Bakugou, we will be going to the principal’s office right now with the evidence Midoriya has offered. Not only are you in trouble for fraud given you attempted to sign hero duo papers without her permission, but due to the bullying you have heaped upon her…” he jerked his head to the door and Kacchan opened his mouth but closed it at the looks he got. He looked around, lost but no one looked at him.

  Kirishima even looked away, sobbing. Ashido and Kaminari had moved to comfort him while Hanata was too busy glaring at him.

  Kacchan walked out of the room, leaving Izumi to be tackled by her girlfriend and hugged tightly, while the entire class all burst into noise.

  Izumi hugged Hanata back, burrowing her face into her shoulder and let out a sob.

  God, why did this happen?

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 10

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW: Discussion of toxic relationship

Lucie was under the impression Alastair liked Thomas, but Lucies texts only made him more nervous. Even if Alastair smiled back, even if some things he said could hint at romantic feelings, Thomas had no clue how to make a move on people, much less Alastair. After dinner, they talked a bit more, about books, history, places they wished to travel. Alastair told him that he’d once read Machiavelli’s the Prince for comfort, but had since replaced it with Marx’ the Communist Manifesto. Thomas, who read mostly fiction, found it hard to imagine those books as something one read for comfort, but he promised he’d give the Communist Manifesto a try.

‘My ex recommended the Prince,’ Alastair explained. ‘In retrospect, the book suits him pretty well. It’s about power, manipulation, and he was all about that.’

‘As in, he manipulated you?’ Thomas asked.

‘He wants to get into politics, and I think he cares more about holding a position of power than about doing what’s best for the country. But he also manipulated me,’ Alastair said, showing no emotion. ‘He was very obsessed with his own social status and image, and would have done anything to improve that. I would not have reflected well on his image, so he kept me a secret and made me believe it was what was best for me.’

Thomas was certain he would be a better partner to Alastair than his exif they were in a relationship, but figured that was a pretty low bar. He didn’t know much about relationships, had never been in one, and wasn’t sure he knew how any of that worked, or how to be with someone with such a bad past experience. He didn’t want to hurt Alastair by accident. Perhaps his parents had some advice, but then he’d first have to tell them he liked boys. Which he planned to, but he had not yet figured out the right words, the right occasion.

‘How did you come out to your parents?’ he asked Alastair.

His parents were outside, they wouldn’t overhear. Thomas hoped they wouldn’t walk in out of a sudden, but if they did… Well, then at least they’d know and Thomas wouldn’t have to prepare a speech.

‘I only came out to my mother and aunt Risa,’ Alastair said. ‘Not to my father, nor do I care to.’

‘So, did you prepare a speech or anything?’ Thomas asked.

‘I did, because I suspected my mother and aunt Risa might not understand or know much about gay people, so I’ve mostly been educating them on various sexualities and gender identities. Risa actually discovered she is asexual and aromantic after I explained those concepts to her. Why do you ask?’

Thomas turned red, he laughed nervously. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell my parents I’m gay, but haven’t found the right time, or figured out how to tell them.’

‘You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to. Do you want them to know?’ Alastair asked.

Thomas considered Alastair’s question for a moment. ‘Yes, I do. I think it would be easier if they knew and I would rather tell them before I am in a relationship instead of introducing a boyfriend. Since that would be awkward for him as well. Mainly, I just want them to know but I don’t want an awkward conversation.’

‘I think your problem is that you’re too determined to do it perfect,’ Alastair said. ‘Your parents seem very open and accepting, I don’t think you have to worry.’

‘No, I know that,’ Thomas said.

He felt stupid. Alastair must have had a much harder time telling people, he hadn’t known beforehand that his mother would be accepting. Thomas was fairly certain his parents would love him no matter what, and yet here he was complaining to Alastair about how difficult he found it to come out.

‘I know it can still be scary,’ Alastair said. ‘I was fairly certain Cordelia wouldn’t mind at all, yet I postponed telling her for a long time. Of course in my case it could have saved me a lot of misery, had I told her sooner.’

‘What do you mean?’ Thomas asked.

‘She realized almost immediately after I told her that my ex boyfriend was treating me badly, when I did not. It took her a couple of weeks to convince me, but I realized she was right and then I broke up with him.’ Alastair paused. ‘It’s nice to have someone to talk about it. For a long time, I had only him and he actively discouraged me from telling anyone else.’

‘I’m guessing he wasn’t out?’ Thomas asked. ‘He thought being gay would reflect badly on him as a politician?’

‘No, I don’t think that was the problem. He was private about his sexuality, but I think his friends and family knew. I don’t blame him for that, I understand it’s not always easy to talk about and there can be consequences when people know. But I think in his case, he didn’t want people to know about me because I was so much younger, he probably knew grooming a teenager would reflect badly on him. He always said it was because I wasn’t out that he wanted to keep our relationship a secret, that he wanted to protect me from judgement, but I doubt that was true. I never wanted to be someone’s secret.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Wait, how much younger were you?’

‘Six years. I met him when I was fourteen and entered a relationship with him at sixteen.’

Then Alastair’s ex must have been twenty two at the time? Thomas, at eighteen, considered sixteen year old boys children and had no romantic interest in them. He preferred to look at boys his own age, maybe a little older. Despite being a year ahead in his education, Alastair was only a couple of months older than him. He couldn’t imagine being interested in a teenager when he was in his early twenties.

‘I didn’t realize at the time that the age difference was a red flag,’ Alastair explained. ‘I felt very mature, to have caught the attention of someone older. He told me, over and over, that I was very mature for my age, that he couldn’t believe I was still so young.’

Thomas suspected most teenagers would be flattered to be called mature, to be taken seriously by an adult. It was a vile sort of manipulation, to seek out someone young and vulnerable and isolated, someone who would easily fall for such compliments, only to take advantage of them and treat them badly.

‘How did you tell Cordelia?’ Thomas asked.

‘She realized something was not right,’ Alastair said. ‘She realized I was sneaking out at night, that I was barely eating and losing weight because I was so nervous. She said I was “being even more difficult than usual, and that’s saying something”. So I told her not to worry about it and that I was just sneaking out to see my boyfriend. I said I’d wanted to tell her, but wasn’t sure yet if I was ready, and that he had recommended I don’t tell anyone yet. She started asking a lot of questions about my relationship. At first it was in a supportive way, what did he look like, what were his interests. She kind of freaked out when she learnt about the age gap, and the more she asked about how he treated me, the more concerned she became. She’s been very protective of me ever since.’

‘I’m so sorry. Not that it’s my fault, or there’s anything I could have done, but I’m just sorry. That it happened to you. I’m glad your sister is protective of you. As long as she’s not too protective, I mean,’ Thomas said. ‘I know from experience too much protection can be suffocating.’

A small smile appeared on Alastair’s face, and Thomas realized he so rarely did. He had a very pretty smile that lit up his dark eyes.

‘I found it confusing most of all. As the oldest sibling, I always thought it was my duty to protect her, not the other way around. But Cordelia is fierce, and I love that about her. This one time we ran into him while shopping, not long after the break up. He tried to approach me while Cordelia was getting us ice cream, and when she returned and saw him she threatened to expose him as an abuser and child groomer on all her social media channels if he didn’t back off.’

‘Isn’t what he did illegal anyway?’ Thomas asked. ‘Since you were a minor? Couldn’t you go to the police if he kept harassing you?’

‘Age of consent is sixteen, so even if he was much older it was legal for him to have sex with me,’ Alastair explained. ‘It would be illegal if he was my teacher or in any way in a position of power over me, but he was not. He must have been aware of how those laws work and I think perhaps he waited until I was sixteen so it would be legal.

Him harassing me might be enough to get a restraining order, but honestly I don’t trust the police to believe me over him. Besides, I have no intention of sharing something so personal with police officers. I expect them to not care at best and I think it is likely they will be racist and homophobic and will blame me for what happened.

Cordelia has enough followers on twitter and Instagram to get the story out if we wanted to and it’s a decent threat, but I’ve asked her not to.’

‘From what you’ve told me, he fully deserves to be exposed,’ Thomas said.

He was angry on Alastair’s behalf, and Thomas guessed Alastair was right that as an Iranian gay man he could not trust the police to help him.

‘It’s not so much about whether he deserves it or not. I’m still processing what happened, and I don’t want to be judged by strangers on the internet. I consented to everything sexual we did even if it was coerced, and not everyone will understand all the subtle manipulation involved. I know people will claim it was all my fault, and if I didn’t want it I should have just said no. Or that after breaking up I decided to ruin his life by telling lies. He has powerful friends, I do not. I admire the bravery of the people who expose rapists and abusers on the internet, but I can’t put myself through that right now.’

Thomas felt nauseous, the idea of Alastair being manipulated into having sex with a much older man was difficult for him to process. It made him angry, Alastair had given this man everything, had loved him. How could someone have taken advantage of such a beautiful and passionate man? People often accused Thomas of being too kind, too compassionate, of trying to empathize too much with people who did bad things, but he was fairly certain that if he ever encountered the person who did this to Alastair, he would feel nothing but anger and hatred towards him. And he’d make sure whoever it was would never hurt Alastair again.

He wanted to show support, he wanted to love Alastair, but wasn’t sure how. He knew it was a big step for him, to open up so much, he knew Alastair was very private and trusted him as much as he knew how to trust. Thomas was terrified of letting him down, of breaking his trust.

‘Did he at least back off after that threat?’ Thomas asked.

‘I haven’t seen him in real life again, but he has been texting me until I blocked his number. He is part of the reason I came here, something I needed to get away from. You have provided a decent distraction and I am grateful. I have never… had a friend like you.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about that statement. He liked being trusted, he loved that Alastair valued him, but at the same time he wanted to be more to him than just a friend. But Alastair needed a friend, Thomas told himself. And perhaps Alastair would fall in love with him over time, perhaps someday they could be together. If not, being his friend would still be worth it.

‘Now, would you want to play another game of ludo before I return to the Herondales? I am certain the dice will be on my side this time,’ Alastair said.

The dice were not on Alastair’s side. The difference in rolls were at the very least statistically improbable, but Thomas wasn’t great at math. He won by a landslide.

‘You’re older than me,’ Thomas offered as an explanation.

Alastair frowned. ‘Only by a few months, and what does that have to do with anything?’

‘I have a theory that dice games like this one favor the young,’ Thomas explained. ‘I used to play this game with my sisters and I always did better. Of course, Barbara would usually let me win with games, but that’s difficult with a game like this. But most of my friends are younger than me, and with Lucie I don’t have nearly this amount of luck. And when I played with my younger cousin Alexander, my rolls are as pathetic as yours. Of course, that’s for the best because he’s three and he throws the game across the room when he loses.’

‘Nothing you just said makes sense,’ Alastair pointed out. ‘The dice can’t tell how old you are.’

‘Perhaps there’s a little spirit in there,’ Thomas said with a smile. ‘Something that realizes if little Alexander loses, painful things will happen to it. It probably dreads the day Alexander will play against children his age.’

Thomas guessed that might not be the best idea, at that age all children were sore losers. Most three year olds didn’t play together yet anyway, it was more parallel play what they did. Alastair left after losing another game, and at the end Thomas might have convinced him of his theory.

‘I’ll meet you here after breakfast for another walk,’ Alastair said with a small smile that made Thomas’ heart race. He hoped he wasn’t showing that. Would Alastair suspect Thomas liked him, now that he knew Thomas was gay? He wasn’t sure if he wanted Alastair to. If Alastair returned his feelings, sure. But if not, what if Alastair would retreat in his shell again, what if he didn’t want to be his friend anymore?

‘See you tomorrow,’ Thomas said. ‘Good night.’

Thomas didn’t sleep well that night. He dreamt of a castle, surrounded by dark forest. He didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. On a surface level, it didn’t even seem so scary but a voice inside Thomas was telling him to run as fast as he could to get away from there, yet he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure what he was running from exactly, but he woke up drenched in sweat at six in the morning. He didn’t feel rested exactly, but didn’t think he’d fall asleep again, so instead he changed the sheets on his bed and took a quick shower before putting on some clothes.

It would probably be some time until Alastair showed up, so Thomas made breakfast, and took his time to eat before settling in the garden. Gnomes were early risers, and Thomas liked watching them run around. Here they weren’t used to being seen though, and any indication that Thomas did see resulted in them running away and hiding, peeking out of the bushes on occasion to see if he was still there. Thomas put out a plate of cookies, perhaps they would become more trusting to humans who could see them overtime.

He sat there, reading a book Lucie had given him a while back. Ever since Thomas had told her he liked boys, Lucie had recommended books about queer men and right now he was reading Winter’s Orbit, a science fiction story about two men in an arranged political marriage. The amount of miscommunication and hopeless pining was almost painful to read, but also enjoyable. Thomas guessed he wasn’t much better, he still had no idea how to tell Alastair how he felt. Hopefully, he could finish the book before dying, he desperately wanted to know if these two could figure out their feelings for each other before it was too late.

‘What are you reading?’

Thomas looked up to see Alastair, dressed in a black Metallica t shirt and black jeans. He summarized the book he was reading.

‘It was a gift from Lucie,’ he said.

‘It sounds interesting,’ Alastair said. ‘I like books with some political drama. Can I borrow it when you finish?’

‘Sure. And in case I don’t get to finish it, I’ll write you into my will and leave you this book.’

Alastair groaned. ‘Please do not make jokes about you dying.’

Thomas sometimes felt like making jokes about it was the only way to cope. In reality, the idea that he was very likely to die was terrifying, even if the people around him kept assuring him he was going to be fine.

‘Sorry. I hope you’ll like this book. Although… one of the main characters was abused by a previous partner. Would that be an issue?’

Alastair tilted his head. ‘I think then maybe I should wait until I read it. That’s difficult with reading fiction, not all authors offer content warnings and going in unprepared can be devastating. When I know it’s coming… It’s easier, but I’m not sure if I want to do that right now solely to read a book.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I can imagine. If you want any books that don’t have topics that are triggering for you, I’ll try and see if I have anything. Or you can ask Lucie.’

‘I’ll think about it. Being able to read fiction while being prepared through content warnings is something I’m trying to work towards. No idea how long that will take, according to my therapist I’m too impatient. You coming? This early, there might still be some hedgehogs,’ Alastair said with a grin.

‘You really like hedgehogs,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘When I was a child I wanted one for a pet, but my parents didn’t think that was a good idea. Instead, I could have a goldfish. They’re very popular in Iran, people get them for the Persian new year celebration, Nowruz. People usually release them into a river or pond after the celebration, so that’s what Risa did. My parents weren’t too happy about it. At the time, I believed he would probably be happier there anyway than in a bowl, but it is likely he died within days. I don’t think it’s good for the environment either, and many Iranians are pushing back against the tradition because of that. Did you have pets growing up?’

‘Most of my childhood, because I was so sick, my parents didn’t think it was a good idea. They were afraid a pet might carry diseases I would be more vulnerable to,’ Thomas said. ‘But I hope I can adopt cats someday. And Barbara and Oliver have two guinea pigs.’

‘My cousin Jem has a cat,’ Alastair said. ‘Little beast hates everyone, but adores Jem.’

‘Do you see him often?’ Thomas asked. ‘Jem, I mean.’

‘Not really. My father never wanted him near our family, I think because he was afraid Jem would see right through him. But now that we don’t live with Father anymore, I see him occasionally. He offered me to come live with him, but I’m not sure. I still feel like I barely know him.’

They didn’t find any hedgehogs during their walk, presumably because the fog had gotten so thick they wouldn’t see any if they were there. Although Thomas was fairly certain they were taking the same route they had yesterday and during their first walk, everything looked different. He told himself it was probably the fog, but he couldn’t quite convince himself.

‘I don’t remember these ruins,’ Alastair said.

Thomas’ followed Alastair’s gaze and saw the ruins of a very old building. Of course, there were lots of old castles in Scotland, but Thomas hadn’t read anything about ruins in these woods.

‘Do you think we should take a look?’ he asked carefully. ‘I’m not seeing anything unusual.’

‘Apart from ruins that weren’t here yesterday?’

‘We must have taken a different path,’ Thomas said.

‘Sure,’ Alastair said and Thomas didn’t think he believed it. ‘Under normal circumstances, I would not take another step, but if we are to save your life we need information. Perhaps those ruins hold something of interest.’

[jemmahazelnut]

Motorcycle flight -Chapter five

Summary: Laxus is a biker, and as soon as he discovers that in the city there’s a motorcycle track for enthusiasts where races are organized every month, he decides to go. As soon as he arrives, he will fall in love with that wonderful place, and will meet the handsome green-haired owner. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four.

There’s a sex scene. No smut. I don't even know why I'm warning you, it's really nothing explicit, not even a little bit, but I think it's right to do it. Enjoy the reading :)

The new track

Laxus had never felt so nervous. He had never witnessed an accident in the first person, and seeing Freed jump off his motorbike had been a terrifying scene, one that kept repeating itself in his mind intermittently. Afterwards it was all confused, he remembered falling off the bike, probably scratched because he was right behind Freed but he managed to swerve in time. He remembered Lucy's screams and ambulance sirens, but he didn't remember exactly how he got to the hospital. He certainly hadn't gotten there alone.

He only knew that at the moment he was sitting in the emergency room with Lucy and Natsu beside him. The girl was white in the face and she didn't say a word, while the boy kept pacing nervously back and forth to release the tension.

“Lucy, what happened?”

Laxus heard the voice and looked up not recognizing who he was. When he saw the woman, he realized that he had never actually seen her.

“An accident, we... we don't know anything yet,” the blonde replied. Laxus realized there was also a man and Brandish. Only then did he realize that the two must be Freed's parents. Of course they were there. Still the images of the accident didn’t make him think well. He shifted his gaze to Brandish, who just nodded to him. The girl then crossed her arms, if she was nervous, she wouldn't show it.

“How did it happen?” the woman always asked. Lucy tried to explain, and Laxus was forced to get up so as not to listen to everything again. He walked towards Natsu, and the boy glanced at Freed's parents but didn't say a word to them.

“Why does it take so long?” asked Natsu. Laxus didn't answer, not knowing what to tell him. At that point, however, as if someone had heard the question, the door opened and a doctor came out. Everyone immediately surrounded him waiting for news.

“The boy is fine, he was lucky,” he told them. Laxus let out a sigh of relief as he felt his nervousness disappear. Lucy murmured 'Thank God' and Freed's mother stepped forward.

“I want to see my son,” she said. The doctor nodded and just told them not to go in all at once, because the room was small and the boy needed a rest. Laxus wanted to jump into it but Freed's parents were faster and he didn't feel like getting in the way. So, the two adults entered with Brandish and he found himself again waiting with Natsu and Lucy. At least he wasn't nervous anymore because he knew Freed was fine. Although he would’ve preferred to see him with his own eyes.

“We should be in there,” Natsu growled.

“Calm down” said Lucy “Freed’s fine, that's the important thing.”

“Yes, but I'm sure he doesn't even want to see them,” Natsu retorted. Laxus agreed with him, they were probably the last people Freed wanted to see.

“They won't be in there long,” Lucy said with a sigh. “So don't worry, we'll see him soon.”

“Sure,” Natsu growled. Laxus sat down and leaned his head against the wall, letting his anxiety subside at least a little, just hoping to be able to see and hug the boy soon.

***

When the door opened, he was surprised to see his parents. Freed was going to start telling them about everything but when he saw Brandish he calmed down slightly. Although his relationship with his cousin wasn’t the best, she was the only one in the family with whom he could speak in a civilized way.

“How are you?” his mother asked immediately. Freed glanced at the arm in plaster. He also had pain in his leg, but luckily the clothes had protected him enough and, in the end, he got away with a few scratches and a few blows, except for the broken arm.

“Fine,” he just said avoiding his father's gaze and focusing instead on his cousin, hoping she would understand and take his parents away from there. “The others? Laxus, Natsu and Lucy?” he asked, despite a nurse having already told him that he was the only one to have been hit by the car.

“They’re fine. They're out here, they're worried about you,” Brandish replied. Freed nodded in relief and then fell silent, not knowing what to say to his parents. He hadn't seen them for a long time, he had only heard them on the phone and only a few weeks before. He honestly didn't even think they were coming.

“What a bad blow. I've always told you that riding a motorbike is dangerous” said his mother, worried about him, lightly running her fingers over his forehead. Freed stared at her in annoyance. If he hadn't been forced to stay in bed and if he hadn't hurt his arm he would’ve pulled away.

“I'm fine,” he repeated more firmly. “Now that you've done your homework as a good parent, you can go,” he added irritably.

“We are worried about you and you talk to us like this? We thought you died on that damn motorbike!” bellowed his father at that point. Freed looked at him irritably.

“Sure,” he murmured sarcastically and then raised his voice again. “Now you've seen that I'm fine, you can go,” he repeated hard.

“We're not going anywhere. Do you know why this happened? Because you don't listen to us and go prick around thinking only of yourself!” thundered the man. “If you hadn't ridden the bike, you wouldn't be here!”.

“No, it happened because a fucking car overtook when it wasn't supposed to,” Freed retorted.

“If you had driven a car now you wouldn’t be here”.

“It could happen anyway, and since when do you care about me? You threw me out of the house, so go away and leave me alone! “.

“Freed, we're just worried,” Beverly, his mother, tried to say, calmer. “I know we weren't the best parents, but we love you, that's why we complain about motorcycles, because we don't want something like that to happen to you,” she tried to explain more softly, running a hand through Freed's hair, who raised his left arm and pushed it back badly, despite the pang of pain.

“Is that why you destroyed my track? Because I don't think so, the truth is that you’re just obsessed with the reputation that others have of you,” he retorted sourly.

“Still with this story,” his father growled.

“I know it was you,” Freed said, looking at his father. But he wasn't the one to answer.

“You're right, we were fools and we’ll pay you all damages. But please, let's stop with these arguments and come back to us,” Beverly said. Freed was surprised for a moment. It took a few seconds before he thought of an answer, he was already about to start again in bursts to insult them, but his father did it first.

“Good heavens Beverly, what the fuck are you saying?” he blurted out.

“Shut up,” the woman snapped and tears began to flow down her face as she reached out her hand to take Freed's. The boy fell silent and looked away from his mother's guilty face, not knowing how to react. “Please Freed, I don't care if you follow in our footsteps. If you want to keep track, that's fine. I just want to see you again, feel like we're family. I should never have walked away from you, I'm so sorry,” she said with tears in her eyes. Freed didn't know how to react. His father seemed even more furious instead.

“Stop this nonsense,” he told his wife, who shook her head as she sobbed.

“Freed, please...” she repeated.

The boy didn't know what to do. If on the one hand he wanted to throw them out of the room, on the other hand he still felt a little warmth, at least from his mother's part. He closed his eyes for a moment, and luckily Brandish's presence saved him.

“Dad’s calling, he wants to talk to you,” she told Freed's parents. The father picked up the phone and went out and then his mother too got up and followed the man, not before throwing a guilty look at her son. Once they were both out, Brandish glanced at his cousin. “You’re welcome, I expect to be able to use your bathtub for the whole next month for letting them out,” she told. Freed sighed slightly.

“Anyway, you use it already,” he replied in a low voice, although he was grateful.

“Yes, well. Anyway, just so you know, aunt didn't know it was your father who ruined the track until three days ago. They fought a lot. Do what you want with it. Oh, and buy some gummy candies for when I use your tub,” she said, then exited. Freed smiled slightly at his cousin's oddities but didn't object.

He rested his head on the pillow so as to think about what to do with this, but the door swung open again and soon after his friends walked in en masse, not allowing him to do so.

***

“I only have a broken arm, I'm not sick,” Freed snapped as he entered the elevator. Laxus followed, holding the two pizza boxes in his hand.

“Can't you say 'thank you' like any normal person?” the blond asked with a slight smile.

“Well, thanks, we could’ve the bellboys take it home,” Freed grunted irritably.

“You haven't left the house in days,” Laxus pointed out. He was not completely wrong, it was already a lot to have forced him to walk two minutes to go to the pizzeria. Freed snorted.

“Because I had no reason to go out,” he grunted. Laxus rolled his eyes but didn't reply. The elevator reached their floor and Freed opened the door and entered the apartment. The two boys settled on the living room table and began to eat quietly. Since Freed left the hospital, they had only seen each other in their apartments, as Freed didn't really want to leave the house. Not just because of his arm, but also because he had started working from home and sorting out a lot of paperwork for the track.

“Have you decided what to do with yours parents?” Laxus asked and Freed stood with the slice of pizza in the air for a moment, not expecting the blond to ask him. Freed had opened up to him about his, explaining what had happened and how they had called him back. Mainly his mother, but his father too must have regretted what he had done. He hadn't specifically said it, but he had agreed to pay all the damages he had caused. And since the insurance had actually already paid for everything, Freed had decided to use that money to modernize the track.

But he still hadn't gone to them, even though his mother had asked him several times to go to dinner. They were talking on the phone, and Freed had to admit, it was nice to do it after years, even if a little embarrassing. However, still better than completely cutting the bridges.

“No,” he replied then taking a bite. Laxus nodded.

“Have you thought about it?”.

“Not much,” Freed admitted. “What would you do?” he asked. Laxus shrugged.

“I don't have to tell you. But with everything they’re doing, you can see that they’re repentant,” he replied.

“Yes,” Freed murmured. That was true. His father had also proposed to him to open a motorcycle company together. Freed refused, because he didn’t want to start any business with his father, despite the idea of releasing his motorcycles had aroused him a lot. He continued to eat for a while in silence thinking about what to do, until Laxus decided to change the subject and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie.

So, as soon as they finished dinner, they settled on the sofa. They picked a random thriller and turned off the lights, enjoying the scenes. It wasn't much of a movie, but that wasn't why Freed couldn't follow it. His problem was mainly caused by his thoughts, both about his parents and about Laxus. He already knew what he wanted to do, only he didn't know how.

He wanted to go see them, have dinner with them, try to be a normal family. But he knew that it would be terribly embarrassing, and that it would take very little to argue with his father. They had clashed since he was just a teenager, and they had never had a meeting point. Probably, if his mother hadn’t been there, they wouldn’t have spoken again.

As for Laxus instead… Freed was completely in love. It wasn't a real problem, on the contrary, it was something beautiful. Only, he wasn't used to feeling that way, nor was he used to having quiet afternoons and evenings. And Laxus was great. They had seen each other much more often, and mostly they dined together or talked, watched a few movies every now and then. Freed had been afraid he’d be bored as he could no longer ride a motorcycle, but that wasn’t the case. Sure, it was only going to be a month, but still, it was nice. And Freed had promised him that as soon as he recovered, they’d take many trips out of Magnolia.

“Would you like to come to my parents with me?” the question came out of his mouth without him even being able to think about it, and he immediately regretted it. Surprised Laxus turned to him.

“You mean, as a boyfriend?” he asked. Freed didn't dare look at him, feeling his face flush and hating his own skin and reactions when the blonde was around him. He waved it so easily, it wasn't fair. And knowing that they were in a relationship, even though they had never directly talked about it, was nice. Not that it wasn't obvious.

“Um... yes,” he muttered. “I mean, don't feel obligated. It will surely be an awkward dinner. Not for you, but for this whole situation, and they don't even know I'm engaged. In short, if you don't want to, I understand you very well. In fact, if I were you, I'd say no,” he said slightly agitated. Well, he would’ve done better to shut up from the start. Laxus chuckled slightly.

“It’s fine for me,” he replied. It was Freed's moment to turn to him in amazement.

“Really?” he asked. The blond shrugged.

“Sooner or later, I'll have to meet them, right?” he pointed out and Freed again felt his stomach churn at that simple statement, because that made it clear how serious they were making their relationship.

“Well, that's not really necessary. For five years they didn't know anything about my life and…”

“I want to do it,” Laxus interrupted. “Really. And then, it will be a good step to get closer to your parents again. Maybe I'll be the one to dissolve the embarrassment” he added jokingly. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“You?” he asked skeptically. “It will probably be a disaster” he laughed, letting his nervousness subside.

“Of course it will,” Laxus laughed and leaned over him. “But at least we can laugh about it together,” he added softly. Freed melted at that tone and leaned towards him kissing him softly. He loved those moments. Laxus put a hand on his thigh and pushed slightly towards him, parting his lips and making the kiss moister. Freed ran his hand across Laxus’ chest, hating the fact that he was unable to move his other arm.

They stayed for a while kissing on the sofa, until Laxus reached up with his hand for his jeans reaching his crotch and Freed moaned slightly.

“Laxus...” he whispered from his lips.

“Room?” asked the blond. Freed nodded and the two boys made their way to Freed's bedroom. The boy annoyingly tried to take off his shirt but he had some difficulty and Laxus chuckled slightly.

“Leave it,” he said pulling it off and pushing him to lie down on the bed. Freed didn’t object and then reached out and began to lift Laxus' shirt revealing his torso. The blonde took it off and immediately lay down beside him, pulling his arm towards him and kissing him again. The two were lost again in the lips of the other, with their bodies attached and their hands wandering everywhere.

It took a while for them to end up undressing completely. Laxus ran a hand along Freed's back until he reached his buttock, leaving a trail of heat along his skin. Freed let a moan escape from his lips as he positioned himself on top of the blonde and admired his terribly inviting body. He ran his free hand along his torso and then leaned over Laxus again and captured his lips again.

They made love by filling themselves with kisses, enjoying one of the caresses of the other while their minds clouded and their hearts pumped faster and faster. When they both felt they had touched heaven, they lay down next to each other on the bed, still out of breath and swollen lips, shining eyes and blood pumping strongly.

They remained in silence looking at the ceiling for a while, until they both turned to look at each other lovingly and with smiles on their faces. Laxus reached out to Freed's cheek, stroking it gently. He looked at him without saying anything, running his hand through his hair, taking a lock and starting to twist it in his fingers. Freed let him do it, feeling so domestic and happy that he hardly believed it. He was about to close his eyes and curl up beside him when he saw Laxus' gaze waver and the blond began to speak.

“I'm in love with you,” he revealed. Freed's heart, if possible, paused for a moment and then resumed hammering furiously, as the blood began to flow back to his face. A smile spread spontaneously.

“I love you too,” he replied in a whisper. Laxus closed his eyes and rested his forehead on him, while his hand began to massage the back of his neck. Freed enjoyed that attention, without worrying about getting dressed or anything. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

***Six months later***

“What do you think?” Freed asked, pointing to the mechanical workshop he had had opened near the track, inside the Raijinshuu. Laxus looked curious at the place, it wasn't bad. It was big enough, and any bikers who frequented the place would definitely go there. Freed had already hired Gajeel, who had given him other names as well.

“It’s good, do you have other projects in mind?” asked the curious blond and Freed shrugged.

“No, I'd say that's enough. Covered parking, the track, the workshop, the bar, what do you want me to add?” Freed asked.

“Your father isn't that bad after all,” Laxus smiled. He had known him, and although the first dinner had been terribly embarrassing, then he had got used to it. If they invited Brandish too, the discomfort increased. But at least if she was there too with her girlfriend, the two didn't have all the attention on them. Anyway, the funniest part was coming home and talking about Freed's family and their quirks.

“I still prefer your grandfather,” Freed retorted and Laxus laughed. Neither of them had any doubts about that, the first time Makarov had met Freed he had offered him the wine and liqueur that he had personally prepared, insisting that Freed drink it all. And Freed didn't feel like refusing, so the evening ended with a drunkenness for the boy and Laxus who had to drag him up the stairs to 'sleep'.

The two families were completely different, and the two laughed when they thought about how they would react to getting to know each other. Nonetheless, things were going well. More than well, to be honest.

Freed and Laxus headed for the bar.

“So, you don't want to work for me?” Freed joked.

“Nah, better not. I’d risk getting pissed off, I never got along with any of my bosses”.

“Maybe this would be the exception that proves the rule,” Freed speculated. “Besides, I’d risk stealing all your customers”.

“I doubt it since I work on the other side of town. And in case that happens, I'm sure I'd find a job here. I’ve excellent connections,” the blond retorted with a grin as he walked into the bar. Freed didn't answer and as soon as they were inside, they heard Bickslow cheer loudly. Ever since Freed bought the new TV, the bartender was always enthusiastic.

“This TV is great. The best purchase you could make” Bickslow said. “Thanks to this you’ll see how many new customers you’ll have” he said fiddling with the remote control. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“I thought covered parking was the best investment,” he commented.

“What, are you kidding? This is so much better.” Bickslow smiled as Evergreen rolled her eyes in exasperation. Freed smiled and leaned against the bar, glancing at the people who would compete next time. Obviously, among those there was also Laxus, and the usual motorcyclists.

“I thought that after being defeated by Natsu you didn't want to compete anymore,” Freed commented, recalling how the blonde had been pissed off the time before and how Lucy had again cried over the lost money, because she had decided to bet on Laxus.

“I was just a little out of shape” Laxus retorted. “That kid only won out of luck.”

“I wouldn't say so!” Natsu exclaimed, he apparently had longer ears than anyone else in there. “Freed, I still have to beat you! Take part too!” he exclaimed. Freed smiled but shook his head.

“I’d take away all the fun,” he replied calmly.

“There he goes again,” Bickslow muttered.

“Well, that's right. For the first year I lost a lot of clients just because they never managed to win,” Freed reminded him.

“For once you can participate” Cana urged him “And if you participate tell me immediately, so I know who to bet on” she said, ready to put the money in her hands.

“Are you leaving me like this?” Laxus asked surprised.

“Hey handsome blond, last time you lost against Natsu, and if there’s a rule in this field, it’s that the boss never loses,” Cana said immediately. Freed gave Laxus a smirk, who rolled his eyes.

“If you participate, I'll kick your ass, you know,” he warned.

“If you participate, I want to be the first to know, Freed,” Cana continued. Freed seemed to think about it and Laxus was surprised, as he had never seen him compete with others. Then the boy shrugged.

“Well, why not,” he finally decided and walked to the board entering his name. Cana's eyes sparkled and she immediately bet a large sum on him. Laxus gave her a treacherous look. He knew how strong Freed was on the bike, but hell, Laxus was one of the strongest there, if not the strongest. Also, Freed hadn't competed for a while. He smiled at the idea of beating him and a new feeling of competition poured into him. Taking the grin off his face would’ve been a great satisfaction.

***

Freed sat across from him while Laxus fixed his bike and checked that everything was okay. Since the boy would be racing with a different bike than the one he usually used, he had asked Laxus for that favor. Laxus sat down on the ground, while Freed was sat on a bench and watched him curiously.

“You really enjoy doing your job,” he commented.

“Only if they’re gems like that” Laxus smiled “And then, considering the payment in kind, I do it even more willingly” he added with a grin. Freed chuckled and tossed a crumpled napkin at him, which Laxus caught with a smile.

“As long as you're not modifying my bike to make me lose it,” Freed said.

“What great confidence” Laxus said ironically, standing up. “I'm not a baron like you.”

“I don't cheat,” Freed retorted. “I've just been driving for years, and I know my track better than anyone,” he explained.

“You won't win forever, you know?” Laxus asked.

“Maybe when I get old a young boy will be able to beat me” Freed agreed at that point “But you sure have no chance.”

“We'll see,” Laxus smiled. “Your bike’s fine, and I swear I haven't touched anything,” he added with a smirk. Freed didn't object as he picked up the vehicle again and headed for the track, where the race would begin within minutes. Laxus went through the parking lot to take his, but as soon as he was there, he passed Lucy, who was sadly texting someone.

“Hey blondie, are you okay?” he asked.

“It would be better if I could bet on Freed” she objected immediately “But now I can't anymore, and I was hoping to raise money without risk” he snorted. Laxus looked at her for a while in silence, wondering why Lucy was still betting since she had won maybe only twice, only to lose the money won on the next spin. It just didn't make sense to him.

“Bet on me,” he told.

“I guess I'm not betting on anyone, I’d just lose,” the girl said disconsolately. Laxus smiled.

“Bet on me,” he repeated.

“Maybe you've never competed against Freed, but since I've been here, and I've been here since the track opened, he never lost,” she told him.

“There’s always a first time, right? Bet a little, so you'll lose little money, and if you win, you'll get all the money Cana staked on Freed,” Laxus told. Lucy seemed to think about it for a moment uncertain, like every time someone told her to bet on him. “And anyway, I've competed with Freed a couple of times. Trust me, I'll wipe that grin off his face once and for all,” he told confidently. Lucy sighed.

“I just hope I don't get it wrong,” Lucy murmured with a little hope. Laxus smiled and walked past, ready to beat his boyfriend.

***

Bickslow and Evergreen were pouring drinks for everyone, after the race a party had broken out and everyone was celebrating, some more and some less satisfied. For once, Cana wasn’t the center of attention, and she was content with a small glass of beer that Mirajane had offered to her as a consolation. Lucy instead had taken a huge glass of beer, she was celebrating with Natsu and her eyes glistening with her joy.

That only meant one thing. Freed had been beaten by Laxus, and was now sitting at a table with a frown on his face. Bickslow kept repeating the scene where Laxus had overtaken Freed on the huge TV and kept making fun of his friend, who was pouting more and more. Laxus next to him was probably the most pleased person in there.

“Hey Bix, a beer for the absolute champion of the track. And one for the brat who's been sulking since he lost,” he said with a grin.

“Shut up,” Freed grunted who still didn't believe he had lost. “And I'm sure you've changed something on my bike. Or maybe you rigged your,” he objected.

“You can have it checked,” Laxus said. “But I keep telling you, you’ve too many beliefs. It had to happen, and better with me than with Natsu, right?” he commented. “Even though he was in the lead at one point, you softened up a lot, huh?”

“Shut up,” Freed repeated frowning, taking a sip of the beer as Laxus put an arm around his shoulders laughing.

“You’ve bragged for years that you’re the absolute champion, and I can't do it?” he asked derisively and Freed rolled his eyes.

“You're annoying,” he muttered and the blonde laughed.

“Yes, but you were much worse than me,” he told and squeezed his hand on his shoulder, pulling it lightly against him and lowering his voice. “I expect a nice prize for beating the absolute champion” he told him in his ear and Freed smiled amused, letting his nervousness pass in the blink of an eye.

“Ask what you want,” he said and his lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I can buy you a new motorbike, offer you a fantastic dinner...” he began and Laxus laughed in his ear.

“You know what I want” he replied in the same tone and Freed smiled, breaking away a little.

“I guess you'll have to wait,” he replied and then picked up the glass again, taking a sip and throwing it an eloquent look.

“Laxus, I love you!” exclaimed Lucy shines hugging him from behind, and the two boys looked at her a little perplexed. “I've won so much money, practically all the money I've lost this year.”

“Hey, get your hands off my girlfriend!” Natsu exclaimed.

“She's the one who sticks,” Laxus grunted as Lucy laughed.

“If I were you, I’d walk away, and it has nothing to do with jealous Natsu. She'll throw up on you,” Freed warned him. Laxus with a snap pulled her away and luckily Natsu came to pick her up, taking her out of the room. “Well, at least I'm happy for her. Although I already imagine how she’ll spend her money,” Freed commented.

“If she bet on me, you won't have to worry about anything.”

“You won once, now don't freak out,” Freed objected. By now the nervousness had passed, after all Laxus was right, once it had to happen. And better from his boyfriend than from Natsu, who would then talk about it endlessly. Laxus didn't answer him, just stared at him with an excited smile and leaned over him to kiss him. Before he could reach his lips, however, Bickslow cut them off.

“Sorry beautiful lovers, but there’s a party going on. If you want to snog, there’s a warehouse for that. Evergreen and Elfman can assure you it's comfortable and we can't hear anything from here,” he joked. Evergreen gave him an incinerating look, while Laxus rested his head annoyed on his hand, for having been interrupted.

“Bix, why don't you go serve the customers? I thought there were so many people,” Freed commented, equally annoyed by the interruption.

“Because with the new bartender you’ve hired, I’ve more free time,” Bickslow replied with a grin. “Especially if I can tease you a little,” he added.

“Then go make us two beers, and make us some sandwiches too. The ones that take longer. And expect to have a lot of unpaid shifts next month,” he added. Bickslow rolled his eyes but walked back behind the counter while Laxus chuckled.

“That's why I don't want to have you as a boss. You know how to become an asshole”.

“I can get a lot worse than that,” Freed smiled and his expression softened again. He asked if he wanted to leave the bar for a moment, either to get away from the party or to get some air. The blond immediately accepted, and as soon as the two were outside, they leaned their backs against the wall, staying close so that their arms touched. Laxus glanced at the track, the sun was setting leaving a trail of warm colors on the sky. If they weren't there outside the bar, from which they heard even the noises of the party, it could’ve been a romantic moment just between them.

“You know, nothing against the prize you requested, but I was thinking of doing a road trip on a motorcycle for two weeks if you like,” Freed said at one point. Laxus's face lit up. They had talked about it a couple of times, but due to the commitments of both they hadn’t had the opportunity to do so. Laxus, however, could ask for leave, and Freed was finally calmer with his business.

“Only if we sleep with the curtains,” he replied. Freed made a brief face but nodded immediately afterwards. “I didn't think you’d have accepted right away,” Laxus joked, but there was some truth in that statement. As much as Freed enjoyed driving in the mountains, he wanted to sleep on a comfortable bed, not on a mat in the middle of the woods.

“I'm not a spoiled rich man,” Freed objected.

“No, but you're not even an adventurer. So, where are we going?” Laxus asked.

“Take me wherever you want, great adventurer,” Freed mocked. “But make sure you pick places where Google Maps takes, I don't want to get lost far from home.”

“Funny,” Laxus commented ironically, turning to him. Freed was smiling lovingly at him, and looking at him completely in love. Laxus folded his lips up and bent over him, kissing him gently, taking advantage of the brief moment of calm.

As soon as they parted, the two turned to the red sky, intertwining their fingers and imagining their journey. Neither of them really cared about the destination to be reached, as long as they could make the journey alongside the other.

Final notes: Even though it was short, I'm glad I wrote and finished a multi-chapter. I enjoyed writing it, I hope you liked it too. Thank you all for reading.

[starlocked01]

Do You Love the Color of the Sky

(pls don’t scroll it’s not that post)

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Not being able to see green must suck, but Patton pitied his soulmate more for being stuck with him.

Content Warning: Swearing, Food

Day 26 Queerplatonic Intruality, background Logince-  You can't see shades of your soulmate's eye color until you meet and look into each other's eyes for the first time.

Do you love the color of the sky?

Patton scrolled through the ridiculously long post and sighed. He liked most of them but the shades of blue always looked so dull. A lot of people reposted this particular picture set because it was the easiest way to tell what color eyes your soulmate has. Which led to a lot of bored scrolling.

If not for the lack of blue in his life, Patton would have assumed he didn't have a soulmate. It just didn't make sense to him as a concept. He loved all his friends and cared about the people he met in his day to day life, he didn’t feel like anything was particularly missing.

Other than the color blue, that is. He stared at his own green eyes and chuckled sadly. His poor soulmate had never seen summer leaves or blades of grass, probably never liked Luigi as a character, hated driving, and wouldn't recognize Patton's pride flags. Patton had learned about the aromantic spectrum and a lot of his feelings had clicked into place. Romance just wasn't his thing and he was happy. He did worry about disappointing his blue-eyed soulmate. How awful to be tied with someone who won't love you romantically.

Patton's best friend since middle school had managed to find his brown-eyed soulmate at a local cafe. Logan didn't say much but Patton could tell he was ecstatic under the calm exterior. And from the sound of it, Roman was quite the romantic which flustered Logan. Patton was happy for them, really.

"You know, Pat, I could try to set you up on a blind date," Patton looked up at Roman with confusion.

"Oh no, they're blind?" Patton couldn't imagine not being able to see at all.

"Why would you suggest that, Roman. His eyes are only green," Logan interjected from the kitchen where he was preparing dinner for his soulmate and friend. Roman had been the one who insisted on inviting Patton and this idea was probably the reason why.

"No, they aren't blind. A blind date is when you go on a date with someone you haven't met before. I could set everything up! I've got the perfect man in mind-" Roman started rambling excitedly.

"Don't tell me it's your brother," Logan scolded.

"It's my brother, but that's not the point!"

"Don't you think you've put Remus through enough humiliation?" Logan turned, shaking a wooden spoon at Roman menacingly.

"I mean, I doubt he's my soulmate and I'll probably disappoint him, but I'll meet your brother if he's okay with it," Patton fiddled with the napkin holder, trying to diffuse the argument by agreeing. What did he have to lose?

"Fantastic! I'll call him right now!" Roman jumped up from the table, phone in hand.

"Roman! Dinner's almost done, just leave it alone!" Logan called with an exasperated sigh, "sorry, Patton. He does this to everyone."

"It's fine, Lo. A low-pressure date might be nice?" Patton shrugged.

Roman had the whole date set up before dinner was even done. He decided the two would meet for a picnic at the local park that weekend. Patton didn’t even have to say a word and it was all planned out. Logan shook his head but gave his soulmate a small smile.

The day of the picnic arrived. Roman had done everything to get this set up for the two, excited at the possible connection for his brother and new friend. Patton just rolled with it, bringing a small cake he'd made to share.

He found the picnic and spotted Roman talking with a man who looked oddly similar and dissimilar to him at the same time. Patton figured they must be brothers and hesitated several yards away.

The man couldn't look any more different from Patton if he tried. His hair was dyed and Patton thought he spotted the glint of a piercing on his lip just under a trim mustache.  For some reason, he'd decided on a black and green mini skirt and fishnet stockings with a ripped My Chemical Romance shirt. It certainly contrasted with Patton's sky grey polo, grey cardigan, and khaki slacks.

Patton took a few deep breaths to try and remember that this wasn't likely to work and was mostly to humor Roman. He'd be nice to Remus. Maybe meet him again at a Christmas party where they both laugh at Roman's poor matchmaking. End of story.

Roman spotted him and waved Patton over, more excited than a puppy brought home from a shelter.

"Patton! Let me introduce you to Remus," Roman grabbed his wrist to yank him the rest of the way over, "I think you guys are really going to hit it off!"

Remus stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. Patton felt really bad as Roman must put him through this all the time. He offered a hand and a warm smile which he took but Remus wouldn't meet his eyes. He was fine with that.

"Alright, I'll leave you two alone to start building chemistry. Good luck!" with that Roman turned and left and Remus let out an exasperated sigh before sitting down on the blanket.

"You don't have to stay. I know he probably paid you or something," Remus muttered at Patton.

"No, I agreed to try, no bribes. I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you," Patton smiled sadly, kneeling down on the other side of the blanket.

"It's not you, Patton. It's him. He's obsessed with finding my soulmate ever since I told him…" Remus got very quiet, picking at one of the threads of his sock.

Patton urged him to continue, "you told him what?"

"That I'm ace. No one is ever gonna be happy with me so why try?" Remus picked up a rock and threw it hard, "he doesn't believe me and thinks I'm just giving up. I wish he'd just fucking listen to me!"

"Oh, is that all? Gosh, I'm sorry, Remus. I totally get it though! Have you asked him to stop putting you in uncomfortable situations?" Patton was so relieved he forgot that Remus wouldn't know why.

"Don't you think I've tried?? And yet here you are, probably telling yourself you can change me because all anyone would need to do is get in my pants- skirt- whatever and I'll change my tune! Right?" Remus glared at Patton who looked away quickly.

"N-no… I mean I actually get it. I'm aro and I hear a lot of similar stuff from people who don't get it," Patton explained himself softly.

Remus hit his forehead and flopped down onto his back, staring up at the sky, "oh! Oh, of course... I'm sorry for assuming, Patton."

"It's okay. Let's just enjoy this lunch and what I assume is a beautiful day," Patton laid down and stared at the sky, "is it cloudy today or is the sky actually blue?"

"Oh, it's a brilliant blue today, Pattycake. Have you never seen the blue sky?" Remus asked in amazement.

Patton chuckled, "nope, never seen it. My 'soulmate'-" he used finger quotes "-has blue eyes."

"Oh, well it's about the color of your shirt today," Remus grinned, "so I guess you know the difference between leaves and clouds, huh?"

"Green is a beautiful color," Patton smiled, "I hope someday you get to see it with someone who appreciates you for who you are, Remus."

"Thanks, Patton."

They both laid there in silence for a few minutes before Remus broke it, "so what do you think of horror movies?"

"Too scary to watch alone, but I'll watch with a friend," Patton smiled, "opinion on Bob Ross?"

"A treasure, but I wish he drew fewer happy trees and more sad ones," Remus grinned. They continued bouncing questions off of each other, a few starting heated debates as they ate the picnic and just talked.

It was wonderfully non-romantic. Patton felt understood for the first time in a long while.

Remus became more and more animated as their conversation drifted from movies and games to tattoos (Patton showed him a Spongebob tattoo on his ankle much to Remus' surprise) and careers. Patton was shocked to discover that Remus worked in daycare most days, something he would have never guessed from his attire.

"You like working with kids?" Patton asked cheerfully.

"I get to give them back to their parents at the end of the day and sleep like a rock," Remus laughed and took a bite of cake, "let me guess, you're a baker?"

"Not quite, I help run my parents' Mom and Pop diner and they stick me on dessert duty way too often," Patton happily patted his stomach, "I bet chasing all those kids burns about as many calories as I can bake in a day."

Remus snorted, "maybe I should stop by and find out some time."

"Yeah! I make the best cheesecake- if I'm being humble," Patton laughed.

"I love cheesecake! Can we go now?" Remus sat bolt upright with a large grin on his face.

"Don't we have to clean all this up or wait for Roman?" Patton asked, happy but a little nervous to make Logan’s soulmate upset with him.

"Oh come on!"

"I can always just make you one," Patton replied carefully.

"That would imply seeing you again," Remus smirked at him.

"You seemed to like the idea," Patton smiled hopefully, picking at the grass.

"I love that idea. You're so easy to hang out with, Pat. You really do get it, and I'm sure we could have lots of fun together," Patton looked up, tears in his eyes. He took off his glasses and wiped them with the sleeve of his cardigan before meeting Remus' gaze with a smile.

Something in the back of his head clicked. He watched as Remus blinked in confusion and started looking around wildly. Patton felt just as confused until he noticed the sky.

He fell back down on the blanket and stared up at the brilliant depths of blue in the cloudless sky. He could almost feel how far it stretched into the void of space and was utterly in awe, tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes and down his ears. It was magnificent.

Patton lay there crying until his view was blocked by two navy blue eyes, sparkling with joy and streaming tears as well. Patton smiled and opened his arms for a hug which Remus gladly fell into.

Roman came back and found them in each other’s arms, laying on the blanket and talking about everything they couldn't tell anyone else before. Patton made sure later to tell him off for how he'd treated Remus but also thanked him for setting up the date.

They weren't dating. It was something different, but they were happy. And Patton really did love the color of the sky.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Sophia Jirafe

Seven of Sophia Jirafe’s fics are at Gossamer, but more of her X-Files stories are at AO3 (as sophiahelix). I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Stones and Bones. She was active in the fandom during the show’s run and has never strayed far from fandom in general. She co-founded Glass Onion, a great multi-fandom mailing list that now has nearly 1,000 fics from 100 fandoms at AO3. Big thanks to Sophia Jirafe for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It did initially, but so many old shows are on streaming now and getting discovered by new people, it makes sense.

I did get a comment from someone who said my first story under this name, posted in early 2000 when I was a college freshman, was older than her by a couple of months, and THAT took me aback.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was my first fandom, discovered when I was 17 and searching for info about the show on the school library computer, and it really shaped my whole life! I met a lot of people I still know today (mostly in non-fannish venues like FB, though I do still have some connections in fandom), and learned a lot about writing and just life generally, since I was younger than most of fandom at the time.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started off on a tiny forum at a website called Squirrel’s Nest, but I kept seeing people thanking Scullyfic in fic headers and eventually I was able to join the mailing list (which was capped to 500 members). Scullyfic was everything to me — I made friends, betas, discussed the show, learned about all kinds of things on Off-Topic Fridays, etc. A lot of those friends, I would email with or more often chat on AIM (individual or these sprawling group chats that would go on all day), and then at the end of 2001 we started migrating to Livejournal. I was getting into Buffy more by then, but it was still mostly the same crowd of people I knew from Scullyfic.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I feel like it started me on a whole life path really — finding that my deep obsession with fiction could be channeled like that and shared with other people, as well as deepening my writing. Online fandom has been a major part of my social life for over 20 years now, and I love the mix of getting excited about things with friends and also the creative outlet.

My corner of X-Files fandom in particular was just very calm and enjoyable for the most part, full of older professional women who were happy to be friends and give me advice about all kinds of things, and it really set the bar for me with my online interactions. Now I’m almost 40 and trying to be that person for my younger friends, as well as having no patience for toxicity and in-fighting in my fandom spaces.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

A combination of the creepy conspiracy angle and just adoring Scully. I remember how mysterious and fascinating the show seemed when I discovered it right before S5, and there was no way to find out more except to keep watching and hoping they explained. Scully was so smart and tough and beautiful and interesting, and as a teen I was just captivated by her (and the UST, though I didn’t care about Mulder as much).

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I ran across it a couple times early on but felt embarrassed by the concept, but then I read the first in Karen Rasch’s Words series and suddenly it clicked for me. After a while I started daydreaming my own conversations between them, very similar to what happens to me now when I’m getting into a new pairing, so after reading tons of recommended fic by big authors, I started writing my own (the 3-4 stories I posted in high school are all wiped from the internet now, though).

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Good memories, though because it was my senior year of high school and college, I know a lot of it is just tied to that time in my life, and also being in my very first fandom. I will rewatch episodes from time to time, but I basically never revisit former fandoms because they’re kind of like exes, even if I finished on a good note. I also think my taste in fic has changed (and there isn’t the same novelty of “characters I like getting together omg!”)

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

So many! None of them had quite the same combination of excellent central architecture (especially pre-AO3) and a really high level of discussion and friendliness without being enormous, but I’ve loved them all in their own ways. I’ve done fandom on LJ/DW, Tumblr, Discord, and now on Twitter, and I think I miss the mailing list days the most. You didn’t have to repeat yourself so much in multiple conversations, you weren’t character limited, and the discussion was all in one place, with personal stuff more confined to your side conversations. Discord is a little like that, but it moves too fast and there’s too much noise for my taste.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Heh, after X-Files I went through a whole phase of faves in the Scully vein — Buffy, Aeryn Sun, Kara Thrace, etc. Like many people I’ve shifted primarily into m/m in the last decade (Sherlock, YOI, and recently The Untamed have been my major fictional fandoms, along with a lot of sports RPF), but for non-fannish shows I’m always looking for awesome new female characters, like Elizabeth on the Americans, Peggy on Mad Men, Nadja on What We Do in the Shadows, etc. And I do LOVE Killing Eve and have written a little f/f over there.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I’ll rewatch favorite episodes occasionally, and I keep thinking about a full rewatch but it takes so much time! I never saw the second movie, and I didn’t finish the first of the new seasons because I was hating it, so it’s a little hard for me to think fannishly about them when I disliked basically everything after “Je Souhaite” so much (as far as I’m concerned the show ends there).

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

X-Files no, but yeah I’m still very active in fandoms.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I lost all my saved fic several computers ago, but I recall loving “Blue Christmas” by Plausible Deniability and “Diamonds and Rust” by MustangSally (obviously everything she wrote was great).

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Looking at my X-Files fic, I can’t believe how short it is and how comparatively little of it there is (I have lost track of a few ficlets). It felt like such a big deal to finish anything back then! I think my favorite remains Alphabetum, which involved a tricky structure and 5 elements given by people as part of the Scullyfic Improv challenge, where you had a week to write a story around those elements.

My favorite of my recent fic in fictional fandoms is probably the GoT/YOI crossover novel I wrote a couple years ago, for a completely opposite experience to this (and proof you can grow as a writer with a lot of effort!)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

It’s honestly hard to imagine going back (like I said, I usually don’t), but I guess I could get inspired by something.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I certainly still write, and I do have to give credit to XF fandom and Scullyfic in particular for giving me the start I got, where I really wanted to be writing good fiction. The few things I wrote in high school were just me jamming out romantic cliches, but the people I was lucky to know in XF fandom showed me that “just” fanfic can still aspire to be high quality. I am a much, much better and more disciplined writer than I was back then, but I might never have started on this path without fandom friends encouraging me.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Usually just daydreaming about emotional dynamics between characters/people, but sometimes something specific in canon or real life (I write a lot of RPF) gets me going, or maybe something I read.

What's the story behind your pen name?

When I wrote for X-Files, I picked “Sophia Jirafe” combining my favorite first name with a fancy spelling for my favorite animal (I was 18! Don’t judge!) Over on Livejournal, my friend Jintian and I initially shared an account with the same name as our website, double_helix, and when she got her own account I changed to sophia_helix, which is now sophiahelix just about everywhere. A little clunky, but I like the continuity (and I do run across old friends who remember the name).

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

The friends I’ve known for a very long time know about it, but we have never talked about it in depth. My husband, who I met not long after getting into fandom, also knows about it, and he’s encouraging and also a writer so we talk all the time. I told my mom in college and she was pretty dismissive, so we haven’t talked about it since (but my younger sister knows and is cool about it).

When I was younger, it was something I shared readily (I bonded with a new friend in law school I saw looking at LJ), but now I don’t really bring it up with new acquaintances.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I just made a Carrd the other day with all my various fannish addresses (Twitter, locked fannish Twitter, AO3, Tumblr)

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just that it really was a high quality fandom — so much excellent long casefic, so many cool down to earth people, just generally a great launching place for a young fan. The friendships I made with older people were really important to me, and it makes me sad to see a lot of younger people now getting upset about the idea of anyone over a certain age being in their fandom spaces. I hope someday fandom can get back to appreciating that people of all ages can be the fandom type, and that everyone brings something different to the community.

(Posted by Lilydale on December 1, 2020)

[rewritethestars5218]

Febuwhump Day 4

I wrote this in the span of 3 hours. I don’t guarantee any type of quality lol.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163078/chapters/71890002

______________________

Don't Try to Pin This On Me

The sparring match had been Legend’s idea.

The group was enjoying a much-needed break in Warriors’ Hyrule.

Legend and Warriors were tasked with collecting firewood. Wild volunteered to go with them since he needed to catch some fish and gather some extra ingredients.

Legend and Warriors started their usual bickering about 30 minutes into their little excursion, something having to do with training.

Wild wasn't paying attention, opting instead to walk the river bank looking for fish.

"You know it wouldn't hurt you to get a little extra training now and again," Wild heard Warriors claim.

"Not all of us are as obsessed with having perfect fighting form, pretty boy," Legend argued.

"That's because most of you haven't had any formal training," Warriors countered.

"Please. Both Sky and Wild have had 'formal training,' and you don't see them obsessing over it like you do. I bet if you sparred with Wild right now, he would do just as well as you."

Wild cringed.

"Hey Wild, do me a favor and knock this pretty boy down a few pegs," Legend implored.

Wils slowly turned around, his annoyance on full display. "Don't drag me into your little squabble."

"Come on! I'm tired of this prick continually going on about how we should all train more. Prove him wrong, and I'll lend you my fire rod for a week."

Wild's eyebrow shot up. He glanced at Warriors, who just shrugged. "I'm down for a sparring session," he offered.

Normally Wild made a point to stay out of any bets Warriors and Legend made with each other, but the vet's offer proved to be too tempting to pass up.

Wild sighed and grabbed his slate. After a few swipes, a royal guard's sword and a soldier's shield materialized in his hands.

Wild discovered after his first sparring session with Warriors that, while he didn't remember his days as a royal knight, the training he received had stayed with him.

He stunned the entire group when he was able to go blow to blow with the captain.

It wasn't that they didn't think Wild was a capable fighter; they just were shocked to see that the kid had formal training in sword fighting.

Warriors and Wild got into position.

"Don't expect me to go easy on you," the captain ribbed.

Wild smirked. "Like I would let you."

With that, the two charged each other, the clanging sound of their blades cutting through the air.

Legend always got a kick at watching Wild spar, especially when it was with Warriors and Sky.

The kid had some goddess-given talent when it came to fighting, something that seemed to clash with his gremlin nature.

The kid was terrifying in a fight, and it was because of the unconventional methods he used while fighting.

Who would have known that buried underneath that insane pyromaniac was a trained royal soldier?

Wild fell into the familiar dance quickly, his footwork and sword skills matching Warriors effortlessly.

Wild managed to land a couple of solid hits, putting Warriors on the defensive.

Growling in frustration, the captain upped his game, his strikes coming quicker and with more force than before.

Neither realized just how close they had gotten to the riverbank.

Wild smiled as a familiar feeling washed over him. He knew, deep down, the old him enjoyed the thrill of sparring with someone his equal.

As he lunged forward with his sword, he suddenly found himself recalling a moment long ago, his hair cut short, his face unscarred as he fought a fellow soldier along the same riverbank.

It was rare that Wild recalled a memory during a fight, but maybe because this wasn't a life or death battle, his brain decided it was a good time to drift to a time long before the Calamity struck.

The flashback only lasted a few seconds, but it was plenty of time for him to drop his guard.

Warriors had side-stepped away from Wild's attack. He brought up his shield and swung it towards Wild, fully expecting the champion to dodge or block the familiar move.

Instead, Wild just stood there, allowing his sword to drop slightly. By the time Warriors realized something was wrong, it was too late.

His shield collided with the side of Wild's head, the momentum sending Wild careening over the riverbank and into the rushing waters.

Legend cursed as he took off towards the riverbank, totally confused at what he just witnessed.

By the time Warriors wrapped his head around what just happened, Legend had appeared to his side.

"What the fuck was that?" Legend barked as he scanned the water for any sign of their fallen friend.

Warriors was too stunned to answer. Wild had countered that attack easily in the past.

Legend yelled Wild's name, shaking the captain out of his thoughts.

Suddenly Legend was in the water, his attention locked on the familiar blue bobbing in the water.

Warriors ran down the shoreline, keeping pace with Legend.

Legend reached out desperately, snagging Wild's tunic. He pulled the champion close to him, biting back the paralyzing worry when he realized Wild was out cold.

Legend struggled to keep his grip on Wild as he attempted to swim towards shore.

Thankfully, a strong hand reached out and grabbed him, and he felt himself being dragged towards the shore.

The second they could stand, both Legend and Warriors pulled Wild out of the river and laid him on his back on the rocky shore.

Warriors ran a hand through his wet hair, still trying to process what just happened as Legend checked to see if Wild was breathing.

"I swear Legend...I didn't mean to hit him that hard," Warriors stammered. "I thought....he normally..."

"Now's not the fucking time," Legend barked as he tried desperately to hear if the champion was breathing.

Wild almost immediately started coughing up the water he inhaled to Legend's relief, and the vet quickly rolled him on his side.

Now that Wild was out of the water, Legend could see blood start to run down the side of his face.

"Go grab a potion from your pack" Legend ordered.

"...I don't have my pack," Warriors gasped, suddenly realizing he left it at camp.

"What the fuck, Wars!" Legend spat.

"Well, did you bring yours?!" Warriors yelled.

Legend's eyes went wide when he realized he didn't have his with him either.

Legend cursed under his breath as he unhooked Wild's slate from his belt.

"He HAS to have a freaking potion or something in this damn slate," Legend growled as he frantically tried to figure out how to get to the champion's inventory.

He finally found where Wild usually kept his potions and fairy's but saw that he was out.

Warriors had pulled off his scarf and wrapped Wild's head with it, temporarily stopping the bleeding.

"What the hell do we do? Is it safe to carry him back to camp?" Warriors finally asked.

"How the fuck should I know. I'm not Hyrule," Legend snapped. "Did you really need to hit him that hard??"

Warriors shot him a seething look. "This was your idea to begin with," he scolded.

"Don't you put this on me," Legend argued back. "I didn't realize you were going to bash your shield into his head!"

Warriors felt his anger fizzle out as his face dropped.

Legend mumbled another curse under his breath when he realized his words hit below the belt. He knew damn well Warriors didn't go out to hurt Wild intentionally.

"Sorry," the vet mumbled. "That was a shitty thing to say."

Warriors looked away from the vet for a second before his eyes went wide.

He turned back to Legend. "There's a shrine next to the camp!" he declared.

Legend narrowed his eyes. "Yeah...so?"

"Warriors quickly snatched the slate out of Legend's hands. "Wild can teleport to the shrines using the slate. That's how we are getting him back to camp.

Legend's eyes went wide. "Fuck that. I don't trust that damn thing!"

"Do you have a better idea?!" Warriors demanded. "Cause I don't."

Legend growled in frustration. He hated to admit it, but it was their best option.

Before Legend could say anything, Warriors was already tapping the slate.

Warriors was so grateful he had Wild show him how the slate worked early into their travels.

He placed his hand on Wild's shoulder as he looked towards Legend.

"Grab my arm," he ordered.

Legend reluctantly complied. Before he knew it, he felt himself levitate slightly as the world around them disappeared into a flash of blue. ------------------------------------ Their sudden appearance at the shrine sent the whole camp into a frenzy.

Thankfully, a red potion and some much-needed healing from Hyrule all but healed Wild's injury.

The champion had yet to wake up, but Hyrule assured them he would be fine.

To Legend and Warriors' surprised, Time didn't seem angry about the impromptu sparring match. He was more concerned about Wild spacing out in the middle of the fight.

"I wonder if he had a flashback," Twilight offered after hearing the whole story.

"Maybe, but he's never had one before while he was fighting. I wonder what made today so different."

Twilight shrugged. They would have to ask Wild when he woke up IF he even remembered what happened. ------------------------------------- Wild woke up just before sunset.

Thankfully, outside a headache, he seemed to be fine.

Legend looked up while everyone was getting ready for bed to see that Warriors had disappeared.

Sighing, he stood up and looked at Time, who simply nodded as if he already knew what Legend was going to do.

He started walking towards the treeline. It didn't take him long to find Warriors sitting against a fallen tree, lost in thought.

Legend took a deep breath. He was never good at comforting people.

Warriors glanced back towards him slightly, letting Legend know the captain was well aware of his presence.

"You didn't strike me as the type to sulk around," Legend began.

Warriors didn't say anything, which only made Legend angry. Maybe it was because it made the vet feel guilty. It had been his birdbrain idea, after all.

"Listen, how long are you going to sit out here feeling sorry for yourself?" he finally said.

Warriors tensed up but didn't look back. "As long as I fucking want..."

Legend groaned in frustration. He walked the rest of the way to Warriors and sat next to him.

"Look, shit happen," Legend offered. "No one blames you for what happened. It was a freak accident, nothing more."

"Doesn't make me feel any less of an asshole," Warriors countered.

"Hey, as you said, it was my stupid idea. If anyone gets to feel guilty about today, its me."

"Goddesses, you two will literally argue about anything."

Both Warriors and Legend spun around to see Wild standing behind them.

"What the hell are you doing up?" Legend questioned as Wild took a seat next to them.

"I told the others I needed to get some air," Wild answered. "I know they mean well, but sometimes the attention gets to be a little too much to deal with."

Before Legend or Warriors could respond, Wild kept talking.

"Look, what happened today was NOT your fault," Wild said, directing the comment at both of them.

"While we were sparring, I had a flashback," Wild continued. "As far as I know, I have never had a flashback while I was fighting. Maybe it was because it was just a simple sparring match, but there was no way either of you would have known that would happen, so please, stop trying to take the blame for something you two had no control over."

Warriors shook his head. "No, I took it too far. I didn't need to go at you as hard as I did."

Wild scoffed. "I went at you just as hard. Would you blame me if the role would have been reversed?"

Warriors didn't answer, and Wild knew he made his point.

The champion turned his attention to Legend.

"And you...last I checked, both Wars and I had free will. Either of us could have told you to piss off, but deep down, we both were itching to spar."

Legend mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, reluctantly conceding Wild's point.

"I can't believe you managed to teleport me back to camp," Wild continued.

"That was all his idea," Legend said as he pointed at Warriors. "He's the one who knew how."

"I also heard you went with," Wild continued, smirking at Legend. "I thought you said you would never use that "magic teleporting bullshit."

Legend felt himself get flustered. "It wasn't like we had much of a choice."

Wild's smirk widened. "And it wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was fucking horrible," Legend complained. "I don't understand how you can tolerate it."

Wild shrugged, "Maybe I'm made of tougher stuff."

Legend finally cracked and shoved Wild.

"Careful now, I'm injured, remember?" Wild laughed

"Too bad Warriors didn't knock some sense into you," Legend snarked, causing both Warriors and Wild to chuckle.

"Come on," Wild coaxed. "If we don't get back to camp soon, Twilight is going to sick Wolfie on us."

[vulturhythm]

we fucking made it

i swear to god, i never thought i’d see 2020 through to the end... and yet, here, at the end, at the end of all things - 

ahem.

and yet, here we are.

fuck, i’m doing it again.

eh, whatever. i think we’re owed some sentimentality today, after everything we all have been through. under the cut is even more sentimentality. (brief cw: suicidal ideation)

i’ve been a lurker in fandoms since i was seven (i started young, oops) and i’ve tried my hand at fic for a couple over the years, as you’ll know, if you read my works on ao3, as well. regardless, i’ve never been truly active in any fandom before. i follow the tags, i consume the fic (quite voraciously) and i devour the art, but that’s been the extent of my involvement in most fandoms...

until the witcher.

i discovered the witcher on netflix thanks to my beloved stepbrother, who recommended it to me due to our often-identical tastes in media. i marathoned the entire first season twice in a row the weekend on which i’d moved back into my dorm for the second semester of my freshman year, and i drove my girlfriend absolutely insane talking about it. a couple of days into my obsession, she started watching it, too. i asked for the books for my birthday in february, and i’ve been (very slowly) chipping away at them. it was through my girlfriend that i was introduced to the fucking marvel of the games, and i’m equally slowly making my way through the witcher 3.

you may have noticed on my header that i’m an english major, and a self-proclaimed author. both of these are very true... but the truth is, never in my life have i ever written so much in the span of a single year as i did upon discovering the witcher. i was in the worst slump of my life before i watched the show, and since then, i have produced... fuck, i don’t even have a decent guess for how many words i’ve written, for how many ideas i’ve had, for how many plot bunnies and works in progress sit in my drafts at the moment. the witcher saved my motivation. even when 2020 hit its final form and i took a hiatus from writing, i did not stop brainstorming.

to be frank, the witcher may have saved my life. as some of you may know, i lost my favorite cat, henry, a few weeks before the fall semester began this year, and this loss hit me harder than anything since the death of my father as a child. i rewatched the witcher three, four, maybe even five times in the span of times between henry’s death and the start of classes. a couple of the short works i posted in this period of time were definitely of the vent variety. i didn’t expect much reception upon posting them; i just needed to write. instead, each of those ficlets have passed 125 notes. i don’t know what that says of my audience, of you dear hearts, but i do know that it helped far more than any of you will ever know to feel that, at least in some way, you were still there for me, despite my hiatus.

when i posted my first witcher fic, i expected ten, maybe twenty notes in total, and the same for all that followed. i was not expecting, nor seeking, a following; i just wanted to write for the two dumbasses who had stolen my heart away. only a couple of weeks into my existence within the fandom, my fic “maybe” blew up, and to this day, i don’t know how or why. to those of you have been with me since the days of “maybe,” thank you, thank you, thank you. thank you for sticking with me, for believing in me, for enjoying the nonsense i throw onto a page and send out into the world. to those of you who have joined the ride in more recent times, thank you.

i admit, i haven’t been as good about maintaining tumblr friendships lately as i wish i was, but i guess that’s true of most of us. i hope you all know that i still consider you my friends, and i still adore each and every one of you. never be afraid to reach out to me. to those of my followers who haven’t ever reached out, but still consume my content, i adore you, as well! it makes my day, seeing new followers go through my masterpost.

this year has been brutal, and i know i’m fortunate to have been relatively unaffected by the worst of it all. for those of you who have been, i truly do hope my posts have offered any sort of escape at all. that’s my goal in life - to offer those getaways from reality, to make others’ days brighter with the promise of a better world, even if it’s only a fantasy.

i’m definitely rambling, and there’s likely no sense to this post whatsoever, but i want you all to know that i love you. i’ve never felt more welcome in a fan space before, and i doubt i ever will again. thank you all for coming along for the ride. we’ve made it, dear hearts. we can do it for another year. 

[stuckyflangst]

My first fanfic

I was never into fanfic in the early days of the internet (which I was around for). While I can now mourn the delights I could have found in X-Files fanfic, or Buffy fanfic in my teens and early twenties, I was too into serious literature back then. (Also not serious literature, but definitely the kind that was in books with covers and copyright and stuff).

Last year I went to see Avengers: Endgame, after low key shipping Stucky since Captain America: TFA. And man was I disappointed by Endgame. So I’m complaining to my partner, and then I was like - don’t people on the interwebs fix the endings of things they don’t like.

And thus began a yearlong obsession with reading a LOT of Stucky fics. Also occasionally branching into Sam/Steve/Bucky, WinterFalcon, even Stuckony a few times, and a few memorable Barbershop Quartet fics with Steve/Bucky/Sam/Natasha. Some have been truly great works, some have been good, some have been terrible.

And wow, I had a lot of fun, even if no one in my life shared my hobby. To be fair most of my friends indulged me, and thought it was kind of endearing, rather than socially shaming me.

And then I finally though - why don’t I just write one? I’ve had a poetry book published, and a couple of short stories, but I’ve never committed to “being a writer”. I’ve also had pretty terrible writers block and haven’t written anything much for two years.

Then I sat down to write my Stucky story and I have just pumped out nearly 20,000 words in three weeks. It was amazing how letting go of feeling like I should write something ‘great’ and ‘worthy’ just freed me up. Instead I just wrote something that I wanted to, that I liked (mostly). And it felt so nice that other people were reading it, having fun.

So yay for AO3, yay for discovering awesome nerdy pursuits in your 30s.

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4​ and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter  2/4

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The rain pours for several more days, and Killian lurks indoors anywhere she is not, a ghost in the corners of her eyes. The cable company's arrival makes him bolder, showing the workers the drilled holes in the wood from previous owners, and identifying the ancient telephone cable. 

Laughing, a bewhiskered man clapped him on the back in good nature as he held up the cord. “Haven't used these since 1910! This used a switchboard to even operate, probably used for transmission in the First War. This is a damn antique!” 

Killian laughed with the men doing the installation, but as Emma looked closer, it seemed to be only for show. He followed them asking questions, watching the cables thread through walls, helping where he could. It was not a one day job, which luckily Emma had predicted. 

The next day was even busier, with deliveries arriving, a team looking at the major pipes, electrical repairs and more cable installation making the quiet halls echo with voices. Emma directed what felt like a never ending stream of people carrying various items to rooms, instructed men on how she wanted furniture arranged, and helped identify the structural issues she had noticed, or take note of the ones the contractors had. Carterhaugh stood strong and not many issues were found, although the plumbing and wiring were a mess that would need to be addressed and modernized. 

Around lunch time, Emma took a pop tart out of its sleeve and noticed she hadn't seen Killian all day. Walking to the back solarium and sunroom that looked over the gardens, she watched as he worked. His back muscles rippled under an undershirt, plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His arms were deeply defined, and she didn't notice how lost in thought she was until he gave a sarcastic little wave. Blushing she gave a half wave back, stuck half the pop tart in her mouth, and quickly went back to ordering people about like some evil queen. 

At the end of the day and after a hefty set of invoices, Emma collapsed in the plush chairs that sat next to the great room's fireplace. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, she groaned. 

“Miss Swan? Are you alright?”

Killian’s voice. She nodded with a sigh, opening her eyes. “I… Your phone came today.” Nodding her head at the package that sat on a small table, she closed her eyes again. 

"Oh. Okay." He looked down at the box with a frown. 

"Don't worry, it literally walks you through the set up process. Just turn it on with the button, and follow the instructions." Emma stretched with a groan, letting her joints pop. 

"You got a lot done today, it looks like."

"I did. The teams I chose are phenomenal, but it will be nice to be alone again here soon. I have never had a home, so I would like to enjoy this while I can." 

"No home? You're an orphan, then?" he asked, and she nodded. "Did you live in a foundling home or ministry?"

"No. No. It must be different in America, I don't know what a foundling home is, actually. I lived in an orphanage, then foster homes. My adoptive mother legally got custody of me at 15. I consider her and my brother my only family."

"Ah. A foundling home is for found children, usually abandoned by their parents or orphaned by war, famine or plague."

"Oh, crap, I didn't mean to be insensitive. Those must be rare nowadays, I don't think that there's been any of that sort of thing over here for at least 60 years."

Killian muttered under his breath, laughing bitterly. "Yeah." picking up his phone he gave her a nod, then returned to work. 

After a few more hours, Emma sat aside invoices neatly arranged into piles after double checking everything scanned into the cloud by her phone, and began a small fire in the grate of the ancient fireplace. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine and some chocolate, surprised to find Killian sitting enraptured by the light of his phone screen. 

"Emma, this device is… It's bloody magic. I have never seen such a small encyclopedia of knowledge. So many flowers and plants have been discovered, animals and places. The pictures are so close up I feel like I'm there -" 

"Calm down, Buster, have you seriously never had internet? You might of well have been Amish."

"What's Amish?" 

"Alright, forget Amish. What's your favorite thing you have learned so far."

"The sky, I've mapped the stars in detail during my time in the Navy, and written about clouds, but there are so many more names, the conditions that create them are all documented, and the stars, we've been in space -" 

"How did you miss Neil Armstrong? One giant step? Do I need to rent 'The Right Stuff'?" 

"When you live here, and you have no one, it's easy not to know anything but this. Thank you Emma. I… I can't say how much this means to me."

"I'm glad you like it. I guess." Emma said shyly back, surprised by the genuine delight in his voice. Shrinking back without her glass of wine, she doused the fire and went to bed instead, her stomach full of butterflies sorely in need of some Raid. 

In the morning, the butterflies became a full force flock when Killian called her name from the conservatory. She waited, stopped and watched his easy jog over to her over the parquet as wingbeats tickled her insides. The rose he held out to her did nothing to help her distress either.

"Would you let me take you for lunch, out on the meadow? It's a perfect day to watch the clouds come in, and you look like you could use a break. I'd like to repay you for the phone. It's been truly… I have not words in which I can express my gratitude fully."

At her hesitation, he backtracked. "If you don't want to, please, it's alright. I'll just go -" 

"No, no. You're right, it's a beautiful day for it. Yes. Yes, let's have lunch. I'll set up some quilts and you can meet me there."

"Cheese sandwiches alright?" 

"As long as there's cocoa."

These lunches become a weekly part of their routine. On the nicest days they find one another wandering the grounds, and in the rain the eat in the kitchen or in the solarium watching rain pour down the glass. There are many nice days, mild breezes carrying the sound of their lively conversations, the weather becoming temperate and fair. He brings tea, cookies, cakes and sandwiches, while Emma brings pop tarts, cocoa or coffee. 

It turns out that his sense of humor is actually amusing, her face and sides hurting from the way he somehow gets her. It's in the late summer, when he places a daisy crown on her head while talking about the constant storm on Jupiter (he's obsessed with learning everything about space and technology lately), and she realizes after that she didn't flinch. It's easy to forget that he hasn't been a fixture in her life forever when he greets her in the morning in the kitchen, or when he gives her a lazy grin with a wave with soil covered hands. 

It's hard to be in the quiet when Killian has recited poetry, or shows her how to tell if a tree is 'wick', and how to take cuttings to grow more of certain bushes that have started to thin. She reciprocated to her own surprise, and tells him about life in the city, about the movies she loves, and about the best apps for his phone. He's great at candy crush, has a following on GreenThumb, and when she lets him on her Spotify he shocks her with a Playlist of roaring twenties, classical, and old swing band songs mixed with the classic rock he has heard her screeching out lyrics into a broom handle. Emma watched him weave magic with plants, feeling aimless and antsy when she went back to work in the house alone. 

Occasionally he joined her, and in those moments it's almost as if he saw the house in its full glory. He knows everything there is to know, except the local legend of the estate. 

"So did the family really just up and disappear? Were they really cursed by Leprechauns?" 

"Fae folk." The grimace he made was tight when he gritted out the words. It was warm, the cliff side by the sea enticing with its cool spray. Both of them had worked long enough to have a break as they stretched across slightly damp stone. Killian licked his lips, looking almost pained. "They probably left before the next war hit. That's my guess. Although, tales of the Fae due run rampant out here. ‘The Fae court will ride their wild stallions across the plain, under the cover of thunder and lightning’. They ran their undying horses too loudly to go without notice otherwise." 

Killian’s face fell, and he looked out pensively towards the estate, his features tensing as a sudden chill nipped at them. "Or teaching wee ones to be kind to strangers without asking for something in return… Fae folk have dominion over anyone who violate their hospitality unless given sincerely. Even then, they're bitter, wicked, twisted creatures with not an ounce of warmth in them. That falls back to 'Never find friend in Fae, or show them favor'." 

"You sound like you believe they're real." Emma said quietly, 

"Do you, Swan?" The question comes out strange, not quite teasing. 

After a moment and a steadying breath, Emma let the truth eke out. "Maybe."

Killian didn't laugh, didn't say anything, really. Emma found that the best reply, her heart beginning to slow again when she confirmed that he's truly not mocking her by glancing up at his darkening eyes. 

"Just who are you, Swan?" This question is worse, worst - it lodged deep as her walls snapped back up around her. 

"Wouldn't you like to know." If he noticed the iciness in her glare, he didn't say. 

Instead he called after her as Emma made her way back inside, a sudden cold rain pouring down. "Perhaps I would." 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma lets the days go by leisurely as Killian and her spend more time with each other. They eventually start sharing books, movies, excerpts from history (He loves the Today I learned section of reddit, learning things in leagues) and music. Her selections of rock and classic punk pop seem to genuinely bewitch him - on several occasions she's gone out to the garden to find him smeared with dirt, shirtless, gloves in his back jeans pocket shaking along with his - assets - while 'Welcome to the Jungle' blared from the sound system. 

The beginning of want pooled in a well Emma thought had long gone dry, her blush a strawberry stain across her face and chest. Not that Killian knew, or if he did, hid it under his normal self-deprecating cheekiness by teasing her as much as normal. Emma had thoughts at night after a glass of wine that left her feeling like a breathless high schooler who found a note in their locker, except she wasn't a high school student. She hadn't been in far too long for this sort of crush. 

Even in the mornings when she tried to beat him outside, he's there. Sometimes just sitting and talking to the plants or pruning, and it's like he's a fixture in her garden. A fixture that notices her arrival or sneaks behind her with a branch to tickle her ear, smiles at her, beams at her really, in a way that makes her heart sing. It's as if he's gently tending to her too, like he knows how hard it has been to lay down roots anywhere since Neal burned away everything she had hoped for a home. 

Killian just grows on her, and she feels like the sun has warmed her enough to tentatively take a chance, to bloom. 

And she likes it. It scares her more than anything. She likes that he wants to cultivate a friendship, that he is just happy to be near her for whatever reason, and that she can find comfort in his stability. He has set roots, deep into the earth that for so long she has resisted against letting her feet touch. 

Maybe Emma Swan was finally tired of flying, and could try falling, just this once, knowing that a safe harbor might lend itself to her landing. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma read the faded ink on dark and crumbling paper, careful to slide it into a protective plastic sleeve. The attic had proven to be a massive undertaking, just like every other aspect of Carterhaugh. She originally planned to do just documents by herself, but Killian had found her and demanded to help, proving to be just as stubborn as her. He also demanded that they wait on the furniture and strange chests in the dusty gloom, warning her that he was not risking her falling through the floor or down a ladder. 

"I quite fancy you, when you aren't yelling at me." He smirked, and butterflies erupted in her chest. If only. 

The Lord of Carterhaugh had found the Fae portal, and made his way through the shadows to the seat of a great golden throne. He'd changed, heard the whisper of a devil or some dark voice that crawled into his veins, his name the first to go. Rumplestiltskin. 

And Rumplestiltskin knew things, things he shouldn't have, and couldn't have. Things to sweeten a deal already suspiciously too good to be true. His wife, the lady of the house, did not love him. He tried many times to use his new found shadows to gain her heart, but they had limits. He tried stranger and more powerful beings in the woods until they fled as far as they could. Nothing worked until he threatened to take their child into the dark without her. She begged him to compromise, and they would split time with their child between their worlds. 

For a time, it was good. Rumplestiltskin twisted into something strange, The lady stayed near the same, and no one could tell which way their son might go. 

She joined them when her son finally decided to rule beside his Father. It was short-lived, an argument breaking out between the three as they chose whether they would abandon their old home of Carterhaugh to a great war that had begun. The Lady and her son returned, not a day older than when they left, blessing the land so no Fae could cross - as long as a rightful owner held the key. 

No one noticed their return, thinking of only the war that held the world in turmoil or that they were distant relatives. When the war ended, no one remembered they had been there far too long. 

Especially a soldier trying to return home on foot, lost, hurt, and sick. 

The paper was ornate, script flowery and bordered with roses like the ones in her gardens. Emma slid it into a sleeve like the rest. When Killian emerged from the attic with cobwebs in his dark hair, Emma carefully pulled the dust and spider webs away as he huffed in annoyance. Carrying boxes of dust covered books, photo albums, old documents, journals where the ink has bled into the pages making them unintelligible, ledgers and sketches. 

Emma was quick to pull out as much as she could, not noticing Killian’s change in posture or how he frowned as he placed albums aside to ‘sort through later’.

Opening a dark leather bound album, she flipped through the pages, as Killian froze behind her, flinching with every turn of the page. 

"Look at all the staff here. This place used to run 30 people deep, can you imagine? I'd go crazy trying to organize all that. I guess your family has been doing this for years though."

"My family?" Killian looked confused for a moment before shaking it off. "Oh, yes. We've uh, one of us has always been here." he smiled weakly, and Emma felt an odd twinge in her gut. 

"This guy even looks a little like you!" Emma laughed, and Killian frowned deeply, looking over the photo. 

"Yeah. He could practically be me." He said in a dry tone, chuckling darkly. Emma felt that sour stone turn in her stomach, and this time she knew there was something behind the offput smile he gave her, more firmly planted than genuine; it took the air completely out of the room. In a sharp and impossibly fast movement, he slammed the book shut with a look of pure frustration, as Emma made a startled noise. 

"Killian, what -" 

"I'm going to put some of these to the other room. They're later in the period and it will be easier to start at the beginning." Putting the book away, he carried off several to stack in a corner. 

"Alright." She gave him a wary glance, but opened up another old book. Several families in Victorian era clothing played croquet on a small lawn, the surrounding forest held back by large stone walls. "Oh, look at those!" Emma exclaimed, fingers pressed to the page. A gargoyle of a vaguely human creature stood at the corners of each side. Killian sat again, leaning over to look, his presence so close. His shoulder fell slightly against hers. She moved slightly away, just enough to feel the warmth of his body but to where he had no weight against her. 

"Fae folk," Killian whispered quietly, finger pointing. 

"Well. You weren't kidding when you said people here thought less of them than you!" Emma laughed merrily, moving to another album, not noticing Killian’s fingers tracing the large iron spikes that topped the heavy stones. "I guess most people think they're hideous creatures, but I think -" 

"There's many, many things in this world. Fae folk happen to be one that, at least here, are known to be dangerous. It's why in lore, you never make deals or supper with strangers on the road, or you count the teeth and fingers of someone who offers you hospitality. Nothing in life comes without a price, and these woods are proof of it. They should have never taken that wall down."

"I agree, it's aesthetically pleasing for sure -" 

"Promise me something, love?" 

"Uh." Emma looked at him, his jaw clenched as he stared at the photo. "Maybe, it depends -" 

"Put that wall back up, please. I'll help whoever lays it brick by bloody brick, but put that wall back up." 

"Um. Okay, I will."

"Promise me." His eyes were icy blue as they snapped to stare at her, cold and without any of their normal glimmer of snark. Emma nodded, and he looked back at the photo, tracing the lines of the rock again. 

"I promise."

"Thank you, Emma." He sighed, relaxing slightly. Pushing herself against her hatred of touch Emma reached for him. She laid her hand in his, tracing her thumb over his knuckles, and the ghost of a smile returned. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

If there was any advantage of having Killian on the premises of Carterhaugh, it was the cooking. Emma was beyond convinced that the man is the next Gordon Ramsey, showing him videos of the chef's famous temper that made his ears go pink. 

"He shouldn't talk to women like that." Killian mumbled, after a particularly bad roasting involving an 'idiot sandwich'. 

Emma frowned. "It's something they know going in. They're being respected for their talent, not their gender, or being a woman. They take it just like these men, sometimes - well no, usually, actually - better."

"Women do reserve respect, and to be treated better than this. I don't like this garbage can television you like, Swan."

"Trash TV."

"Semantics."

"Fine, and I guess you would order your kitchen around respectfully?" Emma asked amused. Killian gave a firm nod, washing berries in the sink as Emma sat on the counter top. "Oh captain, my captain! What do you know about bossing around a crew?" 

"I was a Captain, Swan. In the Navy. Ranked up after my brother. I'd never speak to my crew like this, and I never did." There was a flat sadness in his tone, and the water ran for a long minute into the sieve that lay in the sink with neither of them moving.

"I didn't - I -" 

"I'm thinking pie for this. Have you ever made one?" Killian asked, normalcy returned shakily as he turned off the tap. He flicked water at her with his fingers and she yelped, laughing. 

"No. We didn't make pie a whole lot in our foster home." Emma shuddered. "We didn't eat a lot in general, in quite a few of them, really. I guess Neal did get us a pie once when we went out to dinner if you could call it that. He liked artsy food. It was this crazy mushroom tart thing, with all these circular layers. I just wanted - "

"A poptart?" Killian smirked at her, already rolling out dough with small gestures of his wrist on the other side of the sink opposite her. Emma shook off a momentary feeling of hypnotic awe, his movement quick, well practiced and precise mastery, like he had done this forever. 

"Actually, I remember wanting of all things, a bologna sandwich."

Killian made a retching noise. "Awful stuff, that. Came out in '57 and they're still using the same cans if it. That and gelatin becoming en vogue is beyond perplexing, and then there were aspics which are a devil's concoction if I've ever seen one. I know bad food Swan, I'm British and was in the navy. Trust me when I say you're better off."

"You like mackerel and pickled herring." Emma giggled. 

He looked affronted, giving a faux dramatic gasp. "Well yes, but not gelled, I'm not a savage. I barely put more than 3 tablespoons of vinegar on my food. I'm a purist by my country's standards."

Wrinkling her nose she made a gagging noise, "Gross. Thanks for ruining that for me." He smirked at her unapologetically. 

"Hey, before I forget," Emma held up a finger and hopped down off the counter top. Heading to the pantry area, she flicked on the light and pulled down a basket of several apples, bringing them to the counter. Killian continued working methodically, without looking up. "Think we have enough to make a pie out of these?" 

She reached down to pull one out, the red skin reflecting her hand like a lacquered surface, but Killian grabbed her wrist roughly. There was a sudden edge to him that made his demeanor feel strange, darker even. 

"Where did you get these?" He asked with a hiss. Her eyes widened, and she pulled away briskly. 

"The bottom of the hill, where the forest path begins. I hadn't noticed before since we don't walk down that way a lot, but there's an apple tree there -" 

"Do not - Never pick those. These apples," he gruffly made a noise between an exasperated sigh and a growl. "These are poisonous. It's leeched into the soil there. Something to do with that New Claire energy. Poison nastiness. Hives of biting, crawling, flying, pests that rot everything they touch. Chemicals."

"Nuclear? Insects? What -" 

"Look, just - Never these. Never eat anything from down that hill. Unless it's grown up here, do not eat it."

With flour covered hands he grabbed the basket and stormed out side, throwing the whole thing down the hill, and heading to the back garden. Emma stood open mouthed for a minute, looking around confused. When Killian stormed down the hill from the back garden as a shadowy silhouette in the late afternoon sun with an axe, she slipped on shoes to run after him. By the time she was out the door she could here the swings of the axe in wood. The tree fell as she reached the crest, sliding slightly down the slope. 

As soon as the tree hit the ground, the leaves changed to a duller color, and as she came to the even patch of ground, an apple rolled to touch her boot. It was decaying, the lacquered red surface giving way to black beetles and crawling centipedes that fled there safety. Killian panted slightly, before throwing the axe over his shoulder and stalking back toward Carterhaugh. 

"What - It wasn't like that when I -" 

"Soil is bad, like I said. Just - just don't come down here. It's not safe. There's things left over from the wars, and old wells, mine shafts - there's a reason why all this land is untouched. No one wants it."

"You mean like, fairy circles, those types of old wells?" Emma called after him as he froze, kicking a blackened apple down the hill but away from her path. 

Killian tensed, rigid and darkly shadowed by the setting sun. For a moment Emma thought he might yell at her, his stature wound so tight to the point of snapping, and face furious. He took a breath, and let it melt off him, composing himself as Emma watched in confusion. 

Mumbling a curse under his breath he walked towards her and in a quiet tone drawled out an emotionless phrase, "Yes. Like those." 

They walked back to the kitchen, but Emma felt herself come loose from the strangeness of the black beetles, so much like little black teeth or shiny black tacks, centipedes crawling, circling each other - 

Neal loves circles, it's always circles in his art and designs. When Emma first meets him, he is tagging circles on a building, spraying thick lines of black and white that he covers in red to make a ring of what looks like mushrooms. Tucked away, she was fascinated by his fluid movements with the can until he chuckled lowly, turning to stare directly at her with eyes that are brown but somehow glow with tawny humor. 

"Well well well." His voice is a whisper, but Emma can hear it all around her, echoing through the concrete, crumbling brick, and metal of the alleyway. "A lost boy has found a lost girl."

It doesn't make sense that he is so wise and young at the same time, but he calls her an old soul, which Emma delights in, especially on his arm in the backroom of a party or club. She is mature for her age, he tells her, nuzzling his nose in her hair. When he waves her past people, he always knows people and they seem to want to please him, his voice is like caramel. 

"She's with me. Ems is cool." 

It's astounding to her. He has nothing but everything, taking what is and isn't offered with no consequences. 

"It's magic, Ems. People will give whatever I ask, because they know better than to ever say no." Holding her tightly, he rubs her arms and her stiffness melts away on whispered words of how happy he is with her. How glad he is to have someone who understands, the only person who gets him, the only person that makes him want to live. 

When he asks, Emma does not say no. He is as important to her as she is to him. It does not matter that they've been together a few months, she echoes, they feel as though they have been together for years. It doesn't matter that she does not know what he does to make so much money, to buy her the nicest things even though she does not ask, he holds her hand as they grocery shop. 

It does not matter that he asks again and again, more aggressively each time, and when she says no she learns better than to ever deny him again. 

They are in love, Neal her first and only love in a long line of loss, the only person who has her full trust after years of betrayal. They are in love, and he holds her heart. It was only once, then twice, then more - but he's doing it for her own good, just correcting her behavior. He always tells her after how sorry he is, and how much he loves her. That he never wants her to hurt again, no more excuses about clumsiness or stealing makeup to cover evidence that fades from purple to yellow. No more late night visits to his doctor, the one across town who won't ask questions about her broken wrist or swollen jaw. 

He cares about her enough to make her better. To make her listen and love him the way he needs to be loved; the consequences be damned, because those moments of rage are so fleetingly brief, that it does not matter. 

 It does matter a little when his time is spent on more trips alone, on business deals that she cannot accompany him to. It does matter when she finds dark plum lipstick on his collar, and it does matter when he storms out when she questions his fidelity. 

It does matter when he returns, a silver circle lying in a plush casing, the proposal tainted by his ultimatum :

"Marry me, Ems. Marry me, or lose everything." He asks, and Emma does not say no, there's no way out of this, he's encircled her - 

FWOOOM. 

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of - something. It's a noise Emma has never heard, followed by Killian’s yelp of panic. He's thrown himself back on the floor away from the old oven when she skids to a stop on her socks to fall into him, his face soot covered and hair slightly charred on the edges. 

"Are you alright?" Emma chokes out, but he hits her with a look of absolute frustration that goes so well with the black covering his face and the ember still slightly orange on his eyebrow she brushes away even as it burns her, and it takes seconds for her to dissolve into peals of laughter that make him look even more put out. "Oh, Killian -" 

"Don't even start, Swan."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Killian became a close confidante, the only person Emma had known that she could spend time with just in their presence, enjoying every moment. His presence soothed unlike so many that grated on her, and their routines twisted together until they were inseparable for vast portions of the day. 

As it became nicer, they walked the property together and he showed her every plant, bird, animal and bug his work helped cultivate, as if he was completely responsible for the life that flooded where the forest did not touch. Emma could believe he was without trying, especially when fireflies danced around them and lit ginger glints in his hair or cast green and grey specks in his irises. 

They sat by the now working fountains listening to mourning doves, or out on the gazebo that looked down the hill towards the wood, and he listened or hummed quietly while they read. There was a sense of calm that came with him that made her feel enveloped in safety. She could just be, and just being meant she could be vulnerable. 

"My husband - it's complicated. I just, he was the love of my life and he let me down. No. He did more than that, he - I - I fell so far into myself I thought I would never escape and I can't let someone do that to me again. He was an awful person who was awfully good at pretending he wasn't."

"You don't have to say more, love."

"What about you? A good looking guy like you probably has -" 

"You think I'm good looking Swan?" 

Emma blushed, fiddling with the flower crown in her hands. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I do?" He asked, more amused. "I suppose a dashing rapscallion like m'self -" 

Emma groaned, and they both laughed. She smiled at the crown, twisting away a stray petal here and there. Killian broke the silence in a thoughtful voice. 

"The love of my life let me down too, so we're quite the pair, you and I."

Emma caught his quick glance in her direction, and the way his face changed from a smile, to carefully polished facade. Walls to never show the world any vulnerability, unsaid things piled up so high on the ramparts, and armor to protect from being hurt again. 

"Milah. She was beautiful, smart, so zealous about life and the beauty of everything. She loved flowers, and I was good with them. She said that I was magic with them." Killian sounded wistful, and began to scrub at the back of his neck, talking rapidly, as if he was nervous. 

 "She was married but so unhappy, her husband had left her to care for their home while he… while he cared for his business elsewhere. It put their son in a difficult position due to it. He was expected to be two places at once, being educated in both worlds. It left Milah alone a lot of the time, and I welcomed her company. We fell in love against better judgment, she was a woman that wanted for nothing and took what she liked - I was something she liked. I don't know if I ever had a choice, really. At first it was wonderful, and everything was perfect. I feared her husband finding out, as he was very powerful in the, er, business world. Surprisingly, I discovered he didn't care. He called me her pet. I hated that, but I wanted her to be happy." He paused, shuddering, and looked over his shoulder. A harsh wind blew from up the forest, and although it had been a warm day, it smelled cloyingly of wet earth. 

"She convinced me to run away with her, to join her husband and son in their business. Life had gotten harder and there were other forces at work outside of us, our country involved in a war. She was afraid. I followed her, because I was so in love, I'd follow her anywhere. It was subtle, her mannerisms changed and became more sharp, and we - well, our love changed drastically. She began to enjoy hurting me, and I at first thought that I enjoyed it, just trying to please, but she became worse as if she was trying to break me, bringing others in to torture me. Mind games and intrigues amongst…" His cheeks pinked. "Other things." 

"You don't have to tell me this. If you don't want to, if you're not - you don't owe me -" Emma looked away, and he laughed ruefully. She looked back and he was shaking his head with his jaw set. 

"I know I don't owe - you're the first person I've talked to about any of this." He sighed, and she picked at her fingernails. "If you don't want to -" 

"No. It's okay. I…" Emma bit her lip. "Go on."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Her husband and a long line of others degraded me, tormented me, pulled me apart without care and made me wish I had never been born. Where in the beginning Milah at least provided a soothing touch after, she began to leave me alone to watch me suffer, or ignore my pleas to stop. I have never felt so helpless."

"Killian, I -" 

"So I know the feeling of shame, I understand not wanting to be touched, I have boundaries from my escape and extricating from Milah's grip. Leaving her was like…" he laughed again, sad and without any humor. "Banishment. I was left absolutely alone, her son had been my close friend, and I had others that I was close with in their business."

Standing, he brushed off his pant legs and looked out at the sky. Emma stood slowly, chewing her lip to the point of pain before making her decision. 

Carefully, Emma tucked her hand into his, his fingers intertwining with her own as they walked in silence. They made occasional light conversation, laughing together, and an easy feeling of belonging came over her so strongly. His thumb traced her own, while his smile traced a path through every barrier and straight to her heart. 

Returning to the house Killian made a chicken and rice dish that was phenomenal as usual, and over wine Emma teased him about his absolute refusal to consider adding a chicken coop to the property. 

"They're nasty birds, Swan."

"They eat pests, and they would have so much room. I think it would be nice." 

"Just because you and they are kin, doesn't mean I want to care for them, Swan."

"Are you… Ch- Ch- Chicken?" Emma smiled at him with uninhibited glee. 

"You are absolutely ridiculous."

"You love me for it." Emma stabbed a bite and grinned as she chewed, oblivious to the look of longing that came over him. 

"That I do."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

When Emma opened the door for vulnerability in her life, the breeze that came through pushed every idea of a wall out of the relationship she and Killian had built, their likes and dislikes melding and the strangeness of their lives being alike turning into long stories over spiked cocoa in half finished rooms. 

Killian was an orphan, the same caged look in his eye when asked about family. His brother was gone, but both their siblings had fought constantly for a better life for the younger. 

Where Emma didn't know her parents, Killian remembered his mother and his drunken father, and they commiserated on which was worse. In the end, it came down to loss and abandonment laying a heavy hand on both of their existences in a way that made Emma see Killian in a different light all together. There was a softness that met the same jagged edge of wildness, the raw and crooked pieces that came together in a clash just like hers. There were scars, mental and physical, that she recognized easily now, and that changed the way they interacted. 

Emma had always felt like she was walking the thinnest invisible line, unsure what was above or below or ahead, but in Killian’s presence she felt someone's hand in her own. Emma hoped he felt the same balance, and the same surety she did. 

Fear was there too, and it came in the night when she examined the synchronicity that she wanted to cling to like a preserver. 

If Neal hadn't ruined her, if she wasn't just slightly more broken and absolutely undesirable, Killian would be everything Neal wasn't. 

Her wedding is beautiful, but strange in its own right, a ceremony that is a blur of unfamiliar faces, drinking, food, and meeting who Neal demands her to meet. It feels strange, as if there is something wrong with everything, a piece that is missing among the wreckage, but she cannot grasp it. 

Neal is forceful when he introduces a few guests, but Emma is the sun, shining on this day and not noticing the sideways looks people shared. The women are striking, Emma unsure of how they know Neal, and unable to ask for fear of her tangled tongue. 

There's so much spinning and dancing, his voice low and sweet, warming her and tracing her nerves with fuzziness. Her friends are there too, and they are happy, so happy as they drink and dance and feast. David is there only briefly, the only one ever disgusted by Neal, but her old roommate from college, Ruby, makes it. They share a silly dance that makes Ruby's bracelets jingle while Neal talks to his friends, so many friends she has never seen. There's so much money in this place, so much she did not plan or choose, ostentatious in your face gaudy things that Neal has chosen for her. Neal will choose for her, because he knows best, and she is in his ring, twirling in a gown that glitters with crystals. 

Neal dances with Ruby, and she is charmed immediately. There are other people he dances with that Emma invited, the cake shop owner down the street Tiana, a woman from an sculpting course, Ariel, and their upstairs neighbor, Tamara. Each seem to join her new husband and come away with a blushing grin, the wine strong. 

They go to bed and it's not as much as making love, but it isn't as little as just fucking or consummation - there's a frenzied edge that makes her toes curl but scares her. When she wakes up, her body is bruised and bite marks line her skin, dark blossoms that feel tender. He's gone, left a note for her on their honeymoon that something has come up back home. The tears come easily, but the call to the concierge is rough. Neal had left her money to do whatever it is someone does alone on their honeymoon in the Caribbean, and she laughs as the clerk judges her while handing her the bag. 

The first two days of Plan B she can't drink, and it takes everything to follow through with that, watching Back to the Future 1 - 4 in the pool while gorging on onion rings. The third day is spent drunk and crying over a grilled cheese, then more onion rings. 

Getting home, she finds Neal in their living room, and he surveys her calmly like one might do an over tired child. It hurts her, the coldness in his eyes. He sighs tracing a circle around the rim of a whisky tumbler. 

"You've gained weight."

Emma laughs angrily and unbelieving, but it's cut short as the circles on his glass continue faster and faster around, until she fades into a smile, gently saying, 

"Sorry, Neal, I'll do better."

He smiles, putting down the glass to his side. 

"Good girl. Now come here, I missed you."

Emma walks over and straddles him - surprised how wrong it feels but how right it feels to please him. She does want to make him happy, doesn't she? To repay his good will and good fortune? Or is she an ungrateful girl that can still be left if she displeases, abandonment or adoration the choice is hers - which is it, which is it, which is it - and their kisses turn into something more as he turns out the light in their bedroom. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Malcolm of Malcolm's restoration services was the first person Emma had found anywhere remotely close that was able to properly authenticate the rare safe she found hidden in one of the walls. In the old Master's study, Emma had found a loose panel, and had assumed it to be another thing to fix. Finding the safe, and then Googling the safe to see if could be broken into easily led Emma to discover that not only could it not - it might spray some sort of gas all over.

She called the man and he answered first ring, and she booked him to drive the hour to Carterhaugh. He was entirely unpleasant on the phone, but Emma thought that might be due to the surprise drive to the middle of nowhere. 

He was wholly, entirely, and awfully beyond unpleasant in person. 

Malcolm had shown up reeking of alcohol, his boots caked in mud that he'd tracked over the newly restored entryway, and had only been eager to get the safe out of the wall - and into his truck. 

"Ya'dunno what's innit, so I'll charge ye a bit t'take it off yer hands. Be needing special tools anyway, which I only have at m'shop. Most safes are empty, but you'll know yet home is safe from t'gas at least." 

"I'm sorry Mr. Malcolm, but no. I wish you didn't have to come all the way out here but I'll pay you -" 

"Fine, fine, I'll open it here, I'll just…" He pulled a hammer out of his pocket, and Emma stopped him again. 

"I would just really prefer if you don't? I read about these and I really don't want to risk it, when you say you need specific tools from your shop. If it's most likely empty I'll leave it for another day, and drive out there with you."

Malcolm smiled, greasily, lowering the hammer to his side. He nodded and turned to have Emma follow him towards the entry hall. 

"Sounds good miss. It must be tough out here all alone by yourself."

Emma answered before she could think better of it. "Oh no, I'm used to being on my own really, and -" 

The crack of the hammer missed her by such a small margin, she felt the breeze hit her forehead. It stuck in the wall as she threw herself back instinctively and stupidly, scrambling as Malcolm pulled the hammer free and swung again. 

"Killian! Killian, fuck! Help!" She screamed down the hall towards the solarium, narrowly avoiding getting hit again as Malcolm swung wildly. 

"You bitch, I thought you were alone up here!" The lunatic hissed, and Emma heard the sound of running steps as Killian yelled after her. 

"Emma, if you've fallen again, I swear -" Killian took a look at Malcolm with his hammer raised above her, and became instantly enraged, running full speed at Malcolm with a roar of anger. The older man threw the hammer at him hitting Killian in the chest, scrambling to throw an entry table and chaise in Killian’s path as they ran for the door. 

Emma heard the squealing of tires and shouts, unable to move from her sprawled defensive position on the floor. Killian came back in like a blur, and before Emma could find the air to ask him to call the police or if he was alright, he had wrapped his arms around her holding her head as she burst into tears. 

"You're alright. Emma, I've got you. You're alright, love. What - Who was that? Did he hurt you? I would have been faster, I thought - I'm such an idiot I thought, and you could have been - Emma, please tell me you're alright because if he hurt you, I swear I will hunt the bastard down and stuff him." Emma wrapped her arms around him, tightly gripping him and crying inconsolably. Her shoulders shook, and he only whispered soothingly, only pulling away to lock the doors. 

Emma called the police, recounting what happened to Killian and the department as they asked questions, Killian pacing by the time they thanked her for her statement. 

"We'll keep an eye out for him Miss Swan, and if he should turn up again, give us a ring."

"What do you mean give us a ring, she could have bloody well died! Send someone after him -" 

"Miss Swan, who is this?" The officer asked. 

"Oh, he's - he's my roommate and helps with restoration. Jones."

The officer made a loud sigh. "Seainns? There's another of you?" 

"No, Jones. Only the one." Killian gritted out. 

"Alright Mr. Jones, well, we can't just arrest someone, as although they did damage, we don't know where they may be, and we are a small town with limited resources. We'll have someone in a car sit at the bottom of the drive until morning." 

"Thanks." Emma mumbled. The sound of a click was followed by Killian’s shouts. 

"Bloody useless! We'd have caught him on foot, and dragged him through town by his arms -" 

"Hey, Killian?" Emma whispered, and he stopped pacing to look at her. "Will you stay with me tonight? Please?" 

His eyes widened, and he moved toward her, although she shrunk back. "Oh, Emma -" 

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." She mumbled, voice cracking. Unable to look at him, she felt him gather her hands, squeezing gently. When she yanked away he froze, then moved slightly away from her. Emma regretted it instantly. 

"Of course, love. Your room?" 

Emma nodded. She let him lead her up the stairs, stopping by his room to grab a few things, before he sat on the edge of her bed. He laid his pillow on the floor, but she grabbed his arm as he set about laying blankets there as well. 

"No. If you don't want to I understand, but… Please, I want you close, I don't want to wake up and think I'm alone."

"Are you sure, Swan?" He asked, and she nodded. 

Crawling into bed with her as she snuggled into him and let herself cry, he held her tightly. 

"I promise Emma, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today -" 

"You were." Emma whispered. "You are."

"I won't let harm befall you, in any way I can prevent. I promise."

He held her close, alert for any sounds as she fell asleep. 

For the first time in years, she woke with no recollect of nightmares, fully rested, warm and safe. Tracing the scar on his cheek as he slept, the morning light hit his eyelashes and hair revealing auburn glints. They fluttered, and his eyes crinkled at their edges, blue and glints of gold. 

"You stayed."

"I told you I wouldn't leave, love. You're safe."

Emma felt words pour out of her, his quiet listening while resting his hands gently in platonic embrace cathartic as she told him everything. Abandonment after abandonment, unending and unrelenting betrayals of trust that she explained as he comforted in the ways he could. 

"I know you think that you have to be strong, and I know you think that you can't trust or lean on others. I will do everything that I can to prove myself to you, to prove that you deserve more."

"Why?" Emma asked, more plea than question. 

Killian hesitated. Finally he swallowed hard. "It's what friends do."

Emma laughed softly, letting out a hum of contentment when she fell asleep again. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David visit once Emma has restored a suite she found suitable for them, her standards on the first place she would invite her adoptive brother ridiculously high. He had been absolutely hell bent on seeing the place, but had finally had enough when Emma had mentioned Killian more times than what was most likely normal for a staff member of the manor. 

"I have tickets booked for Christmas. We're coming." He announced on their Skype call. Emma blanched, choking on her wine. 

"Christmas?" she squeaked. "But that would mean presents and food, and we -" 

Mary Margaret spoke calmly from just off camera. "We will get groceries in London for the week we're there, and ship the gifts straight to your house wrapped. Hell, I'll even buy Christmas crackers. All you need to do is open the doors, put up some semblance of a tree, and have somewhere we can sleep." 

"But -" 

"Emma. Mary lived with me and my ogre frat brothers on campus for two years. As long as there are no crusted socks on door handles, your place will be as immaculate as the Vatican. We're coming."

Emma tried to argue but couldn't get past either of them, finally conceding when Mary Margaret pointed out that Emma kept saying we when it came to her arguments. 

"Did you meet someone? Is there a we now? Tell the gardener to bring a date, I follow him on that GreenThumb app - I want to meet him!" 

In her Skype account's chat box, Emma saw her face go red. "No," she snapped, unsure why the thought irritated her. The interrogation probably, that sneaky, bird whispering, cookie pusher of a sister and law. "No, no one for me, but I'm sure Killian will be around. He told me he purchased an ugly sweater for himself."

Emma took a swig of wine while her brother made an irritated noise. 

"He's telling you what he's wearing? Emma, is he gay?" Emma flooded her lungs in cabernet, coughing and spraying her laptop screen. "If he is, we know a nice man and can set them up - That Jefferson fellow, the artist at our old complex."

David laughed, both of them not paying attention to Emma hacking and scrubbing at her laptop with her robe. "Oh yeah! The artist that kept getting high and painting rabbits. He had that exhibit he invited us to, what was it called - with all the penises that were 'mushrooms'?" 

"'Wünder.' it was called I think." Mary Margaret smacked him on the shoulder from off screen. "I remember because you said it should not have been called that in allusion to Wonderland when it attracted that blonde doctor, and more than a few bears."

"That's right!" David snapped his fingers, smirking at Emma from through the screen. 

Now half choking and laughing, Emma gave a hoarse, "Fuck you both." 

David smiled sweetly, and replied, "See you at Christmas, sis."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mistake number one is completely Killian’s fault. 

They have to get a tree, and not just any tree, a fifteen foot goddamn tree that goes in a specific place in the den, where it will lord over them like the undeserving peasants they are. Or, that's what Emma feels about the whole thing. Killian has precariously climbed up one of the big ladders with a long measuring tape to painstakingly make sure the dimensions of the tree are that of some sort of branch trunk ratio, muttering about 'gardener stuff' she wouldn't understand. 

"We literally could just get a fake tree. I have one, I brought it, it's 5 feet and prelit -" 

"Your brother is coming here, and you have never done Christmas in a real home. I want your first Christmas here to be…" Killian made a gesture and finally scratched behind his ear, and blushed. "I want you to feel at home."

"Oh." Emma blinked. "Okay…? But the thing is, Killian, I don't need a giant ass needle machine to make this place feel at home, my Christmas activities are usually Chinese food and whatever booze is on discount at the local drug store."

"Why are there stores for just drugs in America? You bloody people -" 

"Do not change the subject, using my patriotism is not going to work on me this time."

"Fine. Fine! I'll get the tree up and all you need to get are the decorations."

"Fine. I ordered them with all the gifts, they'll arrive in three days. Please get the tree by then, and no shame if it's not that big, seriously. David and Two Ems will be here the day before."

Climbing down the ladder, he shut the measuring tape with a nod. "Then that's the day it will be here. That way we can all decorate it. I'll pull out my gifts when you lot put yours out." 

Emma widened her eyes. "Oh, you didn't have to - I didn't know if you wanted to do that with us -" 

Killian looked slightly defeated, and then embarrassed. "Oh. If I'm imposing… If no one got me -" 

"I mean I did, but -" 

His smile relit, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all that matters. I'll get the tree, Swan."

David and Mary Margaret arrived, and the first hour was spent with Two Ems giggling and clapping her hands at the literal fairy tale property she's on, as David's jaw stays open. 

"So, once I knew that you were coming up, I designed your suite. It's called the songbird suite, and I modeled it after both of you." Emma smiled shyly. Mary Margaret tackled her with a hug, and Emma laughed delightedly. 

David approached the room and it's stained glass door and carved wood door, it's facade made to look like a tree dripping leaves that went from green to yellow and then red and brown. Turning the French handle that was made to look like a copper branch, they stepped inside. The room was wall to wall a mural of a verdant forest, the plaster inlay textured to give the illusion of dimension. A hearth of rustic wood burned merrily near the bathroom archway where a river stone bath and shower peeked out. Through the bathroom and past a rock cut double vanity lay a door out into a small garden courtyard, while past the tub a closet sprawled out with a booth for make up. 

"Why is it the songbird room?" Mary Margaret asked. 

Emma simply pointed up. 

On the ceiling Killian has painted all the song birds that lived in their gardens, each one in detail and vivid coloring. He had draped plants in old bird cages they had found in the attic, growing the long vines to hang from the ceiling with flickering tea lights. 

David walked to Emma, and smiled happily. "Can I hug you, Emma?" He asked quietly. She gave a simple nod, and he delicately embraced her, whispering in her ear so that Mary Margaret couldn't hear.

"You totally got me laid tonight, so thanks for that."

Emma burst out laughing, pushing him away while yelling how gross that was, and he started laughing too. Mary Margaret looked confused but hugged Emma again as she tried to breathe. 

"I'm glad you like it Two Ems."

"It's perfect Em singular."

Just after that moment, Killian called from the hall. 

"Can I draw your attention to the Den, Family Swan." Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow, but Emma shrugged pushing past to the hallway and into the den. Killian stood next to a massive tree, its branches held by thick red twine. He held a pair of scissors in his hands. Emma simply held her mouth open in shock along with Mary Margaret, the enormity of the massive pine overwhelming. She didn't notice David's pointed glare at Killian. "Madame Swan, M'lady Mary Margaret, and… Er. Dave."

David cracked his knuckles as his hand balled into a fist, with a grunt. Emma was too busy trying to figure out the scale of the tree to acknowledge him. 

"I give you, our Christmas tree." Killian gave a bow, and with a quick flourish, cut the twine. The tree sprung open, boughs decorated in soft lights, glitter, some manner of tinsel, and long strings of ribbons, popcorn and cranberries. "All that's left is the star, and ornaments."

"Killian, wow, I -" Emma covered her mouth, trying not to let tears prick her eyes. She walked half dazed, not taking her eyes off the tree as she came to his side. "It's more than I -" 

"So you like it?" He asked quietly. 

"I love it, you've - I don't even know -" 

He looked concerned, and gently swiped at her eyes. "Love don't cry, it's alright," Hugging her, she laughed. 

"It's just so pretty, I never imagined having anything like this. Never in my life, I just… Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you."

Killian laughed, giving her a spin as she let out a joyful shriek. 

Emma didn't notice David's tension, or the excited tug Mary Margaret gave on his sleeve that went unnoticed as he glared.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The second mistake comes in the form of Dinner the next day. David had excused himself after decorating the tree, citing exhaustion. Mary Margaret had gone with him and they retired early. Their gifts had been delivered the next day, beautifully propped against the decorated tree, while a team of couriers helped unload the ridiculous amount of food Mary Margaret had ordered. 

"So, I am making the pies and cookies, the casserole, and the mashed potatoes. I figure that you," Mary Margaret pointed a bright red spatula at Killian who grinned in delight, "Can do the bird, vegetables, and that rice dish Emma raves about over Skype -" 

"I do not rave about it over Skype -" Emma moaned, covering her face. Her stomach gurgled loudly, Mary Margaret and Killian laughing while David glowered. 

"And David will do the ham, the lamb, and the holy roast." Mary Margaret laughed, Killian joining in. Emma gave David a bright smile that he did not return, not noticing, animatedly talking to Killian while he cut vegetables, popping cherry tomatoes in her mouth as he pretended to be annoyed. David grunted, pulling out the large roast pans. 

Mary Margaret elbowed David, jerking her head at Emma, and David cleared his throat. 

"Emma, would you like to help Mary Margaret?" David asked in a strained voice. "I'm sure she will let you add more cinnamon than normal people like in their shortbread."

Rolling her eyes, Emma stuck out her tongue at David, throwing a cranberry at him. "You're lucky I never miss the chance to merge from Em singular into," In unison robot voices, Mary Margaret and her intoned, "Triple M, Femme from Hell." 

The broke into giggles before beginning to work. Opening a bottle of champagne and dumping it into a pitcher with cranberry juice, cinnamon sticks and orange slices, Emma poured herself and Mary Margaret a mug. 

"My contribution, dear Sister in law." Emma smiled. Mary Margaret clinker her mug against Emma's, glancing over to where the men were working. They were back to back in silence, each stabbing at different ingredients. Mary Margaret gave a quiet sigh. Emma looked between the men and Mary Margaret with a confused look. "What?" 

"My husband - your brother - is being a butthead." Mary Margaret whispered. Emma laughed, before realizing that she was serious. 

"Wait, what? Who even says butthead anymore, are you eight? What are you even -" 

"He's jealous. He's jealous that," She pointed at Killian with a measuring cup as she filled it with flour. "He couldn't do this for you. I mean, I know that he has to know this is because of Nil who he absolutely despised, but now there's another person who you've let in your life that is here because of Neal, and who is showing him up, that you've let in -" 

"Fuck, I didn't even, I didn't think -" Emma hissed, and threw back her drink. Hissing in a quiet whisper, she gripped the counter. "Shit shit shit shit. But - but Killian is different, he's not like Neal at all and is just a friend. He's - there's nothing.".

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, smirking, before her face fell. 

"Wait. Emma, you're serious? You and him aren't -" Emma shook her head, and Mary Margaret's eyes went wide. "But, but, he's - Oh, Emma." 

Emma looked at her stupidly, blinking as Mary Margaret grabbed her hand and patted, looking over at Killian. He had moved around to the oven, jockeying for space and showing David how to work the various modes as her brother's hands balled further into fists. 

When he caught their gazes, Killian gave a wave her way, smiling at her. 

Emma turned back, and Mary Margaret was gulping down her own glass of the champagne mixture, putting up a finger to stop Emma from speaking as she poured another and downed it just as quickly. 

"Wha?" Emma managed, but Mary Margaret just shook her head, muttering. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The dinner was fantastic, even if Mary Margaret got exceedingly drunk and laughed entirely too hard at the dirty jokes in her Christmas cracker, but David loosened up as the night went on and they all wore their silly hats, food being passed and eaten. They were all well drunk as the lamb and roast's smell wafted from the kitchen for the next day, and cookies were happily munched on by the fire. 

They played a silly almost game of spades at a low coffee table in the den, trading white elephant gifts of ridiculous pajamas and blanket sets Mary Margaret had picked out, Emma receiving a mustache print blanket and flaming hot cheetos mixed with mistletoe pajamas. Mary Margaret fared much better, a Scooby-Doo onesie with Santa hat, rainbow blanket with poop emojis, and matching poop Emoji pillow. David received a silky mumu in a pepto pink with glittery loafers and a blanket with the repeated words 'Diva' and 'Princess' in cursive on it, but Killian fared worst of all. 

"You've bested me, Mary Margaret. I shan't forgive you for this." He raised a fist in fake anger, plinking in his ears as he pulled out the offending garment. They all cackled, Mary Margaret actually falling over in peals of laughter as he glared at her in good humor and sang out mockingly, "Revenge, revenge, revenge will be mine."

A silky black robe with lace trim and black velour booty shorts were held in his hands, the red and white candy cane lettering across the back reading, 'Naughty List'. The blanket print was a black and red velour with Santa wearing devil horns. 

David could not stop laughing as they all took a photo together, Killian bright red in embarrassment and drink, the both of them staying late up into the night talking. They all changed or got comfortable, Triple M falling asleep cuddled together in a drunk doze. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Christmas morning marked the third and final mistake, a group of hung over almost thirty somethings waking up to a cold hearth and backs that protested not sleeping on a mattress. Killian was up first as usual, fetching wood and dropping it with a yawn in the grate, stoking the embers. Mary Margaret and David woke up later as Emma dozed in and out, listening to their conversation. 

"If you give him any trouble -" 

"- How can she not know, I mean -" 

"I mean it David, I will give you a new year's resolution of a dry spell if you -" 

"That is emotional manipulation, Snow, and I'm only worried for my sister -" 

"Don't 'Snow' me, this is the happiest I've seen her in so long, and you could be happy with her, last night you told me he was a good guy -" 

"Last night I was drunk! Come on, Snow I -" 

"David, if you don't act charming I'll… After we open gifts, go help him in the garden. Please." 

Her brother gave a dramatic sigh, grunting out an okay. Falling back asleep until she smelled coffee, Emma led them in devouring ham with toast. They sat around the tree opening gifts, as they felt life returning in the form of caffeine. 

They all received socks, some books, and various other gifts tailored to them. Mary Margaret got several kits for her class, a voucher for archery lessons, and several bird feeders that would be delivered to their home. David got free dog training courses for their puppy, wireless headphones, and a new pair of boots he had been eyeing. Emma was surprised to receive a wallpaper book based on period design, several dresses, a wine club subscription, and a beautiful shadowbox frame full of photos of hee adoptive mother. David had squeezed her hand at that, both of them sharing a look. 

Emma was beyond grateful that Killian was given gifts by Mary Margaret, who'd given him a National Geographic subscription, Play store card, and to his delight, purchased an actual star for him. 

"It's registered, you just go online and name it. They will give you the coordinates, which you can track on the phone app, or a telescope." Mary Margaret explained. 

"Which brings me to my gifts to you." Emma smiled. She handed him a small envelope, and he opened it cautiously. 

Inside was a voucher for a flower of the month and seed of the month club respectively, but what caught his eye was a scrawled message inside. 

'In the Solarium.' 

"Swan, I thought about what to get you, and -" 

"Aren't you going to look in the Solarium?" 

"Well, yes, but -" 

"No, you've got to go look! I want to see your face. You probably won't shut up for weeks about it." Emma grinned, standing. 

Killian sighed, and they all moved towards the bright sunshine of the glass enclosure. He rounded the bend, and Emma thought his gasp of excitement was worth its weight in gold. The telescope there was gold, designed like an old sextant but completely up to date with the newest technology. Emma watched him trace a finger before looking back at her and trying to find words. 

"I know, I know. Your gift won't compare." She groused, and he looked overcome. 

"Emma, this is too much -" 

"No. It's not." She stated firmly. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. 

Pulling out a velvet box, he opened it and the sun caught green gems. "I guess I don't have to feel bad about this then. I had them restored after that awful man attacked you. They were in the safe, they're emeralds, a set of combs, earbobs, and necklace set in silver."

He handed the box to her, and Emma could not find words, even} rest assured I'd never let harm befall her." Clapping a hand against David's back, he gave a grim look of resolve. "Never."

David sputtered briefly, before breaking into a grin, and clapping Killian on the back as well, Mary Margaret smiling as she watched Emma swipe away tears from her eyes. Emma closed the box, coming back to the moment, no one noticing her quick sleight of hand as she threw the box under a shelf. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David left with Killian feeling like an old friend, their bags heavy and concerned heavily with how they would ever get through customs with the amount of food they had. 

Killian had given them a historic tour of the property, fascinating Mary Margaret, who even forgave his refusal to take her through the woods. 

"They're just lovely, and so weird too. They should not have leaves, and yes there are some fir and pine in there, but it's just so dense. It doesn't make sense, the branches practically knit together."

Killian just smiled blandly, and shrugged. "That land is strange."

David and Killian were acting as if they were best friends, and Emma was delighted, even beyond her distress over Killian’s gift. When she was sure they were all occupied, Emma had dug earth out of one of the many pots in the solarium garden. Pouring the jewels into the hole, she paused, feeling a pang of regret. Bracing herself, she covered the hole in dirt, knowing that she could not survive with the memory of Neal so close. 

Returning to them, they played more games, and Emma showed them plans for the next rooms, they watched a few movies, and overall enjoyed each other's company. 

Seeing them off, Emma hugged her brother tightly without him having to ask if it was alrght, his surprise turning into a tight embrace of joy. 

Killian and her waved goodbye from the hall, watching the taxi pull away from Carterhaugh, Emma leaning into him when they were out of sight. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

After the house quieted from the holidays, Emma began having night terrors regularly. As this continued into the beginning of Spring, Killian found her several times drooling onto a pile of receipts or restoration samples, wallpaper swatches wet and blurred on the edges. Emma had guiltily proposed that she sleep in the garden while he worked, but he had been horrified by that suggestion. 

To combat this and his lack of movie knowledge, Emma came up with what she considered an ingenious solution - using leftover furniture, pillows, and an assortment of old linens, she set up fort pillow-haugh with absolute precision. Falling asleep to Indiana Jones ('Are you sure there's no relation between you two?' she had asked to receive a cheeky grin back) while sated on popcorn and feeling comforted by Killian’s nearby presence was the easiest way to rest. So what if her back protested or in the middle of a thunderstorm she tucked into him so tightly she was afraid he might have bruised - they're friends.  

They're friends alone in the middle of nowhere, and he holds her like he can't imagine anyone who wouldn't worship the ground she walked on. 

They're friends and he spoons against the back of her softly, without any degree of disrespect or disregard, everything up to her. 

They're friends as she is deeply asleep, but without dreams hears his voice like a bell over still water, feeling his nose bury into the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips on her shoulder. 

"I love you, Emma. One day, I'll tell you how much with no trickery, and I will win your heart."

Even if it's only pretty words in dreams as he held her, Emma smiled and relaxed further into his touch. It's a dream she wants nothing more than to keep having as her second anniversary of living in Carterhaugh rolls around. 

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The fight is really her fault, but Emma gives stubborn a run for its money on her best days. 

The upstairs bath in the all blue guest room had been leaking and making the hall reek of mildew. Fearing that she might have to replace tile that was quite literally irreplaceable, Emma went about getting a plumber, securing an appointment with one but not for two weeks. 

So she had taken a wrench to the exposed faucets, carefully moving tiles from the mosaic floor of some red haired mermaid, following YouTube videos on how to turn the water off in the old pipes with a shut off valve. When her wrench slipped on the rusty piping and she cut herself, her chorus of curse words echoed down the halls, but she hadn't expected Killian’s breathless arrival or worried eyes. 

"Emma, what did you - Are you alright?" He stared at the red dripping from her hand and her disheveled state. 

Emma nodded, trying to push past, but he held fast. "I just - it's just a cut. I'm alright." The worry in his gaze made her feel under spotlight. It had been almost a year of work, but no one in that time span had ever cared about her, except Mary Margaret. Not that she counted; the woman loved everyone. 

Killian only shook his head. Pulling a black handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it delicately around the cut, bending low to make sure the knot he made was tight. "I thought you said you were calling a plumber?" he asked quietly, the worry now lacing his voice. 

"I did, I just need to turn off this valve and it's stuck -" Emma gestured, and Killian picked up the wrench, bending to look. Before she could protest, he turned the wrench - in the wrong direction. There was a hiss, then a pop, and suddenly there was water shooting at both of them, ice cold, coming from different directions as she wiped at her face and Killian stared up at her in shocked surprise. She stumbled and he caught her, stumbling as well and trying to gain purchase back on the valve, while Emma screamed at him to shut it off, just shut it off - 

They slipped together, and his body was on top of hers, chest heavy and dripping but blocking the jets of water as he turned the valve to stop the torrent at last. When he looked down at her prone and underneath him, he was soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and neck, beads getting stuck in his raised eyebrows. 

Emma began to laugh uncontrollably, the urge bubbling up without warning as Killian’s eyes widened and his pupils grew larger. He began to laugh too, his weight on her slight as he tried to hold himself above her while his chest was so close she could feel his heart thundering. His stare leveled at her lips, but when she pushed upwards, he pushed off of her to stand pink all the way across his ears and cheeks. Scratching his ear he mumbled an excuse to leave, but she was soaked and cold, the want heavy from the way everything clung to him like leather. 

Pulling on the fabric of his shirt in two rough fistfuls, she kissed him. He reacted in a muffled grunt that slowly turned into a groan matching her own keen, his tongue and hers together moving in languid synchronization. It was only when they parted breathless, and he broke the moment with the roughest voice she had heard from him, that thought returned. 

"That was…"

Emma practically threw herself away from him, her body aching for more of whatever that was - 

"A one time thing." She heard herself say, too busy trying to flee, to get away from the man she had just desired and obviously desired her, that lived with her, that was her friend, that was her employee - and Oh God Emma what a royal mother of all screw ups. 

Hiding away from him as she could hear her phone buzz, hear his footsteps, his quiet pleading from the other side of her door as she hid on the balcony. She could see him pacing in his room, calling out to her where she hid. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this or in any way. 

He was relentless, and hurt, which she guessed was to be expected. When his knocking and pleading stopped it was a relief and an absolutely terrifying moment in its own right - the halls of Carterhaugh were silent but for the sound of her door opening. An empty bottle of wine laid a slight ways down the hall, the bottle's neck pointing towards Killian’s room. 

He was gone. He had gone and she was alone again like she has been all her life - was before this. The royal fucking mother of screw ups and the granddaddy of absolute stupidity, pushing away the first good thing that has happened to her by kissing him. By letting him chip away at the ice around her soul, only to freeze him out because she - she, not him - kissed him. 

She was a lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic that just wants to go back to that moment and… 

And kiss him again, and again, and feel his heart thump and hear that groan into her mouth, feel the way his hand found her hip and tongue slipped past her lips - 

Fuck. 

[darks-ink]

Spells

A rewrite of one of my older works, a crossover of sorts between DP and Harry Potter. Introduces the setting from the DP side of things, so no HP characters are present or even mentioned. Will be continued in Weirdward, but is not mandatory reading for said fic.

[AO3] [FFnet] [old version]

The existence of magic was nothing new to Danny Fenton. He had, after all, known for years that both of his best friends were capable of it. He had known almost as long that he had no magical abilities whatsoever.

This, of course, didn’t stop him from attending their magic training. Sam’s grandmother had no problem encouraging him, going as far as to allow – and encourage – him to participate in activities that didn’t require actual magic. The rest, he usually still stuck around for, watching. Even if he couldn’t use the spells he learned, knowing what kind of magic Sam and Tucker could use to prank him was often convenient.

Not that they used magic to do so, usually. Not anymore. Sam had pointed out that it was a rather unfair advantage, their magic, and then Tucker had joked that he didn’t need magic to be better at pranks, and after that it never came up again.

It had become something of a sore point, after all. Between Sam, who technically comes from a magical family (even if her grandmother is her closest relative with actual magic), and Tucker, who is No-Maj-Born, Danny was the only one in their close circle of outcasts that couldn’t do anything special. In fact, the only reason why he even was an outcast wasn’t even his own fault, but his parents’. Their obsession with ghosts unfortunately had a rather negative impact on the way the town saw them, and with them, their children as well.

And, well. He had already been friends with Tucker before they ever met Sam. When they met, they clicked instantly; she fit in with them like fate had designed the three of them for each other. They had all been outcasts, if for entirely different reasons. Danny for his parents, Tucker for his love of technology, and Sam by her own choice. Bonding over this shared condition was almost instant, and their shared interests? An absolute bonus.

Sam was, of course, ecstatic to discover she had magic. She hadn’t been aware of its existence before, but Ida was more than happy to start teaching her when she showed signs of accidental magic. Apparently she was just as excited to see her grandchild with magic as Sam herself was; Ida’s son, Sam’s father, had been a squib, and had apparently decided that if he couldn’t be magical, he was going to be as normal as he could possibly be.

Compared to Sam, Tucker’s first accidental magic was a little more surprising, as it usually was for No-Maj-Born wizards. Still, Sam recognized it and explained it to him. Then Ida explained it to Tucker’s parents. Tucker joined Sam for magic training.

And if the two of them knew, then of course Danny couldn’t be left out, magic or not. Technically he’s not allowed to know, with the International Statute of Secrecy and all that. But everyone who knows the three of them knows that they wouldn’t keep secrets from each other. Not secrets like this.

So Danny was allowed to know.

That didn’t mean that anyone told the rest of the Fenton family. Because, really, who would? The adult Fentons were already quite fixated on ghosts, and no one wanted to find out how they would react to magic. And Jazz? She was too much of a skeptic for anyone to bother with.

Then, having somehow defied just about every law of science and magic, Danny’s parents cheerfully declared their Ghost Portal to be finished. And despite them knowing about magic and ghosts, and despite the fact that the Portal doesn’t even work, Sam and Tucker still convinced Danny to show them. He went along with their enthusiasm, wandered inside, and found out why it didn’t work.

After that, he wasn’t the only ‘perfectly normal’ member of their group of outcasts anymore.

Of course, being half ‘magical creature’ isn’t quite the same as having magic, but still. Having his own special powers was pretty cool, and it definitely had its upsides. Downsides, too, definitely downsides. Can’t have everything in life (half-life?). But, well. Gotta see things from the positive side, and all that.

So the three of them cleared some extra time in their schedules to fit in a new kind of training. And just like he attended the magical training of Sam and Tucker, despite not being able to do much, they attended his own ghostly training.

Then ghosts start attacking Amity Park, and, well… Sam and Tucker certainly get a lot more opportunities to use their magic, these days.

They start their own research, trying to find which spells would serve them best in the field. Sam and Tucker practiced them while Danny was training his own powers, although their work often overlapped. No one had ever studied how these spells affected ghosts, not real ones, solid ones. Definitely not how they worked on half-ghosts.

And so, barely two months after the Accident, Danny found himself in quite a dilemma. His hold on his ghost powers was still shaky, and his stamina still needed quite a bit of improvement. He’d lost his transformation – thankfully after he’d already caught the ghost – and couldn’t dredge up enough energy to use his powers in human form. Which, normally, would be fine.

Except that Sam and Tucker had gotten themselves trapped in a locked building by the ghost. They had just recently learned a rather convenient unlocking charm, which was just brilliant timing, really. If it weren’t for the fact that the both of them had been disarmed during the fight, their wands left outside the building, away from their owners.

Danny bent down, picking up the wands and eyeing them rather judgmentally, like it was the fault of the wands that they weren’t with Sam and Tucker. They appeared to be fine, which was lucky, since none of them wanted to explain to Ida how they’d managed to damage them.

He dragged his eyes off of the wands, instead glaring at the lock. For the first time in years he found himself cursing his lack of magic. He knew the spell, had seen Sam and Tucker use it so often that he’d memorized the incantation and matching movements. It would’ve been so easy.

Just a matter of… shifting one of the wands wand to his right hand, his primary hand. Willow, he duly noted, like it mattered, must be Tucker’s. He made the swishing motion, smooth like he’d grown up holding wands, because to some degree, he had. For the sake of appearance, in some insidious cocktail of hope and hatred, he finished the spell with its customary incantation. Shouted “Alahomora!” at the top of his lungs, like sheer force of will would make it work.

The door swung open, noiselessly, revealing the surprised faced of Sam and Tucker. Danny felt himself stiffen in shock, fingers clenched around Tucker’s wand.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, blinking dumbly.

Tucker snapped out of it first, gingerly prying his wand out of Danny’s hand and inspecting it. “Dude, how’d you do that?”

His question jarred both Danny and Sam back to life. Danny quickly handed Sam her wand back, answering Tucker at the same time. “I… don’t know?”

Sam, who’d pocketed her wand immediately, crouched next to the door to inspect the lock. The lock which Danny had somehow, impossibly, opened.

“Well, you didn’t quite nail the Unlocking Charm, but you somehow managed to explode the lock without damaging the rest of the door, so I gotta applaud you on that.”

“Hooray for not doing more damage than necessary?” Danny tried, smiling sheepishly.

“Why did you even have my wand raised if you were using some kind of ghostly power anyway?” Tucker put away his wand as well, brow creased. “Wait, how’d you even blow up that lock? New ghost power?”

“Uh, I guess it might be a new power? I dunno.” Danny shrugged, looking at the door. “I was kind of out of ghost juice and I was thinking about how convenient it would be if I had magic like you guys, so I just kind of… tried to mimic what you guys do for the Unlocking Charm?”

Sam frowned, apparently considering this as she turned back to the door. Even from where he was standing Danny could tell that it looked somewhat exploded and mostly molten. No clear tells of ectoplasmic energy, but admittedly those didn’t always exist.

“Well, based on what I’m seeing here, your new ghost power is either a really sad attempt at an ecto-ray,” she studiously ignored Danny’s offended yelp, “or you can make things explode with your mind.”

“Or,” Tucker said, “your new ghost power is magic.”

“Tucker, ghosts are magical. All of his powers are magic.” Sam rolled her eyes, standing up from her crouch.

“No!” Tucker denied, ignoring her eye-roll. He then corrected with, “Well, yes I guess, but that’s not what I mean.”

Danny shared a glance with Sam, both of them shrugging at each other. Decision thus made, they nodded at Tucker to continue.

“See, I was thinking, we don’t really know much about the relationship between ghosts and magic. Typical wizarding ghosts aren’t affected by magic, and most spells don’t seem to have much of an effect on the Ghost Zone ghosts either. Additionally, we know that wizarding ghosts can’t use magic, even though they were capable of it while they were alive.”

“Okay, thanks for the summary, Tucker, but we already knew this.”

Tucker tutted disapprovingly at Sam, and then continued like he hadn’t been interrupted. “Now, we don’t know anything about how magic works with half-ghosts. If ectoplasmic energy and magical energy are some sort of counterpoints, as suggested by the fact that they cancel each other out, then Danny should have both, right?”

“I… I guess? That makes sense, sort of,” Danny muttered, frowning in thought.

“So then why didn’t he show any signs of it until now?” Sam crossed her arms, clearly skeptical.

“Uh, duh? It works like his ghost powers. Haven’t you noticed that he accesses those way more easily when he needs them? His magic must work the same, or at least for the initial use. Maybe he’ll start using accidental magic all over the place now that he knows he can do it, or has unlocked it, or whatever. Like his powers.”

Danny glanced at the two of them, then decided to jump in before they could start a real fight. “Well, in that case, I should probably start paying more attention during your training with Ida.”

“We’ll have to make room during your ghost training to practice magic as well,” Tucker added, a thoughtful expression on his face. His fingers rattled on the pocket where he kept his PDA, although the device was currently useless – despite years of trying, he still hadn’t found a way to make it work around magic.

“If this really is some sort of ghost-powered magic, you’ll probably need a wand, too.” Sam turned to Danny, brow creased.

Danny blanched. “Oh no, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Yeah, where are we even supposed to get a wand for you?” Tucker seemed to think something over for a moment, then added, “There are no wizarding cities nearby, and we can’t ask Ida, either.”

“We don’t even know if this is actual magic,” Sam pointed out, quirking an eyebrow. “Why don’t we start with that? We can use out wands to figure that out, at least.”

That sounded good, at least. It would really be rather convenient, if he got magic as well, even if would be hassle to deal with. But…

“Hey, uh. Not to interrupt this really important conversation, but,” he glanced around them, then at the sun, pointedly. “Maybe we should get going?”

“Oh, crud.” Sam jolted into movement, grabbing him and Tucker by the elbow and bodily dragging them away. “Magic training starts soon. We gotta hurry!”

Once the training with Ida was over, the three of them moved to a quiet clearing in the forest. Really, Danny was glad that Sam and Tucker had had magic for years before he’d gotten his powers, since it meant that they had all kinds of convenient spots like this one already picked out.

Which, of course, now left him standing in said clearing, fidgeting with his friends’ wands. He felt rather awkward, both of them watching him, waiting for him to be ready.

“I don’t know guys. Aren’t you supposed to feel some sort of connection with a wand to be able to use it?”

Sam rolled her eyes at him, but Tucker answered him before she could. “Nah, that only applies if the wand has chosen you. These wands chose us, so they won’t react to you like that, but you should still be able to use them. Probably.”

“Wow.” Danny glared at him, flashing his eyes green for a moment. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tuck.”

“Hey, always happy to help!” Tucker grinned, wide and mocking.

Sam kicked him in the shin, then turned to Danny like nothing had happened. “So, which one are you going to use?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Tucker’s, I guess, since that worked last time.” He shrugged, handing Sam’s wand back to her. “If it doesn’t work I guess I can try yours too.”

“Well, do you know what spell you’re going to try, at least?” Sam asked as she accepted her wand back, the deep black a sharp contrast to her pale skin.

“Dunno. Some basic charm, I guess, something that isn’t dangerous to you guys. Any suggestions?”

Sam and Tucker glanced at each other, and Tucker shrugged. Rolling her eyes, Sam turned back to Danny. “Maybe the Softening Charm, Spongify? The pronunciation and movements are fairly easy, and it doesn’t require anything specific to try it on.”

“It’s also almost impossible to blow something up while you’re trying to soften it,” Tucker added in, grinning widely. “So that’s a bonus.”

Danny huffed, ignoring Tucker. “Sounds good to me. Can you show it to me?” His hand curled tighter around the wand. Once again his nerves were coming back, but… there was really no need for them. Either he had magic, which would be cool, or he didn’t, which was fine too. There was no pressure.

His mind still refused to catch on, though.

“Yeah, sure.” Sam whirled her wand around, twirling it in her fingers, before pointing it at a fairly large stone that laid in the clearing. She made a swirling move with her wand, somewhat like an S, and forcefully said “Spongify!”

A ray of pink light launched from the tip of her wand, hitting the rock.

Nodding approvingly, Sam wandered over to it, pressing down on the rock. It squished down like it was made out of rubber, bouncing back to its original shape when she released it.

“Alright, now you try.” She shot him an encouraging look, which he answered with a doubtful one of his own.

Still, he straightened himself out, pointing his borrowed wand at a different rock. He exhaled, focused, tried to grasp onto any magic he might contain. With all confidence he could muster he repeated Sam’s movement, calling out the incantation, and he felt the power move from his chest, down his arm, and into the wand.

The light that shot out of his wand was a weird mix of pink and ectoplasm green, however, and the rock shattered into tiny pieces when the spell hit it.

“Uh, whoops?”

Sam shook her head but didn’t comment. Instead she approached what was left of the rock, crouching down briefly to pick up one of the shards. She curled her hand into a fist and, incredibly, the shard gave way easily, squashing down as if it were made out of rubber.

“Well, it worked, more or less,” she said, rather unnecessarily.

Tucker snorted. “Must’ve somehow mixed in ecto-energy, then. Maybe it’s a side-effect from being half-ghost?”

Danny frowned at them, but walked over to Sam to take a closer look as well. He ducked to pick up a different piece of rock. Just like the other shard, it had turned rubbery and bouncy. His spell had had the desired effect, it had just… also shattered the rock in the process.

“So I guess you were both right, sort of. It’s magic, like Tucker suggested, but also an ecto-ray, like Sam thought.” He tossed the shard up, catching it again before it hit the ground. “Maybe I can learn to filter out the ecto-energy when I’m trying to do magic.”

“And I guess we’ll have to add in magic training for you, in addition to your regular ghost power training.” Sam heaved a dramatic sigh. “Geez, Danny, overpowered much?”

But she grinned as she said it, and Danny smiled back.

“Yeah, well, wait until I get around to using my powers to prank you guys back.” The smile on his face turned into something wicked as he said it, and Tucker visibly repressed a shiver.

“Okay, well.” The boy cleared his throat, clearly trying to drag the conversation to a different topic. “Now that we’ve proven that I was right and Danny somehow got magic despite being a No-Maj before the Accident, how are we going to get him a wand?”

Sam frowned pensively. “I don’t know. I guess I can look into the nearest wandmaker, and how we could get there without anyone noticing.”

“And if this is anything like my regular ghost powers, and I bet it will be,” he made a face, hopefully expressing now not-enthused he was about the possibility, “I’ll probably have to deal with a bunch of accidental magic as well. Hooray.”

“Well, Danny, at least your parents will probably just blame it on a ghost.” Tucker winked theatrically.

Danny groaned. “Tucker, I am a ghost.”

Sam rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. “Boys, boys, you’re both pretty. Can we please focus again?”

“Aw, Sam, you think I’m pretty?” Tucker laid a hand on his chest and gasped dramatically. “You should tell the other girls at school, maybe one of them will agree and ask me out.”

She punched him in the arm in response, not dignifying him with an answer. Danny chuckled, but immediately wiped the smile off of his face when she turned to glare at him.

“Right, uh.” He cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation back to the previous topic. “I guess we should go through all the spells that Ida has taught you two, and somehow sort them on how easy they were to learn, and how useful they’ll be. That way we can figure out the best order for me to learn them in.”

Tucker hummed. “Since Sam is going to look into getting you a wand, I guess I can take care of assembling the initial list. We’ll have to go through it together to figure out which spells are must useful, though. And yes, that includes you, Danny.”

“Yeah, alright, that makes sense.” Danny nodded, then stretched and yawned. “It’s getting late, we should probably start heading home. We can do a last patrol along the way.”

Both of his friends nodded their approval, and thus they set off through the woods again.

Danny woke up surprisingly well-rested. In the past week, ever since discovering his magical abilities, he’d been even more prone to being tired. After all, as the others had predicted, his magic had started manifesting as it did for any untrained wizard – with accidental bouts of magic.

Considering that these bouts of magic drew heavily from his ghost powers, they were not only annoying, they were also, quite frankly, exhausting. Without a wand, his magic was even shakier than his ghost powers.

Unfortunately, acquiring a wand proved difficult. Sam and Tucker had continued to teach him using theirs, but his spells remained lackluster and, for lack of a better word, explosive. And the search for a wandmaker hadn’t gone much better, because even the closest were still too far away for the three of them to reach. Danny could probably make it if he flew, but he didn’t trust his ghost powers enough to try. Not yet, at least.

So until then, he just had to… suffer through this. The ghosts that normally disturbed his day, and night, and really any time of day, they didn’t help. But for once none had come during the night, so he’d slept well.

He stretched and yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his hands. He hoped he would get more nights like this. They were a nice break.

Quickly, he dressed himself, grabbed his homework from his desk, and went to leave for breakfast.

He stopped. Frowned. Turned back to look at his desk again.

On his desk laid a narrow rectangular box, a folded note lying on top of it. Hesitantly, but damnably curious, Danny walked back over to it. He picked up the note, folding it open to read it.

‘Daniel,

I have heard of your magical problems. This wand should alleviate some of your troubles. It is yew, with a thestral tail hair as core, 11.5” and fairly flexible. May it serve you well.’

The handwriting wasn’t one that Danny recognized, and the note wasn’t signed in any way. Really, there was no way of telling who had written it.

Turning his gaze back to the box, Danny hesitated for a moment. Then he grabbed the lid and pulled it off. Lying inside the box was a rather elegant wand, its wood not overly light, but still standing out starkly against the dark fabric it laid in.

He frowned to himself, but reached out towards it regardless. It might not have been a smart idea, but, well. Danny wasn’t exactly known for those, was he?

The moment his fingers touched the wand, he shivered, immediately pulling his hand away.

“Alright, that’s… strange,” he muttered to himself, hand clutched to his chest but eyes still on the wand. Somehow, someone had brought him a wand in the middle of the night. No one in his family knew about magic, so they couldn’t have done it. Sam and Tucker wouldn’t have kept it a secret if they had found one, and they couldn’t have gotten in his room without him noticing, anyway. A ghost, then? But his ghost sense hadn’t gone off all night.

Danny put the lid back, tapping his fingers on the outside of the box as he considered his options. He had no way of knowing how it had gotten to his room, or why. Was it a trap? A genuine helpful offer? Was this really the solution to his wand problem?

In the end he shoved the box, and the note it had come with, into his backpack. He would have to talk it over with Sam and Tucker sometime during school.

“Woah dude, hang on.” Tucker shot Danny a rather disbelieving look. “You’re saying that a wand somehow ended up on your desk, but your ghost sense hasn’t gone off all night? Yeah, that is pretty suspicious.”

Sam nodded, her expression equally fierce. “Yeah, if we can find a quiet spot we’ll check it during lunch. Do you know anything about it?”

“Well, the note listed its materials, but that’s it. Yew, with a thestral tail hair as a core.” He shrugged. “Not that I know what a thestral is. Or, y’know, if the note is right or not.”

“I think a thestral is a type of magical horse, but I’m not sure…” Sam trailed off, before snapping back into focus. “Anyway, we should figure out if the wand is safe to use, and if it works for Danny. The details don’t matter.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tucker agreed, darting a glance at Danny’s backpack like he could see the wand through the box and the bag. “Let’s get to class before we’re late.”

“Yeah, last thing I need is another reason for Mr. Lancer to give me detention.” Danny paused, then added, drily, “Again.”

“So, looks like your wand is, in fact, safe.” Sam frowned at the wand in her hand. “Tucker and I can both use it, although the results are…”

“It reacts as unpredictably to us as our wands do to Danny. So it should work like a charm for you!” Tucker cut in, grinning at Danny. “Give it a shot, Danny!”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down already.” He accepted the wand from Tucker, rolling it around in his hand. It felt right to hold it, like it somehow connected to him, to his energy and his ghost core. But it wasn’t… not in an unpleasant way. It was kind of like his ghost sense, similarly weak, but it was warm and pleasant, as opposed to the cold that came with his ghost sense.

He straightened himself out, holding out the wand like the weapon it was. It was pointed right at the target they had brought, now, almost unwavering despite his nerves. He took a moment to focus, pulling back his ghostly energy as much as possible.

“Spongify!”

The light that came out of his wand was almost flawless pink. The target shuddered when it was hit, but not even a scorch mark was left.

Sam nodded her approval, already walking over to check the results. Even from the other side of the clearing, it was clearly visible to Danny. The spell had worked.

“Looks like your mysterious wand donor knows what they’re doing.” Tucker was turned towards the target as well, but Danny was sure he could watch him from the corner of his eye.

He snorted. “Yeah, guess so. I wonder who it was, though.”

“Well, if you ever find out, you should thank them.” Sam rejoined them, having straightened out the target.

“Definitely,” Tucker agreed. “Anyway, Danny, you up for some more magic training?”

“Heck yeah, let’s do it!” He grinned, wide and enthusiastic, and they both grinned back.

“Sooo, I figured out something new related to magic and my ghost powers,” Danny said, rather unexpectedly, one random day early next year.

“Really?” Sam sat up, quirking an eyebrow. “What did you find out?”

“I think I can sense magic.” He saw both of them silently ask for more information, so he continued explaining. “It’s not like my ghost sense, it doesn’t trigger automatically when I’m near it. And I can only feel it, there’s no visual thing. Just… sense.”

Tucker also sat up, looking at Danny. “How’d you figure that out, dude?”

“I was looking for one of my magic books yesterday, and I couldn’t find it.” He shrugged. “So I was kind of complaining to myself that I could sense ghosts but not magic, and then I realized that I could suddenly, I dunno how to describe it, ‘feel’ certain things in my room. And when I looked into it, I realized that everything that stood out was magical.”

He smiled at them, rather sheepishly. “And I tried to trigger it again just now, and I can sense you two as well. So, yeah, I think I can sense magic.”

Tucker had already whipped out his PDA the moment Danny started talking, and was now writing up a storm. Danny was glad that they’d found a workaround to keep their tech working; seeing Tucker without the machine had been weird.

“I’ve added it to our files,” the boy said, not looking up from the screen. “Do you think this is something you should practice during training as well?”

Danny frowned, considering it for a moment. He nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda tough to trigger it on purpose, and maybe I can hone it to be more specific. It might be useful if I can sense wards and magical objects and stuff.”

“You’re right, that could be pretty handy.” Sam leaned back, a thoughtful look on her face. “Who knows what kind of magical stuff we’ll run into now that more and more people are finding out about Amity Park ghosts.”

“Alright. I’ll plan it into our training schedule, then.”

Sam snapped her fingers, jerking upright again. “Actually, speaking of magical mysteries. Danny, did you ever figure out who gave you your wand?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” He blushed, grimacing at the same time. “Clockwork said he gave me the wand, but he was his usual vague self, so he refused to tell me why or how he got it.”

Tucker frowned at him, but shrugged. “I guess that that makes sense. He would’ve known which wand was perfect for you.”

“Yeah, and he could have frozen time to deliver it, so you wouldn’t have sensed him,” Sam agreed with a nod.

“Not sure why he didn’t sign the note with CW though, but I’m sure he had his reasons.” Danny looked at his wand, twirling it between his fingers. In the months since he’d gotten it he had quickly adjusted to it. His magic still needed work, but, well. Only so much they could accomplish as a group, between the three of them and Ida.

“I’m glad he went out of his way to give it to me, though,” Danny continued, dismissing his train of thought. “We know now how much of a hassle it would’ve been to find a wand that works for me, and that’s not even taking into account the fact that we had no way of traveling around without telling Ida about my accident.”

“Man, Danny, you must be pretty important if Clockwork went out of his way to break the rules for you.” Tucker grinned, having clearly meant it as a joke.

But Danny couldn’t help but be reminded of the fact that this wasn’t the only time that Clockwork had interfered. Tucker didn’t know, of course. Neither of his friends knew how close they had really come to that future.

Instead he grinned at his friends. “Yeah, guess so. We better get going, don’t want to be late for magic training.”

Sam snorted. “Especially you, mister ‘no Ida I don’t have any magic I don’t know what you’re talking about’.”

Danny glared at her, playfully flashing his eyes green, then rolled them. “I hear you. But, seriously, I’m glad that Ida is fine with it. Training with you guys is fun, but having an actually experienced wizard there to help is pretty great.”

“Amen to that, Danny.” Tucker slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning widely. “Amen to that.”

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 9

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Grumpy | Leroy, Maurice | Moe French, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Merida (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]  [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]  [Chapter 8]

Chapter 9 - Ways and Means

Once she was past the moments of panic, then had shaken off the despondency, and had finally finished seething - which turned out to be good for the floor of the main entrance of the library, which she scrubbed from wall to wall until is shone, thanks to the energy of her anger - Belle found that she was able to think a little better.  She’d be damned if she was going to let the red tape that Regina Mills was trying to throw in her way derail her plans. Not now, when she’d come so far. So, a few minutes later she found herself standing outside the glass doorway of the office of one Doctor Archibald Hopper M.D. Psychiatrist. It wasn’t that she felt like she needed help with her mental health - except perhaps the stress that the Mayor was forcing on her - just that she believed that it would be the only way she could get the medical records released in sufficient time to meet the deadline.

She hated psychiatrists. Hardly surprising really given her past, and all that it had brought her, but she tried to tell herself that she shouldn’t tar them all with the same brush just because of their profession. Like librarians, she added mentally, We’re not all obsessed by silence and shushing.

She took a breath and pushed open the door, climbing the stairs to find herself outside another doorway, this one wooden.  For a moment she listened and unable to hear voices from inside she knocked and waited. After a moment the door was pulled open with rather more energy than she expected and gray suited, bespectacled man with a kindly face and seriously receding, red hair.

“Um… hi,” he said, and then apparently remembered to smile.

“Doctor Hopper?” she asked, and at his nod she added, “I’m… Belle Marchland, the new librarian?” she gestured behind herself as if the library was right there, and Doctor Hopper’s smile became a little wider.

“Yes, yes of course,” he said his voice as kind and soft as his face suggested it would be. “Won’t you come in?  Is… is there something I can help you with?”

She followed him into the office, glancing around at the comfortable looking couches and chairs, the coffee table, the fireplace and the file cabinets that lined the wall.

“Actually, yes,” she said folding her arms as she came to a halt, studiously avoiding the couch, or the chair… anything of the usual ilk that screamed ‘psychiatrist.’  “I was hoping you could.”

“Well,” he said gesturing to the couch, “Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk about it?”

“Oh no, no,” she said quickly, “Not like that.  You see, I said I’m the new librarian, but it’s not actually official yet, and the Mayor has kind of put… well… let’s just say she seems to want to make things difficult for me.”  She took a deep breath and then admitted, “A while back, in Boston, I was being treated at a hospital in Boston for a trauma related condition. I was discharged completely,” she added quickly, “but the Mayor is demanding to see the records, the discharge papers.”

Doctor Hopper frowned. “And is that a problem?” he asked, using a finger to push his glasses further up his nose.

“No, that’s not the problem,” Belle said, “just the amount of time she’s given me to get them.”

Hopper’s frown lifted as understanding dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said, “I… yes, I think I could probably help you with that.”  He nodded and turned toward one of the file cabinets which he opened up and began pulling out papers, “It would mean you’ll have to fill out some paperwork, and… and perhaps we should have an ‘initial consultation’ he said in a way that led Belle to believe that he was doing so in order to ensure that what passed between them would stay between them, and thus found herself warming to the man a little.  “Not that I have anything against the mayor,” he said then, handing her a clip board onto which he’d slipped the papers, “but… well, Regina can sometimes be a little rigid in her thinking, and so many of my patients have expressed how excited they are that the library will be opening again - which I imagine would be quite difficult without a librarian to run it.”

Belle smiled, and took the pen he offered, and then gingerly lowered herself to the edge of the couch as she said, “Thank you, Doctor Hopper.”

“Please,” he said kindly, “Call me Archie.  Can I offer you some tea?”

After another forty five minutes, Belle left the office with a little more hope in her heart than she had the previous hour, with assurances from the doctor that he would ensure that he would contact the Boston hospital as many times as it took for him to secure the paperwork by fax, and then he would let her know when she could come and collect it.  She thought it was probably the most positive experience she’d had with a psychiatrist in… well… ever.

The problem of the transcript was a more challenging one.  Yes, she could contact the University in Boston and request the transcript, even pay for a next day service, but that would mean her driving to Boston to collect it, and then driving back the following day to ensure she could meet Regina’s deadline.  It was doable, but it would mean a lot of toing and froing, late nights and early mornings.

She supposed that was the point.

Returning to the library, she pulled out her phone once more and made the call to the University in Boston and arranged to collect the sealed transcript by nine am the following day, at no little cost to her from her rapidly dwindling bank account.  Still it couldn’t be helped, and since she had already arranged for a number of things to happen that afternoon, she resolved that she would leave for Boston right after dinner that evening. She was utterly determined to signal to the mayor that she fully intended to comply with her unreasonable demands by continuing to work on making the library clean and tidy and ready for business.  That afternoon she had Leroy coming over to take down the rest of the boards from over the windows.

She was just about to start on cleaning another of the shelves when her phone rang.  She had forgotten that, before she’d finished freaking out that morning, she’d sent a hurried text to Ruby and that now her friend was calling her back to talk to her about it.

“What do you mean she’s wants the fucking paperwork?” Ruby said by way of a hello.

“Just that,” Belle sighed, shaking her head. “Marched in here as if she owned the place and demanded that I give her a signed transcript, and a copy of my discharge papers in the next forty eight hours or there would be no funding for the library.”

“Well I suppose she kind of does own the library really, it being a town building and all.”

“Um, no,” Belle said.  “You remember I told you that Leroy and his friends had arranged for me to take the lease…?  Well that’s not from the Town of Storybrooke.”

“Then who?” Ruby asked, and Belle could hear her frown.

“Someone called RG holdings,” Belle answered. “But it’s still a moot point if I can’t get the paperwork to the mayor’s office on time.”

“Because no paperwork, means no funding, and no funding, no job.” Ruby clarified.

“Yeah,” Belle said with a sigh.

“Well, then I suppose, at least, it’s good you haven’t signed it yet.”

“What?”

“The lease?”   Belle was uncertain what she should say.  She had signed the lease; had taken the responsibility for the library, and everything that came along with it. She left a long silence and telling silence. After the silence had stretched on longer than was comfortable Ruby groaned softly.  “Belle!” she all but sang. “What were you thinking !”

“That things were actually going right for once,” Belle snapped.  “And I will get past this Ruby, I have to.”  She sighed, and then took a breath.  “I’ll be in Boston tomorrow, at least for an hour or two.  I’m coming to collect my transcript.”

[shadowedoracle]

An Unconventional Gift

Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July! This is my RCIJ gift for the lovely @moonlight91​. I’m sorry you had to put up with me and my poor communication when my life and health overtook me in the last month. Also I’m sorry I drifted over into the next day -- I’ve no idea what timezone you’re in but I’m sure it’s well in Sunday wherever you are.

I hope you enjoy your gift. This what happens when I come up with a new idea so you have a complete gift and write it all at the last minute. I enjoyed working on it even if it wasn’t my initial idea and is perhaps quite different to what you were expecting from your prompt. I’m planning on posting my initial idea too at some point so if you have any interest in seeing that I’ll hopefully post the prologue and first chapter soon.

Summary: Rumple brings a baby back to the Dark Castle.

Enchanted Forest AU and canon-divergent.

Prompt: Fairytale Murder

Rating: G

Notes: Fluffy and but also angsty because that’s what apparently happens when I decide to try to write fluff. 

Also because I decided to write this new idea at totally the last minute please let me know if you see any typos because I haven’t obsessively been through this as many times as I normally would before posting.

Warnings: Depression (not in any real depth or detail but it is there).

[AO3]

“And then I reached into her chest and do you want to know what happened next?”

There was a high pitched giggle that was answered by a happy little burble.

“Do you? Yes of course you do.” The high voice trilled. “You’re going to be the baddest and most evil of sorcerers when you grow up.” A scaled green-grey scaled hand reached into a carry basket and tickled light haired baby’s stomach. “Yes, you are. You are, you are.” An excited shriek echoed through the large hall.

Rumplestiltskin grinned at the baby. “Yes. You are and I’ll teach you all there is to know. It’s actually quite simple. You see, little one, the thing you have to remember is people turn to me in times of need, out of desperation, for things they can or won’t do for themselves. It’s amazing what people will ask an evil sorcerer to do for them. You just have to know how to extract the right price for your services. You will want to remember that for yourself later.”

The baby stared back at the sorcerer solemnly, then gave a little twitch of her head which, if you squinted at it carefully enough, you could just about interpret as a nod. The sorcerer’s grin widened and was answered by a small, almost wry, quirk of the lips from the baby. Could babies have a wry sense of humour?

Then again this one seemed to be one of those children who was born an adult in all but body. Her intense blue eyes gleamed with intelligence as if she was in fact taking copious mental notes. If she could have held a pen she surely would have been taking actual notes. She would surely grow up to be a scholar of great renown. Or would have if she had been born into a world that readily allowed women to become scholars.  

The sorcerer, snorted to himself, that was of course, a stupid a narrow minded view. Not that he expected anything less from the fools of this land any more. He’d been alive for centuries and how much had changed? Precious little. Women, rich and poor still, died in childbirth and far too many infants never lived to adulthood. The lands were still mostly ruled by the same noble families, mostly by men (although there were notable exceptions), the poor were still expected to give their lives in the battles the noble families fought between each other and occasionally existential threats such as ogres.

Which really reinforced to him how little had changed -- they were still fighting ogres wars of all things. He had always believed when he had been called up to fight them that they would finally have stopped the ogres in their tracks once and for all. Of course he’d been a naive fool back then and now understood something of the harsh barrenness of many of the ogres’ lands and the complicated nature of ogre politics. They weren’t nice and fluffy creatures (then again neither was he) but they weren’t all the rampaging senseless villains most humans believed them to be.

Well all humans he’d ever met in fact except perhaps the one living in his castle. He didn’t think he’d met another person in his life who so much as considered that perhaps not all ogres were monsters. Some would have mistaken such compassion for softness but then only one who had never clashed minds with Belle would have ever have thought her soft. She was gentle in many ways but soft implied that she was weak and malleable and his Belle was neither of those things.

She also wasn’t his Belle. She might have come with him as part of a deal and have been his maid (although with the all the Castle’s self-cleaning spells and other spells to provide food and drink she was barely even that at times) but she most certainly wasn’t his in the way he sometimes wished she could be. She would never look at him that way. If he was a better man he could have released her from her deal with him and let her go out into the world and find the happiness she deserved. But he was still a monster, a selfish one at that, and he couldn’t bear to lose the light she had brought back into his life.

He knew one day he would find his son but that seemed a long way off most days. Before her there had been so many times when he wouldn’t rise from his bed for weeks when the despair over the loss of Baelfire consumed him. But with Belle here even the darkest days were easier. Having someone who would smile at him and even if she was not able to fix his problems somehow made those days less unrelentingly terrible.

She also would not allow him to mope and feel sorry for himself for too long. The first time he had fallen into one of his dark spells after she’d arrived and holed himself up in his chambers, she had waited three days before hammering on his door and then barging her way into his inner sanctum when he didn’t respond. He supposed he could have used magic to lock his door but he’d been so startled it hadn’t ever occurred to him. He’d never bothered with any locks, magical or otherwise until he given her her own suite of rooms and wanted to make sure she’d feel safe from anyone, including him.

Even that first time Belle hadn’t asked him any questions and just taken one look at his pathetic form and walked out. He’d assumed that she wouldn’t be back --  who would after looking at his matted and wild hair, his crumpled night shirt and his twisted bedsheets from   his nightmares? He sincerely wished the legend that the Dark One didn’t need sleep was in fact correct when the nightmares over took him. But his little maid had surprised him. She’d returned less than five minutes later with a glass of water and a book. She’d placed the water on his bedside and after looking around his room and discovering that he had no chairs in the room sat down beside him on his bed and began to read to him.

He supposed if he were a better man he would have summoned a chair for her but he wasn’t one. If this was to be the only way he would ever have Belle in his bed he would not pass up the opportunity. So he had lain there entranced by the sound of Belle’s voice and the tale of the hero Gideon. She had read to him for hours and while the heavy feeling in his heart and his limbs was still there somehow it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been before.

Hours later she laid down the book looked him in the eyes. She had smiled somewhat sadly at him and he felt a stab of guilt at idea he someone made his little Belle feel sad. But before he could apologize and grovel for her forgiveness, she had stood up an informed him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t think he’d eaten in at least three days (he hadn’t but hadn’t really noticed) and that she expected him downstairs for dinner. Since he could think of no way to reply to that or how to argue with the fierce and stubborn creature that was his maid he’d acquiesced.

Ever since then whenever he’d have one of his episodes she’d come to his room and read, sometimes out loud to him and other times silently to herself. Either way she would always sit next to him keeping him company. Sometimes she’d absent-mindedly reach out and stroke his hair and it was all he could do not to purr. He would have liked it if she touched him like that out of true affection and not pity but he couldn’t stop in taking comfort from them. They were a soothing balm for his ancient dark and misshapen soul.

She never asked him any questions during those times --  which was a good thing as he didn’t trust himself to answer them without soaking her shoulder in tears. She simply was there and all she seemed to expect was that he managed to magic himself from bed at least once a day to appear for a meal that she’d make with her own rudimentary cooking skills. Some of the concoctions she’d laid in front of him tasted truly terrible he had to admit. But the idea that she cared about him enough to try to make him a chocolate cake was to him a far sweeter gift than her simply instructing the castle to make one for her (and not just because she’d gotten the salt and sugar confused).

No his little maid was kind and compassionate towards him and he had found himself slowly opening himself up to her in a way he hadn’t to anyone ever before. Not even with Milah. Belle might have just been his maid and gradually becoming, dare he hope a friendly companion? He couldn’t hope to yet have met the bar for a friend yet but she was a constant in his life that even a year ago he never would have believed possible. Now he was about to change both their lives. He just hoped that she would be pleased and not mad at him about it. Maybe he ought to have consulted her first?

A loud wailing broke though his reverie. He looked back to the baby and took in the red screwed up little face.

“Hush now. Little one. Hush. What’s wrong now? I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

He reached into the basket and stroked her cheek. She took a big breath and for a moment it seemed like that was all that would be needed to calm her. But then she let out an even louder cry and it seemed that that hope would be in vain. He sighed and took the tiny little one into his arms, sniffing her slightly as he did so. That wasn’t the issue it seemed.

She was lighter than Bae had ever been to hold even though he thought from some of the other signs that she must be at least a month or two old by now. Of course he hadn’t arrived home until weeks after Bae’s birth but he was certain Bae had never been this tiny even as a newborn. His anger stirred as he felt how thin the babe was in his arms.

A quick thought later and a leather bottle appeared in his hand and he shifted the baby in his arms slightly and tilted the bottle so that the teat was in front of its mouth. He hoped that the nipple shaped object in front of it would be enough for the babe to work the rest out but apparently he had slightly over-estimated its intelligence at this stage at least. He shook head, amused at his own stupidity and gently opened the baby’s mouth and placed the bottle’s nipple inside. For a moment she seemed confused but then she gave an experimental little twitch of her mouth and her whole being seemed to relax as she began to drink more enthusiastically.

“That’s it. Drink up little one. There’s more where that came from. Infinitely more, in fact. Now I should go back to telling you your story where was I? I was telling you about how I murdered that women who wanted to harm you. Yes? Now I had dispatched the first two and the final was one was choking on my magic when I reached into her chest and I out her heart.”

There was a crash from behind him and the large doors to the Great Hall flew open and Belle came rushing into the room.

“Rumplestiltskin, I didn’t realize you were back already. Do you want your tea now or later? And what was that noise just now? I could have sworn I heard a baby crying but...”

She trailed off as the sorcerer turned towards her and she caught sight of the small bundle in his arms. His generally soft and good natured maid’s countenance took on a much sterner and frosty appearance as she glared at him.

“And where, pray tell, did that come from?” She tapped the heel of her foot against the floor while he tried to remember how to make his mouth work.

“It’s not what you think, Belle.”

“And what precisely is it that you think I think?” Her stony expression almost made him cringe before he reminded himself sternly that he was the Dark One and he did not cringe to before his maid no matter how much her liked her or how sharply he could feel the points of the her stare piercing into his skin.

“Well… You probably think I broke my promise I made to you after that whole, er, um, incident with Jack and Jill’s baby. But I didn’t. I swear.”

“Then where exactly did it come from? It didn’t just appear out of thin air.”

He gave a nervous little giggle, “No, no, of course not my dear… I mean, dearie. I was getting to that. You see there was this village that called on me to help it deal with a problem it was having. The town’s babies had all gone missing from their cribs overnight. Their parents woke up pleased at first with a good night’s rest because of not having been awakened in the night to discover they had all gone. So I was called by some of the parents to help them find their children.”

“For a price.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well of course for a price. The Dark One doesn’t do anything for free and he most certainly does not do good deeds. But you needn’t worry about the price, it was just some gold the families offered up. Nothing more, er, exotic, this time.”

“Then how did you get her”, a quick nod of that beautiful head towards the bundle in its arms, “if not as the price?”

“I’m getting to that bit. Now I can see you’re not in the mood for the clever little bit of magic I did to find the children right now. But it was a particularly good piece of magic to find them so quickly, if I do say so myself.”

His maid didn’t look the least bit impressed with that.

He swallowed hard. “Right. Anyway, so I tracked the children to a cave in the middle of the Infinite Forest. A trio of those gnats who call themselves ‘Fairy Godmothers’ had taken them in the hopes of using their blood to enhance their powers. They weren’t the first ones, just the first time they’d branched out to taking a whole village. Which was foolish if they’d hoped to go unnoticed but it seems from what I found there they’d done enough experiments to ascertain that this would likely have worked. Well… I’m dark but I’m not like that.

“I dealt with the fairies then returned the rest to their homes but this one was well left over, nobody claimed her or even knew whose she was. I tried to track her parents with magic but there was no trace of them. There’s only one reason for those that particular spell to fail -- if they’re dead. So she’s an orphan, see.”

Belle’s face had softened during his explanation and while she still looked serious she looked more like her usual self. He became aware that the sucking on the bottle had stopped too. He removed the bottle from the girl’s lips and vanished the bottle.

“And so what are you planning on doing with her now?”

He gulped and stared down at baby to give himself courage.

“Well it seems that she needs a home.” He glanced back up at Belle but she seemed to be more focused on the baby in his arms. That was good. Maybe she wouldn’t be too mad about this after all.

“And well, I was, er, wondering if you wanted her.”

Belle’s eyes snapped back up to his face. She looked at him, startled.

“Me?”

He suddenly wondered if perhaps this was a bad idea and that maybe he should have asked her whether she wanted a child before bringing one back for her. She’d never wanted her marriage to Gaston perhaps she hadn’t wanted children either. It would hurt to give this child up if she didn’t want her. In less than a day he’d become rather fond of the little one. But he could hardly keep her if Belle didn’t want her, he wasn’t a fit and proper person for such a task on his own.

“Well… That is if you, um… If you want to of course. It’s just you seemed quite fond of that one baby but gave up on marriage and all that life to come here with me. We agreed that I wasn’t to take any as part of deals any more but I thought this might be, um, a mutually agreeable way for you to get that chance.”

“Rumple...”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” He hurried to add. “I’m very good at finding homes for babies.”

“Rumple...”

“I have experience doing it.”

“Rumple!”

“And I wouldn’t hold it against you in the least...”

“Rumplestiltskin! Will you let me get a word in?”

“Oh, right of course.” He swallowed hard of over the dryness of his throat and unconsciously ran a finger over the forehead of the baby.

Belle smiled at him slightly and took a few steps closer to him and the baby.

“Are you sure about this?” She reached out a hand towards him but stopped just short of touching the baby.

“Yes, yes of course.”

“You won’t mind a child running around the place all the time?”

“Why I mind that? Would I have suggested this idea, if I didn’t mean it?”

She shrugged. “You might not have fully thought this through.”

Well he hadn’t but that didn’t mean he was going to regret it if she wanted this.

“Does she have a name?” Her hand grazed the baby’s head as she said it.

“Does that mean you want to keep her?”

She smiled softly her gaze now fully on the baby. “Yes. Yes I want to raise this child with you Rumple.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. When she phrased it like that it made it sound like she would be letting him do more help her out every so often. Almost like she would let him help parent the child, almost like they were a couple. He was sure she didn’t meant the latter but perhaps this meant she viewed him as a friend of sorts now? He felt a dampness that felt suspiciously like tears begin to well up in the corner of his eyes. She held out her arms to him and he wordlessly transferred the baby into her waiting arms.

“Why, hello little one.” She smiled one of the most radiant smiles he’d ever seen down at the babe in her arms and she was answered with small little smile. “You’re beautiful aren’t you? What’s your name? Rumple, you didn’t tell me if she had a name yet.”

He didn’t think he could reply, he wasn’t sure he’d seen a more beautiful sight since he’d lost Bae. He swallowed a few times to force the emotions he was feeling down enough so he could answer Belle’s question.

“Yes… Well at least I assume it’s hers it might not be I guess. It was sewn into the blanket I found her in but I suppose that blanket could have belonged to another child first…”

She nodded, “Well let’s assume that it was probably her name then unless it’s truly dreadful.”

He shook his head, “it’s Alice.”

“Alice? That’s a good name. I think it suits her don’t you think?”

He nodded the sight of Belle cooing down at the baby was too much for him to trust himself with words right now.

“Well. Then I guess we’ll have to make a place for you to live, little Alice. We didn’t have much time to prepare but let’s see what the castle can rummage up for us shall we?”

He cleared his throat, “I um, might have taken the liberty of preparing the room next to yours as a nursery. At least until you decide how you want to decorate it of course.”

She smiled at him. “Well let’s start there shall we Alice?”

As she reached the doorway she turned and looked back at him and said, “Oh and Rumple, just so you know, this wasn’t the only way I could have had a child and remained faithful to our deal.”

He nodded wondering what her point was. He supposed she could have found herself some young man in town to get her with child. It didn’t quite seem Belle’s style somehow but perhaps he’d been wrong. She rolled her eyes slightly and he watched the slight crinkles form at the sides of them as smiled at him.

“Just the next time you decide you want to raise a child with me Rumple, perhaps consult me first? We could try the traditional route of acquiring one. I hear it’s a lot of fun.”

And with that she breezed out of the room while he stood gaping after her.

[permian-tropos]

Hi! you said you only like particular types of Kylux, do you have any stories to recommend? How do you feel about gingerpilot, hux/rose (hose?) and hux/cardinal?

It’s actually been a few years since I shipped kylux. My absolute ultimate Star Wars OTP that has consumed 50% of my waking thoughts has been gallirae, which is such a teensy Imperial rarepair. Even with it being so teensy, just myself and some friends, I haven’t run out of ways to explore it. There’s so much untapped potential. I’ve shipped it for longer than I shipped kylux. Rae Sloane in particular succeeds at being the villainous archetype that a lot of people including myself had to work to transform Hux into. An ambitious, talented, career officer and underdog with reasons to passionately defend the system and other reasons to doubt or resent it. 

Back when I was more kylux-exclusive, once I got into the idea of creating my own content, I was very fixated on that and found other fic to be somewhat distracting. Also lately my attention span when it comes to reading fanfic has drastically improved. (Going back on ADHD meds has... been part of it). So back in the day, I noticed plenty of cool stories, including stuff friends of mine wrote, but struggled to read it. My impression of fandom was more the stuff that wound up on my tumblr dash. Plus I did a ton of RP. There’s probably a lot of really good kylux fic out there that I never got around to reading, also a lot of good kylux fic I read but forgot. I didn’t keep good records on AO3. I just now checked my bookmarks list for you and the kylux fics on there? I do not remember anything about them and I really did read them ages ago. I don’t even have enough links to fics my old fandom friends wrote. I really just wasn’t much of a content curator. 

I think my ideal kylux (The Fic I Never Truly Wrote) would be something with a truly sci-fi, fantasy, or paranormal plot. Something besides romance is going on, danger and intrigue especially coming from extraordinary sources. There’s a whole chunk of worldbuilding, intrigue, suspense or danger. Kind of action-adventure buddy-dramedy-ish (I said kylux isn’t like ineffable husbands in personality but that doesn’t mean they can’t be thrown into slightly alike plot circumstances).

That being said. There’s one kylux fic I still remember liking AND remembered enough identifying info to find it again on AO3 (there’s a couple of others that I just... FUCK... I can’t remember the author or fic name even though a lot of other stuff is really clear in my mind. Sorry. I was depressed and disorganized for the past few years). I’m not saying this one’s the best of everything I’ve read, or exactly what I might have been looking for. But I remember it. It’s quite old by sequel trilogy fandom standards. Also if it turns out to have been right about Palpatine possession being the endgame thing, that will be neat as heck.

Saint by @ofcorsetstrash​ lol I think I’ve told them once before that this is inexplicably one of my favorite fics (not that it’s inexplicable because it’s not good but that I read it very early on and it remained memorable with how huge the fandom got) it just resonated with me maybe I really liked the way it represented mental conversations with use of text formatting, that’s something I did in one of my first fanfics and it’s a very cool and vivid technique.

Also there’s these fics my best friend Mads @honeypothux wrote a while back: 

Seasons Greetings From the Solo-Organas -- a holiday comedy with a cool background element of a modern AU with Star Wars infused history (I’m a sucker for modern settings that are like what medieval fantasy is to medieval Europe -- very similar normal everyday life, very different geopolitics and history. It has the same intrigue for me as magic realism.) 

When the Crypt Door Creaks -- sadly unfinished but it’s young adult Kylo and Hux in a haunted Disney ride adventure. The Haunted Mansion itself. A lot of cool ideas, reminds me a teeny bit of a Henry Selick animated film. 

And the ones of mine I like:

Flashburn -- very very weird context for this one, fandom got obsessed with tentacle rape for a brief while and I found it squicky and started a fic to work through that squick by taking the idea seriously, but it’s not at all explicit, it’s about as implicit as you can get without actual ambiguity. Rated T but check the warnings. It’s more about Kylo and Hux discovering ways to not hate each other. 

Our Wicked Home -- maybe my favorite kylux fic I’ve written. Senator Hux returns to the abandoned Arkanis Academy as part of a truth and reconciliation, alongside his Jedi bodyguard Ben Solo. Hux doesn’t have a bad relationship with his family in this (and his parents were happily married), and it’s hard for him to cope with having nostalgia for a place where there was so much suffering.

Memory of Snow -- quiet alpine angst post-canon with hermit Kylo finding outcast Hux has tracked him down 

Moving on: 

How I feel about gingerpilot? Never really felt like my thing. 

Hux/Rose? I have never seen it called Hose that’s hilarious omfg. I didn’t passionately love it at first but my pal @tobermoriansass got me into it. I definitely don’t ship it in all possible configurations. Not as a cutesy sort of ship, definitely. Something raw and rotten and intense. I have a half-finished Hux/Rose fic that I wrote for a fic exchange. Still feel guilty about not completing it. But I kind of gave myself a writing injury trying to finish it, pushed myself too hard. I’ll come back to it when I’m ready. 

If you want a smut rec here’s a wild ride of a Finn/Rose/Hux weird alien psychic bond threesome 

Hux/Cardinal? I haven’t read Phasma yet, just had other people tell me about it. I’d kind of like to ship them as brothers. This is mostly because I don’t like canon Brendol Hux having no complexity in his relationship to his son. I think he was once an interesting character who could have been even more interesting and who can’t be interesting when he’s too repulsive to linger on for long. So having Cardinal and Armitage develop a strong brotherly bond adds to a complicated family backstory. Deep down I want to do a Fullmetal Alchemist AU for them where Cardinal is the disembodied suit of armor brother to Armitage the shrimpy irascible genius, though they’re far less heroic than the Elrics. 

Ummmmmm

I think that’s about it except that one major reason why I don’t read kylux is that I’m absolutely obsessed with my OC of his mom and I so vastly prefer the universe where she exists because she’s like a weird overpowered feral ocean witch. If only canon had invented her instead of me. 

OH ALSO I FORGOT THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION ANON YOURE VERY LOVELY HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FICS I JUST GOT SO FOCUSED ON ANSWERING I FORGOT I WAS VERY HAPPY TO GET YOUR ASK LOL