#Oak meant by 'I wonder if I should have warned him' honestly love it

[dragontamer05]

Things I learned while listening to the Pokemon 4Ever / Celebit voice of the forest movie

These guys do in fact watch the subs- if not multiple times and even like the subs.

When it comes to rewriting scripts changes I really get the feeling they do care, and also in some cases it seems like the VAs are kinda just given the prompt of 'do your best and fill in what fits here' like if its coming up with a new joke cause the Japanese one doesn't translate/work well or whatever.

Sometimes rewrites seem to occur just cause of the different way story telling gets handle in Japan compared to to the U.S but like I don't think it's coming from a place of 'hur dur children are dumb' most of the time anyway

Like changing up/adding in a whole scene to make it more clear that Sammy is in fact meant to be Oak since in the Original JP it's apparently far more subtle with really the only clue being that one brief clip during the credits of finding the sketch book in the lab and that's it - which while watching apparently at the time even they were like 'wait what?" and trying to figure out if this was meaning Sammy was Oak or what (Like in some ways it seems obvious but I suppose an alternate take someone might misunderstand it as Oak also having known Sammy at one point and being given then book)

But like apparently the people were pretty chill with it when they went and requested having this whole knew scene / wanting to make the change.

Basically over all it seems like everyone involved is/was very passionate about it also sounds like they occasionally would like get in contact with those in Japan if they ever had questions/need clarification on something.

-

And a fact that I refuse to believe after looking on the Wiki is that when showing the time jump between Sammy and Ash's time in the Sub/JP text pops up saying 40yrs later,

Sammy/Oak is at oldest in early teen years, like maybe 13 at best when we meet him as a kid. THere ain't no way that man is in his 50s and with a 12 year old Grandson

like even if he was real early 20s when he had kids that would still put him at 40 / early 40s by the time they're 20 and would mean they'd have had to have had Gary like right then at 20/21- which not impossible but kinda pushing it. And that's assuming his older sister doesn't exist in the anime- I don't think we ever see or hear anything so maybe she doesn't

So nah that man is minimum late 50s pushing into his 60s

Same goes for the Girl/Woman who was/is Oaks old friend she looked maybe 16-17 in that time but flash forward and the woman Ash n Co meet looks more like she's in her 70s (with also a like 16 year old Grandaughter)

So gotta go with the dub on this one on just choosing to erase/ not make mention of exactly how many years it is between Sammy's time and present day with Ash.

Main thing is it was cool hearing about their process and just how much everyone involved just seemed to love it and care (sure maybe sometimes edits/changes are questionable but at the very least it seems like generally there were good intentions behind whatever was done and certainly wasn't due to a lack of caring about the original product either)

[tragedy-of-commons]

dearly beloved

sunday & gn!reader | wc: ~1.3k

Some birds were not meant to fly.

tags/warnings: SPOILERS FOR 2.2, implied/nongraphic animal death, childhood friends trope, kind of a character study, there is humor is you squint, romance is not the focus here

notes: the story quest had the gears turning and i have this to show for it! i honestly just wanted to yap. so. sunday's characterization is loose and i just had fun with this!

Sitting on the windowsill is a cage fashioned from wrought iron. 

Inside Robin’s bedroom—the one you play in almost everyday—it’s a jarring new addition; the dull gray metalwork draws your eyes away from the scattered dolls and books resting upon the honey oak floors. Before your lips curl downwards, the shape inside of the cage catches your attention.

…A small bird chirps from inside.

“Robin!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you from the hallway, “Since when did you get a pet bird? And is that a Charmony Dove?” She doesn’t come running in to answer, so you assume that she’s still held up with dinner. Making your way over, the little dove chirps at you.

It’s so pretty—and you would surely be scolded for gaping like a fish impolitely near any of the Oak Family—but Robin has never been a Judgey-Mc-Judger-Pants like all of those other stuffy adults. 

“So adorable…” You decide to stick your hand between the bars so you can pet the animal. Though it’s beautiful, you’re sure you’d be able to hear its song much better if it could be let out for some fresh air. 

An annoying voice decides to scare the ever-living shit out of you. “It is, right?” 

“F-Fuck! Sunday, you scared me!” you say hotly, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest. “Where is Robin? She doesn’t take joy in my suffering!”

He tries not to smile at your “crass” language—whatever that means. “Mr. Gopher Wood wanted her to continue her lessons instead of playing with you,” Sunday straightens his posture, “She made me come to tell you, so…”

“Are you kicking me out?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Because if you are, I didn’t even wanna be here anyway! Robin is better than yo—”

He facepalms like you’ve seen your mother do. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I could make you leave if I tried. But weren’t you wondering about the dove?”

Your scowl drops into an awed smile, forgetting the whole reason why you were upset. The bird shifts from foot to foot (talon to talon?) on its perch, looking at you with eyes that look like sparkling amethysts. “Yes! When did you guys adopt one? I’ve never seen a Charmony Dove here before.”

Sunday frowns, a serious one, you note. It looks out of place on his face that still matches the chubbiness of yours, but he’s always been the one to talk you out of shenanigans in your ragtag group. He seems older right now, standing like he’s ready to lead an entire lineage while he can barely preen his feathers by himself. 

“That’s because they normally don’t live here. Robin and m—Robin and I—found it outside in one of the gardens a week ago, sick and hurt,” he says, taking a spot at your side while you examine the bird with sympathy. “We decided to adopt it and nurse it back to health.”

“Poor thing…” It allows you to scratch under its neck, cooing affectionately under your touch. “At least it’s looking better. Robin must be so happy to have her own pet in her own room! Did she name it yet?”

Sunday frowns deeper, and he should really stop doing that, ‘cause he’ll get wrinkles. “No, she didn’t name it yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Robin… isn’t really happy about us adopting the dove.” Now that just doesn’t make sense! Robin loves animals, and you both once talked about adopting hundreds of them if you could. You’re about to open your mouth until Sunday adds on quickly, “She says birds are meant to fly in the sky.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” you survey the sturdy cage and how it dwarfs the inhabitant inside. “It looks like it’s in jail like Hanu from the cartoon.”

He flicks your forehead. “Be serious for once.”

“We’re eight!” you cry.

Sunday agrees to show you how to feed and hold the dove properly after you beg him, and the longer you hold fledgling life in your hands, the more cruel the cage seems. You don’t know if birds are meant to do this or that, but you know that their song is louder (and more annoying) when they chirp outside of your window.

Before you leave for the day, he also tells you that he and Robin plan to release the Charmony Dove when it fully recovers. A bittersweet notion that you think fits the siblings perfectly. If Robin is the sun that everyone’s eyes will be on, then Sunday must be the silent moon obscured by the curtain.

The moon lost its sun not long after. Robin’s departure from Penacony was also bittersweet, and you were left with one less friend. Not a week after she left, you found yourself in her empty bedroom, lonely. She did say that you were allowed inside anytime you wanted, and that you both would message everyday. Still, you missed her.

Something else is clearly missing too. The wrought iron cage that normally houses the Charmony Dove you’ve become familiar with is empty. You don’t think it could have escaped; the door to the enclosure is sealed with a solemn air. Sunday would naturally be taking care of the little thing, that much he told you, so where is it?

You get your answer after searching the winding halls for a short bit.

“...I didn’t mention this to you because I knew it would make you upset,” his brow is furrowed again, and you’d tease him for looking like an old man, but something is definitely wrong. “But the dove died a few days ago. It tried to fly, and when it did, it crashed.”

“That’s… what? I thought that you said it was healthy,” you supply, heart clenching.

“I’m sorry. It was, but I guess that some birds aren’t meant to fly.”

You don’t think you’re going to cry. “Why not? It looked perfectly healthy, so why shouldn’t it be able to fly like the others?”

Sunday laughs, “That’s a good question. It’s unfair, isn’t it? If we didn’t set it free, it’d be alive.” Somehow you get the feeling that Sunday isn’t feeling guilty, but instead something else. His eyes are set and intense, as if he’s not talking about a Charmony Dove, but something more than you can’t understand.

It is unfair. Birds are supposed to belong to the sky; that’s one of the first things you learn about them when you’re learning to speak your first words and take your first steps. 

You feel heavy. “I’m glad it, um, passed when it was free, at least.” Maybe he’s acting a bit more down because of Robin leaving—which does make sense. You feel far away from him.

Sunday grabs your hand tentatively. “I wish there didn’t have to be an ‘at least’.”

You squeeze back. “Maybe one day, there doesn’t have to be… does Robin know?”

(You’re too naïve to notice the look of resolve aging his features by the day.) Now he looks guilty—doing that thing where he shifts his weight from foot to foot, “I didn’t want to upset her either.”

It’s silent save for the shuffle of your feet as he leads you out of the room and outside into the familiar gardens. They’re beautiful, filled with freesias, roses, begonias, and even a few unkempt weeds growing in the little abandoned corners. You’d go as far as to call it your paradise.

The reason you’re here reveals itself: a stone marking a mound of dirt that is plainly a makeshift grave. “Is this…?”

Sunday nods, halo dipping in tandem with his head. “It is. Just like the cage, it also needed a place to rest. This time I, um, fashioned it,” he pauses, “But one day, like you said, hopefully there needn’t be an at least. I want to make a world where there isn’t one.”

That sounds bittersweet, you think, plucking a weed from the otherwise flawless grass and placing it on the pillow of earth. 

(You just hope that the boy beside you doesn’t lean too far in either direction.)

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @nomazee

[jungnoir]

destiny | 09;

⇢ summary: you’re just about ready to give up on life altogether; your love life is in ruins, you’ve lost your job, and your family couldn’t care less about you… and then you meet your blushing guardian angel, and maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

⇢ relationship: jeon jungkook/reader, min yoongi/reader.

⇢ genre: supernatural, angel!au, demon!au, romance, thriller.

⇢ words: 6.5k words.

⇢ warnings: mentions of depression, violence, vomiting. slightly nsfw toward the end.

previously |  next

a/n: happy new year! I know it’s been quite a while (literally an entire year since I’ve updated) but I’ve had this chapter pretty much ready in my drafts and just hadn’t gotten around to finishing because. everything. regardless, I hope this sort of makes up for it. love you all! hope you’re doing well. also WOW I swear a lot in this one.

His hand on your neck is meant to silence any screams that might slip out. He applies the perfect pressure to avoid crushing anything vital (and just by the feel alone, you know he’s got quite an amount of strength to pull that off) while simultaneously stealing all your air and forcing you to cower in fear. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know this guy isn’t someone to be fucked with, and all you can think about is the fact that Jungkook is right outside and has no fucking clue what’s going on. The very thought fills you with dread.

“Then again, you’ve got someone helping you.” What once was just a particular, calculated press against your skin becomes a deliberate act of violence as he begins to choke you harshly. You know the pain of his grip might last for weeks, and that’s only if you don’t die in the next minute. “Just makes me wonder what’s so special about you.”

“Nothing!” You rasp out, clawing at his hand now in some weak attempt at breaking away. If you could make enough noise, enough commotion, surely someone-

-but the stranger has already stopped you quick. You aim to throw the door open or something but his free hand quickly apprehends you until you’re just a squirming mess on the verge of passing out. Even your legs are pressed firmly to the wall by his own body, holding you fast so that you can’t help letting a few tears fall. There was no doubt in your panicked mind that this was Seokjin, the angel who’d been trailing you from the shadows for what felt like centuries. His grand act of approaching you, something you’d dreamed up to be a major climactic brawl in a battlefield made for a spectacle, turns out to be so simple. Perhaps that’s what you got for thinking biblically. Why go through all the trouble when he could just squash the problem the minute a chance presented itself?

Now, all you can think is “I can’t die like this”. A sobering thought of pure contempt. Drowning in the river was preferable to this.

You muster what breath you can, eyes blazing, “How does it feel… being God’s lap dog?”

Seokjin is, funnily enough, stunned for a moment. All bravado slips through a teeny crack in his demeanor when you say that, and even though it’s a low blow, it’s also enough for you to thrust a semi-powerful kick to the dressing room door to make the entire thing shudder like an earthquake. That sound, coupled with your comment, makes Seokjin release you in a panic. You hear some gasps from outside, a few people inquiring if you’re alright. An employee sounds most worried amongst the voices. You’re just shy of swinging the door open and forcing Seokjin to be revealed or to disappear all at once, but then he’s grabbed the back of your collar as you scream in frustrated fury. Seconds later, you’re no longer in the dressing room anymore.

Instead, you fall flat on a rough, sandy surface. You’re overwhelmed with nausea, pain, and fear, so your whole body is struggling to pick up on the most important things outside of that, but you do realize quite fleetingly that it’s sweltering. It takes you a few seconds as you curl up on the ground to peek behind your hands that shield your face and discover that it’s blindingly bright where you are, almost like a…

For fuck’s sake. “Of all the places…” You whine with a sore throat, coughing right after from the strain.

Seokjin stands above you and uses his foot to kick you onto your back so that you’re staring up at him and the baby blue sky. His hair color plays against it in an unfittingly gentle contrast, “I thought we might need somewhere safer to discuss things. Oh, and speaking of discussion,” he waves a hand near you and you instinctively flinch back before you feel the pain in your throat subside. You wait a few seconds, but it seems whatever he’d just done had no effect on the rising bile in your throat, so you assume that’s something you’ll have to deal with on your own. What an ass. “Feel better?”

“Fuck you! Maybe if you hadn’t choked me out in the first place-”

“You’d have listened?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t hunted us down to kill us, we would have!”

Seokjin frowns, “I didn’t bring you here to talk about you and that boy, I brought you here to talk about you. I am only concerned with you.”

Whatever that entailed did not sound good in the slightest.

You scramble to your feet and immediately regret the movement as it makes you sick again. The more than 100 degree weather does nothing to fix that either, the sun beating down on you and bouncing off the dusty white sands directly into your eyes. You’re feeling something nasty rising up from your stomach, ready to projectile…

Just as the scene changes, you paint a Victorian rug with streaks of your vomit.

Seokjin immediately groans out loud, placing a rough hand at the back of your neck like one would grab the scruff of a kitten. You’re far too weak to protest, rubbing at your mouth with the back of your hand, so you let him toss you into a chair. The jerkiness of the action should have sent another eruption out of you, but you recognize the relief that has overwhelmed you from the touch of his hand. Had he fixed that too?

“Never the matter,” the angel growls, waving his hand and making the mess evaporate from the very fibers of the rug, “you’re all very fragile. I should have prepared you first.”

“How can you do all that…?” You couldn’t recall Jungkook or Jimin showing off any power like that, and whether it was because of Seokjin’s status or their modesty (and adherence to rules), you were unsure. Most likely both.

Instead of answering right away, Seokjin reaches forward a moving cart and you finally notice there’s a glass pitcher of water (hopefully) next to an array of empty glasses. You take the time he spends pouring some water for you to examine your surroundings.

It looks like a secret room in an old English manor house. The walls are painted a deep charcoal and with the absence of natural light, you could mistake it for the void. The only light that does exist is a strangely dim white light coming from the ceiling. What looks like a rather ornate shell of a skylight (sans the window to actually reveal, well, a sky), seems to hide said white light somewhere in it. It’s such a vague glow that you can’t pinpoint if it’s coming from a lightbulb or magic.

The rest of the room is just as ornate as the “skylight”, filled with deep oak bookshelves, golden artifacts, and shining decorations that already look like they cost more than your house. It doesn’t really matter the longer you think about it. All of it has to be an illusion… right?

A glass is placed into your hand and you break out of your thoughts to make eye contact with Seokjin. He hovers over you with narrowed eyes and when you look back at your surroundings again, you notice all the little decorations have disappeared. Why had he- “We can negotiate those bits of the deal later if you so wish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask, hesitant to drink the water despite how much the heat of the desert had made you crave it.

“Like I said before, I brought you here to discuss you. I’ve been watching you and lover boy for a while and it has become clear to me that you’ve been pulled along for quite the ride. I’m sure it’s all very daunting.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t shown up.”

“How much do you know about our Lord and Savior?”

It was tricky to say the least. You’d grown up on tales of him, an over-powered being of immense stature. No one could come close to him, not even the devil. However, you’d learned bits and pieces from Jungkook, Yoongi, and the others to the point where your ideas of the figure had become skewed. There was no linear understanding of him. You honestly had no idea, “Probably not enough.”

Seokjin huffs, taking a seat from across from you in a chair similar to yours. Crossing a leg over the other, the angel stares you down, “Do you know why I’m after you both?”

“You want to kill Jungkook. Because he committed your sin.”

“Jungkook is my main target, yes, but it wasn’t my sin. My sin was sullying myself with a demon. Jungkook’s sin was sullying you.”

You frown, “He did no such thing! You had a fucking child! Jungkook saved my life!”

“You mean to say he ruined it. You were supposed to be dead a long time ago.”

You’d known that much, Jungkook had told you already. Even if he hadn’t, that had always been the plan. “It was… it was my choice and I wanted it then, I admit it. But I was hurt. I was overwhelmed. I wanted it because I was scared there would be no reason to keep going.”

The angel angles a brow upwards, “And the fallen was that for you? A reason to keep going?”

“It was- it was a lot of things. I was reminded that I existed, and that there are people who can love me the right way,” frustrated at the situation, you glare at him, “what the fuck? Is this some fucking therapy session?”

He has the gall to smile, “God knows you need one. I’d like to be the one to get inside that mind of yours.”

Shit. What if you’d given him just the right information to use against you?

You snap your lips shut and sink back into your chair, bubbling with more dread. He notices your sudden resolve and appears to want to ease your worries, “I’m not doing this to break you. Unlike God, I find you, as a person, quite redeemable. A gentle, pained soul who fell victim to the perversion of her guardian angel. It’s all very sad.”

So God did think you were a lost cause. Jimin had been right after all. However, you don’t want to keep talking when you’re so close to getting the information you’ve been waiting for. It seems even Seokjin isn’t fazed by your silence, continuing on without missing a beat. “You see, usually these angel and human matters can be chalked up to the angel getting too big for their britches. They think they can change things like fate: God’s very flawless plan from the beginning. They are simply… glitches in the matrix, you could say? That’s where I come in. I make sure these issues are handled and that everything goes back to normal. You see, God loves his humans. Truly. He has a bit of a temper, but it’s justified, you know? He loves you all so very much that seeing you stray from a holy and righteous path is heartbreaking for him. He can only excuse so much.

“So he doesn’t. But… sometimes I help him. I change his mind. Even Jesus had to convince God not to blame his executioners. The big guy gets real impassioned about those he loves. It’s all part of the territory of being in heaven’s sovereignty,” at this, Seokjin shrugs, “you were an unfortunate casualty of it. However, I brought you here because I think that you could be saved. You’re simply confused. I’m sure I could convince God to rethink... his punishment for you.”

Your eyes widen, nearly dropping your glass, “He’d do that?”

The angel nods, pleased, “Of course! After all, he just wants you to repent. If you show that you will, well, I could put in a good word for you. He and I are very close.”

“But only for me.”

Seokjin’s smile dims some. He was so sure he’d had you on the hook just then, “Well… yes. There isn't much I can say about angels. Humans are born sinful, but angels are born knowing better. If they succumb to sin, I cannot do anything about that. But… if you feel that you’d be leaving Jungkook behind, and if that would cause you to feel guilty, I can assure you that that would be taken care of. Your memory of him would be wiped clean and you’d receive another guardian angel in an instant. You’d be granted everything you ever wanted. You’d be able to live out a new path of life contrary to the one your fallen so selfishly carved out for you.”

At this, you begin to frown deeper than you ever have. It’s not out of confusion but deep, deep understanding. Seokjin’s deal was asking you to sell Jungkook out and in return… he’d make you happy. You’d forget all about what had happened and carry on a new person, virtually safe. You could only assume that meant forgetting Yoongi too. Everything you’d accomplished so far would be rearranged until the you that you’d become would be so unfathomable you wouldn’t ever consider it.

What scares you the most is that you actually consider it.

This all could end right now and you’d get out alive, maybe all the ordinary people you knew would get out alive too. You’d be completely removed from the situation. You’d just have to forget Jungkook.

“You asked me how much I know about God,” you start, thumbs twiddling, and Seokjin perks up, “the stories humans told of him always kind of scared me. He’s so powerful… he knew everything before it was even created. Nothing can get past him. And yet, he let humans have free will and the right to choose what their path in life would be. That part always boggled my mind. God’s supposed to love us unconditionally, but if we don’t return the favor, we suffer eternally. It seemed like a pretty big plothole in the otherwise ‘flawless plan’ you claim he made.”

“Yes, well, it’s not God’s fault that Lucifer’s so conniving.”

“But it is. Isn’t it? God created him. Lucifer is the one who brought sin upon the world but God is the one that created him. If he knows everything, why make him in the first place? It’s a fallacy,” Seokjin’s eye twitches just a bit as you lean forward, “that God knows everything. Isn’t it? He wouldn’t be so stupid. He had no fucking clue what he’d made when he made Lucifer.”

“I’d watch your tone. God hears all.” The angel’s ominous reply is all that you need to hear. He doesn’t tell you that anything else you’ve said is false or not. Of course not. You know as well as he does that you’re spot on.

You’re so stunted by the arrogance of it all that you have to laugh, “Allegedly.”

In that same moment, the white light above begins to flicker. A distant rumbling sounds from somewhere and that fear you’d felt earlier comes back with a vengeance. Seokjin looks annoyed, if anything, “I only have so much time to sit here with you to chat.” He stands up and walks over to you, seizing you by the arm, “So I’m telling you now that you still have a chance. No one else has to die. Do me a solid and make that a reality.”

Did he really not want to kill you? He’d had so many chances to. Even now, he could just… what did you have that made him hesitate? “You think I believe that?”

The ground rumbles underneath you and then you fall through, Seokjin’s grip slipping off your arm… or maybe being pried off.

Where you land next isn’t as disorienting as the last few times, but it doesn’t feel any better to be ripped away again without so much as a warning. For a moment before you land, you halt, almost floating. Then your feet make contact with stone and then your knees follow under the sudden press of gravity. A quick look around tells you that Seokjin is nowhere to be seen… and that where you are looks vaguely familiar.

The stone continues up the walls to the ceiling, creating a naturally cold room that expands no more than the size of a restroom (no toilets in sight, however). The furthest edge of the room from you is completely dark, while the other is helped by a fire stretching from one long, narrow wall to the other. There is no wood crackling beneath it though, nor is there an actual controlled area for it to burn. Flames simply lick up the bottom of the wall as if commanded by magic. While the rest of your body feels chilly, the warmth of the fire keeps your head warm like a fever.

You lay crumpled up on your knees and hands, staring into the flames with the most bemused expression, wondering what to do now. You’re definitely not intent on travelling to the other side of the room in fear of being met with something sinister you can’t see, but the fire only illuminates so much of the place and there doesn’t seem to be a door in sight. If Seokjin wasn’t here, you doubted this was a place he wanted to be.

Maybe he was torturing you? Intending to keep you in a dark, scary room in order to break your resolve? You didn’t know the extent of power he was allowed to wield but this whole transportation thing was starting to get really annoying. You chance a meek, “Hello?”

Your voice doesn’t echo like you expect it to. It sounds like it’s right up against your face, like you’d spoken into a pillow, the sound eaten as soon as it came from your mouth. Where the hell were you?

“...not exact, okay?!”

You pick up on a voice to your right and turn over with such speed that you land on your ass. Some stones move on the narrow wall, and then the room is illuminated from an entirely different source of light. It takes you a few moments to gather your bearings as your eyes attempt to adjust. Voices are frantic and coming closer, you can hear that much. You pick up on one instantly, “Jungkook.”

Your voice is weak with relief just as he comes into view. He looks an absolute mess as he throws himself at your feet and wraps you up into a bone-crushing hug. The strength of his hug doesn’t even bother you as you cling back with just as much force, grateful tears beginning to gush out of your eyes. You didn’t realize until then just how terrified you’d been, really. It was always there underneath the surface, but something about Jungkook’s sudden presence makes the reality of it all hit much harder. He smells like your shampoo still.

After a couple of minutes in his embrace, you pull away to examine his face, “Are you okay?”

He laughs and the way his tears have clogged up his throat make it sound more like he’s choking, “Who cares about me? Are you?”

You smile, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, “Better. With you here. Where are we?”

“Limbo, hell’s limbo.”

You’re not sure what to say in response to that. After what you’d been through in the last… however long it’d been, that seems the most plausible to you. “Is that like purgatory?”

“No,” another voice speaks from above you and only then do you realize that Yoongi is here too. He looms over the both of you but his gaze is fixed heavy on your face, “purgatory is where the dead go on their way to heaven. This is where the living come on their way to hell. Was a hell of a ride trying to get your ass down here.”

“Yoongi…” You peel back from Jungkook and stand up, a little wobbly as you lean against the wall, “...thank you. How did you do it? The places Seokjin took me… I felt like we were in a dream.”

His upper lip ticks up in a snarl, “It was. The place where you were is a void, heaven’s version of limbo. It’s where angels bargain with humans on the edge of death to repent. It’s an open playing field for angels to present themselves to their humans without them having to be dead or breaking a rule… not like the latter really applies to Seokjin, though. It’s only as strong as your will to be there,” with that, Yoongi reaches toward you and brushes what feels like sand off your cheek, or perhaps he just meant to touch you to make sure you were really here with the way it lingered, “and that’s the only reason I could pull you out.”

It was a lot to digest. You still couldn’t totally understand how he’d pulled you from heaven’s limbo if he was a demon, but that was beside the point. Right now, you just wanted to get out of this creepy box of a room for good. And it seemed you would be getting your wish.

Another figure became clear to you through the doorway, though this figure looked much more intimidating than the two by your side. Dressed immaculately with a sly smile that felt strikingly familiar, a man makes his way into the room, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing his head to you, “He had my help too, of course. A pleasure to meet you (Name), I’ve heard very little about you.” The man holds out a hand to you and you can feel both Jungkook and Yoongi stiffen on either side of you, but neither makes a move to stop him. This had to be another demon, no doubt.

You take his hand and shake it firmly despite your nerves, “T-Thank you for your help as well. May I ask who you are?”

The man grins wider, “You can call me Lucifer. Are you hungry?”

An entire array of human food is set out before you but you don’t have much of a stomach to touch any of it, though Jungkook seems right at home as he fills up his own plate. You can only guess he’s enjoying the hell out of having so much food at his fingertips without having to pay for it.

You can hear his delighted sound effects from the left of you as you both sit on one side of a long table. Lucifer sits at the head of the table to the right of you, also refraining from really eating anything. Yoongi sits right across from you on the other side with an annoyed expression on his face, fingers tapping the heavy oak table top in a rhythm you can’t decipher. It couldn’t be any more awkward.

“No appetite?” Lucifer asks, pointing to the food. There’s meat and vegetables and cheeses that you know and don’t know but none of it seems particularly appetizing to you at the moment.

You shake your head, “No. Actually, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Ah, bet you’re bursting.” He chuckles and takes a swig of something you think might be wine. “Go ahead. I’ll try to recap the last couple of days as well as I can.”

“Days?!” You don’t mean to yell, you really don’t (especially not at the king of hell, but-), “It’s been days?”

Jungkook stops chewing to give you a concerned look, “Of course… how long was it for you?”

“Barely… half an hour, maybe more? But not days.”

“Yes, well,” Lucifer sighs, tucking his hands together in front of himself, “time works much differently in heaven and hell than it does here. Especially for those who end up in heavenly limbo. It’s essentially cut off from the rest of the universe which makes it that much harder to track those who end up there. Seokjin was smart in bringing you there than somewhere else on earth.”

Your head is throbbing at this point. If days had gone by, you could only imagine how much had changed since you’d been gone… “So… what has happened since then?”

“Apparently quite a bit, seeing as I was a last resort.” Lucifer’s tone almost sounds irritated. Like a petulant child, he glares over at his son with an unspoken tension that you would like to delve into much, much later when the important things have been moved out of the way. “These boys have been pretty busy trying to get you back. But we are all eager to know what happened while you were with Seokjin.”

Jungkook places a gentle hand on top of your knee under the table. For whatever reason, you note that his grip feels stronger than you’d grown used to. You’d thought the hug was just because he missed you so much, but even this simple touch was- “He… he found me in the dressing room, cornered me there and told me he’d been trying to get me and Jungkook alone. Somewhere he could really do some damage.” You recite all that you readily remembered, some details slipping as you focus on Jungkook’s touch. Yoongi’s eyes never stop boring into you. “He said a lot. He… he said he wanted to give me a second chance.”

Lucifer raises a brow at you, “At…?”

“Life. He said that if I… if I ratted out Jungkook, he’d work things out with God to set my life back on track. Memories wiped, a new guardian angel, the works.” You can feel Jungkook stiffen next to you.

“And did you take him up on it?” Lucifer inquires.

“No! No, I would… I would never. But he was so insistent… It sounded like he really wanted me to say yes. I don’t think he was planning to betray me if I took him up on it either.”

Lucifer heaves a heavy sigh. Folding his hands underneath his chin, the king of hell spares a glance at Jungkook, “He’s got a thing for innocents: those he believes did no actual harm in a situation. He’s always been soft that way. He has more of an affinity for humans than I ever did, but I have more reason to loathe humans than he does, so I guess it’s understandable.”

“He did… mention that none of this was my fault.”

“Of course! You were only following the path life laid out for you. It was the fallen angel you have beside you that decided to shake things up, and aren’t you lucky he did? It doesn’t surprise me one bit that you’re still alive. You’ve done nothing but suffer the consequences, it seems, against your own will.”

“But what about the demon he fell for? Or his child? Weren’t they killed so he could keep his spot in heaven?”

Lucifer leans forward, “I’m assuming your friends haven’t made it known to you yet, but they aren’t dead. They are both very much alive. In fact, the child in question was one of the people that helped in tracking you down. The mother… she is here, in hell, meant to stay imprisoned for all eternity. Or at least until the rapture,” with that, Lucifer drinks again, maintaining eye contact with your shocked stare, “but it was best that no one knew of their whereabouts. Only a handful of people even know that Inhui still exists. It’s become something of a legend amongst the demons and angels, shrouded in confusion. None of the angels would care for the mother, but the child would start an earthly war if they knew one still walked the earth. As far as they’re concerned, the child probably died from the natural complications of being an abomination.”

You frown, “How is that possible? An angel for every human on earth… that’s billions of angels and no one has even noticed the guy?”

“I was wondering about that, actually. He told us that he’d been walking the earth for a while now. Surely someone would have taken notice, right?” Jungkook speaks next, having abandoned his food entirely.

Yoongi snaps out of his bored stance, “Tae’s an anomaly. He’s forgotten everywhere he goes. His impression barely lasts long. Those people he encountered early on considered him a dream, or a hallucination, or a possession of the mind. His actual presence is… hazy. It’s easier to remember him by his name or his number, but everything else is-”

“Intangible.” His father finishes with a flourish. “No ordinary angel or demon could ever put a face to the name, only a feeling. Along with the rather excessive amount of glamours he employs when amongst the public, it is no wonder no one has sounded the alarm. Go ahead and recall his face in your mind, fallen. I’m sure you couldn’t piece it together even if you wanted to.”

Jungkook’s face screws up a little as an attempt, stricken dumb moments later when he can’t utter a thing. Your stomach churns at the thought, soiling your appetite even more.

It seemed like there was more to that story than you were being told, but you imagined that it would be quite a lot to relay to you in more than one sitting. After all, you still had no clue what you’d missed since you’d been gone, and it only hadn’t terrified you senseless because you were at least certain that the biggest threat to everyone’s lives had been right there with you the whole time.

“If you’re not planning to eat anytime soon, is there anything else you’d like to know? It’s not every day a mortal like you gets to talk to Lucifer.” With a small flourishing wave of his hand, Lucifer smiles at you, charming as ever. It was so strange. Yoongi acted nothing like his father, and yet you saw every bit of him in his expression.

You imagined Yoongi felt the need to distance himself as much as he could from his father’s intimidating image and had ended up creating his own in the process. Where Lucifer was inviting, however, Yoongi was… not for everyone. Even as he stares over the table at you, eyes hooded with what appears to be indifference rather than lasciviousness, you can’t help but see the other in him.

“I suppose not,” you murmur, “but now that I have the chance, I don’t really know what to say.”

Lucifer continues to smile, “Don’t fret! I’m sure after the doozy you’ve been in, you’ll need to rest up. You’re more than welcome to stay here until you feel it’s safe to go back topside.”

The thought of treating hell like a hotel to stay in was tickling to say the least. The minute you rise, Jungkook follows suit, nearly knocking his chair over in the process to follow you. “I’d appreciate that. Is there… perhaps a room I could cool down in? Maybe a bathroom?”

Lucifer had deposited both you and Jungkook in a rather nice room, fitted with all the things you’d find in a nice resort room overlooking somewhere like the Bahamas. The dark, brooding colors of Hell follow you even here, and what little light you are allowed in the room comes from fire or mysterious ambience. Still, it’s enough to splash your face with (what you’re definitely sure is) water in the ensuite bathroom.

Jungkook sits at the foot of the bed, watching you, “I missed you.”

Since the moment that the Lord of Hell and his son had left you to your devices, you’d become increasingly aware that something was off about your angel. You had imagined that it had been from the sheer worry he felt over you, but it was starting to feel different from that. Something not so easily explained. If only… if only you could figure it out.

You pat your skin dry and look over at him, measuring him up and down. Appearance wise, he still had the same haircut, same clothes, same shoes. It was the aura that felt different.

Slowly, you approach him from the bathroom and wish that there would be more light in the room to examine him with. In that same moment, what appeared to be a ray of warm light halos above you both, giving you exactly what you had wished for. When Jungkook looks up, he looks… radiant. “I missed you too…” You whisper, reaching out a hand to cup his jaw. At your touch, he shudders, melting into you, and those eyes then laser focus on your own. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He answers without hesitation, then turns to kiss your inner palm with such a sensual drag of his lips that you grow hot instantly. The surprise makes you yank your hand away and you swear you hear him whine at the missing contact.

“Y-You just look different.” You squeak, holding the aforementioned hand to your chest as if he’d burned you.

Jungkook’s bushy brows furrow. “Do I?”

When Jungkook had been an angel, he’d had a distinct glow about him that set him apart from others. It was cliche, but it made sense then. You knew that you were dealing with someone from another world. When he’d turned human, he’d felt softer, normal. He didn’t glow in any particular way lest the light hit him through the window just right. But now… that glow was back. In a way that didn’t feel familiar.

You reach your hand out again, but this time you let it wander. You push his fringe back from his forehead, then behind his ear, then down his neck to where a sweatshirt hides his collarbones. In a daze, you fall to your knees before his seated frame and push the fabric back some. You find… nothing. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. A vampire bite? What is so different?

Your hand starts to fall mindlessly as you wrack your brain, but it’s all for naught when Jungkook catches hold of it and intertwines his fingers with yours. His grip is warm and solid. But it’s still- “I thought he’d hurt you.”

You look back up into Jungkook’s eyes as he now leans over you with an intense stare. His hair curls around his cheekbones and twists away from his face at the nape, each strand fluttering as he inches closer until the longest ones are touching your face. “Not much. He healed what he did anyway.”

At that, your angel’s eyes narrow in their scan over you, “What did he do?”

You instinctively swallow. Perhaps because you remember the feeling. Perhaps because Jungkook looks like he could kill. “He… he had to get me to limbo. He had to…” You touch the skin of your throat the same moment you break eye contact, feeling the ghost of Seokjin’s fingers there. It wasn’t so long ago that it had happened after all. You could honestly still feel it.

The silence grows until it’s nearly unbearable, you eventually finding that Jungkook will say nothing while you continue to avoid his gaze. Against your better judgement, you chance a look up at him.

You don’t get very long to look. Jungkook takes both sides of your face and lunges forward like a man possessed and you are forced to follow. In your surprise, you stumble back onto your elbows and Jungkook slots himself between your legs, latching onto your lips in a searing kiss. It’s hot and fast and immature, the kiss of a person who has never kissed before and may never get the chance to kiss again. Youngho had never kissed you like this.

A gentle whimper escapes your mouth but Jungkook inhales it into his own. You feel something primal burn inside you when Jungkook growls out, crouching over you now like a predator cornering his prey, and he’s practically consuming you when you start to kiss back. Can you blame yourself? You easily fold into the feeling because it’s Jungkook and goddamn if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him badly before.

His inexperience does very little to dissuade from how good it feels too, and as you start to take over to guide him, he is all too eager to feel your reciprocated passion. The heady feeling he gives you in his sudden attack pushes all thoughts of Seokjin or the last few days out of your mind like a fast-acting asprin. All you can think of now is how tightly coiled you’d been and how Jungkook is loosening you up one press of his lips at a time.

He lays you on your back and you happily oblige, no cushioning found on the hard floor but you couldn’t care less. Jungkook is careful not to be too rough, aware of your needs as much as his own, and it’s jarringly sweet the way he cradles the back of your head to keep you from hitting it on your descent.

When he’s had enough of your lips (as if he could ever), he starts attacking your neck. He’s lapping at your skin and biting away as if he’s trying to remove all traces of Seokjin’s hands… as if he’s replacing the feeling with him and him only. “I’ll kill him,” Jungkook whispers, a foreign fury in his voice that makes your haze disappear in an instant while he continues to work at your neck, “I’ll kill him for ever touching you.”

Your hand shoots to his hair, feeling your heart beat faster from more than just the kisses, “Kook-” But any attempt at sobering up washes away when, to your surprise, he ruts against you. Youngho had never been that good at using his hips like that either. There was something definitely off with Jungkook.

As much as it pains you, you grab at his hair and yank back, ignoring (or trying to) the filthy groan that he gives in response before peeling away from your skin. You gasp for breath, absolutely winded, “What is going on?”

Jungkook pants past wet lips, “What do you mean-”

“Did Yoongi do this to you?” The sudden heated moment is over when you say that.

Jungkook’s blood has run cold. You have a very strong, haunting feeling that your mounting suspicions have proven correct. His eyes… as gentle as they always were when they looked at you, told you everything. He was not the same Jungkook you’d come to know. Something had happened to him. Something irreversible. You touch his face again and this time Jungkook does not move to embrace it. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “Why?”

In an attempt to escape your pitiful gaze, Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, cutting you off from seeing him vulnerable any longer. It breaks your heart the longer he stays silent. There’s no denying it now.

A tear of his touches the palm of your hand instead of his lips this time, “How else could I protect you?” He chokes, weak, “I’m not your angel anymore. I can’t be like you. This is the only way... the only way I could stand to look you in the eyes again.”

[henry-cavill-baby]

Mark of the Witcher ┃ 1

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Original Female Character

Warnings: Little Violence

Length: 3k~

Summary: It was legend amongst the Witcher’s of Kaer Morhen, and not one had donned such a thing for centuries. Some thought it had come from the Conjunction of the Spheres, or perhaps a cruel sorceress out to end the Witcher line.

Unfortunately, Geralt dons the Mark on his left shoulder, and for only when the first born of Pavetta enters the world, does it begin to all make sense. He doesn’t really understand what it means, or really know where his destiny lies, but with Jaskier at his side, he will find the girl who lies within the Cintran walls and is meant to be his.

And not even Queen Calanthe can stop him… right?

Through the halls of the Cintran Castle, Pavetta wailed as though she were dying, and in truth, that is how she felt.

They had all known this day would come to pass, that the child would have to be born, but as Duny paced outside his wife’s chambers, biting the quick of his nails, he did not think he could bear it for one moment more. 

It seemed as though the entire castle and its people were put on hold; those outside pressing their ears to the walls, wanting to hear the first cry of the new child. 

Calanthe, the Queen of Cintra, gripped her daughter’s hand. “Push, my sweet. Bring my granddaughter to this world.” 

But sweat continued to pour down Pavetta’s face, her tears staining the silken sheets below.  I want my husband, please, bring me Duny.

She’d wept her pleas, but they went ignored. Men were not welcome during birth, and this time would be no different. 

When another painful feeling went through Pavetta, she screamed, and her cries shattered the bedroom walls. The nurse patted a damp rag on her clammy skin, but it did little to help. She felt as though she were being torn apart from the inside, her organs and intestines ready to slip out with the child. 

“You’re close,” Calanthe insisted. “Just a little longer.” 

But Pavetta squirmed against the soft sheets on the feathered bed, whimpering, “I—can’t. It hurts—I can’t.”

The Queen gripped her daughter’s hand, “You can, Pavetta. You’re almost there, just push, darling, keep pushing.” 

After what seemed like an eternity, Pavetta gave one last push followed by a weak cry, echoing her child’s fierce wail.  My child,  she looked between her legs at the nurse cleaning off her baby,  my sweet Aleira. 

The small pruned child wept for her mother’s arms, and Pavetta was all too ready to accept her to her breast but the pain of birth ceased her consciousness, and the handmaiden worked to clean off the unconscious woman—wiping away the sweat and tears of birth, but saving the placenta for later consumption. 

It would no doubt be baked into a sweet meat pie for Pavetta’s first meal as a mother.

One of the handmaids gingerly cleaned off the child of muck and gunk, bundling her up in a fresh blanket and carefully placing her into the arms of the waiting Queen. Calanthe’s eyes were misty as she gazed down at the squirming child.

There were no physical deformities on the girl—not a toe missing or a finger out of place, both eyes unseeing with mirth and curiosity. It was the perfect child, one of the blood of Cintra, and the granddaughter that would be the lioness of Cintra. She held perfection in her hands.

As Pavetta slept off the pain of birth, Calanthe ran her hands along the child's back and shoulders, brow wrinkling at the wrinkled skin she felt underneath her fingertip. 

It was quite small but noticeable to a keen eye,, and even worse, it was a mark that dropped her heart to her stomach.

To most it would mean nothing if not a birthmark, but she knew more than most. She was vaguely aware of one of the handmaidens questioning if the child could be returned to the sleeping mothers arms, but Calanthe drearily walked to the door. The handmaiden might have said something, but it was null to her ears.

The door pushed open with ease, and Duny shouldered past to see his wife. 

“Ah, what a lovely child, my queen.” Mousesack said with a smile, trying to get a glimpse of the little one, “Has she been named?”

The frightening glare that was shot in his direction was enough of an answer to follow Calanthe to a separate chamber.

He made sure to shut and lock the door as soon as it closed, and made his way to the near trembling Calanthe.

“What troubles you, my queen?” Mousesach eyed the child.

Calanthe kept her voice steady, “Take the child, Mousesack.”

He was quick to take the small girl into the crease of his arms, watching her look around the world with a sense of amazement and wonder. Her eyes were bluer than the waters of old, and her round full lips would hold the heart of any man who dared gaze upon her.  A beautiful child indeed.  

“Should we not return her to Pavetta?” His eyes looked to the locked door, and back to Calanthe with confusion.

"Her shoulder, Mousesack.” Calanthe’s voice grew harsh. “Look at it.”

The harshness in his Queen's voice was concerning, and his heart thudded to the dungeons of Cintra as his gaze landed on what had caused the Queen such anguish. It was small for now and would no doubt grow with age, but his knowledgeable eyes knew exactly what it was, and he knew his Queen did too.

It was the mark of a  Witcher.

  The blade sliced through the final Wargs head with ease, dropping to the floor with an undesirable thump. 

Blood poured from the severed head, and Geralt sneered at the still twitching body of the Warg that had been terrorizing the small town. It had fed on three children before a poor butcher had called him, of course with coin as a guarantee if he did indeed bring back the head of the creature.

“Is it dead? Geralt?” A voice whispered from seven trees over and a brown tuft of hair with blue eyes peered around the oak. “Is it safe to come out now? Should I be running?”

Geralt turned to glare at the bard that was like a thorn in his side, yellow orbs glowing with irritation. “It’s dead, Jaskier. It won’t bite.”

“Ha!” Jaskier spat. “You say that now, but I think you’re forgetting that little sea maggot that you said was dead and then tried to take my head off.”

Jaskier scolded as he skirted out from behind the tree and made his way to Geralt. “Is that all of them? I thought the Butcher said there were three or four.”

“He was wrong.” Geralt grunted. “The pups died from starvation days ago. It was just trying to feed them.”

“Oh, well alright then.” Jaskier rocked on the balls of his feet as Geralt made to clean off his sword. “Where to now?”

He gestured to the direction of the town. “I bet once we deliver the head we’ll have enough to get a room and— ooh , a nice bath perhaps.  I think the both of us smell a bit riper than normal.”

Geralt grunted and lifted the bloody head; “I’ll get my coin at sunrise. We'll camp here.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, “Come on, a fresh bath sounds so much better than sleeping on the hard floor with bugs and dead things.”

Geralt grunted. “Hm.” 

Jaskier sighed and dropped his lute onto a particularly soft piece of moss, mouthing ‘stay there’.

Setting up camp was never a feat for the bard and Witcher, but Jaskier saw it before Geralt—

“Did that thing scratch you? Seriously, Geralt? What happened to telling me these things so we can fix them before you get an infection and die and I have to take your place as savior of the Continent?”

Geralt lightly patted his side and red was indeed blossoming under his armor. 

“How would you live without me, Geralt? Honestly.” Jaskier scolded the big bad Witcher as his nimble fingers cleaned up the cut with a little of this and that, trying not to gawk at the shirtless Witcher under his fingertips.

Jaskier had seen Geralt’s scars before; there were ones that he’d seen him get first hand, others older and more faded. Some were obvious bite marks from creatures much larger than any human, and others Jaskier knew not to ask about. 

Well, except about—

“What’s this one?” His fingertips skimmed over the Witcher’s left shoulder. It wasn’t raised or held any ridges meaning it couldn’t have been a scar. It looked far too detailed to be a scar anyhow.

“Hm?” Geralt grunted, head turning slightly to show Jaskier had his attention.

“This one doesn’t look like a scar.” Jaskier slowly said. “It looks more intentional, you know? Where’d you get it?”

“Nothing, bard.” He only called him bard when the topic was one Geralt wasn’t fond of.

“But what does it mean? Is it like a tracker or sorts? Does it ever burn?  Oooo, does it glow?”

“Shut it, Jaskier.”

“Stop fidgeting, it’s going to scar if you keep moving.” Jaskier reminded his Witcher companion, trying to effectively wrap the slightly less bloody cut.

“It’ll heal on its own.” Geralt grunted.

“But it could heal—alright, I guess we’re done for now.” Geralt grunted with a glare and took his place on the other side of the low fire, sneering into the flames.

An injury was a sign of weakness, it meant he was getting slower—more likely to get himself or Jaskier killed. It made him feel almost human.

“Soooo,” Jaskier hummed in a jolly tune, “You going to tell me about that scar?”

“It’s not a scar, bard.” Geralt sneered, “And it’s none of your business.”

“But what if I want it to be my business.” Jaskier smiled like a cat that’d caught the canary. “Come on, Geralt. I share all of my secrets with you and you can’t share one measly little detail with me. Just picture it, a new ode to the scar on the Witcher’s back.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier glared with friendly mirth at his disgruntled Witcher, “Come on, Geralt, and how bad can it be?”

Only a honeyed glare was the response, and they both stared into the flames, waiting for the spit-roasted rabbits to become charred and brown with smoky flavor. It was a meal much needed for the Witcher, and his fingers twitched against the caked red on his pants. Ominous howls resonated through the dark woods, and Jaskier chuckled nervously.

“Do you think there’s more Warg’s out there? I think they’d be better company than you—“

“It’s a soul mark.”

Jaskier shut his gaping mouth at his white haired friend, sputtering, “Soul Mark? What—what does that entail, Geralt?"

This would make for a new epic in the White Wolf’s name.

He sneered at the red flames with tired eyes, “It is common lore amongst Kaer Morhen. No other Witcher has bore one in centuries.”

“I always knew you were a special one, Geralt.” The low growl from the rough chest across the fire had Jaskier smiling sheepishly, leaning forward on his seat on the log.

“Is there a reason no other Witchers have this mark? Not that I’ve ever met another Witcher aside from you, but do you even know why you got it?”

“If I knew, Jaskier,” he huffed, “I’d have gotten rid of it by now.”

“Are you not curious, Geralt?” he spoke with mirth and utter curiosity. “I’m going to assume that you share that mark with some other lonely soul walking this plane, and that person, Geralt, could be your destiny.”

Geralt took a swig of his water jug, “Destiny is for fools, Jaskier. It only ever disappoints the hopeful.”

“Are you not hopeful that someone out there is meant to be beside you until the end of days? Not just myself of course.”

askier hummed, “I am assuming all of this, of course, seeing as you are outright refusing to tell me exactly what your little mark entails—are you sleeping?”

“Shut it, bard.”

 “We could cut it off before Pavetta wakes.”

Mousesack glared at his Queen, questioning her sanity.

“Oh yes, we’ll return the future princess of Cintra bleeding out from the shoulder, no questions asked.” 

The child in his arms squirmed for a better position, mouthing at the buttons, little belly craving her warm mothers milk. Her little toes wiggled in earnest as she watched her grandmother pace the room with fury.

“I’ve had enough of these fucking Witchers,” she snarled with unaltered rage, startling Mousesack. 

“He already called the Law of Surprise like a fool, and now his claim on that child is near unbreakable. Have we not been punished enough, Mousesack? It will destroy Pavetta to know that her daughter will live out of her days with—with…”

“Geralt, of Rivia, my Queen.” He absent-mindedly rubbed the child’s belly through the soft cloth. “He is not as cruel as you seem to believe.”

“All Witchers are the same, Mousesack.” She spat with bared teeth, “I’ve read the texts, and I’ve seen enough of them to last a lifetime. They do not feel, they do not love, and they are creatures meant to be slayed.”

Mousesack furrowed his brow, allowing the babe in his arms to grip his fingers with strength belying a newborn babe. “I do not wish to speak out of turn—“

“Then do not speak.” She snapped while waving a frivolously dramatic hand through the air. “No one can know about this, Mousesack. Not Pavetta, not Duny, no one.”

The air in the room felt tight and cold, the child yawning and snuggling into the gold of his robes. The silk was softer than a cloud, and it rubbed against the smoothness of the baby's skin.

The black mark stood stark against her fresh pale skin, and he lightly fingered the soft curve of the wolf's head that ended in the center with sharp teeth.

It was a mark he’d seen donning the silver necklace that Geralt was never seen without.

Turmoil boiled in his gut at the thought of Geralt taking away the granddaughter of Calanthe; it would destroy the Queen, just as it was now, to know that soon Geralt would feel the pull of the mark and make his way to Cintra to claim what was his.

To claim the lioness of Cintra as his partner in life.

“What shall you have me do, my Queen?”

His steps were soft across the room, gliding to her side and watching with pursed lips. The distress on her face was broad and clear, and the impatient knock on the door jolted them back to reality.

“My queen?” he begged over the banging door,  “Your choice?”

Calanthe stood and smoothed down her golden dress, lips twitching with barely repressed disgust for the child in his arms. 

To go from utter adoration to putrid disgust so fast made her head spin, and she tried to gingerly take the dozing babe in her arms, staring down with watery ways.

“We shall be patient, for now.” Her hand rubbed the fat of the child’s cheek, a cracking smile breaking as blue eyes opened to gaze with amazement.

Mousesack opened the door and allowed Duny to race in, gazing at his daughter with loving eyes. Calanthe handed her off with a smile, watching the father leave with words of adoration spilling from his lips.

  It came in bursts—flashes of light behind his honeyed eyes—images of himself with a woman. 

Geralt looked down and saw his bare feet resting in hoards of purple lilacs, as far as the eye could see. They lingered in the air—floating before his eyes and suffocating his keen senses—but the aroma of the freshest peaches lingered in the back of his mind. 

Salvia pooled under his tongue as the temptation to bite into the wettest, softest fruit flooded his thoughts. Fruits of tender flesh were hard to come by in these times but this was one that was to die for.

His legs moved on their own, stumbling through the soft field of lilacs with no mind in any actual direction. This was a place that was strange and new, and a call rang through his heightened Witcher senses. 

“Geralt.”

He must’ve been dead—that Warg must have bitten on his head and this was truly heaven—and the voice calling for him was an angel. It was ethereal and haunting at the once, and desperation to find the voice and hold it close grew stronger.

His stumbling grew more desperate for the voice, running through the field and coming to a halt.

It was a woman indeed; she was far away in the naked flesh in a field of purple. Her back was turned to him and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of her full buttocks and flesh back. It was flesh that he could see himself marking with his teeth, his nails as they rutted against one another.

The desire to nibble and suckle on the sweet flesh, to mount and fuck was startling to the normally tame Geralt.  Who was this sorceress, casting a spell on me?

The golden eyes of the Witcher zeroed in on his mark donning her shoulder; wanting to touch and make sure it was real.  It couldn’t have been . The wind blew her short dark locks and exposed a pale neck, small ears that looked positively edible.

He was immobile, stuck to the floor and only a spectator as her head turned to gaze at the fallen Witcher. Blue eyes akin to the waters of plenty, red lips softer than the petals of a rose.

His voice was desperate and hungry. “Who are you?”

Her body turned and he fell to his knees. His golden orbs took in her perky round breasts with dusty thick nipples, the soft fat of her stomach that would no doubt hold the children he could never sire, the thick thighs that would be best wrapped around his head as he feasted on her most desirable parts.

Who was this enchantress?

“Find me, Geralt. Before it’s too late,” she whispered, vanishing into the air. 

 Part 2 Soon!

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 17 - Chasing Pirates

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Fred receives another letter from Angelina and must face some tough questions from George. 

Hermione struggles with her want to keep Harry informed, but is happy things are finally back to normal with Ron and Fred -- but are they really? And how will she cope with some unsettling news?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

We’ve got internet babies!!! 

As always, please, please, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 16

                           In your message you said, you were goin' to bed,

But I'm not done with the night. So I stayed up and read, but your words in my head, Got me mixed up so I turned out the light.

And I, don't know how, to slow it down. My mind's racing from chasing pirates.

Fred figured it was just his luck that in the confusion of everyone running from his mother, he ended up in his bedroom with George and Hermione. He also figured it was just his luck he was too angry with his twin brother to censor his words.

“Are you fucking kidding me George?” Fred seethed, trying to keep his voice down as they were in fact still hiding from their mother.

“Oh lighten—”

“No! No, I will not just lighten up! Why?! What was going on in that evil little skull of yours?” Fred’s hand tightened on the towel around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been at his brother, which was saying something because he’d never actually been cross with George before. Sure, he’d been miffed and on the odd occasion annoyed by his twin brother, and vice versa of course, but never like this. No, he was well and truly pissed off. Which meant this was entirely new territory for the both of them as Fred tried to manage his emotional tirade and George tried to manage Fred.

“Well, I—”

“You know how things are with Angelina right now and you knew how I felt and then you had to go and do this? I mean, why would you—they—”

“Fred—”

“—especially after what I told you this morning. I mean, I know we’re in it for a laugh and all most of the time, and to be fair this was quite funny. If it were anyone else, it would’ve been a real gut buster. But come on. This was just cheap!”

“Fred—”

“And to include Ginny in it? What? Did you tell her?”

“FRED!” George whispered harshly, putting a stop to Fred’s pacing, and clamping his hand over his brother’s mouth. At first, Fred’s instinct was to rip George’s hand off of his mouth and continue his rant. He was upset. Therefore, he was entitled to as much whinging and scolding as he pleased.

But then he saw George’s eyes flicker to a very confused and sheepish looking Hermione sitting on the edge of George’s bed and that instinct vanished. His eyes grew wide, realizing only then that he’d been freely ranting about Hermione and himself with the girl in question sitting right there. Fucking arsing balls, Fred cursed in his head. How much had he said? Enough to give anything away or only enough to make himself seem like a raving lunatic? He thought about subtly asking George but didn’t get the chance.

Their mother’s angry footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs followed by her equally angry voice, “Someone had better come out here and face me or I’ll be knocking down every single door in this hallway.”

Fred’s head swung from his brother to the door and back. “You have to go out!” Fred whispered in a panic.

“Me? Why me?” asked George.

Fred looked down at his towel-clad body pointedly and then to Hermione who was still sans shirt. “First of all, you owe us. Second, I wonder how mum will feel when she finds Hermione in here with us like this,” said Fred.

George’s face contorted in conflict as the pros and cons of taking the blame for waking up Walburga once again, or having their mother find a half-naked girl in their room. Finally he gave a sort of whiny sigh.

He was just shy of opening their bedroom door when he turned and pointed a finger in Fred and Hermione’s direction. “I want you two to know that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and that by going out here I’m fully proving my remorse for this afternoon’s prank.”

“Just go!” Hermione squeaked, shifting uncomfortably, and holding her arms tightly across her chest.

George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before opening the heavy oak door with flourish and slamming it behind him quickly. “Mum! You’re looking lovely this afternoon,��� said George, his voice muffled as he now stood in the hallway.

“I should have known—” she sounded aggravated and slightly defeated, thought Fred “—let’s go. You’re going to help me shut that old bag up and then I think the basement closet needs de-spidering, George Weasley.”

“Come now mum, surely by now you’d be able to tell that I’m Fred.”

Fred sighed, shaking his head, and smiling against his better judgement. Leave it to George to have the last laugh. “Wanker…” Fred mumbled as he crossed the room to his dresser. He dug into one of the drawers and pulled out an old shirt. Throwing it in Hermione’s direction, he politely averted his eyes and began to grab clothes for himself.

“I didn’t know you were a Puddlemere United fan.”

“What?” Fred turned, her comment catching him off guard. While it was a Puddlemere United shirt, you couldn’t know that unless you were familiar with the navy-blue colour and golden crossed bulrushes.

“Puddlemere United,” Hermione repeated, staring strangely at his hand, and then looking away with a slight blush. Fred look to his hand to find that he was still grasping a pair of striped, blue pants. He turned around again, grabbing a pair of trousers – a brand of muggle jeans Lee had turned him and George onto – before grabbing a clean white shirt.

“Yeah. George is a bit more of a Falmouth Falcons fan, but I’ve always preferred Puddlemere. I didn’t know you knew anything about quidditch.”

Hermione let out a snort that while rude, Fred found to be quite endearing. “Please, you can’t be friends with Ron and Harry and not know at least a little bit about quidditch. I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages at least five times.”

“Never would have guessed it from the vacant expression you get on your face every time it’s brought up,” Fred laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. The cotton material felt nice and light in the warm room.

“That’s because it’s usually Ron going on and on about the Chudley Cannons or how much the Slytherin house team sucks. The same story gets a bit boring over time. Now, if he wanted to talk about the history of quidditch rules and legislature, or the statistical odds of certain teams winning or losing, I might chime in.

“Just when I thought I had you figured out, ‘Mione.” Fred turned but paused, looking between the clothes in his hand and Hermione staring at him once again. While he certainly wasn’t shy, he didn’t really fancy Hermione getting a full view of his…full frontal for a second time that day. Especially when she hadn’t seemed all too cheery about it the first time. “Do you mind?”

“Oh! Um, of course—” Hermione turned, covering her eyes with her hands “—sorry.”

“S’alright,” Fred laughed. Something about Hermione’s embarrassment made him feel a whole lot better about the situation. “You know, I guess I was right.”

“About what?” asked Hermione, still facing the other way as Fred zipped up his trousers.

“Last summer when I guessed you were trying to see me and George naked.”

“Oh piss off!” Hermione cried, the tremor of a laugh in the back of her throat.

If Fred weren’t trying to tease her to make himself feel more comfortable, he probably would have gaped in pure delight that Hermione Granger had just told him to piss off. But, he was, so instead he continued, “You know if you really wanted to get a look, you just had to ask. I’m taken, but George would probably say yes…and Ron,” Fred hesitated to say the last part. The words had come to the tip of his tongue without him even trying, giving him pause to wonder why his brain was at all interested in what Hermione thought of seeing Ron naked. Because you fancy her, you daft git, scoffed the little voice in his head. Ah yes, there was that he supposed.

Hermione made a disgruntled sound, “Yes, I suppose that’s why Ginny was involved. She probably told George all about how she thinks Ron has a crush on me.”

“You can uncover your eyes now. I’m all decent.” Fred crossed the room and settled himself onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione in a teasing manner. “I’ve been burned twice already today. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for a third time.”

“Shut up. You’re fine,” Fred laughed, throwing a pillow at the bookish girl.

“Oof,” Hermione grunted, the pillow knocking her to the side but making her laugh all the same. She brought her hands down, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“And how do you feel about that?” Fred asked Hermione, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible.

“About what?” she questioned, running her hands over her mussed hair.

“You know, about Ron liking you or whatever.”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, sounding like it was a topic she was entirely tired of talking about.

Fred perked up at this, watching Hermione crawl up George’s bed until she was parallel with him.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” sighed Hermione, tucking her legs underneath her and scrunching her nose in the way that made Fred’s stomach flip. He watched as his shirt hung on her frame, engulfing her upper half and the top part of her legs. If he didn’t know already that she was wearing shorts, he could have easily assumed she was in nothing but her knickers and his shirt. Merlin, he really needed to stop giving her his clothes if this was the direction his brain was going to go every time. He looked away, down at his hands that he’d moved to his lap, now laced together by the fingers.

“Why? Holding out for someone else?” It was more of a joke than a serious question really – a call back to her hesitancy to accept Viktor Krum’s invitation to the Yule ball. In fact when Fred said it, it was in such a sardonic tone that he never even considered that he might be hitting the nail directly on the head. Fred’s heart gave a sort of leap in his chest when she didn’t answer right away. He expected her to tell him off, or throw a pillow at his head, but instead there was silence.

Looking up he was surprised to see Hermione had gone slightly pale, mouth open and eyes wide in panic. “I—”

Before the girl could answer a tap at the window pulled their attention. Fred hopped off his bed and walked to the window where the same stately owl he’d seen a few days prior sat on the ledge. His stomach gave a strange pull as he realized who the owl was most likely for and from. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh wave of heat that washed over him when he opened the window. It felt like it had gotten at least five degrees hotter outside. How could it possibly be any hotter? Fred wondered, taking the letter from the owl, and closing the old window tightly as it flew off into the sun-hazed sky.

He held the letter addressed to himself in sweat-slicked hands. Glancing at Hermione who now looked curiously in his direction, Fred thought for a moment that he should perhaps open it later. That way he wouldn’t have any questioning looks, or expectant faces. On the other hand though, the curiosity was killing him. He had not written Angelina back since the last time she wrote. Truthfully, the letter didn’t feel like it warranted a response and of course he’d been quite busy with the troublesome distraction that currently sat in the room with him. He’d picked up a quill a few times since but staring at the blank page he felt at a loss for words. What should he write? All things currently of interest in his life felt quite shady and untoward and everything else felt inconsequential. Finally, he decided to just get it over with quickly.

The envelope only tore a little as he opened it carefully before sliding out a letter that was pleasantly longer than the last one he’d received from his girlfriend.

Dear Fred,

I finally got to reading the rest of your letters. I’m sorry to hear that your summer isn’t going as fun as you’d hoped. Where exactly are you anyways? From your letters it sounds like you’re in London. Why didn’t you tell me you had family there, you wanker? I would have made you visit them one of these past summers and we could have hung out. London has a lot of cool spots – wish I were there to show you around, but camp lasts all summer long. I guess the only upside to that, is I don’t have to listen to my mother whing on and on about my chores or my clothes or whatever else she’s decided to have a go at for the week.

Fred laughed lightly at the mention of Mrs. Johnson. Angelina had been in a tense war with her mother for the past two years. She swore up and down that her mother was unhappy with anything she did, no matter what. Fred could relate to that. The two of them often swapped stories about their mothers’ disapproval and the wild things they’d done to stir up trouble in their families. He remembered the amount of begging Angelina had had to do that past spring in order to convince her mother to let her go to the summer-long camp. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t too pleased with how athletically inclined Angelina was – convinced that her daughter should be a bit more proper. Secretly, Fred figured Mrs. Johnson finally relented to Angelina’s request just to have an end to the constant badgering.

Have you thought about taking the day off? You’re 17 now and you’ve got all those galleons from Harry (lucky bastard). Surely you and George could sneak off to Diagon Alley for the day or even muggle London! I can give you a list of places if you’d like.

Things are still busy here.

A large drop of smeared ink painted the parchment after the last sentence, as if she’d spent a long time contemplating on what to say next, allowing the ink to drop from her quill before messily attempting to clean it up.

Oliver’s been helping me a lot these past few weeks and it’s actually been pretty great! I know what you’re thinking, how can I possibly be surviving? Don’t get me wrong, he’s still obsessed with the game in that overly intense way, but he’s not nearly as bad as he was in school. Turns out when he’s not consumed by winning the house cup, he’s quite a cool bloke.

I’m making a lot of new friends as well! There are some guys from Ilvermorny here, the American school. They’re quite loud and brash – it reminds me of you.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Oliver’s promised to show me and a couple other people some defensive techniques he’s learned from Puddlemere.

Best,

Angelina

P.S. – There’s something I need to tell you once we’re back at Hogwarts.

Fred was left with a sour taste in his mouth. What could Angelina possibly have to tell him that she couldn’t have written in a letter? And what was this whole business with Oliver being a ‘cool bloke’? Up until that point he’d only ever heard Angelina talk about how much she hated him. He was a crazy, obsessive, misogynistic pig – she’d said it at least a thousand times over. Especially in the times that Oliver disregarded the women on the team and referred to them all as ‘men’ or ‘guys’. And what about those guys from Ilvermorny? What were a bunch of Americans doing in England anyways? Didn’t they have quidditch camps in the states? Lastly, there was the fact that she’d signed it ‘best’ and not ‘yours’. It was a small thing, but she always wrote ‘yours’, even when they weren’t dating.

“Who’s it from?”

Hermione’s voice startled Fred. So immersed in the letter and his thoughts of Angelina and Oliver and guys from Ilvermorny, he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

Fred cleared his throat, “Angelina.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow, and staring hard at the letter in his hand.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Fred’s voice came out high and crackly, making him feel foolish and completely invalidating his statement that everything was alright.

“Well…it’s just that you’ve been frowning at that letter for about five minutes now and earlier—” she took a deep breath “—earlier you said something to George about Angelina. It sounded a bit like it was something unpleasant.”

“Oh…you caught that?” Hermione Granger had to be the most annoyingly astute witch he’d ever met.

Hermione nodded and stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand before him. She looked nervous, like she was using all her courage to say her next words, “Do you want to—”

“Hey!” The door to the room opened and Ginny and Ron came barrelling through. “The coast is clear. Mum’s got George cleaning out spiders in the basement,” said Ron, now fully clothed and looking a bit pink around the ears as he avoided looking directly at Hermione.

“I just know he’s going to lord that over my head,” sighed Ginny, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. “The whole thing was his idea anyways. Seems fair that he should take the brunt of the punishment.”

“You still haven’t dealt with the punishment you’ll be getting from me Ginevra,” bit Hermione, sending a disapproving look at the younger girl.

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I only had the best intentions. S’not my fault George mucked it up and you had to see Fred’s bits as well,” said Ginny, pulling a face.

“I very much would have preferred to see no one’s bits.”

“Can you please stop calling them ‘bits’?” asked Ron, frowning. Fred had to agree with his little brother. There was something incredibly emasculating about the word.

“Men—” Ginny rolled her eyes “—such fragile egos. Come on, I think there’s some lemonade in the kitchen and I’m parched. It’s so bloody hot!”

Ginny pushed off the wall and sauntered out of the room followed closely by Ron. Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking up at Fred and then back down at the letter in his hand. Fred quickly folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It probably wasn’t the best moment to get into him and Angelina anyways.

“Come on, best not to keep them waiting,” he said and made his way out of the room and down towards the kitchen.

Fred didn’t see George again until dinner. His twin had emerged from the basement closet looking incredibly tired and slightly squeamish. This pleased Fred immensely as he still felt like George’s full punishment hadn’t been served. When everyone had sat themselves down at the long table for their meal, Fred made sure to put as much space between them and Hermione as possible. He needed to have a proper conversation with his brother about that afternoon. Thankfully, they had a few extra guests from the Order and so it was easy to do.

“So, you didn’t tell Ginny about me liking Hermione then?” Fred whispered as he piled potatoes onto his plate.

“Oh so now you’re ready to have a civil conversation?” asked George tiredly, taking the potatoes from him and serving himself as well.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky with me. You’re still the yob who started this.”

“You’re right, sorry—” George passed the bowl of potatoes to the wizard beside him who was currently in a deep conversation about transportation restrictions with their father “—no. I didn’t tell her. I thought she already knew but turns out she was talking about Ron. Classic case of miscommunication.”

Fred nodded. “Mmm, well that’s good at least. What were you thinking though mate? You couldn’t possibly think locking me in the bathroom with Hermione was a good idea.”

“I just thought it would be good to get you two alone together. You know, force you to actually have an open and honest conversation about how you feel,” mumbled George, cutting his ham into little pieces.

“And me being naked was supposed to aid in that?” Fred raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table and snagging a roll.

George looked down at his plate, suppressing a very pleased expression. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. You two looked very cosy this morning. Figured all you needed was a bit of provocation to get the subject flowing,” George admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred whispered, laughing lightly, and shaking his head. While still quite displeased with his twin, he couldn’t dismiss the humour of the situation. “What makes you think Hermione and I don’t talk already?”

The question seemed to catch George off guard.

“What? You thought all those times we were working in our classroom and reading in the library, we were sitting there in silence?” Fred questioned hypothetically.

“Well, you certainly couldn’t have been saying anything of substance. Otherwise you’d both have finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Fred let out a long breath. “Georgie, you know you’re my favourite person in the whole world—” Fred started.

“I’m touched, Freddie.” George brought a hand up to his heart.

“—some would say I even love you like a brother,” Fred went on.

“Not sure I could say the same, sorry.”

“But, at the end of the day I am in a relationship with Angelina. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were to go behind her back with Hermione. And Hermione—”

“You can’t still tell me you think she likes Ron—”

“No. Actually she told me the exact opposite earlier this afternoon,” Fred confessed, trying not to focus on the way his heart lifted a little at the thought. “But it doesn’t mean she likes me either. Hermione is a nice girl. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me and even if she did like me, well like I said. That wouldn’t be fair to Angelina.”

“Is it fair to Angelina though for you to keep going out with her when you fancy someone else?” challenged George, bringing his voice to barely a whisper as they both leaned in to make their conversation more private.

“I… —” Fred struggled with the words “—it’s complicated. I still fancy Angelina too. It’s not like I’m dating her for nothing. She’s great. She’s one of my best friends, she’s tough, she’s fit, she loves quidditch, and we’ve known each other forever. I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because I also fancy someone else.”

“Do you fancy Angelina though?”

“What?”

“Do you actually fancy Angelina.”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” Fred felt lost. What was George getting at?

“Yes, but you just listed things you like about her. Things most blokes like about her. Bloody hell, things I like about her – no offence. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t relationships supposed to be a bit deeper or some emotional crap like that? You know, something a bit more than just ‘we’re mates, and she lets me shag her’?”

“I…well on that logic then how do you know it’s not just the same thing with Hermione?”

“Are you shagging Hermione?” George asked, eyebrows raising high.

“No, but the idea doesn’t sound half bad. What if it’s more of a ‘we’re mates, and I want to shag her’ situation?” Fred took a large bite of his dinner roll and reached forward to grab his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Honestly, Freddie? That’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. But you should probably figure that out. Sooner rather than later,” said George lightly before taking a mouthful of stewed carrots.

Fred swallowed the bite of roll and scoffed into his glass. “Thanks for that. Great advice,” he said sarcastically before drinking deeply from his cup.

George grabbed his own glass and raised it lightly before answering, “Better advice than you get anywhere else. Cheers, mate.”

  Dear Harry,

How’s your summer going? I hope your aunt and uncle aren’t being too horrible.

I really wish you were here. Maybe then Ron would have someone else to play chess with. You know how horrible I am at it…

I’m sure you’ve been reading the Daily Prophet and by now you’re aware of what they’re saying about you. I’m not really supposed to say anything but, I feel like you should

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer’s going better than mine. I know I haven’t said much in my last couple of letters but it’s only because I’m not allowed.

I really wish that I

Harry,

I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think that’s rubbish. I think you deserve to know that you’re not alone. Despite the lack of action from the ministry, I want you to know that there are people out there taking this seriously.

When you get here, you’ll understand.

Hermione crossed out her third attempt at writing Harry before crumpling the parchment and throwing it angrily in the bin beside her. This is impossible, she thought forlornly. She’d been having an internal battle for the past two weeks on whether she should follow Dumbledore’s instructions or go with her gut. Every fibre of her being wanted to tell Harry what was going on, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But her foolish and incessant need to follow directions and stay out of trouble stopped her every time. Professor Dumbledore was a wise man. He was smart. Most importantly, he knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. So, it would make sense for her to keep her nose out of all of this and simply follow his lead. But despite her headmaster’s in-depth knowledge on most things, Hermione knew one thing to be true. He didn’t know Harry Potter nearly as well as she did.

Professor Dumbledore had insisted that they needn’t worry Harry on the comings and going of the Order and the efforts being put in place against a now fully risen dark lord. He needed time to heal from what happened the previous year with Cedric Diggory. That was all well and nice except that if you knew Harry at all, then you knew that he never stopped worrying. He was definitely the suffer in silence, woe is me, martyr type and usually the only thing that did stop him from worrying and obsessing was action. Harry Potter needed control, or he’d go insane. Usually this control came in two different forms. The first was distraction. If he couldn’t have direct control of a situation he’d resort to quidditch or flying or something else physical to take his mind off whatever it was. The second was involvement. Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d solved the mystery, and everything was put right in his mind. That’s why they hadn’t ceased their research first year until they figured out the secret to the philosopher’s stone. Or why their second year had ended in Harry fighting a basilisk underneath the school. Or why he’d declared to kill Sirius Black himself when he’d found out what he thought to be the truth of his parent’s deaths.

But Hermione knew that Harry, currently locked in the confines of his aunt and uncle’s muggle neighbourhood, was unable to do either and so she was certain the only thing he’d been doing the past month was stewing in internal misery. The fact that he’d neglected to respond to her and Ron’s letters thus far, not even their birthday wishes, only proved her theory right.

Dumbledore may be an expert on the innerworkings of the ministry, but Hermione was an expert on the innerworkings of Harry Potter. So, surely it would be best if she told him something. She had to be able to get some sort of message to him that wouldn’t reveal too much if intercepted by the ministry or Voldemort’s people. Just something that would quell the frustration that was surely rising in her best friend.

However, the right words simply were not coming to her yet, so she rested her quill back down on the table and corked her ink bottle firmly, before moving to her bed and sitting down huffily. She needed to focus on something else or before she knew it she’d turn into Harry.

Picking up the small ball of yarn and worn wooden knitting needles on her bed, Hermione started in on her practice. Recently she’d taken up knitting as both a hobby and a way to further her work with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. This came entirely from an event that took place a week prior when she’d simultaneously met Kreacher and seen the horror that was the Black family’s legacy of house elves.

“What ARE those?!” Hermione screamed, jumping back, and toppling into Ron who had been following her into the fourth-floor study.

They had been tasked with cleaning out the old Black patriarch’s study.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. What?!” yelled Ron, catching her in his arms and putting her right on her feet.

But Hermione ignored his question, too overwhelmed by the sickening sight before her. On the wall, sitting above the bookshelves opposite the stately mahogany desk were the heads of house elves mounted to the wall. They hung stuffed, pale, and lifeless like common animals on display. It made her sick.

“Oh that is twisted,” said Ron, having now entered the room and seen what had made Hermione scream.

“I—why—who would do something like this?” Hermione asked, torn between her inability to stomach the sight of the house elves’ severed heads, and the sheer shock of it keeping her eyes glued to them.

“That would be my dear mother again, I’m afraid,” came Sirius’ voice. Hermione imagined he must have been nearby, most likely visiting Buckbeak in the attic, heard her scream, and came to investigate.

“This is disgusting…this is barbaric. How could anyone do something like this?” she asked, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes.

“You’d be surprised. It’s an old practice in pureblood families, not really done anymore, but at one time house elves saw it as a badge of honour to have themselves commemorated like this after they died—” Sirius strolled into the room, looking up at the mounted heads, hands casually in his pockets “—I never cared for it though. Absolutely refuse to do it for Kreacher when he finally croaks.”

“Kreacher?—” Hermione was finally able to pull her gaze away from the elves to look at Sirius “—you mean there’s a house elf here?”

“Course there is!” cried Sirius in surprise, tone laced with a bitter edge.

“Don’t worry Hermione. He doesn’t do any of the cooking or cleaning or anything like that,” interjected Ron in a reassuring manner that did very little to actually reassure her.

“How did I not know about this?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed and dazed.

“Well, my mum always said a good house elf was one that got the job done but was rarely seen. Can’t say that’s very true of Kreacher though. He clearly only holds up half of that statement. In fact—” Sirius, turned looking about the empty study around him “—Kreacher!”

With a pop, a small little house elf popped into existence before him. He was different than the house elves Hermione had seen before. He seemed older, more haggard, and dirty. His nose was long and droopy, and the cloth he wore for clothes was so dirty, it looked to be more filth than it was material. Kreacher sneered nastily up at his master and then around the room, spotting Ron and Hermione. Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but his expression turned even nastier once he saw them.

“Filthy mudblood, blood-traitors alike. Tarnishing my mistress’s house like this,” mumbled the little house elf and catching Hermione completely off guard. You’d think the words would hurt less after hearing them so much in the last four years, but they held a fresh sting every time. The only thing that had changed was her ability to better mask the hurt she felt.

“Give it a rest you vile little thing,” grimaced Sirius, surprising Hermione even more than Kreacher’s words.

Ever since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, she’d acknowledged that Sirius held a certain disdain to his childhood home. However, she had yet to experience the level of contempt the older wizard held for the house elf before him.

“Of course Master Black. Kreacher is sorry. What can Kreacher do for you?” responded Kreacher in a mocking tone. The words, while objectively respectful, held no trace of true respect whatsoever.

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” said Sirius sarcastically. “I need you to dispose of these disgusting relics immediately.” Sirius pointed up at the row of heads, looking as disgusted as Hermione still felt about both them, and the behaviour of the two individuals before her.

“No! Those are mistress’s! Kreacher refuses,” cried the old house elf in outrage.

“It was not a request, you disgusting beast. I am your master, and I am ordering you to take those vile things down and throw them away. Do you understand me?” spat Sirius, crossing his arms, and glaring down at Kreacher.

“Yes master Black. Of course.”

Hermione had been in such a shock after that that she had left the room and retreated to the kitchen. While she truly needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves, it was still too hot and so she’d allowed Ron to pour her a glass of pumpkin juice as she processed the event. Sure, the things Kreacher said were horrible and hurtful, but look at the way Sirius treated him! Maybe if Kreacher was met with a little kindness, he wouldn’t feel the need to be so mean. And the heads…she didn’t even know where to begin with the heads…

It was at that moment, that Hermione formulated a plan. The house elves clearly needed a way out, whether they knew it or not. So, that afternoon she’d gone to Mrs. Weasley to borrow knitting supplies and get a few lessons.

“Hey Hermione, have you seen Fred and George?” Ron’s voice from the doorway, brought Hermione’s attention away from the complicated mess of yarn in her hands. She’d gotten her knit and purl stitches confused and was currently trying to figure out which direction her yarn was supposed to be facing. Looks like she needed more practice.

“Why would I know where they are?” she asked, frowning back down at her work, and cursing under her breath. A few of her stitches had slipped off her needles.

Ron gave a short laugh, snorting through his nose. “Come on Hermione. You spend more time with them these days than anyone else.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m helping them with their schoolwork’ excuse, Hermione. I’m not thick. You’re helping them with their inventions aren’t you,” said Ron, crossing the room and leaning against one of the posts of Ginny’s bed.

“Just a little,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. There was no point in lying to Ron about it now.

“I knew it!” Ron cried enthusiastically. “Are you also helping fund them? They seem to have a lot more money these days than not.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve actually been wondering the same thing!” said Hermione with equal fervour. The last she’d heard, the two of them were still trying to get their money back from Ludo Bagman. Perhaps her suggestion of blackmail the previous year had finally worked. Though if it did, she didn’t want to know anything about it.

“Hmm, strange,” Ron commented, staring down at the heap of yarn in her hands in confusion. He was probably wondering what she could possibly be making, but thankfully he was kind enough to not make any comments. “You know helping those two is going to become a conflict of interest when you become a Prefect, right?”

“What makes you think I’m going to make Prefect?”

Ron snorted once again. “Come on Hermione, are you telling me you’ve thought there was any other alternative.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. As much as she tried to keep a level of humility to her, she had to admit that the notion that any other Gryffindor girl in their year would be chosen for Prefect felt preposterous. This was something she’d been working towards since first year.

“I don’t help them that much. Mostly it’s just a bunch of reading their notes and telling them where their magic is wrong. Nothing wrong with that – it’s educational really,” she half lied.

“Oh yeah. Educational,” Ron snickered, pushing off from the bedpost and walking towards the door. “Well if you do see them, tell them mum’s looking for them.”

“Will do—” Hermione went to return to her knitting but stopped, looking up at his retreating figure “—wait, where are you off to then?”

Ron turned, leaning in the doorframe now. “Professor Lupin’s downstairs. I convinced him to teach me how to play chess.”

“But you already know how to play chess…” Hermione gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve bet Sirius ten sickles I can go at least four games before he realizes I’m hustling him,” said Ron, a large grin spreading across his freckled face.

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head before saying, “I swear, you get more and more like Fred and George every day.”

“Those wankers? Absolutely not.”

And with that, Ron disappeared into the hallway, a little more pep in his step than usual. A smile remained plastered on Hermione’s face for long after Ron had left. She felt warm and content in the way only a cheerful and easy encounter with a friend could leave you feeling. Her and Ron had settled into an unspoken understanding after the mortifying bathroom encounter. Of course neither of them spoke of it, both choosing to act as though it had never happened. In a strange way, it was almost as if they needed the uncomfortable situation to become comfortable with each other again. Ron seemed less dopey and more relaxed around her, and as a result Ginny stopped talking about Ron’s feelings for her.

The same sentiment went for twins. It was as if the little bit of chaos was all the group needed to fall back once again into the comfortable friendships that had existed before. Hermione still felt her stomach flip and heartrate increase every time Fred entered a room or brushed past her too closely in the hallway, but she tried to ignore that as much as possible. That was her problem after all, not anyone else’s. And most of all she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Fred over her stupid crush.

They had grown closer than ever over the past two weeks. Most likely due to their new tradition of late nights in the library of Grimmauld Place. When everyone had retired for the night, tucked in snuggly in their beds, Hermione and Fred would slip from their sheets and reconvene on the old couch of the library, till late in the night. They discussed Fred’s inventions, their interests, and their lives. It usually ended in some kind of debate, but Hermione always found herself laughing in the end. She’d never been able to talk so freely with anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When her yarn had tangled for the fifth time, Hermione sighed and gave up. Instead, she opted to make her way down to the kitchen for a snack. Dinner was soon, but she’d missed tea that afternoon and was feeling too peckish to wait.

“Checkmate,” said Ron proudly as he stared smugly at the rumpled wizard sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

“Hi Professor,” Hermione greeted, eyeing a plate of Chelsea buns on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Hermione,” said Professor Lupin tiredly, his head balanced in his hands as he stared in bewilderment at the chess board in front of him. Sirius sat beside his old friend, snickering silently into his hand.

Hermione suppressed her negative emotions towards the suave, long-haired wizard. Seeing the way he treated Kreacher had left her less than pleased with him.

“You swear you’ve never played before?” Professor Lupin questioned Ron suspiciously.

Ron shook his head in mock innocence and Hermione had to turn away in hide her smile.

She grabbed a bun, taking a large bite out of it and sitting down at the table beside Ron to watch him square off with their old teacher again. The pair had gotten through exactly five and a half games before Professor Lupin had declared in frustration that there was no way Ron had never played wizard’s chess before.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at that point, the twins and Ginny having wandered into the kitchen and joined in on the fun knowing full well that Ron was better at wizard’s chess than anyone they’d ever met. After that Professor Lupin refused to play anymore games, but Sirius and George stepped up to try and beat Ron in a combined effort.

Ron had just managed to corner their queen when Mr. Weasley came striding into the room with purpose.

“Hey dad!” Ginny greeted cheerfully. But her good humour melted away when her father ignored her greeting.

Arthur Weasley looked worried. Worried and frantic. Hermione had only ever seen that expression on his face once before – at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Remus, Sirius, emergency Order meeting now. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s upstairs I think, shall I go get her?” asked Sirius.

“No, I’ll go. Other members should be arriving soon, have them meet in the dining room.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George were all ushered out of the kitchen shortly after that. None of their pleas to stay or questions were acquiesced or answered of course. So instead, they opted to sit at the top of the stairs and gleam as much information as they could from the members that entered headquarters. Hermione assumed it must be serious. Ron told her that they had never had an emergency meeting like this before. This fact was only solidified in her mind when Dumbledore arrived looking quite grave, his long robes billowing behind him as he stormed down the entry hall and disappeared through the doorway to the dining room. Professor Snape was with him, a fact that caught Hermione by surprise.

“Professor Snape is in the Order?” she asked George sitting next to her.

He nodded and whispered back, “Unfortunately. The slimy git only comes around every once in a while. Always thought he’d be on the other side, but if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must know something we don’t.”

“It’s clear he knows a lot of things we don’t,” said Hermione, beginning to worry the inside of her bottom lip. It had to be Harry. Something this serious and this panicked always had to do with Harry.

That suspicion was confirmed a few hours later at dinner when Mr. Weasley told them that Harry had been accused of underage magic by the ministry earlier that night. Apparently, the ministry had tried to expel him outright, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted on a trial before they went to such extreme punishment. Hermione was more concerned as to why Harry needed to use magic at all than the thought of him being expelled. Apparently he had produced a patronus in front of a muggle. There was only one reason Harry would produce a patronus – dementors. Dementors in a muggle suburb? Now that was cause for concern on many levels.

Hermione ate very little at dinner, too consumed by the problem at hand. The ministry had complete control of the dementors. Only they could dispatch dementors away from Azkaban. Was this the Minister’s way of getting rid of Harry? To easily solve their problem of him? If this didn’t work, what else would they do? What lengths would they go to silence Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter?

A little voice in the back of her head proposed that perhaps Harry had gone looking for trouble that night. Or worked himself up so much that he imagined the dementors and tried to play the hero. Guiltily she thought of the half-finished unsent letters in the garbage bin in her room and wondered if this would have happened if she hadn’t been too meek to break the rules and give her best friend a glimmer of hope.

All these thoughts and questions stuck with her well into the night. Lying in bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above, sleep evaded her worse than ever before. Sitting up, Hermione peaked over at Ginny’s snoring form in the bed beside hers and slipped from the covers. She padded silently out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the library. While the days events had been out of the ordinary, Hermione hoped that her and Fred’s tradition would remain, and she would find him in the library. The urge to talk to him itched at the back of her head fervently.

However, when she got to library, she found the door cracked and the whispered voices of Professor Lupin and Sirius drifted out. Hermione held her breath, turning away from the door and tiptoeing back towards the stairs. She didn’t need to listen in on their conversation to know they were most like talking about Harry. Once back on the third floor, Hermione found herself at a standstill. She should go back to bed. It was no use wandering the dark and grim house at night when she was already out of sorts. However, instead of making her way to her own bed, Hermione found herself walking not to her door, but Fred and George’s. Like an invisible pull at her centre, she gravitated towards it like a planet in orbit.

Not bothering to knock considering the late hour, Hermione quietly opened the door and slipped inside. She walked silently to Fred’s bed and found him sound asleep. She’d never seen him asleep before – up until that point she didn’t think she could be any more handsome than he already was, but up until that point she’d never seen him blissfully gone to the world.

As if sensing her presence, his eyes opened, blinking slowly as he took in her presence.

“’Mione? I thought you’d gone to bed. Went looking for you earlier but Black and Lupin were in the library,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I can’t sleep…”

They stared at each other in the dark for what felt like ages. It was as if they were experiencing group thought, both of them teetering on the edge of a decision they were both unsure of. Hermione should go back to her own room. She shouldn’t be sneaking into the room of a boy who had a girlfriend. She should be—

“Get in,” Fred whispered, lifting the covers, and pushing them both of the edge.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the covers, burying herself deeply into their warmth. It had been a heatwave for the past two weeks, but the house felt colder that night than it ever had.

“Merlin, your feet are freezing,” Fred whispered when Hermione’s feet accidentally brushed his own.

Hermione moved them away quickly. “Sorry,” she whispered back in embarrassment.

Fred surprised her by reaching down and hook his hand around the back of her leg and pulling her feet flush with his own. “Give ‘em here,” he grumbled before releasing her leg and settling back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Hermione smiled into the darkness and rolled over onto her side. She kept a safe distance of propriety between them, making sure the only thing touching was their feet. Her head fell heavy on the pillow and for the first time that night she was able to relax.

“Fred?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” came the soft sound of Fred’s voice back.

“Thank you.”

Fred didn’t answer, instead he shifted, and Hermione felt his hand fall atop hers, gripping it tightly. It took barely minutes for Hermione to fall asleep to the firm and grounding feel of Fred’s thumb rubbing the delicate skin on the back of her hand.

Chapter 18>>>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

[darkhymns-fic]

When Life is a Song

Genis narrowed his eyes, looking up at Lloyd and Colette both. “You two… What kind of dancing was that?” He frowned, standing on his tip toes, trying his best to be tall, though in comparison to his already tall friends, this only slightly worked. “How about we leave some room for Martel, huh?"

In which there is awkward dancing, awkward confessions, and awkward musings about a sleeping Goddess.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Genis Sage, Raine Sage Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: This was a secret santa gift made for @poesby​ for the Colloyd discord server! Thanks so much for being a part of it! I had so much fun with this prompt.

-

It was at a school dance that Lloyd first realized he was in love with Colette.

That dance happened just a year before Colette would be off on her journey to regenerate the world, Lloyd remembered. No oracles had come down to Sylvarant, and no Desians had gone to attack the Martel Temple where she would train and take her lessons on the scriptures of the Angels. It was still just in the tail-end of spring, before the air would grow more humid with the coming of summer. The farmer’s crops had yielded their share, and the treaty still kept them safe, as far as everyone was concerned.

It was the Professor that had arranged the school dance to begin with, which had always confused Lloyd back then, even though she claimed that it was to celebrate a successful school year. Only years later, after the journey, would he realize that perhaps this had been his teacher’s way of giving Colette what had been denied her for so long. Never allowed outside of the village, with sometimes her entire days being holed up in that temple, Colette barely got to just relax and enjoy the normalcy that everyone else had. 

But of course, Raine had to make that be a part of school somehow.

“Lloyd! Why are you so late?!” Genis was standing at the wooden door to the Iselian schoolhouse, hands on his hips, and looking very displeased. The air around them was warm, even in the early evening, carrying the scent of the oak trees that surrounded the village. “The party started a half hour ago!”

“Gah, sorry!” Lloyd said, rushing up to the entrance as if he had just run all the way from his house. Which, well, he did! Once he realized he was late… “Noishe doesn’t like to walk around the forest at night, and it’s really dark! Monsters are also kind of a pain…”

Genis wasn’t convinced. He eyed Lloyd’s outfit. “And you just wore the same thing you wear every day to a party ever since you were 13?”

“It’s not the same thing!” Lloyd proudly pointed at his familiar red jacket, but specifically at the buttons that lined up his torso and sleeves. “See? These are golden buttons! This is my fancy jacket!”

“…That’s stupid. You can barely even tell they’re different in the light!”

“At least I’m not wearing a lame bowtie,” Lloyd argued back. Bright red and decorating Genis’ little suit like he was a doll, Lloyd would have teased more had he not felt Raine’s sudden smack across the back of his head, his only warning being the slow smile on Genis’ face just a half-second before.

“Don’t be rude, Lloyd. And you are very late. This is going to affect your grade, you know.”

“What?! I’m being graded for a school party?!” But he barely got to argue, already being pushed along into the schoolhouse by Genis. To think that he’d have to go to school still on a weekend…

He hadn’t realized how that night would be so important to him then.

The schoolhouse wasn’t big, containing only one room for the entire class. But with the desks put away, replaced with tables of home-cooked food from local chefs in the village, and fun party decorations that lined the walls, it looked so entirely different. Streamers that were a multitude of colors flowed down from the ceiling, and even some balloons were tied around the place, some having cut loose and now floating way up high to the wooden beams overhead.

And honestly, to Lloyd, it still felt a bit like another school day with the other students here too. The girls who always gossiped in the corner were chatting away in the very same place, but wearing different dresses that looked like the colors of the grass outside. And the boys that he remembered being part of Professor Sage’s fan club were milled about in a small group, sneaking occasional glances towards the door where Lloyd and Genis came through, groaning when seeing their teacher wasn’t with them. They always had more and more members than he thought…

But the ages of everyone also ranged all over the place, from those being as old as him, to others as young as seven. He could already see a group of the youngest students trying to play tag with each other while flitting about the tables, treating the party as if it was just another recess period. That was what happened when everyone in the village had their classes at one place and with just one room.

But through all that, through all the people he recognized and the color that brightened the walls, he searched for her, barely finding a trace.

“Where’s Colette?” he finally asked Genis.

The boy pointed to the back of the classroom-turned party hall. “Over there when I last saw her. She tripped, and well…”

Lloyd winced, knowing exactly what that meant. “Ah man, again?” Hopefully she was okay, but then again this was the usual for her.

“She didn’t mess with my decorations at least, but I made sure Raine healed her of any injuries.” Genis nodded, looking proud of himself for that decision. “Anyway, I don’t think she’s moved from their since.”

“Why aren’t you hanging out her? She’s probably been really bored of this party!” Now Lloyd was starting to feel bad about being late if Colette had been by herself this whole time.

“Hey! It’s not boring!” Genis argued. “Besides, I can’t hang out as I’m in charge of chaperoning. Well, sis is, but I’m helping out!”

Lloyd tilted his head. “Chapa what?”

Genis frowned. “...Just go to her.”

Honestly, Lloyd didn’t need to be told twice, already heading off while Genis was still talking. “Whatever you say!!” Saying the last bit in a shout was not exactly the smartest move, the sound traveling easily in the room and making heads turn; from the kids playing tag, to the boys still gossiping, openly wondering why Raine wasn’t here yet…

It made her head turn too, just in time.

Underneath the dim lights of the set table lamps and the stars outside, he saw Colette, still brushing away the wood chips from her dress. A familiar-shaped hole was just behind her, which was about her very height and width. Maybe something that Lloyd could help fix up later…

But it was at his sudden shout, bouncing across the room that took her attention, made her turn to see him coming over. “Lloyd! You finally made it!”

And for one moment, Lloyd slowed his steps.

Back then, maybe Lloyd hadn’t understood what he felt just yet. Colette’s dress was different from her usual one, still covering her from head to toe. But it was more flowy than her usual, the edges trimmed with lace, her hem printed with star-shaped patterns. It was a summer dress perfect for the warm air outside, the kind that would let her feel the summer breeze. Her hair was also tied up in a bun, showing off more of her face, such as the red on her cheeks, and the dimples that formed whenever she smiled.

Lloyd hadn’t understood why his heart had beat so strangely back then, why he took a moment to speak… and why he suddenly felt a little ashamed at how he dressed, wishing he had gotten something cooler, like a cape, or maybe even a party mask… “Uh, hey Colette! Why are still over here?”

Colette laughed, though she looked nervous as she did so, still brushing away more invisible dust from her dress. “Ah, well, I messed up…”

She gestured to that hole, scratching her cheek in embarrassment. “I’m not even sure how I did it this time!”

“Oh right… It must be all these balloons here,” Lloyd offered as an explanation. “They’re in the way of the floor a lot!”

“Aw, but they’re really cute. I was afraid I’d pop them if I get too close.”

Lloyd reached out to one balloon floating nearby, its pink color so bright and pastel-shaded that it drew the eye a bit. “Nah, there’s no way these can just pop that easily!” He took its string, pulling it to him quickly. “You just gotta-” Pop!

The sound made both Lloyd and Colette flinch, along with a few other people who stood nearby. From the front of the room, he heard Genis yell out to him. “Lloyd! Careful with those!”

“Er, sorry about that!” Now Lloyd held a completely deflated balloon by its string, smiling at Colette shamefacedly. “Guess we both should be careful…”

Colette giggled. “It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t come.”

“No way! I uh, did kinda forget for a little bit, but then I remembered!”

Her smile was gentle in that dim light, and it was different than what Lloyd was used to, even though he was always seeing Colette’s smiles each day. How come…? She spoke again, breaking the brief little spell he was under. “And you have new clothes too! I really like those golden buttons.”

Lloyd stood there in shock. She noticed! “Y-yeah! It’s my fancy set! See, look, look!” He turned around, showing off the white ribbon strips that streamed from his collar, looking the usual to the untrained eye until…

“Oh! There’s patterns on it!” Colette said, reaching out to hold one of the ribbons, so softly in her hands. “They look like little dogs!”

“Hehe. I was using Noishe as a subject to make these! I still gotta get better at sewing though…” He turned back around, while Colette still held onto that ribbon, tracing the shape along the surface. He stared at what she wore as well, so used to her thick overcoat and not the dress that fluttered about her legs freely. “And, uh, you look pretty great too!”

“Hehe, thanks. Usually the Church doesn’t want me to but… they said it was okay for tonight.” Her voice lowered a fraction, her fingers still twiddling with the ribbons until the note of a flute floated in the air. She dropped it in surprise, raising her head. “Oh!”

Lloyd turned around, seeing some of the other students gathered near the very front of the classroom (party room?); one girl was holding up the flute that played softly, while a spectacled boy was by her side, strumming a guitar, and another was holding up a triangle, waiting for the perfect moment to strike it… “Isn’t that the music club?” he asked aloud.

“Oh, they’re playing for the party! That’s so nice.” Colette clasped her hands to her chest as some of the other students moved from their groups to go out into the middle of the room. The music was still in its beginning phases, but the tune was finding its place, delivering a rhythm that even the youngest student could jump around to. The song was simple, the beat easy to nod heads to.

“Wow…” Lloyd hadn’t expected this party to be much of anything, but the music stirred something in his chest. Did Iselia do stuff like this often? Was this what he was missing living so far off in the forests with his dad? He looked at Colette, finding her suddenly very quiet, eyes rapt to the front of the room.

“Colette, what’s up?” he asked.

“Hm? Ah nothing! Well maybe just, um, Lloyd…” Her voice held something soft that he didn’t understand, not just yet still, but it made him give her his full attention either way. The candlelight within the lamps shone off her tied-up hair, illuminated the stars on her dress, all as the music stirred louder around them. “Do you think… you want to try dancing?”

Lloyd only felt a twinge of nervousness – just a bit. But not enough to make him hesitate or refuse. With a grin, he held out his hand for Colette to take. “Yeah! Just uh, I haven’t ever danced before.”

“Hehe, that’s okay! I haven’t done anything like this before either, I think.”

“So that sounds like a pretty good excuse to try it then,” he teased, feeling her hand go in his. It always felt so natural to hold her hand like this, like it was just the right size when her palm pressed against his. His heart went ba-dump! all the sudden, but he only focused on Colette, walking with her to the floor, hearing that same flute play with more energy, the student musicians giving it all they had.

On the way, Colette caught the edge of her shoe against a small pile of confetti on the ground. Lloyd reached out with both arms to catch her, pulling her up. “Oh, uh, watch out for those!” It was literally just paper Colette had tripped on but somehow that was enough…

“Ah, I’m sorry… I’m just too clumsy.” She bit her lip. “Maybe this is silly…”

“Didn’t you just say you wanted to try?” Lloyd asked, genuinely wondering. And they were already here, weren’t they? A brief glance to their surroundings showed him how everyone else danced too; many of them just excitedly moving around each other in erratic patterns, while others interlocked their arms together, skipping across the floor. Genis was to the side, arms crossed, looking out over the place with a certain pride, with Raine finally not far behind. She was taking a red pen to a piece of paper she held in her hand… She really was grading people right now!

He had a few ideas on how he couldn’t fail on this.

Lloyd quickly looped his right arm into Colette’s left, keeping her close. He heard her lightly gasp, but she didn’t move away, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as she turned to him. “How about this? You definitely can’t fall if we dance this way!”

Colette looked radiant before nodding in approval. The warm light over her hair made it glow, and she gripped Lloyd’s arm back just as tightly. “Okay!”

Lloyd had no idea what song was playing, or if it was a mish-mash of many at once. (The students were still learning, after all). But as he took Colette out to the floor, he made sure to keep her standing upright. The most he knew about dancing was a few dwarven jigs, and Lloyd quickly kicked out his legs to imitate such a thing, moving to the beat of the song(s). “Dad taught me this!”

“Oh, I wanna try!” Colette saw and then attempted to follow through. The hem of her dress flew along with her, and already Lloyd could see her tilt a bit backwards at the motion. But he kept hold of her fast, and even when she lost her balance, soon she was falling back against his arm safely. “Ah! I almost fell again…”

“But you didn’t! See? I won’t drop you, promise.”

Colette’s face was nearby, a few stray blonde strands already slipping from her bun. “Okay, I trust you!”

Even as they tried out their dwarven steps that a few people raised an eyebrow at, Lloyd felt the night rush around him. They were clumsy on their feet, and they bumped into other pairs that were also out on the floor. But even through all the stumbles, Lloyd felt his cheeks ache with a constant smile.

Even for a party that he was being graded on, this wasn’t so bad at all.

Still, there were a few hiccups along their dancing journey. Colette would somehow, through by her own little miracles, accidently step on someone else’s toes, earning a complaint from the victim. “Sorry!” she’d say, and then trip over another person, and then sometimes, even accidentally planting her heel against the tip of Lloyd’s boots.

“Ah! Oh no…”

“Hey, that’s nothing!” Lloyd reassured, the pain simply brief and then forgotten. But he’d have to carry her closer, or hold her nearer to avoid everyone else. “Just follow my lead!”

“I thought I was…”

“Oh, watch out for that other balloon!” he warned before neatly whisking Colette off her feet, saving her from accidentally popping the party decoration. “Phew. Just in time.”

“S-Sorry about that!” Colette giggled, hands placed on his shoulders as he held her up by the waist. Her cheeks were red from their dancing, and she was catching her breath, all while she grinned so wide.

Lloyd didn’t move for a few moments, staring at her before finally getting the idea to set her down. “No more apologizing, remember?” he teased, one hand slipping from her side while the other lingered. Because they were going to keep dancing! Unless she was tired? “Did you wanna keep going?”

Colette nodded, and the relief in Lloyd was so palpable, he wondered then just what he would have felt if she had said no. The music still went in their same beat, bringing everyone else on the floor into more energetic movement. A pair of young children swerved around them both, one of them bumping against Colette’s leg and offsetting the precarious balance she always had.

With hardly any sound, she fell forward. Lloyd caught her deftly by the waist once more, because it was natural to do so. She was always so light between his fingers.

“Still not letting you fall,” he said to her with a smile, helping her stand up just a bit. “No matter how many little kids run into you!” In this room right now, that was a very high probability.

“Hehe…I’ll do the same for you!” Colette said, straightening, but only a bit. She was leaning against his chest, head tilted downward. He still held her, and she felt perfect against his palms. “Wow, those buttons are really shiny…”

“Told ya they were!” Lloyd said with pride, having made sure to extra polish them before coming over. But even with that, and the frenzy of the students around them who still danced to the music, he felt a little calmer then usual. Colette hadn’t moved away and he didn’t want to question why.

“Sorry,” she whispered again, hands reaching up to clasp before her chest. But her knuckles just brushed against the front of his jacket. Her fingers loosened their hold on each other. “Just trying not to trip…”

She was shuffling her feet across the floor. Lloyd found that he did the same, keeping the slow, slow pace with her.

Were they still dancing? It didn’t match the music, or everyone else around them…but he liked it.

“Dork, don’t apologize,” he chided once again, but softer. Would she be able to hear him through the noise? But she was so near, she must have. Her hands finally let go of each other to press against his jacket lightly. “But, this works out, doesn’t it?”

“Hm?” Colette, eyes half-lidded, raised them to meet Lloyd’s own.

“If you’re tired but don’t wanna stop dancing, we can just do this.” This seemed like the perfect solution, that and holding Colette this way made him feel so warm. “Right?”

“Yeah, hehe.” She nodded, her cheeks still a bit red, her hair still reflecting the dim light of the room. “Just tired… And, you don’t mind?”

He had more to say, but the way she looked up at him made his words catch in his throat for a short moment. How to say that he really, honestly, liked this so much? “I don’t mind…” he told her, and as she lingered in his hold, he wanted to say something more. “Hey, um…”

Colette gave him all her attention, a hand now over one of those bright buttons of his. “Yes, Lloyd?”

Something that his voice was doing, his own brain barely able to catch up. But with Colette, it felt natural still. Along with…

“Do you think…that maybe you and I could-”

“Noooope!”

And then he felt a sudden force between them, with Colette somehow further away from him? But she looked just as confused in the position, her hands held up in the air with surprise. Huh? What is-?

It was only the tell-tale peek of silver hair that brought Lloyd’s eyes down to see Genis was right in-between them, hands pressed against their stomachs as he pushed. “Red flag, you two!”

Both Lloyd and Colette blinked, looking down at their tiny friend, who was doing all he can to stretch out his arms. “Oh, Genis!” said Colette, smiling down at him, even though she was still very confused. “Um, is something wrong?”

Lloyd was less nice about it. “Yeah, what gives? Ow!” Also, Genis was pushing on his stomach way too hard!

Genis narrowed his eyes, looking up at Lloyd and Colette both. “You two… What kind of dancing was that?” He frowned, standing on his tip toes, trying his best to be tall, though in comparison to his already tall friends, this only slightly worked. “How about we leave some room for Martel, huh?”

That… made no sense to Lloyd at all. “What are you talking about?”

“But… Martel isn’t here though.” Colette argued, though she sounded just as confused. “I mean, I guess she is everywhere technically… Oh, Genis! Can you talk to Martel? Is she dancing with us?” Then a softer question, her concern so apparent. “Are we squeezing her too tight?

“N-No! It’s an expression!” Genis sighed, putting down his arms but still standing in-between them. “You’re getting way too lovey-dovey in here. You’re just lucky my sis isn’t watching right now.”

And that was it, the moment Lloyd completely understood what he had been feeling all evening just then. He could only hope the light was dim enough to not show off his blush, and that the crack in his voice was unnoticeable. “K-Knock it off!” Had that been it all along?

Colette also looked a little shocked…. Though maybe for different reasons. “I didn’t know Martel would be so angry…” She bowed her head to Genis. “I’ll tell her I’m sorry.”

“Colette, I just said it was an expression! Agh, forget it.” Genis still hadn’t gotten out of their way, which probably made Lloyd more annoyed at his friend then he had ever been. “I have to watch out for you guys all the time.”

“No you don’t!” Lloyd argued. “We’re older than you!”

“Sometimes I honestly wonder about that.”

Colette was more patient than Lloyd, but her hands still hovered over her chest, fiddling with her fingers as she could only just stand and wait. “Um, does this mean we’re not allowed to dance anymore?”

Genis sighed and waved away the question, already stepping away. “Go ahead, but again: No lovey dovey stuff. It’s weird!”

Lloyd was about to protest that it wasn’t that lovey! Even if the memory of holding Colette close got his heart racing just a little bit… But Colette stepped forward, taking Lloyd’s right hand in her left, while placing her other hand on his shoulder. The way she took over made him lose his very track of thought.

“Is something like this okay? Oh, maybe you can dance with us too, Genis!”

Genis flushed then. “No way! I’m still chaperoning! So you two better keep those hands where I can see them!” Pointing at his two friends, Genis walked off, maneuvering easily between other dancing pairs across the floor.

Lloyd stood there now, gripping her hand tightly in his, unused to this somewhat fancy dancing position she had gotten them into. “Is he still watching us?” Lloyd asked Colette, who still faced the direction Genis had gone off to.

Colette leaned past his shoulder slightly, the loose collar of her dress falling gently across her neck. The sight made him consider a few new feelings in him. “A little bit… But he keeps looking at the musicians a lot!”

“Genis always wanted to play that flute,” Lloyd said, letting his other hand fall to her waist again. Again, fitting so perfectly against his palm. “Um, did you still wanna dance?”

She smiled up at him, and even though she wasn’t as near, the sight of it got him feeling warm. “Only if you want to.”

So Lloyd took her hand and they tried again to dance across the floor with the others, not as slow as before, but careful to not trip Colette’s feet. Still, he had to swerve her out of the way of an excited third-grader, or another couple that kept stepping too near their pace. It was only a matter of time before Colette tripped again!

“If we danced outside it’d probably easier…” he whined aloud, needing to make another quick swerve to the left to keep Colette from running into a table. “More room to move around, also way less stuffy than in here!” That was also one other issue; having so many people packed into one large room made him yearn for fresh air.

“Hehe, and the moon outside looks really pretty too.” Colette turned her head to the windows, where the torches that served as Iselia’s light helped illuminate the dirt roads outside.

“You think so? I guess it kinda does.” Lloyd looked too, then back to Colette. She blinked up at him as he shifted his hands to hold both of her own. “Is Genis still watching?”

A soft pause, but she looked again past him. Her loose hair tumbled just past the shell of her ear. She then giggled. “He’s now trying to play the flute too!”

Perfect. He shared with her a grin, all while still holding her hands, that he had shared with her so much over the years, the kind that he knew Colette would recognize what it meant.

“So,” he started to ask, tilting his head towards the door. He had again seen the night sky outside, how inviting it looked, with the stars so intensely bright, with even the upright torches so warm. “Wanna sneak out?”

The party was festive, with music that was now accompanied by a few off-beat tunes from a certain flute. But it was always nicer when it was just the two of them anyway.

“Oh…” Colette breathed, and then he saw the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “You think we could?”

“Genis is distracted.” Another piercing flute note that made Lloyd wince slightly. Yeah, he was definitely distracted. “It’s now or never!”

He barely had to wait for Colette to decide – who already locked his arm in hers, head just slightly touching his shoulder.

“Just so I don’t trip,” she said, winking at him.

Lloyd knew exactly what he was feeling then, and it only made him smile. “Yeah!”

With the two of them together, they had all the awkward grace of a stumbling newborn deer, but it hadn’t mattered much. They had rushed out from the schoolhouse, once again underneath the soothing dark sky. Lloyd quickly ushered Colette, their boots stepping hard on the wooden doorsteps. “Come on, come on!”

“I am!” Colette agreed, but her eyes had caught something else, just behind them as they finally got out into the open world before them. “Oh, is that the Professor…?”

Lloyd swore he felt his blood leave his face at the mention of it. He dared to turn, saw that familiar frown framed by silver hair as their teacher stomped after them. “Uhhh let’s go right now! Hurry!”

“Waa! O-Okay!” And somehow, in their mad dash away from the schoolhouse, Colette didn’t trip or slow down. She held fast to Lloyd’s arm, and rushed alongside him down the Iselian roads. Dirt kicked up at their travel, but neither really cared at all.

-

“Okay…I think we lost her,” Lloyd said as stopped at a nearby hill to catch his breath. It was a place that overlooked Iselia, but still stayed clear of the forests where monsters roamed. He winced then, remembering. “Man…I probably got detention for a week now.”

Colette was also panting a bit, but each breath she let out was like an airy giggle, making her shoulders shake. “We ran so fast! I think I tore my dress a little too!”

“Huh!?” Lloyd snapped his head up towards her, and then immediately saw that tear on the hem of her outfit. “Dammit, it must have been when we ran past that tree and a branch got you… Argh, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Colette asked, sticking out her tongue at him. “But if you really wanted, maybe you can fix it for me later.”

“Oh, yeah! I can do that!” Lloyd figured he could use the practice at sewing. If he could stitch up the face of a dog into his ribbons, he could fix up a dress!

“And besides, we can dance out here.” Colette reached forward to grasp his hands. “Like you said?”

“Heh, already? There’s no music this time, but we don’t need it!” And he went to grasp her hand in his, the other settling on her waist. “And no people to trip you.”

“Yeah! Unless you do.” Another tease, prompting out a ‘Hey!’ from Lloyd but she only laughed, and so did he. The night air was comfortable, and the flowers that were near surrounded them with the scent of pollen, mixed in with the pine from the forest.

And then – another trip.

Colette this time got her boot caught up in a tangled nest of grass stalks and weeds. She fell back, pulling Lloyd down with her until they were both sitting on the grass, legs askew.

“You let me fall!” she told him with a grin.

“I didn’t think you could even fall now!” Lloyd protested. He sat up straighter in the grass, hands still on Colette as he helped her do the same. “I want a do-over.”

It must have been something from before that made him still keep his hand in hers, that made his thumb brush against her dress, now not only torn, but stained from the grass. He hoped she wouldn’t be in trouble, not with her grandmother, or the Church, or with Professor Sage who had just saw them sneak out…

“Lloyd…” Colette asked, and her voice was now more serious than before. It made him pause, wondering. Maybe he was being too weird with her now, and she didn’t like it and- “Didn’t you want to ask me something before?”

Oh. He hadn’t expected that. There was no warm candlelight to color her hair, but the moon made it shine even more, highlighted the many ruffles and folds of her dress.

“Haha, um…” He did know. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask, even before he understood the significance. “It’s too lame though.”

“I won’t think so,” Colette reassured him.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, curious.

“Because it’s you, Lloyd. I know I’ll be okay with what you want to say.”

She was okay with being with him too, away from the party, their hands still clasped.

“Ah well…” he hedged, feeling suddenly so childish in all the wrong ways. “Maybe it’s a weird thing to ask.”

At that, Colette only looked even more curious, looking up at him. No crowd to continually make her trip, or the well-meaning friend of theirs to keep them from getting too close, or the teacher who probably already had their grades set.

It was just Colette, and no one else.

“Do you think, um…” Lloyd started, worried for an interruption; from the sky, from the forest nearby, or from Colette. But she waited for him to move on, to be brave enough in what to say. “Do you think you and I could be…I dunno, uh… more than…” It was sounding worse by the minute, even as he couldn’t stop holding her. “More than friends?”

It was the best he could say, and he only hoped that the silence that followed would be merciful enough. Maybe Colette would only make fun of him a little bit.

“Lloyd, is this your way of asking to kiss me?”

Huh?! Wait, is it?! He blinked, staring at Colette, who seemed to have also made her own little gamble on what should happen next. Her cheeks were still flushed, even long after they had stopped dancing and running, and laughing…

Maybe it was dumb, to take her bet just then. But he leaned down to kiss her, just like he wanted to at the dance so suddenly before being pushed away. It was quick and tinged with a bit of panic, but he felt Colette press against him, not turning away.

He was already laughing in mid-kiss, pulling away only to cup her face in his hands. “You’re really a dork.”

“So are you,” she told him, matching his smile. But then there was something so sad in her eyes then, that it made Lloyd pause.

“Oh…was it that bad?” he asked. It had been his first kiss! Not exactly something one could practice…

“No, not that! It was… really nice.” Colette reached up to brush her fingers against his hands, happy to keep him near. “I’m just thinking about what Genis said.”

Lloyd’s mind stilled. “You were thinking of Genis when you kissed me?”

“Not like that!” she argued with a pout. “It’s just, what he said, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Lloyd let his hands fall from her cheeks to rest on her shoulders. “You’re gonna have to remind me what he said because I completely forgot.” Really, Genis was the last thing on his mind right now!

Colette wavered, hands now brushing from his wrists down to his arms, always continually touching him. He hoped she would keep doing that. “Lloyd, do you think…Martel would be okay with this?”

That had been unexpected, a weird splash of cold water that just got dumped on his head. “Um, why are we talking about Church things right now?” As if talking about Genis after their kiss wasn’t weird enough!

“Maybe she wouldn’t… Because I’m supposed to…” Then she trailed off, stopped.

Lloyd saw the defeat her eyes, a pain in them that he hadn’t understood back then. There had been so much he didn’t truly get until it was too late.

Maybe what he said next was careless, but the feeling gripped his ribs, wanting to be known. “It doesn’t matter what Martel thinks,” he said, and saw Colette’s eyes widen. “I mean! Well…this doesn’t have anything to do with her, does it?”

Colette blinked, her hands gripping his tight. “It doesn’t?” she repeated, thinking it over.

“I mean, not that she’s not important!” All he ever heard about Martel was how important she was, especially to Colette, a Chosen! He didn’t want to make her feel bad, but how best could he explain? “It’s just, well, this isn’t part of being a Chosen. So… it doesn’t have anything to do with her, right? Just us.” He paused, thinking it over again, liking that so much suddenly. “It’s just us right now.”

Colette still hesitated, and suddenly he was understanding that whatever she struggled with now, she had struggled with for years and years. All of it unraveling right before him, in his very hold.

“But anything I do… has to do with Martel.” She looked down, right at those golden buttons of his. “So, shouldn’t I…”

Lloyd tried one last thing, a thrown-out fact in class that he had somehow been able to retain. “But Martel is asleep. Would she even know what you’re doing?”

Colette didn’t say anything, silent, considering.

“And besides…” Lloyd continued. “Martel is supposed to be good and kind. So, even if she was awake and everything…why wouldn’t she want her Chosen to be happy?”

Still Colette stayed silent, still, she would not say anything.

Lloyd worried just then he had messed up, but he couldn’t take back what he meant. “But it only matters if you like this.” He grinned nervously, his lips still tingling from remembered warmth. “Because I definitely do.”

“…Me too,” Colette said, staring up at him again. The words came out fast, all as she looked up at him. “I- I really liked it!”

He hadn’t expected such intensity in her eyes. “Colette?”

“I do too, I really do, I-” she said it even faster, as if she was releasing something held insider her for so long, and then she moved to kiss him again, surprising him with the force of it. But he was eager to learn, eager to take whatever Colette was giving him right now. He held her close, kissing Colette underneath the many stars.

And if Martel really was watching and disapproving them right now in her sleep, Lloyd thought, then he didn’t care. Not if Colette wanted this too. She deserved to want things, and he promised since then, that he would keep helping her believe that with every part of her heart.

[hockeyownsmyass13]

Second Chances/Mat Barzal

Description: As All-Star Weekend drew close you couldn’t help but wonder if Mat would remember you. It was less than a year ago when you two had met in NYC. Now you were on your way towards your dream job as a sports journalist. And with this gig at the NHL’s ASG, the last thing you needed was to be distracted by Mat. 

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: A few swear words

Author’s Note: I have a lot of Barzy feelings so I hope you guys like it. I have an idea for a part two might include smut if I’m feeling bold so please lmk what you think! Thanks for reading loves ☺️

Flashback

“How does this all work again?” you asked your best friend while putting on your makeup at her Manhattan apartment. 

“I’m going to text Isaac when we get there and he’s coming to meet us and take us in. Usually they sit us at a table with a bunch of other girls and bring a bottle or two to start. From there it’s pretty much up to us, we can do whatever we want.”

This whole VIP clubbing experience was completely out of your element. Izzy, your former teammate in college and close friend had become a model since moving to the city. She knew guys like Isaac who were big time club promoters and could hook her up with pretty much anything NYC nightlife had to offer. You just tagged along for the ride. 

Since you arrived at the club however you’d been able to relax. All Izzy’s friends were super nice and fun to be around. Between all the drinks and dancing however there was a group of guys who kept catching your eye. Izzy warned you that 1 Oak often had celebs but you weren’t quite sure if you’d seen them before. While the girls were dancing you took a break to rest your feet (heels hurt sometimes) and sat down at the table for another drink. That was when he approached you. You honestly didn’t even remember the first words he said. It was as if your brain had paused for a moment, wondering why a guy this attractive had come up to you. 

“Mat” He said. You gave him your name, unsure if you should shake his hand or not. How do people greet at clubs anyways, you thought to yourself.

“Are you from here or just visiting?” 

“I live in Boston, well Cambridge technically. I’m in my last year at harvard” 

“Damn smart girl I see” Mat said. He seemed like he was flirting but also genuinely impressed at that name drop.

“I got a soccer scholarship, I’m not really that smart” you laughed back. “Izzy lives here, she was my teammate the last 3 years” you gestured towards her and the others dancing. 

At first it was a little awkward but quickly you figured out how much you had in common.Talking about favorite foods, music, TV, and of course sports. The last subject was interesting. He seemed so excited at first yet turned around, seeming a little shy to give any details. .

After a little more conversation you followed him back to his table to grab a few more drinks, and that’s when you figured it out. The slight hint of a Canadian accent along with his friends all looking young and very in shape gave it away. This guy was definitely a professional athlete. You guessed hockey but didn’t want him to think you secretly knew who he was so you hid that guess.

“What sport do you play?” A little smirk dancing across your lips. 

“How’d you know?”

“Educated guess” 

“Hockey, we all play for the Islanders” He looked a little shy, running his fingers through his hair. 

Internally you were freaking out just a bit. Growing up near Boston the Bruins were like a religion in your hometown. The NHL playoffs had always been your favorite time for any sport. There was just a level of intensity and excitement that couldn’t be matched. But on the outside you kept your cool...somehow. And after a little more chatting he pulled you over to the dance floor. 

Eventually Mat’s friends were ready to head home and so were yours. He lived with an older teammate since it was his rookie season and you were crashing at Izzy’s place, so that small part of you who wanted to go home with him (even though you really don’t leave places with boys you’d never met before) was out of luck. 

“I’d ask for your number but my phone died” He said, the cute shyness from when he confessed his job was back. 

“Give me yours” you said, handing him your phone. Alcohol was certainly not a negative when it came to confidence. 

But the next morning you woke up. And the insecure part of your brain convinced yourself he probably had lots of girls texting him every day and it wasn’t worth the possible embarrassment.  Plus it was nearing the end of your trip to NYC and it was almost time to head back to school for senior fall; aka the last season of your college sports career. 

So you never texted him, figuring he would forget soon enough and you could save yourself the heartbreak of falling for him just to find out you were only a number on his list. It wasn’t easy. Boys like that didn’t come around often. You looked at his name countless times in your phone, debating on calling. But the longer you waited the more it seemed weird to reach out. Would he ask why it took so long? Would he even remember you? 

All star weekend 

St. Louis was the perfect place to host. After winning the cup the city was buzzing with excitement over hockey. While you were a little nervous to be at such a big event, this wasn’t your first reporting experience. You’d done tons of interviews with other D1 athletes around campus and even filled in for a week as the rinkside reporter with the Bruins.

When you first entered the locker room on Friday it was impossible not to scan around for him. When Mat wasn’t there you couldn’t decide whether it was a relief or a dissapointment. There wasn’t a lot of time to dwell on things however, interviews needed to get done. It was mostly just fluff, funny questions for some social media content, You were talking to Sid, the usual polite yet unrevealing way of avoiding his private life, when someone entering the room immediately grabbed your attention. Mat had walked in. You could feel your heart start to beat faster. It could be the nervous anticipation of a potential awkward encounter. Thankfully your brain still worked and it quickly brought your attention back to Sid. 

“And Conor McDavid comes up short. Mat Barzal is your new NHL All-Star fastest skater” The announcement rang loudly throughout the arena. 

Mat won. Mat just won. It kept repeating in your mind like an echo. Because you knew what that meant. You had to interview him. He was laughing with some of the other guys as you watched the producer approach him. Chatting with the cameraman seemed a good option to avoid looking like you were starring in his direction. As he walked towards you his expression was blank. 

“Congratulations on winning the first event of day one. How does it feel to know you dethroned a three time winner?” 

Silence. Your eyes widened, hoping to provoke an answer.

“Um yeah it’s pretty cool. Conor’s a really fast skater so I feel a little lucky.”

“I know you guys don’t get much time to warm up. Is the crowd a big energizing factor in something like this?”

“Sure” Silence again. 

“Uh I mean we’re here because of the fans. So uh yeah we want to do our best and give them a good show” 

The rest of the interview went about the same. You were sure the others watching could feel the awkwardness in the air. Although he didn’t show any signs of recognizing you, Mat wasn’t known for being cold towards reporters. Something must have been your fault for the less than stellar interview which thankfully was over. 

“Y/N” 

It wasn’t a question but more of a statement. You looked down at your feet, even though you’d been looking him in the eyes the whole interview. It was a little late for shyness but the absence of the cameras and knowing he recognized you took away any semblance of confidence you previously had. 

“Hey Mat” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

Shit. You knew this question was coming but you’d hoped he would at least make some small talk first. Maybe enough to give you a chance to think of an answer. But now he looked just as worried as you, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just….I don’t know, I enjoyed talking to you that night and I just figured you would and then you never did and I couldn’t do anything,,,,” He trailed off getting quieter at the end, 

“I’m sorry, You’re not crazy Mat. I had a really great time that night. I’m not sure what to say. I know it’s a stupid excuse but I was leaving to go home to Boston so soon and I just convinced myself you were, ya know, this impressive star athlete and it wouldn’t matter if I never said anything because you would forget which I know isn’t fair since you’re a perfectly nice guy and..”

“Come to dinner tonight.” He cut you off.

“I’m supposed to go out with some of the other guys but a lot of them have family or girlfriends coming too. So you won’t be crashing guys’ night or anything.” 

“t’ll be low key don’t worry” He added, sensing your hesitation. 

“Okay, I’ll go” 

“I have to get back, but text me and I’ll send you the details” 

“Sounds great” Biting your lip did not do enough to hide the smile growing on your face. It was a group dinner, but no matter how you looked at it, you were going to dinner with Mat Barzal. Who ever said second chances don’t exist.

[sweetmemories2606]

Be My Forever (MesCana Day)

Hey everyone! Here I bring you my second MesCana fic because today is officially their day! :)) 

I am dedicating it to the lovely Daphne (@tobethefairybest​), who created this amazing ship. 

While I know it is a rather unthought of pairing which most people are unfamiliar with, I hope that by reading this story and its sequel, Forget, you might fall in love with Mest and Cana's relationship just as I did. 

Here's the info: 

Title: Be My Forever

Summary: Mest was falling in love, but there was too much holding him back from telling her. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again. The timing wasn't right, but would it ever be? 

Timeline: Avatar/Alvarez Arcs

Warnings: This is pretty angsty and there is a funeral scene which might be too much. 

Happy reading! 

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

                              October X792

"Are you sure you're ready?" Cana asked, surprised and honestly a little worried. "I am," Mest replied, glancing at the letter in his hands. "It's time I tell everyone the truth." "I wonder how they will take it." She wondered, frowning. He lowered his head, a wistful look upon his face. "I hope they'll forgive me." "They'll understand," Cana reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but tried not to let it show, putting on a smile instead. "Thank you. Having you by my side gives me the courage to finally come clean." She watched him for a moment, searching, also settling for a smile. "I'm glad. You know I'm always here for you."

                            ---------------------                              Nearly a year ago "I'm so sorry," Cana said, taking his hand. They were at the cemetery in ERA, where the Magic Council used to reside before they had all been murdered. After such a tragic event, the townspeople had organised a funeral which was taking place. Mest had returned to bury Lahar, who had been his closest friend and the person who had helped him get through the 7 years when Fairy Tail was gone. Mest hadn't yet fully comprehended that his friend was gone, but the memory of holding Lahar's body and begging him to wake was etched on his mind. Feeling Cana squeeze his hand, he tightened his grip. "Thank you," Glancing at her, he tried to convey how much he appreciated her coming with him. "For being here." She offered a sorrowful smile. "Of course." They had to silence once the ceremony began. It was long, exhausting and heartbreaking. Many people gave speeches about the deceased council members. Some expressed despair and sorrow, others anger and a few hope for a better future. Mest tried to encompass all these emotions. Being the only survivor, he spoke about the sacrifices that had been made, his anger at being unable to stop Jackal and how he hoped these deaths wouldn't be in vain. Once the funeral was over and most people had left, he decided to take a moment to say goodbye to Lahar. Cana gave him some space, but he could feel her presence nearby. It comforted him, knowing that even though he had lost so much, she was still there. Mest returned to her side after burying Lahar's broken glasses close to the grave. Somehow, once his eyes met hers, he burst into tears, falling to his knees. She held him against her chest and rubbed circles against his back, letting him cry all he needed. Between sobs, he thanked her and she gave one simple response. "You don't have to thank me. I'm always here for you."

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

The memory nearly brought tears to his eyes, but Mest composed himself. "Thank you." There was silence; awkward and uncomfortable. Cana quickly removed her hand, returning it to her side. He wasn't sure what this meant, but tried not to think about it. About to tell her they should start packing, but then she asked.  "Are you going to tell them everything?" "I have to," Mest replied, determined. "They need to know how serious the situation is." Cana nodded before letting out a sigh, concerned again. "And have you really not heard anything from Master?" He shook his head. "No. I'm honestly scared he's..." He couldn't finish the thought. "No," Cana denied it immediately. "I know he's still alive." He sighed deeply. "Let's hope so." Glancing at the letter again, he told her. "We should start packing if we want to make it to Magnolia in time." "Okay," She offered another small smile. "Should we leave for the station in 2 hours?" Mest nodded in agreement. "That's fine with me." Watching her turn around and walk back towards her bedroom, he sighed again. It was hard being so close to her without telling her how he felt, but he knew it was best. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again.

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

                               One year ago “Mest Gryder, your mission is complete.” He stared at Makarov in utter shock. Then his eyes caught the Fairy Tail mark which suddenly appeared on his shoulder. "What the hell is this?" He started freaking out. "Start talking!" Makarov explained things calmly. How Mest had always had this emblem because he had been a member of Fairy Tail. How his devotion to the guild had been so great that he'd been willing to erase his own memories and identity.   Mest didn't want to believe it at first, but suddenly the pieces started to come in. Flashback by flashback, he began to remember his life and the mission he had risked so much for. Makarov watched him quietly, a sympathetic look upon his face, letting the young man figure things out himself. Then his eyes wandered to someone behind Mest, making the latter turn around. She was standing closeby, eyes widened, clearly shocked. There was no doubt she had heard what they had said and for a moment Mest worried about what she would do. Then he remembered. His own eyes widened once memories of all the moments they had shared returned full force. They had been childhood friends just like Gray, Erza and Natsu. Always so close and always there for each other. Until Mest had left for his mission, breaking her heart. Recalling the moment he had left her, his own heart ached. "Cana...." She sniffled, seemingly fighting against tears. "Mest?" Makarov glanced between them with sadness. "I can only imagine how much you two must've missed each other. I'm sorry it had to be like this." "I..." Cana struggled with words. "You...We were..." "You remember?" Mest asked and she nodded, tears streaming down her face. He couldn't stop himself from crying too. It was finally over. At last he was home again with her.

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

Unfortunately, home had ceased to exist that same night. Fairy Tail was disbanded and Mest knew why, but still hated that he couldn't be reunited with his friends after so long. Each took a different path, some never to be seen again until a year later. Mest was completely lost at what to do, but Cana helped him. She let him stay at her apartment for a while and invited him to come along on her search for her father. They spent months travelling together, taking on jobs like they used to and getting to know each other. He told her everything about his life in the Council and during the seven years they were apart. She told him about reconnecting with her father before he had disappeared again. During that time, feelings developed. Mest wasn't sure exactly why, but he started seeing her in a different light. When they would joke about never being able to get rid of the other, he'd note that the mere thought of being apart from her again was heartbreaking. When she'd flirt with other men or reminisce about her brief fling with Bacchus from the Quatro Cerberus Guild, Mest would feel jealous. It had never happened before, but now it was too frequent to ignore. He reflected about their relationship and wondered if perhaps it could become something else. It was strange, having romantic thoughts about Cana. Even though he was aware that sometimes close friendships like theirs could be the foundation of a long-lasting romance, Mest had never considered it before. In fact, he had barely even considered romance before. During his time at Fairy Tail their friendship had been more than enough and while he was working for the Council, his job had taken sole focus. Only during those seven years had he considered a relationship after much persuasion from Lahar, but Mest had been so broken then. He still was. There were too many wounds that needed to be healed and traumas which held him back. He still needed to fully move on from the horrible events of the war against Tartaros and Lahar's death. Furthermore, there was also the fact he had no idea whether Cana felt the same. She never gave clear signals that her feelings had changed which could be frustrating at times. For the sake of their friendship, Mest decided not to tell her that he was falling in love. A decision which at times could be very hard to keep.

                            ---------------------                                 3 months ago "What do you think?" Cana glanced at him, curious. "It's a nice apartment." Mest took another look around the living room, which was decently sized. There was a red couch with a rectangular table in front, two orange chairs and a fireplace. "Quite cozy." "I agree." She nodded, smiling brightly. "I think it's the perfect place for us to settle for now." "And are you sure that you want to settle?" He questioned. Cana frowned for a moment and he guessed she was wondering if this was the right choice. It had been a few weeks since she had suggested that they search for a place to stay in Oak Town, which was closest from their latest camping site. "I don't know…" She bit her lip. "I want to keep searching for my father, but it's clear he doesn't want to be found." "Maybe it's best to wait until he contacts you," Mest suggested. She looked down sadly. "You mean 'if' he contacts me." Sensing her distress, he closed the distance between them, bringing her in for a tight hug. "He will. You just have give him more time." She sighed, letting her head rest against his chest. It felt so right to hold her like this. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering or his feelings from surfacing. "You always know what to say, don't you?" Cana looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "That's not true," Mest disagreed, feeling his heartbeat speeding up once her hand gently touched his cheek. "It is." She smiled, but the tears started falling. "I'm so glad you're here with me." He was tempted to wipe them away, but restrained himself. "I'm happy to be here." Her arms tightened around his torso before her head returned to his chest. He felt his shirt becoming damp as she continued to cry. Mest held her close, letting her be, while attempting to calm his racing hard and suppress his emotions. A few minutes later, she pulled away, removing herself from his embrace and taking a step back. While wiping the remaining tears, she gave him a grateful look. "Thank you. For everything." He offered a genuine smile. "Of course." At that moment, he wanted to tell her the truth so badly. Then he remembered why he shouldn't. Instead, Mest decided to say something which was also true, but did not reveal his growing feelings. "I'm always here for you."

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

"Mest? Why are you still standing there?" Cana's voice broke him out of his thoughts. She stood by her bedroom door, staring at him in concern. Mest realised that he remained by the red couch. Putting Lucy's letter into his pocket, he apologised. "Sorry. I was just lost in thought." Cana watched him for a moment. "Are you okay?" He put on another tense, fake smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." Her expression conveyed disbelief. "Are you sure? Because if you want to talk..." "No." Mest disagreed a little too strongly. "I have to start packing." He left before she could press him any further and walked back to his room, knowing that if he had stayed the truth might slip out. It wasn't the right time. Or at least, that's what he told himself. It was his mantra and he held onto it every time he came close to telling her. Would it ever be, he wondered? Would he ever be ready to cross this line? Mest wasn't sure, but there was so much going on at the moment. The meeting with Fairy Tail, the situation with Makarov, the shaky alliance between Fiore and Alvarez which might soon break and lead to an devastating war. He shouldn't focus on his feelings when there was so much at stake and neither could he risk ruining their friendship when he needed her most. That was why, contrary to what he wanted, Mest decided to keep pretending for just a little longer.

[an-unknown-writers-world]

Game Night

Day Six:  Christmas Cocktails

Part of @panicfob​ 25 Days of Christmas Challenge

Warnings: Fluff,  Sam and Bucky sass.

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes X Reader (First Person, Nameless). Platonic Bucky x Sam,

Word Count: 1742

A/N:  As always - thank you for taking time to enter this brief fictional moment of heaven. The beginning of this series can be found on my Masterlist if you’ve missed any of this. Also - please know that Saturday and Sunday’s update (Day 7 and 8) will be posted early to mid-afternoon pacific standard time. Thanks for your understanding.

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

“It’s Friday night. We should do something fun.” Sam said sitting next to me on the couch.

“How is tonight different than any other night?” Bucky asked from the opposite love seat.

“I don’t know, it just is. I feel like we’ve all been so busy lately that we haven’t done much.”

“We just went to the toy store yesterday,” I stated.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Sam, we are not friends.” Bucky deadpanned.

“Bucky,” I chided, throwing a pillow at him. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Thank you,” Sam looked at me with a smile.

I rolled my eyes, the two of them would be the death of me. Somedays I wondered how I lived with them. But Sam was right we haven’t spent much time together lately. We never did anything traditionally. It’s not like we scheduled things, they just happened, and no one ran away. Often times we would wander into the theater room at various times and watch a movie, once Sam accidentally binge-watched an entire season of Gossip Girl and Bucky sat through both versions of Beauty and the Beast back to back.

“Whatcha got in mind?” I asked Sam.

He shrugged, “You’re usually the party planner.”

I laughed, “I’m not throwing a party, Sam.”

“Are you imply the three of us cannot have a party together?” Sam quipped.

Bucky silently sat across from me fidgeting with the pillow that laid on his lap. The sitting room was arranged with the couch and love seat facing each other with a beautiful oak coffee table in between. I often laughed to myself every time one us forgot to use a coaster or put our feet on the table; Tony would have killed us. There were several things that we could do just the three of us.

“Well let’s start with the basic,” I questioned. “Do you want to stay in or go out?”

“In,” Bucky said,

Sam nodded in agreement.

“We could do a movie night or game night?” I suggested.

“Game Night,” Sam shouted.

“Board games or adult games?”

“Adult,” Sam and Bucky agreed.

“Fine, then I need you to go pick up a few things for game night.”

“It’s your idea.” Bucky pointed at Sam.

Grinning, “It’s a good idea.”

“I’ll make you a list,” I stated. “You’re not off the hook, Barnes. You got things to do too.”

Sam stuck his tongue out at Bucky as I walked by.

“Leave it out there long enough one of your bird brothers is gonna shit on it,” Bucky replied.

I couldn’t stifle the laugh that escaped. Making my way to the kitchen I found my note pad that I kept on the next to the fridge and quickly made out a list for Sam. It was only a handful of things that needed to be picked up, but I was going to need Bucky’s help with locating a few things around the house. Sam came into the kitchen, car keys in hand a reusable bag in the other.  I held out the list for him and he took it.

“That’s an odd list,” Sam noted.

“Not when you put the ingredients together.”

He examined the listed for a moment, “Ooohhh,” It seemed to finally click for him, “table?” He questioned.

“Formal dining room.”

“Him?”

“Valkyrie sent a supply over a few months ago, never been touched.”

“You might be a genius.”

I shook my head, “Just lived a long life.”

We both laughed.

“I can win at this game; old man’s got multiples things stacked against him.”

“Win at what game?” Bucky asked coming around the corner.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, friend,” I called out as he walked out of the kitchen.

“What game?” Bucky asked again grabbing hold of my hand.

I smiled at him, “A card game.”

He looked at me confused.

“Will you help me do a few things?”

“How can I say no?” He smiled.

“Tony’s old poker set is out in the garage, could you go grab it please?”

He nodded, “Anything else?”

I shook my head no,

He kissed my knuckles, “I do know how to play poker.” Bucky replied smiling as he walked away.

Trying to wrap my head around when and how he learned to play poker I made way to the formal dining room. I needed the drink pitcher and the mead that Valkyrie had sent over. Grabbing one of the drink trays I piled the items I needed and carried them back to the kitchen; none of it had been used since the fourth of July party and I wanted to make sure it was clean.

I was drying the dishes when Bucky came back into the kitchen.

“Poker set is on the table,”

“Thank you,” I said drying the pitcher. “Sam should be back any minute.”

“Does he really think I don’t know how to play poker? I’m old but I’m not that old.” He said pulling himself up to sit on the counter.

“To be fair I also thought that. Not because it wasn’t around the whole time you’ve been alive, but you were so young when you went off to war.”

Bucky’s face fell slightly, “Doll, I wasn’t the most innocent kid when I went off to war and you think we didn’t play poker during world war two?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “I guess I’ve tried not to put too much thought into that period of your life. It wasn’t exactly a great time to be alive.”

“It had its good moments, every time period does.”

I shrugged realizing I didn’t know as much about Bucky as I wanted to.

“C’mere.” He said softly.

I stepped closer finding myself standing between his legs.

He smiled down at me, “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Promise?” I asked.

He kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around my shoulder pulling me into his chest. This was a good place to be. Over the last few days, Bucky had become more open about touch – the kiss to my hair in the mornings when he’d come into the kitchen for coffee, hand-holding while watching the evening news; it was a new side of him, one that I was honestly enjoying. I wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest.

We stayed that way for a few quiet moments, nothing else existed but us.

“The party can now begin,” Sam called out entering the kitchen. “Oh, come on.” He said looking at the two of us. "I have to go out in the freezing ass cold while y'all sit here and cuddle?"

Bucky laughed at Sam’s look.

“You get the right stuff?” I asked pulling from Bucky’s grasp.

Sam set the bag on the counter pulling out the bottles of rum and cognac.

“Are you making spiked eggnog?” Bucky asked.

“Sure am, and I’m making a separate pitcher for you.” I smiled.

“I can drink alcohol, doll. It won’t hurt me.”

“I know that silly. But I have this.” I held up the Asgardian bottle. “A little present from Valkyrie after the mission you went on for her.”

“Great,” Bucky smiled. “Sam let’s go set up the table.”

“He knows, doesn’t he?” Sam asked me.

I smiled, “apparently he wasn’t a pure soul in 1945.”

Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder, “That shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Get out of here.” I said smiling, “Taking the cups with you please!”

The boys disappeared into the dining room while I prepared the pitchers. I grew up playing poker with my dad and brothers, so I certainly wasn’t afraid to play with these two. The thing I was looking forward to the most was the bonding; they took cheap shots at each other all the time, but I knew that was never going to change. I just hoped that one day it could lead to an actual friendship between them.

Grabbing both pitchers I went to join them. I sat down at the end of the table with them on either side of me. I filled empty glasses and distributed them to the appropriate person, Bucky moving his pitcher to the other side of him to be sure they didn’t get mixed up.

“To friendship,” Sam raised his glass.

“Awe, Sam,” I said clinking glasses with him.

“Oh, I just meant you and me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“But we’re not friends,” Bucky replied to Sam.

I rolled my eyes and laughed again. These two, they were friends even if they wouldn’t admit it.

We played, laughed and drank. Before we knew it the pitchers were empty and there wasn’t a single sober soul in sight. In my opinion, empty pitchers meant the end of the night, it was not up for debate for me. Bucky helped Sam put the poker set back together in the case while I washed up dishes.

“Everythings put away, doll,” Bucky said coming to lean against the counter next to me.

“Thanks,”

“It was fun, thank you for putting this together for us.”

I smiled at him, “Buck, I didn’t do much beside pick a card game and make a pitcher of eggnog.”

“You put up with us.”

I laughed, “That is a task.” Turning the water off. Bucky handed me a dish towel for my hands.

“I”m gonna head to bed,” He said standing up.

Something came over me, I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to be on separate sides of the house, I wanted us to be together. Afraid of sounding childish and needy I stepped in to hug him. He pulled me close, my arms around his waist. Feeling brave from the liquid courage surging through my blood I kissed the hollow between his neck and collarbone. Bucky hummed at the touch.

“Stay with me,” I pleaded.

Bucky pulled back to look at me, it was the look of a tortured man. “Doll, I want to, believe me, I want to.” His flesh hand came to cradle the side of my face, “But not tonight, not like this. When we stay together, alcohol will not be a factor.”

It was hard to be upset with him when he was just being noble, but my mind stuck on the phrase ‘when we stay together’. He did not say if, he said when. I let out a heavy sigh, he was right.

He kissed my temple, “Good night, doll.”

[cherryeol04]

The Firsts

Summary: No one ever told him that living was going to be so difficult. That there would emotions get couldn’t label and distinguish. He’s just a young boy trying to navigate through life and its unexpected ups and downs.

Genre: Humor, Fluff, smut(?)

Pairings: Oc x Felix, Oc x Changbin, Changbin x Oc x Felix

Warnings: poly relationship, angst in some part, excessive fighting about the MCU.

Parts: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17

A/N: This story has a theme of Firsts. First love, first kiss and many other firsts. Each part can be read on their own and are meant to stand as oneshots. It’s basically a collection of oneshots (little snapshots into my Oc’s life. 😁)

Aiden didn’t understand why he was so nervous, standing in front of the unassuming oak door. It wasn’t a date, Felix had said so, despite all the teasing he had to endure afterwards. They were just watching movies for Aiden’s reputation. Otherwise, he would forever be teased about not seeing Marvel movies. He honestly hadn’t thought it was a bad thing to not be up on trends and the like, but now he had seen the true nature of his friends - the snakes - and learned his lesson. 

‘Just knock. Just knock.’

Aiden willed his hand up, fist formed a bit too tightly. Three raps in quick succession and Aiden swallowed thickly. From inside he could hear a very faint ‘coming’ and his heart began to race, a cold sweat breaking out. He wanted so much to just turn around and run, not show up and give some crappy excuse as to why he couldn’t make it. But before his brain could connect with his feet, the door was already opening and Aiden was graced with the most beautiful smile and the most handsome face he had ever seen. 

“Hey!”

“H-Hi.” Aiden kicked himself for stuttering - it wasn’t cute. He cleared his throat as he brought his hands behind his back and grasped them, thumbs twirling together in secrecy. “So, ready for our marathon?” He asked and Felix nodded his head quickly, stepping aside so Aiden could come inside. Aiden wanted to be amazed at the house, but it honestly wasn’t anything spectacular. It was similar to his own, modest for a small family - though a tad bit cleaner than his own. 

He was most taken by the sight of Felix alone, because outside of their normal school uniform, he hadn’t really seen Felix in anything else. His fashion style was baggy. Oversized everything that just looked so comfortable that Aiden wanted to crawl up in there with him and cuddle him. It didn’t help that Felix was adorning a bright fluorescent orange hoodie that had to be at least two sizes too big on him and gave him the cutest sweater paws he had ever seen. Aiden wasn’t sure if this was what love was, but he sure as hell knew he wanted to wrap his arms around Felix and paint his face with kisses. 

He refrained though, as hard as it was. “I got everything set up in my room.” Felix told him, the front door closing. Stepping around Aiden, he started for the stairs and Aiden followed obediently. “So we’re gonna start with Iron man.”

“Oh, so then I can date you?” Aiden instantly regretted the question as soon as he asked it, and quite literally facepalmed with a resounding smack! Felix paused on the stairs and turned to look back at him, amusement written across his face as he raised a brow. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He said with a laugh. It was joke, he was laughing it off but there was still a part of Aiden that was hoping there was something there. That maybe Felix would reciprocate. Felix turned back and Aiden silently followed the other up the rest of the stairs and to the room. This was going to be a long day. 

~*~

They made it through Thor when both boys realized the time. Including breaks between movies and dinner, the time had flown and it was nearing nine. Not nearly late enough to go to bed on the weekend, but early enough where Aiden should probably head home. And he would have if a hand hadn’t grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down on the comfy bed he had been resting on just moments prior. 

“Ask your mom if you can spend the night.” It was a soft suggestion, dare Aiden even think of it as a plea. The idea had crossed his mind many times during the day but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, what with his emotions just hanging between them like a thousand-pound weight ready to collapse on them at any given moment. 

“Come on, Felix. I don’t think I can sit through another movie.” Aiden whined. A lie - boldfaced but his only logical excuse as to why he could leave. 

“We don’t have to watch anymore.” Felix said as he sat up from his slouched position against the wall. “We could watch YouTube or something and just hang out.”

Chewing on his bottom lip lightly, Aiden nodded as he pulled his phone out of pocket and shot his mom and quick text, asking if he could spend the night. The reply came only a few beats later and he smiled lightly. “She said it was okay.” 

“Awesome! I’ll find you something to wear!” Felix said as he scrambled off the bed and Aiden could feel his pulse quicken at the thought of wearing Felix’s clothes. Would they smell like him? Would they be just as comfortable as they looked on him? Felix dug around in his dresser, first tossing a pair of pants towards Aiden and then a shirt. “That should be good.”

“Thanks.” Aiden smiled as he picked up the articles of clothing and stood for the bed. He headed out of the room and to the bathroom just down the hall to change.  Aiden was actually surprised to find that Felix’s clothes for him rather well, and they were just as cozy as he imagined. There was still a little bagginess in the sleeves, but it was really nice.  He brought the front of his shirt up to his nose, sniffing lightly, a smile spreading across his lips at the honey scent that filled his senses. 

This was Felix. 

“God I’m whipped.” He muttered to himself with a shake of his head. He grabbed his clothes, folding them nicely before carrying them back into Felix’s room. Felix was laying in his bed, pillow clutched to his chest as he stared at the YouTube screen on his TV. As Aiden made his way to the bed, Felix lifted his gaze and smiled. 

“Oh my gosh! You’re so cute!” Felix squealed, sitting up. “I didn’t think you would look so cute in my clothes.” Aiden couldn’t stop the blush that spread over his cheeks, eyes lowering to stare at the ground. 

“Thanks.” Silence fell between them and Aiden wondered if Felix even heard him. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but Aiden wasn’t entirely sure what to do now and he blamed it on the fact he hadn’t been around Felix that much. Their interactions were sporadic but fun, yet being alone with him like this was different. Aiden was afraid that maybe he wasn’t that interesting to be around - mundane and boring. 

Arms wrapped around his waist and he jerked, head flying up and connecting with the side of Felix’s jaw. “Oh shit!” He gasped out, hands reaching up to cup Felix’s face and examine the already reddening skin. “I am so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Felix spoke, jaw tense as he fought through the pain. “I shouldn’t have scared you like that.” He said as he reached up and tentatively touched the sore area. 

“I should have been paying attention. I’m so stupid.” Aiden muttered softly. His fingers lightly grazed over the area Felix had just been touching and he could feel the warmth of it. “That’s really got to hurt. Let me go get some ice for it.” 

“Or you could kiss it and make it better.” Felix offered and Aiden stilled. His eyes connected with Felix’s, wide and unsure if he heard right. Kiss it? Like actually kiss it? Put his lips on Felix? He was pretty sure that he was messing with him at this point. 

“Don’t be silly. That’s not gonna help.” He protested and lowered his hands. “I’ll go get some ice for it, okay? Just go sit back down.” He tried to usher Felix back to the bed,  but the other was being stubborn and not budging from his spot, which was annoying Aiden. All he wanted to do was help the other! Now was not the time for games. 

Felix let out a huff, hand grabbing his wrist and holding it tightly, grounding him in his spot. “Changbin wasn’t kidding, you really are a virgin.” It came out as a frustrated sigh and it left Aiden gapping in shock. “You can’t even tell when someone is flirting with you.”

“F-Flirting?!” Aiden sputtered incredulously. “Since when?”

“Since Iron Man 2 when I started cuddling you.” Felix stated matter of factly and Aiden just gaped at him. “I know you can be silly and little dense, but come on Aiden.” Felix said, head tilting slightly to the side and just gave him this look.

“Okay, but I’ve never...” Aiden trailed off, embarrassed by the words that wanted to fall from his lips. Everyone already knew he was “virgin” thanks to Changbin’s big mouth but it was actually embarrassing at how innocent he actually was - with the exception of the things he did with Changbin in the privacy of their bedrooms. 

“Cute.” Felix cooed and poked Aiden’s cheeks lightly, pulling a soft laugh from him as he tried to wiggle away from Felix, but the hand on his wrist kept him from going too far. “I like you.” 

Aiden felt his heart stop - it was just as dramatic as he was - before beating rapidly in his chest as those words slowly sunk in. Felix liked him? It couldn’t be. There was no possible way. “Like as a friend right?” 

“Well yeah.” Felix nodded and chuckled. “But I like you as more than a friend as well. And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime, on a date?” Suddenly Felix was shy, blushing and looking at anything but Aiden and it was just the cutest thing he had ever witnessed. It was an impulse - he wrapped his arms around Felix and hugged him tightly, pulling him close to his body. 

“Is that a yes?” Felix asked as he carefully wrapped his arms around Aiden’s waist gently, hands resting on the small of his back. 

“It’s a big fat yes.” Aiden muttered against Felix’s shoulder. He pulled back slowly and looked at Felix, smirking. “It’s because I watched Iron Man right?” He asked. 

“Totally. You made it to Thor, that means we can also kiss.” Felix said and leaned in to do just that, but Aiden dodged him, pulling back with a shy smile. 

“Aiden?”

“Not yet.” Aiden told him with a slight nod. “I wanna at least get to the Spider-Man saga before we kiss.” He told him. Felix stared at him and nodded, chuckling softly. 

“Alright then, it’s a date.”

“Perfect! Now let me get you ice for your jaw.” Aiden said and before Felix could protest, he ran out the room, heart still hammering in his chest at the confession. 

Did this make Felix his boyfriend? He sure as hell hoped so, he had wanted this for so long. To finally be able to date the guy he had been crushing on for so long, it was like a dream come true. He couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them.

[whitecatgraycatblackcat]

Fictober 2019, Day 4

Prompt: “I know you didn’t ask for this”

Original Fiction

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1557

“I know you didn’t ask for this.” I lean in even closer. “I’d be upset, too, if this had happened to me. But honestly, it can’t be helped. We all must do our part, both to help others and to find meaning for ourself. I don’t really like this any more than you do, I’m just better at hiding it.” I lean out, surveying my surroundings before focusing again on what’s in front of me. A large, beautifully carved oak table and chair set. I can still feel the emotion emanating from the wood -- mostly peace, but also some anger and betrayal, that I would separate it from its roots and life giving soil, to hack and sand and nail iron into it. 

I’ve been able to hear wood and other plants speaking for as long as I can remember, but I think it affects the other woodworkers less than it does me. I’ve grown used to it, though, and found ways to cope. I like to talk to the wood as I work, explaining and trying to give meaning. I know it doesn’t really make a difference, but at least it makes me feel better. I run my hand along the table’s surface one more time, checking for any rough spots that I may have missed. I’ve been working on the set for more than a month, but I think it’s finally ready.  

When I glance out the window I notice that it’s just starting to turn dark, and I give a sigh of relief that another day’s work is done and I can go home. I love woodworking, but it always leaves me feeling slightly empty and a little drained at the end of the day. 

Once home, I start dinner. Yuki won’t be home for another hour or so, and it’s my turn to make dinner anyway. I settle into the rhythm of chopping and mincing and spend the time thinking about what my next woodworking project should be. By the time Yuki comes home, the soup has come to a nice simmer and I’m relaxing in our sitting room, reading. “How was work?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual. A few colds to check, a few stitches. No broken bones, today, though!” She ruffles my hair as she walks by, going into the kitchen and giving an appreciative sniff. “Is this ready?” I close my book and make my way over to our table and chairs. “Yep, we’re ready to eat. Go ahead and bring it over and I’ll get drinks.” I get a few beers out of the fridge, and then help bring bowls and utensils over. 

We enjoy our meal, as we normally do, chatting about our days and swapping stories of woodcarving accidents or the latest wound that Yuki had to attend to. I feel pleasantly fuzzy by the end of the meal and think, I’ll just have one more beer, to celebrate. After the meal we settle into a pleasant silence, each thinking our own thoughts as we nurse a beer. I’m thinking about the table and chairs, and how I’ll miss getting to work on them. “That oak was one of the most peaceful I’ve seen in a while. Usually oak stays angry for a long time.” I voice what I’m thinking without realizing it, and then, too late, realize what I’ve done. Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last beer. I glance over at Yuki. She used to really nag me when I was younger whenever I mentioned stuff like this, so I’ve made a habit of not talking about it around her.

This time, though, she just gives a sigh. “Aren’t you a little old to still be saying things like that, Eiko? I thought you would grow out of it.” 

“What do you mean, grow out of it? You’re acting like I’m just making all of this up. Look, I can’t define it very well, but I certainly feel something from the wood I work with, and plants, too. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, not like the other woodworkers.”  

She looks at me a little closer. “The other woodworkers? Do you think all of them feel the same as you?” 

“Yeah, I know they do. They don’t talk about it too much, but sometimes they’ll talk about how the wood speaks to them.”

“That’s just a saying, though, Eiko, they don’t really--” Yuki gives a small exclamation and sits up a little straighter. “Oh. Oh!” 

“What?” I grumble, expecting her to continue to lay into me about growing up.

Instead, she gets up and walks over to me, standing over me and looking at me intently. “I’ve never heard another woodworker talk about wood the same way you do, and you know I’ve spent plenty of time over at Hiroki’s house, hanging out with him and his family, who are all woodworkers.” 

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Oh. So? Maybe they just didn’t want to talk about it with you?” 

I see a strange glimmer in Yuki’s eye as she says, “Maybe. Let’s go outside, I think I have an idea.” She leads me outside, to our small garden at the back of the house. “Haven’t you ever wondered about your connection to plants?”

“Sure, of course I have, but I always assumed all the wood workers felt the same as me, so I never really thought about it.” 

At this point she gives a sheepish grin. “Well, I have an idea. I never put two and two together, because you haven’t brought this up in ages and I had put it out of mind, but we had a new patient come in to the clinic last week. She was from out of town, actually from out of country. She had deep, ugly cuts across her arms and legs, and when I asked her about them she just shrugged and mentioned that she had tried to prune back some thorns and had grown them instead. She had quite the accent, so I just assumed I heard her wrong and treated the cuts as best as I could. Now I wonder if she was saying exactly what she meant.” She gives me a look again, an odd look that I can’t totally place, and points at one of the small pepper plants that had just started to sprout. “Why don’t you try to encourage that to grow a little?”

“What?”

“Just try to feel your connection to it, and then speak encouragingly to it, of warm sunlight and moist soil and what it will be.” 

“What?” One second she’s mocking me, the next she’s telling me I have magic powers? No way.

Exasperated, she comes over and swats me on the arm. “Just give it a try, won’t you? It certainly won’t hurt anything, and I promise I won’t laugh, no matter what you do.” 

“Alright,” I begrudgingly respond, “I’ll at least try.” I sit down and stay still for a moment as I wait for the sensation that’s become so familiar to me. I can feel all of the plants in front of me, each experiencing the world a little differently and giving off slightly different emotions. I peek an eye open to confirm which one is the pepper plant, and then, feeling a little silly, try to send it encouraging thoughts. Images of bright sunlight and warm winds, steady rain that soaks gently into the soil. I think about all the plants I’ve seen grow, how they all followed the same cycle of growth and then death, and I think about what the pepper plant will look like when it’s full-grown, with a leafy stalk and peppers hanging from it. And that’s when I hear my sister gasp. My eyes shoot open, and I see the pepper plant in front of me, a foot taller and well on its way to producing peppers. 

“What?” I say for the third, and probably not final, time this evening. 

Yuki goes up and touches it, checking that it’s really there and not just an illusion. “You did this, Eiko.” She turns around, a huge grin on her face. “You really did this.” She comes over and gives my hair an exceptionally messy ruffle, while I just stutter. “But, but, how can this be possible? I’m not the oldest and I’ve never heard of plant magic. Sure, you can work bone magic and Mayako can understand animals and Ichiro can speak to the wind, but plants?” 

Yuki just gives a shrug. “I guess we were wrong about only eldest children being able to inherit understandings, and is it really so surprising that there’s plant magic?” Now it’s my turn to give a sheepish grin. “No, I guess not.” 

And then it hits me, and everything falls into place. Why I always feel so tired after a day of woodworking, why I always feel so much better taking even a small walk in the woods. I guess a little self understanding can go a long way. I’m lost for a second, thinking. Yuki waves her hand in front of my face. “Hey, you alright? You aren’t going to pass out from the shock, right?”  “No, no, I’m good. Great even.” I give her a grin as we head inside, sure that we’ll stay up late talking.

[amnesiacgrian]

Chapter 2 - Abyss

Part 1

I hardly slept that night, for obvious reasons. The only thing running through my head was the note I had found. Trust no one… what an ominous message. I wonder who would’ve left that with me.

With the rising sun came Mumbo’s awakening, slowly but surely. I pretended I had been sleeping as well, slowly forcing myself to stand from my cramped position and stretch. The note crumpled in my hand, reminding me to store it away. Keep suspicions away for now.

But why was that note so… terrifying? It was words on paper, basically nothing, yet somehow it felt so much more sinister than just that. I dunno, I guess it bothered me. It felt like it should be a secret, something closely guarded.

I could feel Mumbo’s eyes on me, watching my thought process go down quickly, so in response I blinked up at him tiredly. “Hello Mumbo. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged, not speaking right now. He looked about half-awake as he wandered to a chest, pulling out some eggs and pork. Those went into a furnace, laid overtop coals and left to cook up.

I glanced out the window at the sun rising over this small island, reflecting off the vast ocean right outside. It was blinding, the waves reflecting crystals of light into my eyes. I could see a boat in the distance, half-built and partially shrouded by early morning mist.

“Here,” Mumbo held out some of the eggs in my direction, a small smile on his face. “Breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I smiled back, taking the tray and devouring the food. I was much more hungry than first imagined… but then again, I can’t remember the last time I actually ate anything. Like, I could remember eating food obviously, but no actual meals.

As the last bites were taken care of, a small knock came from the floor entrance of the treehouse. Mumbo popped open the trapdoor with a foot, his plate still in his hands, and in came a new person.

She was honestly adorable. Dark brown hair with pure white ends, bright eyes the same shade as the oak bark to my left. Her pink and white cardigan went well with her white blouse and blue skirt, and her smile made me blush.

“Oh, hello!” She saw me, grinning. “Glad Iskall warned me you were awake. I’m StressMonster, but call me Stress.”

“Oh, uh… I’m Grian.” I waved a small bit, trying not to fumble too much. I turned down to the floor, kicking at it a small bit.

“And I’m chopped liver,” Mumbo helped Stress up the ladder and into the treehouse. Her wings were pure white, larger than you’d expect for a person her size, folded tightly to her back. She giggled, running a hand through her hair mindlessly.

“So it’s obvious that the few hours I took to actually sleep were when everything exciting happened. Glad to be of use.” I enjoyed her thick accent, the teasing lilt making us all smile.

“Stress-” Mumbo sighed, shaking his head. Stress giggled, winking his direction. “Whatever, is there any progress?”

“Sadly no. No exit Portals can be opened.” Stress shifted from left to right, seeming unable to stay still. Her smile became a little more forced, voice turning serious. “I have a daughter that I need to go see, I need to get out of here-”

“We know, Stress. Everyone has family out of Hermitcraft.” Mumbo pulled her into a hug, making me feel suddenly like I was… intruding, on a situation I knew nothing about. “I’m sure we’ll get out of here soon.”

“So from what I’m understanding,” I butted into the conversation, “The only way out of this place is blocked, and… no one can fix this?”

Stress and Mumbo shared a look, knowing something I didn’t. I pretended not to notice right away, letting Stress say something.

“For now, it’s… better that we let the Admins suss this one out. Speaking of which, X asked me to bring Grian over to his base for an Admin Scan.”

The slight brow crease of worry in Mumbo’s brow making me wonder what an Admin Scan exactly meant. “I thought X was going to come here and do that.”

“He was. Initially.” Stress shrugged a bit. “But now he’s needing Grian to be in his base to actually do the Scan. Something about closer to the Data Center?”

“Where is he holed up these days?”

“Some farms near the coast. He showed me around before I came here.”

Mumbo huffed, turning to dig in a chest. “I’ll take you there then. If something happens to Grian on the way there it’s on my head.”

“I’m right here,” I quietly protested, slightly cross at the way these two talked like I wasn’t here. Stress giggled, flashing me a grin.

“We know,” She opened the trapdoor to the ground, “That’s the problem.”

Before I could ask anything else, she had dropped. She launched into the air, wings spreading around herself gracefully. I watched in awe, before getting a nudge from behind me.

Mumbo was there, holding two pairs of wings. “Everyone gets an elytra this season. You wanted to fly?”

~~

Flying was so much easier than I could ever imagine.

We had started out at the very top of Mumbo’s treehouse, where I learned how to strap the wings to my body. As I connected the final strap, the wings morphed into a dark brown, reddish streaks at the very tips giving the impression of feathers.

Mumbo’s wings were black, specked with white like flecks of paint. They were long and wide, while mine were short and angled.

“Ready?” He smiled, holding a rocket in his hand. I glanced to the sky where Stress was lazily doing loops, blending in with the clouds in the infinite blue.

“Yeah. Just… jump and light, right?” I held the rocket in my hand as well, the pull-tab ready for release.

“Right,” Mumbo looked forward, determined, “One… two… three!”

We leapt off the tree at the same time, fumbling in nearly the same manner to unfold the wings. I pulled on the tab a bit before Mumbo, letting the rocket shoot me up into the sky.

Like it was natural, I pressed a button near my chest, and the elytra expanded behind me. I felt my ascent slow, angling forward into a glide easily. The breeze blowing on my face, the way the land below was so far yet steadily rising up… this all felt so…

Familiar.

I was laughing, doing loops carelessly. The air felt fresh, untouched, unchanged. I glanced down, gliding upside down, to see ^V^80 shaking 4!$ head at my antics.

“Grian!”

I gasped, realizing my fall had picked up, I was heading down headfirst to the ground. I fumbled for another rocket, but it was too late. I crashed into the ground hard, dust flying around -

- And I shot up in the middle of some small island. I sat in the middle of a beach, warm sand below my legs. The elytra that had been pinned to my back was gone, along with the note that had been in my pocket.

I panicked, checking everywhere on me for the note. Nothing. The note was gone, gone, gone-

“I knew you didn’t sleep last night!”

I jumped a solid meter in the air, turning rapidly to see the moustached man named Mumbo coming in for a landing. In one hand was the rocket he was using to fly, the other holding the back-to-grey elytra I had worn a moment ago.

“Uh… wh-what do you mean?” I grinned sheepishly, walking towards where he touched down in the sand. The elytra was thrust in my arms, and I was quick to strap it back on.

“You would have respawned in the treehouse if you had slept last night. It’s just how this works. Instead you popped up here.”

I shrugged, finishing attaching the elytra. “So what if I didn’t sleep? Does it matter?”

“Not currently, but give it a few nights.”

“What does that-” Before I could finish my question he had taken off, leaving me to fumble with another rocket and launch into the air.

I followed Mumbo’s lead back to his base, where Stress was pacing on top of the tree anxiously. Her eyes locked onto us as we came in for a landing, a relieved smile taking over her face when I stumbled forward.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Stress walked forward, fussing with my sweater. “One moment you were fine - better than any newbie has the right to be - the next you’re falling to the ground headfirst!”

“I…” I shrugged, pulling back from Stress quickly. “I don’t know. It was weird, I saw…”

What exactly did I see? It was like I was looking down at someone, but they weren’t there. Not really, at least.

“It was like… someone was there, but not.” I looked back up at the duo before me. “The ground was different, and I wasn’t flying down. I… I dunno.”

“Weird,” Mumbo glanced to the sky, where the sun was rising higher and higher. “I would love to chat more about that, but we should get to Xisuma’s base before he has a cow.”

“Right.” Stress flexed her wings, looking to the sky as well. “Follow me.”

~

...Xisuma’s ‘base’ was a bunch of farms with a mineshaft heading downwards. Xisuma himself was interesting. His bright green armor, clashing with a grey and purple helmet gave off the aura of mystery.

“It’s not much, just to get me started,” The man in question smiled sheepishly, leading us to a makeshift dirt-hut with a bed, “But it’s something.”

“I like it,” Stress grinned, “Quite quaint.”

“Thank you Stress for pretending.” He ruffled her hair as she puffed her cheeks out in a pout. I smiled as well, adoring their interaction. Mumbo had taken up a spot sitting nearby on a pile of logs, tinkering with some redstone to keep himself busy.

“Anyways, we should start now.” X gestured to his bed in the hut. “Lie down there before I black you out on your feet.”

Well that didn’t sound bad at all.

“How… exactly does this work?” I questioned, settling onto the bed. I stayed sitting up in the bed as he pulled a holographic panel out of nowhere.

X glanced at me curiously. “Well… everyone has Data. You know what Data is, right?”

“Mate, I know jack about jack.” The snap had me a bit surprised, worried that Xisuma was gonna take it as an insult, but he just laughed a bit.

“Right. Mumbo warned me about the memory stuff…” He sighed. “Well essentially everyone is made of their own Data, which Servers use to identify each person. It’s kind of complicated, but really important to our very existence.”

I nodded a bit. “So… how does that fit into the Scanny-thingy?”

“Well when I perform an Admin Scan, I can have access to your Data. Your Data contains everything about you. Memories, most importantly. By seeing your memories, I’ll maybe be able to figure out how you got here. So lie down, and we can get started.”

With a sigh, I flopped back onto the comfortable sheets. I couldn’t see what X was doing over me, but Stress squeezed my hand from nearby.

“I hope it all works out. I have some base stuff to get back to, but give me a ring if you need me.” She pulled her hand away, before leaving the small hut. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving X and myself alone in the darkness. I knew Mumbo was just outside, but that wasn’t quite as reassuring as I had hoped it would be.

His tablet thingy glowed a faint blue as he paced the small area. “Alright, we’re about ready to go. Close your eyes, and try not to resist this.”

“Resist?” I closed my eyes as requested. “What do you mean, resist?”

He didn’t answer. Well, he might have, if I didn’t suddenly fall through the ground. My eyes shot up as I fell, arms and legs flailing for any kind of purchase. I tried to spread my elytra, but found it missing, along with anything else I had been carrying on my person.

“Try not to resist this.”

Oh. He probably meant this. I took a shaky breath, doing my best to still my body. I was still falling, but I knew I wouldn’t crash. I took another deep breath.

Images appeared around me. I had my eyes closed, and within the blackness I could see movement, color coming to life. Somehow I knew this was all me, or parts of me.

Yet every time I tried to focus on one of the scenes floating around my body, it vanished. It was like grasping at straws, coming up with nothing.

A dull pain came from my back. It was like something was shifting, pushing, breaking free of my skin from underneath. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream as the pain grew more and more.

The moment the pain grew too much, I jerked forward and out of the bed. My eyes were open, and breathing was still an issue through the pain. The stabbing, slicing ache slowly faded into nothing as I became more aware of the fact that I was awake.

“Grian.” X had been kneeling in front of me, hadn’t he? “What happened?”

“Back,” I managed to squeak out, another ripple of pain making me jerk, “Hurts.”

“Can I see?” Such a gentleman, asking for my consent amidst the agony. I could only nod a bit, wincing as his cool hands slid the back of my sweater up.

Or, tried to.

Something was trapped there, yanking on my back. I cried out, jerking away from X’s hands.

“Grian, I need to be able to see your back. I need to make sure it’s not a glitch or… something worse.”

A glitch? I had no idea what that meant, but if X was mentioning it it was probably bad. He slowly slid my sweater off, making sure it didn’t get caught on my back again.

Whatever had been there before was gone. Supposedly, I had faint scars right next to each of my shoulder blades, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest pain other than the phantom memories I had.

“And the Scan? Complete failure. I couldn’t glean anything from your Data before you started screaming… and I’d rather not hurt you again.”

“So… there’s no other way for you to figure out who I am, or why I’m here?” I could hear the disappointment in my voice, and I hated it.

“Sadly no. I wish I could do more.” He seemed frustrated, but also… somewhat excited. “I’ll figure it out soon enough, but for now I should get you back to Mumbo’s.”

I nodded, standing and following him out of the dirt hut. The pain was but a faint echo in my mind now, but it felt like foreshadowing. Something big was going on here… and I had no idea who was responsible.

[lowat-golden-tower]

I sent one like this to another but now I want your take with my other favourite ship! So here we go- Roman is smitten with his flatmate Virgil so he tries to summon a demon at the crossroads to make a deal so Virgil will fall in love with him. But the demon that's summoned ends up being his flatmate and hoo boy this is awkward!

(I saw the other prompt you sent to @secretglittersauce and specifically didn’t read it so as not to be influenced. XD Too bad you specified Virgil as the demon, I was leaning more towards Roman for shits and giggles… but now you get Southern!Roman, so there’s that. :D

This took me like fifty years, and wound up way too long, but I hope you enjoy it @fangirltothefullest! I might do one with demon!Patton and Logan as a follow up, if you’re interested?)

Honestly, Roman wasn’t entirely sure this would work. According to folklore, one could summon a demon at a crossroads to broker a supernatural deal. It was a legend spinning around the South for decades, sung in the Blues and whispered between old men in rocking chairs on front porches and store stoops. Hell, Roman had heard it from his own next door neighbor as a mere child. The man, a retired musician and one of young Roman’s many inspirations, used to tell all kinds of stories and fables. Really, it became evident in Roman’s later years that he’d just wanted someone to talk to, or listen.One of those tales had been about the crossroads, and his own experiences with chatting up a demon for a foothold in the music business. Roman had been positively dazzled, though his mother had warned him not to believe in such “nonsense.” She especially warned him not to go wandering about intersections in search of some monster or spirit; that he could pave his own path to his desires.

He really never gave her enough credit. Her advice had pushed him through to adulthood, to where he was now, just the star attraction at the local theater but soon, soon Broadway would be knocking. No, it wasn’t furthering his career that brought him to the crossroads.

Skin white as snow. Hair the color of roasted chestnuts, but fluffy as a newborn chick. Lips that were always chapped because their owner wouldn’t stop chewing on them, pulling them between his teeth and oh, how many times Roman had envisioned his own lips being there instead-

He, may have had a… small thing, for his… roommate. They hadn’t known each other for exceptionally long, but already Roman simply knew they were meant to be. Putting out that ad for a roommate had been the best decision of his life, besides auditioning for his first theater role. They’d hit it off like oil in hot grease, gunpowder and flame, shoving aluminum foil in a microwave and watching the sparks fly. The phrase “opposites attract” had never been more appropriate and Roman knew, he just knew, Virgil must have felt the same. It was a gut instinct, intuition, a feeling in his very bones.Yet, strangely, no matter how hard he tried the man was positively infallible to his advances. Roman liked to think of himself as a romantic; truly the cream of the crop in the flirtatious crowd. He was young and handsome with a smile that gleamed and a voice smooth as silk on the skin. Men and women alike swooned at the mere sight of him. Heartfelt serenades had left more than one romantic prospect weak in the knees.Not Virgil. No pickup line, affectionate gesture, thoughtful song or bold action would sway his roommate. There was the banter, of course, the core and life blood of their relationship, but the mutuality of the spark ended there. Virgil either shrugged off his efforts or outright turned his back on Roman, avoiding it all in the same stubborn manner he’d avoid a proper sleep schedule. It was infuriating at first, but as the weeks went by with zero progress, Roman felt himself growing more and more disheartened. He was desperate.

Which brought him to the crossroads.

Of course, it wasn’t all so simple as wandering to the nearest intersection. No, Roman had to do a little research, and tried to recall details from the story he’d been told as a child. This was going to be quite the grim undertaking, but Virgil was worth it. Roman would do anything to at last break through that gloomy shell and harbor his roommate’s subtle affections.

First, he needed a dirt crossroads. That would be a slight drive to the countryside, but nothing beyond his abilities. Next, he needed a photo of himself- again, hardly a problem. Roman took enough pictures and selfies for ten people. The other two “offerings,” however, were the real test of his mettle. Dirt from a graveyard; morbid, and he’d nearly gotten caught, but luck was on his side. Who knew having a historic graveyard just a few blocks from his residence would be a good thing? The last was the worst. He couldn’t even comprehend why this particular ritual piece would be necessary.

A bone from a black cat.

Roman didn’t like to think about how he’d obtained that one. He hadn’t killed any animals, obviously, thank god. But the alternative wasn’t much more desirable. Still, at the end of the day, he’d claimed his prize and was ready for the event itself.

He wasn’t nervous.

That’s what he told himself, as he shut the items away in a box and pulled the shovel from his car. He kept the mantra up as he found the exact center of the dirt crossroads and dug a shallow hole. Were it not just before midnight, he might have gotten in trouble for this. Thankfully, there wasn’t a residence in sight for at least a mile, and only one lone street light illuminated his desecration.

In went the box. That wasn’t his anxiety spiking, it was adrenaline. This was a big power move. How many people summoned a demon to attain true love? Virgil would probably love it, with his dark affinities and creepy interests. He definitely seemed like the occult type.

Burying the box, Roman patted down the dirt, then returned the shovel to his car. From there, it was just a matter of waiting. Pulling out his phone for a quick game of Candy Crush or a scan of his social media feeds would have been the best time passer, but somehow it felt wrong to bring technology into such a place, during a touchy process like this. He didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. Roman’s knowledge was already shaky at best and at its core this was all nothing but pure rumor and folklore. There was no guarantee it would work.

In the quiet of the countryside, it was just him and the crickets, and the frogs. They chirped away in the field, paying him and his endeavor absolutely no mind. He caught the hoot of a nearby owl and assumed the creature must be up in the old oak tree beside the road. It was the only thing around, besides the streetlight and telephone poles.

The light’s presence came as a relief, honestly. Roman had no idea what phase the moon should be in that night, but it didn’t matter, because the whole sky was clouded over. Not a single star could be seen and thus without the streetlight he would have been stuck in pitch blackness. The heavy shadows outside its circular beam, a metaphorical sanctuary from the unknown, made him uneasy enough. And as the minutes stretched into nearly an hour, he started to wonder if this really was such a grand idea, after all.

In hindsight, it was rather foolish. Go to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and bury something in the road, hoping to summon a demon? What was he thinking, exactly? There had to be better ways. There had to be a safer, more sane method to have Virgil fall for him. He didn’t need to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

It was when he reached towards his pocket for the car keys that it finally happened, because of course that’s when it did.

The loose dirt where he’d buried the box shifted. It drew his attention instantly, and he blinked. Nothing else happened for nearly a full minute and Roman started to wonder if he’d just seen things, if his mind was indulging his wishful thinking. He shook his head. Anything could have made the dirt move. Maybe he’d buried a beetle too, on accident. Maybe gravity or the wind had finally knocked a few bits of sediment loose. Maybe… maybe…The dirt shuddered again, and then it swelled, rising and spilling out in a circle as something broke through it. Roman knew the hole he’d dug was too shallow for even an animal, let alone a person. There had been nothing this large inside when he’d dropped in the box. The sequence he was viewing with his own two eyes didn’t make any sense.

Yet there it was, a looming shadow with glowing purple eyes. It didn’t look to be much larger than Roman, but its shadow stretched far longer, crossing the boundary of the streetlight to meld with the surrounding darkness. It was holding the box he’d buried. Stunned almost breathless that the stories were true, Roman could only gawk at the thing as it popped the lid off, rummaging around the contents. A hiss bubbled forth from it; Roman swore he could hear the sneer there, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Is this an animal bone? Dude. Nasty.”

Roman blinked again. He recognized that voice. Yes, it was distorted and gravelly, but beneath that was a core cadence he found all too familiar. He squinted, inquisitive, some of the shock ebbing away so that he could push off his car. “I was merely followin’ the necessary ritual! Are ya tellin’ me I didn’t need to include the bone of a black cat?”

The culmination of shadows tossed the bone aside in distaste, snatching up the photograph before callously dumping the graveyard dirt onto the ground. “I mean, if you wanna be all old school about it, sure, I guess. Hope you didn’t kill anything for it.”

Good lord. What place did a demon have to be so damn judgmental?

Roman scoffed and puffed out his chest, confidence returning swiftly on the wings of defensive indignation. “’Course not! Just what kinda person do you take me for, creature of the night?”

He swore the demon rolled its eyes at him, but it was difficult to tell when there were no visible pupils. It stared at Roman’s picture for what felt like ages, not saying anything else, merely scrutinizing his visage. Was this part of the ritual? Did it have to do with the deal Roman would be making? Why didn’t the demon just look at him instead? Then there was the matter of that voice, which Roman still couldn’t pin down. He just knew he’d heard it somewhere- though, that was impossible. This was a demon. How could he know its voice?

At last, the picture abruptly went up in violet flames, not exactly turning to ash but instead disappearing before Roman’s very eyes. The demon performed the equivalent of rolling its shoulders before locking Roman into place with its piercing gaze. “Alright. You summoned me. What is it you want? Fame? Fortune? The hand of some girl who couldn’t care to give you the time of day?”

Roman gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, rightly offended. “Bold of you to assume I like women.”

“Oh, please.” The demon snorted; actually snorted. That sounded familiar too. “I know your type. A dime a dozen; brazen young men who know ‘exactly’ what they want but can’t seem to get their hands on it. So they cut corners, and they summon me, and get me to do their dirty work for them. Or were you just feeling lonely and wanting some company out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Roman sputtered. He’d expected some derisive comments, perhaps something sinister about the ritual and his soul, but this? This was an absolutely outrageous and unwarranted level of sass. From a demon! He was positively gobsmacked. In fact, there was only one person who so thoroughly thrashed him like this. Ironically, they were the cause for this entire debacle, yet if Roman didn’t know any better he’d think Virgil were there making fun of him. The uncanny similarities were really beginning to grate on his sanity.

Was this part of the demon’s ploy? Did it already know his deepest desire, and was playing on it to wear Roman down? Make him more inclined to accept a grave deal? Swindle him straight out of his soul without actually providing a lick of compensation? What had Roman gotten himself into?

Apparently, the demon didn’t have much patience. It growled softly at Roman’s lack of verbal response. “Well? What do you want? I don’t have all night.”

Roman was surprised by that comment. “Don’t have all night? Whatever do you mean? You’re a demon. What else could you possibly have to do but make deals with people? What, do you have some angels to terrorize? Candy to steal from a baby?”

Oh, the demon was scowling, Roman could just feel it. “I thought maybe, just maybe, viewing me in this form would make you even a tiny bit less annoying. This is what I get for hoping. I should have known hell nor high water would get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Uh. Excuse me?” Now Roman was really confused. “Do I… know you? What do you mean, ‘this form?’ Are you not always a walkin’ ink blot, Bendy the Depressin’ Demon?”

“Like you just said, I’m a demon, princey. I can change my form at will. One of the perks of being a monster. Usually, I just can’t be bothered, so I show up like this and get the deed done with.” The demon sighed, its voice edged with another sneer. “You would be difficult.”

Roman stared. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended again, because there was only one person who used that nickname for him: “princey.” Virgil had coined it after coming to one of his musicals, after begging and pleading with the reclusive grump for days. Roman was playing a prince, and after returning home Virgil had commented how fitting the role was. After a bit of banter regarding whether the title was a compliment or not, the nickname had stuck, and it retained a small soft spot in Roman’s heart.

Had the demon read his mind? It was speaking to him with such stark familiarity now, though. The menace and eerie factor were fading in the wake of a growing sass and gruffness. As if directly affected by the change, the elongated shadows were coalescing as well, framing a more distinct silhouette. Roman paled.

It couldn’t be.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Your Royal Arrogance. You’ve labeled my appearance as ‘concerningly demonic’ before.”

“Virgil?”

The shadows melted away, revealing pale skin and brown hair and smudges beneath glimmering purple eyes. Virgil’s clothes were nothing out of the ordinary; just his usual ripped jeans and thick, patchwork hoodie. Were it not for the circumstances, Roman might think his roommate had simply snuck along for the ride. Instead, the reality of the matter was starkly reaffirmed for him when Virgil parted his lips to reveal two rows of sharp, pointy teeth. More could be seen behind them as he spoke, the distortion gone from his voice. “In the flesh. Well, relatively speaking. This still isn’t my true form.” He shrugged.

Roman gaped, eyes so wide they could have popped right out of their sockets. He had to be dreaming. Maybe he’d never actually left the apartment. Maybe he’d changed his mind, been sensible and just gone to bed, and now his brain was conjuring up what going out to the middle of nowhere to summon a demon of all things would have looked like.

Which was why it looked like Virgil, because dreams were messed up and jumbled together and never, never made a lick of sense. That was the only explanation. He refused to believe this was real.

A blink, and suddenly Virgil- the demon- no, the dream demon- was in his face, mere inches separating their noses. The demon had raised a fist to mime knocking on the empty air and there was mirth glinting in his eyes. “Knock knock, Prince Gawking. Anybody there?” He gave a dark chuckle when Roman understandably leaped back, hitting his car with a loud “thud.” “Okay, I take it back. You are difficult, but this is also really amusing and totally worth the trouble. You look like a mouse.”

Roman spluttered, his indignation returning as he felt an embarrassed heat rush to his face. “I beg your pardon! I am no mouse!” He hurried to straighten up and dust himself off, tugging down his shirt hem. “An’ you will cease usin’ the visage of my cru- of my roommate immediately!”

Virgil- the demon- snorted, still clearly amused. Every time he so much as smirked, or sneered, Roman got another good look at all of those sharp teeth. The sight of them sent chills running laps along his spine. “Oh, but princey. This is what makes you comfortable, isn’t it?” He spread out his arms. “The person you spend the most time with, the one who’s always on your mind. Oh yes- I gleaned enough from those shoe box offerings you buried. This, is precisely who you want to see.”

Roman paled a bit and swallowed hard. “Listen here, Bruce. Cloakin’ yourself in his skin doesn’t make you any less of a shark. Much as I might compare Virgil to the demonic sort an’ the occult, you are besmirchin’ his name by puttin’ on this little act! I won’t stand for it!”

Abruptly, the demon rushed up in a violent surge of purple flames. Roman was so stunned he stumbled back and landed on his butt in the dirt, all bravado expelling from his lungs in a rush. The sass really made it easy to forget he was speaking with a denizen of hell. “Then sit for it! Because guess what, princey, this is no act.” The demon bellowed. Clearly, it was exasperated and possibly frustrated.

Well, it wasn’t the only one. “Stop callin’ me that!”

“Calling you what? Princey?” The demon sneered, though it was simmering down, returning to its more humanoid form.

“Yes, princey!” Roman snapped. He scrambled to his feet, determination burning in his brown eyes as he worked up the courage to stare the monster down. His fists had clenched at his sides. “You’re not allowed to use it. Only he is.”

The demon quirked a brow. “Who? Virgil?” Another dark chuckle and the demon shook its head. “Oh, princey…”

“What did I jus’-”

“Who exactly did you think you were talking to all this time? A doppelganger? Tough luck.” A blink, and suddenly a more realistic, spot-on Virgil was standing there. The sharp teeth were gone, the eyes had dulled and the sinister aura which had been whipping about the creature had disappeared. “Virgil is already here. It’s me, I’m him. So, that means I can say what I want. Princey.”

“That’s impossible!” Roman exclaimed. “Virgil isn’t a demon. He’s my roommate! He’s always been perfectly human, this is jus’- ’s some dream, ‘r a sick joke. You said it yourself, you can shapeshift! This is jus’ a trick to steal my soul!”

“Uh, newsflash, Drama Overlord. You came here and summoned me. To make a deal. Exactly what were you planning to barter with if not your soul?”

“Well- that’s, uh…”

“Trust me when I say you’re not dreaming. I know that first part- trust me- might be a hard pill to swallow, but this is real, and you’re no Sleeping Beauty. You’ve already hit your ass twice. Don’t you think you would’ve woken up by now?” Virgil was starting to circle Roman, eyeing him up like a wolf or a butcher.

Roman would really like to know just where his bravery had run off to. He had a few choice words for it. “I mean, that’s… that is…”

“And you’re right. I can shapeshift. But I’m not gaining much by taking this form, am I? I could’ve stayed a shadow and gotten this crap over with. I just wanted to see the look on your face at realizing you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as a demon all this time. Real hellspawn. I could prove it, if you like.”

He swore he felt something brush against his back; did Virgil have a tail? Horns, too. Was it on purpose? Was Virgil just messing with him?

“You always hide the spare key under the loose step instead of the doormat. You won’t admit it but there’s a bunny sticker still stuck to the sliding glass door for the balcony from when you put them up as Easter decorations and didn’t realize they’d be a bitch to peel off. All of your shampoo smells like a fruit salad, you have an entire stash of Lush bath bombs hidden under your towels, you spend at least one entire hour every morning getting ready, even if you have nothing planned for the day.”

“Now jus’ hold on a minute-”

“You sleep with a stuffed Build-A-Bear you dressed up like a prince, his name is Sir Growls-a-Lot. You refuse to drink anything carbonated, even sparkling water, and you always put Crofter’s on your breakfast- even when it’s not toast. You prefer cinnamon toothpaste over mint like the damn Extra diva you are. I can go on. And trust me, unless I’d been targeting you, I would not know all of this.” Virgil grumbled, “I sort of wish I didn’t….”

Roman was gobsmacked- again. He stared at Virgil for a long period of time before finally, slowly, bringing a hand up to press against his own chest. His eyes stung with the wetness of unshed tears and his expression was the epitome of fondness. “You… remembered all that… about me?” His voice squeaked a little.

Virgil immediately looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon. He glowered at Roman and shoved hands into his pockets. “Shut up.” His voice reverberated and echoed, like it had while he was ensconced with shadows. “Point is, I’m a demon. The dude you’ve been rooming with is a goddamn demon so now the question is, what are you gonna do about it? I’m still waiting to hear what you want. But then are you just gonna go back? Pretend this was all a dream and look at me the same in the morning?”

Roman blinked. Oh. Right. The entire reason he’d driven out here in the middle of the night, and gone through the trouble of gathering the ritual items. He’d almost forgot. In an instant, it felt like a stone had been dropped into his stomach, and his next swallow was around a dry throat. He began to fidget, no longer able to look at Virgil, those soft feelings gone from his face. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah… yeah. About that. You see… it’s… um. Right, the thing is… I….”

Virgil released an aggravated sigh. “Get on with it, Your Shyness. I don’t have all night.”

“What do you mean you don’t have all night? You’re a demon- nevermind, nevermind, gettin’ off topic here.” Roman cleared his throat again, desperately coughing into his fist as if it would make this any easier. How was he supposed to know the demon he summoned would be the same person he wanted to fall for him? This is what he got for messing with the supernatural. “I wanted… to… have someone fall for me. As hard as I’ve fallen for them. You see, they don’t seem to really notice me, or my advances. I’m… jus’ about at wit’s end.”

Virgil scoffed. “I can see that. You summoned me for help. Pretty desperate.” He brushed some of his bangs out of his face with a soft huff. “Should’ve known it’d be something love related, if not fame. You always were the worst type of romantic.”

Roman winced. He tried not to shrink under Virgil’s scrutiny, but it was hard. Because he knew which question was coming next.

“Surprised you’re so embarrassed about it all of a sudden. Or that you didn’t rant to me about it. You ramble about all your other passions in life. What makes this guy so different?” He eyed Roman a bit longer, partially just to make the man squirm, before shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever. Not like it matters. What’s the poor asshole’s name?”

“Ah…” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Never before had he been so nervous, even before his very first on-stage performance in front of a real crowd. He was basically confessing here- not even just that, he was admitting that he cared for Virgil’s affections enough to seek out a demon. Hoo boy. He’d really stepped in it this time. “His name… is… Virgil.”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. He stared at Roman, taken aback, before cool indifference slid over his face again with a shake of his head. “Wow. Figures. Same name as me, this is gonna be fun to deal with.” He sighed. “Last name? Gotta have the whole thing if I’m gonna mess with their head.”

Roman wrung his hands together. Well, there was no real backing out now. Might as well go the whole nine yards. “Virgil Deimos.”

The silence which instantly engulfed their little ring of light was palpable. The tension from Virgil’s initial appearance, which had slowly ebbed away, returned with a nasty vengeance and then some. It was so thick in the air Roman swore it was trying to choke and suffocate him. He wanted to cough, but he’d admit it- he was too scared. Virgil was staring him down with such a blatant intensity and disbelief that it stole away his last remaining breath.

Why the hell did he still find him so beautiful, even like this? He must have a death wish.

At last, the silence was broken by the sound of tinkling glass. Except it wasn’t glass, it was Virgil, and he was beginning to laugh. The demon laughed, tilting his head back, the sound warped and distorted and just a touch hysterical. Roman thought he saw a glimmer of tears rimming those smudged eyes and he grimaced. He hadn’t even known it was a thing for demons to cry. He’d certainly never seen Virgil do it, but then, Virgil usually hid away in his bedroom whenever he was feeling upset about something.

The laughter subsided, and Virgil brushed away the tears with a careless finger. They must have been from pure mirth because he didn’t look sad at all when he focused on Roman again. “You’re joking. Okay, I get it. You find out I’m a demon, you know I’ve been scaring the piss out of you on purpose, so you try pulling my leg. Good one. Now what’s his real name?”

Roman sputtered. “That is the name! Virgil Deimos.” He stared the demon down, even as he felt that heat return to his cheeks. “…you. It’s you, alright?”

Virgil’s eyes glinted purple for a brief moment, and then he took a step back. His expression shifted to shock. “You’re serious. Holy shit.”

“Uh, isn’t it an oxymoron ‘r somethin’ for a demon to use the word holy-”

“Shut up.” Virgil snapped, before running clawed fingers through his hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit. You mean it. You mean… me. Me. Why?” He turned to look at Roman again, his eyes narrowed with newfound suspicion and paranoia. “…why?”

Roman bit at his tongue for a moment. Lord, hadn’t he gone through all of this trouble to avoid blatantly confessing his feelings to Virgil? Still, now that he knew Virgil was a demon with untold power, he was far more inclined to just answer the question. He only hoped Virgil didn’t get insulted or something and decide to rip his guts out. “Why? Why? Because you’re soft-” He tensed as Virgil hissed and hurried on. “-a-an’ attractive!”

Virgil scoffed. “You call me things like ‘Emo Nightmare’ on a regular basis, princey. And constantly judge my ‘look.’” Virgil raised his hands to use air quotes for emphasis.

It was Roman’s turn to huff. “Jus’ because I might not… agree… with your fashion choices, that doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. You’ve got this sort of… broody, dark allure about you.”

“Wow, you really only hit half of that ‘Prince Charming’ nickname, don’tcha?”

“Shut up an’ listen to me!” Roman snapped, and he was a little surprised when Virgil actually blinked and shut his mouth. Well… good. Maybe he could actually get out more than one sentence at a time now. He tugged down his shirt a bit and straightened his shoulders. “From the moment I saw you, I was smitten. Downright lovestruck, do you hear me? Cupid took one of his frivolous little arrows an’ jabbed it straight into my heart!” He mimed the act of being stabbed in the chest.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Nice choice of words there.” At Roman’s glare, he held up his hands. “Couldn’t resist, couldn’t resist, go on.”

Roman pouted at him. “Laugh an’ be amused all you want, but I speak the truth. There are many things I like about you, Virgil.” His tone softened, along with his gaze, and he offered the demon a hand. Of course, Virgil only proceeded to stare at the appendage like Roman had lost his mind, and maybe he had. He continued speaking nonetheless. “I like how your hair is an utter mess in the mornin’, but you don’t seem to care. I like how meticulous you are about your eye liner, an’ your hoodies, but little else. I think it’s adorable that your favorite color is purple, that you doodle little storm clouds any time you get your hands on paper an’ a writin’ utensil. I like how intense your voice gets when you’re passionate, an’ how witty you can be with your sass. Few can be a match for me, after all.

“I like how you always curl up into a ball, no matter what you happen to be sittin’ on. How you always hug the throw blankets an’ pillows. You’re never cold, you jus’ like to be cradled in soft things, an’… I’ve always wondered if that could include my arms.” Roman dropped to a knee. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just felt right. This grand gesture and confession of love needed the proper pose! “I’ve wanted you, Virgil. I’ve wanted you for weeks an’ I’m at my wit’s end.”

Virgil actually looked uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. More like he’d never dealt with this sort of affection before, or the feelings it caused. He was flustered. “You can’t be serious. Crushing on me for weeks? All we ever do when we’re in the same room together is butt heads.”

“That’s jus’ it!” Roman exclaimed. “I absolutely live for our banter, the heat of a verbal battle, each of us vyin’ to have the last clever word! That’s when you’re at your most fiery, your most enticin’. I tried comin’ onto you in several ways, but you always mistook my flirtations as a gag, ‘r a tease. You always completely missed the point an’ you never took me seriously- just like you’re not takin’ me seriously right now!” Roman’s eyes might as well have been aflame. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not! You’re here to make a deal with me, right? I want Virgil Deimos to notice me. I want him to feel things for me. Or at the very least, see my motives for what they truly are.”

Virgil seemed to be at a loss, and Roman knew he had him. The demon squinted at him, scowling hard and shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket. “You realize that means I get your soul, right? You’re not even asking me to fall in love with you, or be yours. You’re asking for a chance. That’s all.”

Roman smiled, and his voice had gone soft again. “I know. But even if you are a demon, I wouldn’t want to force you into anythin’. I wouldn’t try to make anyone love me. What’s the point, then? Is it really love? I just want a chance to earn it. I want that initial spark, an’ then time to see if I can fan the flames into somethin’ truly marvelous an’ worthwhile. An’… if I fail at that….” He dropped his gaze. “…I suppose it would at least have been worth the adventure, in the end.”

Virgil pursed his lips. He looked legitimately torn for a moment, which was odd. For him, as a demon, surely this must be a real win-win of a situation. No matter what, he’d get Roman’s soul, and he might not even need to pay the full price for it. So why did he look so conflicted? “I….” He stared at Roman for several moments longer before sighing. “I… can’t. I can’t make this deal with you.”

Roman was immediately on the defense. “Why not?! I summoned you! You’re supposed to take whatever deal I’m offerin’, that’s how it works, you can’t jus’-” A cold finger pressed to his lips and his brown eyes widened.

“Shut up, princey.” Virgil growled. He was quick to remove his finger, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture but desperate to stop Roman from talking. “I’ll still make you a deal. Just… not that one. Not one for your soul.” He grumbled, “At least not immediately.”

Roman blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Virgil sighed. “Listen. I might be a demon, but I’m not heartless, and I’m not as cruel as I could be. I’m not… just gonna let you throw away your soul on me. But I am obligated to make a deal with you. So how about this? I’ll… give you your chance. To swoon me, win me over, whatever. If… if you fail at that, like you decide to give up and move on, I… I get your soul then. But if it works, deal’s off. You won’t owe me anything.”

Roman could do nothing except stare at Virgil, wide-eyed. He belatedly realized he was still on his knees. Something about that minute detail made the situation all the more poignant. “But… why? Why do this for me?”

Virgil wasn’t looking at him, but he did provide an answer; sort of. “Don’t worry about it. Demon business. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman had a feeling that was a load of bull, but Virgil barreled on so he couldn’t call the demon out on it. “Anyway, do we got a deal or not? I can’t refuse to make one with you, but… you can change your mind. Now’s your last chance to do it.” Virgil stuck out his hand.

Roman’s stare shifted to the appendage instead, while the gears churned away inside his head. Technically, he was still getting what he wanted. Now he just had the chance to skip out on eternal damnation. He couldn’t even be paranoid about it being a trap or a trick; Virgil had clearly lowered his odds at getting Roman’s soul. It really didn’t make a lick of sense to him, but… who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps Virgil had a change of heart. Maybe he already saw Roman in a new light, after all. His stance on trying had hardly changed, so… he had nothing more to lose.

Decisively, Roman took Virgil’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

A flicker of anxiety passed through Virgil’s face before it dimmed back into indifference, and he retracted his hand. “Alright. Cool. You just made yourself a deal with a real life demon, Sir Desperate. How does it feel?”

In a single, fluid motion, Roman rose to his feet. One hand pressed fingertips to his chest, while the other swooped out in a grand gesture towards Virgil. He was giving the demon his very best smolder. “Like I’ve got a chance in hell.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, then he snorted, shaking his head. “This is gonna be hell. For me, anyway.” He looked over at Roman’s car and quirked an eyebrow. “You drove all the way out here in the middle of the night? You really do have a death wish.”

Roman laughed and spun on his heel, hands rising up towards the sky. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

[starspatter]

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments.  (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.)  I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right?  Don’t worry, it’s really simple.  One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh?  A ‘demon’?  But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear.  Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within.  She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then?  Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others.  It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time.  (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~)  For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes.  The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars.  With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for.  ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building.  His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair.  That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi.  The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another...  Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself.  (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love.  But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this.  This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates.  I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be.  In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters.  For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it.  As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes.  Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright.  The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat.  The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao.  I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger.  “In all this time, why didn’t you come back?  You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child.  But he wasn’t a child.  Children were forgiven for their mistakes.  And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s the way this town works.  We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world.  Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia.  She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry.  It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze.  Over 10 years, huh.  But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering.  It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend).  *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories.  (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;()  What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all).  I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training.  I mean that in an intuitive sort of way.  Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else.  Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about.  Perhaps not.  Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this.  As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards.  It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly.  She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes.  She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze.  She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know.  This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL).  In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher.  So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again.  However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence.  As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*).  So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference.  (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now.  They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below.  The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought.  I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real.  The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this.  I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage.  I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic.  I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia.  The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend.  I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right.  I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun.  The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved.  This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted.  However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag.  One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead.  Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It.  Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch?  It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her.  Twice she nearly caught one.  Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands.  The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone. 

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol.  I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting).  I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination.  Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East.  She knew about the Light that came from Outside.  There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through.  She had always done well to avoid them.  The brightness was like poison to her skin.  But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely.  He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream.  She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was.  Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”.  In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn.  But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway.  She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread.  I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference.  (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

[lynyrdwrites]

Deleted Caroline/Elijah Scene

We were totally robbed of a chance to see these two interact when Caroline told him about Klaus' plan... so I wrote it!

Warning: angst ahead.

---

              It’s a sinking in the pit of her stomach.

              It shouldn’t hit her this hard anymore. Caroline Forbes is no stranger to loss – her mom, her dad, Bonnie and Elena, even if they came back, Stefan.

              She clutches her arms around her waist, and thinks that this one shouldn’t hurt this much. She’s felt  this pain before, as she left a voicemail she wasn’t sure would be heard, but Stefan had been her husband.

              Husband for all of six hours, but it had still been love.

              Knowing that come morning Klaus would be gone too… it shouldn’t hurt the same way.

              You were never the villain in my story.

              It had  been her way of saying good-bye, maybe, to finally be honest with him, and with herself. He had been a villain, but not hers… and she wasn’t sure there was a label that described what he had been.

              They were supposed to have eternity, and Caroline hadn’t actively thought of promises made for years, but now that it was about to be broken…

              She had always counted on those promises being there.

              Someday… someday…

              She spins on her heel, and finds herself facing a different Mikaelson.

              “Elijah.”

              “Mrs. Salvatore.”

              “It’s Forbes, still.  Technically.”

              It had seemed like too much work, to change her name when her husband was dead, and in her grief Caroline hadn’t had the energy to do it.  Once she’d pulled herself  back together, it had seemed so… useless.

              The Salvatore name was only something she had wanted because it came with Stefan.  With him dead, she preferred to keep the one that made her think of her parents.

              “Ms. Forbes, then.”

              It’s awkward.  Caroline’s sure she must have spoken to Elijah at least once, but in the moment she can’t think of such a time. He had been Elena’s connection, not hers. Caroline had been drawn more to Rebekah’s bitchiness, the type Caroline recognized in herself and Klaus’… everything.  Elijah had seemed so distant to her, and more than a little terrifying.

              And the last time they had met…

              “I guess you’re more yourself again,” she says, taking a step back and eyeing his hands warily. She’s had her neck snapped many times, but it’s never a sensation one grows used to. “I’m glad.”

              “Yes, well…” Elijah clears his throat, and Caroline thinks she may have made him uncomfortable.  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t amused by that. “I owe  you an apology.”

              Caroline just shrugs, because after this, she very much doubts that she’ll see Elijah again.  Once Klaus is… gone, she’ll go back to dealing  with  Freya, she imagines, and perhaps Kol will step in as well, with a lack of other parental options.

              She hisses between her teeth, and wonders how long it will take, for the thought of a world without Klaus to stop hurting.

              “I… are you okay, Ms. Forbes?”

              Caroline’s fingers dig into her hips, and she considers ignoring him.  The Mikaelsons  aren’t the bogeymen anymore, and Hope goes to her school; Elijah might think she’s rude, but he’s hardly going to kill her if she ignores  him.  Their last interaction gives her more than enough reason to dislike him, after all, and she really isn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with the Mikaelson damage that allows Elijah to seem so blasé about his brother’s imminent death.

              “What is wrong with you?!”

              And okay, maybe ignoring him isn’t going to work after all.   She closes her eyes, trying to reign in the temper that she can’t quite seem to control, and then slowly turns to face Elijah.   He’s watching her  with an enigmatic expression, his thoughts hidden.  It’s one of the differences between brothers that will mean Caroline will never be comfortable  around Elijah; she just can’t read him like she can Klaus.

              “I’m sure there are many things  that you would believe  are  wrong with me, but for  the sake of expediency, why don’t you be more specific?”

              “I realize that you and Klaus have, like, the most complicated relationship in the history of relationships – and honestly? Considering my parents and I, that’s saying something… but he’s about to die, and you’re just standing there all Ms. Forbes this and Ms. Forbes that.  How can you do that?  A thousand years, and you’re okay with this? How?” And part of Caroline truly means it when she asks how.  Because she would like an answer.

              Maybe Elijah knows the secret to getting rid of this sinking dread she can’t shake at the thought of an eternity where Klaus no longer exists.

              She’s opening her mouth to say… she’s not even sure. It’s probably mean, because she’s in that sort of mindset, but the she actually sees Elijah’s expression and she closes her mouth, teeth clicking together.

              He no longer looks so distant and closed off; he looks almost… lost. And young, in a way she’s never seen Elijah.  It makes her wonder how old he was when he was turned.

              “You didn’t know,” she says at last, her voice soft.

              It’s Elijah’s turn  to pace, taking several steps away, before turning back to her. He looks ready to speak, then turns away, paces some more, before he speaks with his back to her.

              “My brother cannot be killed, Ms. Forbes. You know this better than most.”

              “He has a white oak stake, Elijah.  I saw it myself.”

              “And you thought to simply let him do this?” Elijah demands, his voice almost raised as he turns towards her.  She finds herself backing away, suddenly not nearly as certain of her safety as she had been moments before.  “Perhaps you enjoy the thought even; how many times did you and your little group try to do just this yourselves?”

              “Do I look like I’m okay with this?” Caroline demands, hot anger making her hold her place, her fingers curling into fists.  “Because I’m really not, but what am I supposed to do? Sorry Klaus, you can’t save your daughter because I have a lot of really complicated emotions to sort out, and most of them begin and end  with you. This… he’s actually doing the right thing, Elijah.  He’s saving his daughter, and  I don’t get to stop him because I…”

              She trails off lamely, because she’s not sure how to finish that.  I love him isn’t right, because there’s too much history there that they haven’t managed to sort through for that to be the truth.  But I care for him doesn’t seem like enough.

              She sits in a chair and  runs her hands through her hair, before resting her forehead in her palms and closing her eyes.  She can still feel his skin against hers, feel his breath against her lips.

              She should have kissed him.  She thinks she’ll probably regret pulling away for the rest of her existence.  An existence that’s looking impossibly long in a way it never had when Klaus was still an option.

              “Hope is a child, Elijah.  We’re supposed to protect children.”

              “Niklaus is my younger brother, Caroline.  I’m meant to protect him as well.”

              She thinks it’s probably the first time Elijah has ever said her name, at least in her presence, but she’s too tired to react. He sits in the seat next to her, and she looks at him.

              “This is a mess,” she admits.  “I almost hate him, for asking me to help.”

              “Niklaus rarely makes things simple.”

              They lapse into silence.  Elijah buries his face in his hands, and Caroline almost reaches out to offer comfort, but pulls back at the last minute.  Even if she knew him well enough to think he’d accept it, she has no idea what to say.

              She can’t even comfort herself.

              “The kids are ready.”

              They both look up at Ric, who looks surprised for a moment to see Elijah with her.  But Ric’s seen enough weird that he shakes it off quickly.

              “I need to speak to my brother,” Elijah says. “It will only take a moment.”

              He doesn’t wait for a response, and Caroline wonders for a moment what he’ll say.

              She doubts it will do anything.  Klaus has always been stubborn, even when his cause was worth far less than his daughter’s life.  Now that Hope is at risk…

              “I can’t do this,” she says to Ric.  “I can’t watch him die.”

              “That’s a long time to hold onto someone you said you hated,” Ric replies.  But he doesn’t accuse her of being blinded again, so that’s a step up.

              “Immortality, Ric,” Caroline says simply.  “I was supposed to have forever.”

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

I’m Coming Back For  You - Pt. 1

Jerome Valeska x Winged!Reader

A/N: Hello y’all! I’m back with another story! This time it’s a story set in the Gotham universe since I’ve been binging the show recently, and I’ve absolutely fallen in love with it! This is a story that I thought up, and I may turn it into multiple parts if it gets to be too long. 

Summary Kinda Thing/Original Imagine: This is basically the story of your relationship with everyone’s favorite murder carrot.

Warnings: This may be kinda long, and throughout the entire story there will probably be a few time skips. I don’t know if that’s cause for warning, but there you go! I’m also going to change some things in the plot, most should be minor, but there might me something major since I haven’t seen season four yet. There’s minor spoilers, but nothing ground-breaking. This story starts before Jerome is put in Arkham for killing his mom. (Sorry. Minor spoiler there.) Also, in the beginning it’s set around Christmas time, and the reader might do some Christmas-y things, but I mean no offense, or non-inclusion to anyone who doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Finally, minor swearing. Maybe.

Winter in Gotham was always brutal. Much like the town itself. However, you didn’t mind because that meant that you could roast marshmallows over the fire in your fireplace, and wear big sweaters while watching classic Christmas movies.  

Right now, you were sitting in your favorite armchair, sipping on a cup of hot cocoa, reading your favorite book. Nuzzling your face a little further into the over-sized turtleneck of your burgundy sweater, and draping one of your crimson wings over your lap, you tuned into the back ground, listening to “It’s A Wonderful Life” which happened to be playing on TV. 

Your reading was interrupted only when you heard the distinct double-knock which announced the arrival of someone at your door. You stood and marked the spot in your book, then quickly made your way to the front door to greet the person waiting there. A little part of you hoped it was carolers, but given that it was the evening in Gotham, you thought that that was highly unlikely. 

When you reached the oak door that was stained to look a deep cherry red, you turned the brass doorknob and opened the door to the shivering guests outside. The cool winter breeze smacked you in the face as the door swung open, and your four wings perked up happily to see Jim Gordon, and a ginger boy you didn’t recognize who looked to be about your age. He looked at you quizzically, curiously. It was more than likely towards the four giant wings on your back, but who knows. Your hair had been acting pretty weird lately.

“Hiya Jim! What brings you all the way over here this late on a cold Winter’s Night?” You ask the detective dramatically, motioning to him and the stranger that they were welcome to come in. 

“Hey (Y/N). I’m here for a case…sort of. This is Jerome Valeksa.” Jim explained, turning to look at the ginger. “His mother was murdered this afternoon and he needs a place to stay. I know this is short notice, but do you think he could stay here for a while? At least until we can find his mother’s killer?”   

Your wings dropped in sudden sadness for the boy. “Yes! That would be perfectly fine!” You quickly answer, losing any and all joking tones you had had earlier. Then you turned to Jerome. “”I’m so sorry hun! I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through! You can make yourself at home and I’ll go set up the guest room.”

“Thank you.” Jerome answered, sniffling a little bit at the end of his sentence. His face was still blotchy and a little red from either the cold, or crying. Probably both.   

“I’m (Y/N) by the way. Ill have your room ready in a few minutes. If you’d like there’s some Taco Soup on the stove. Bowls are going to be in the cupboard above the stove to the right.” You explained, then turned to go down the hallway to your guest room.  

Once you were in the room, putting the sheets on the full-sized bed, Jim came in and helped you with the dreaded fitted sheet. 

“Thank you for letting Jerome stay here. Especially on such short notice. Poor kid’s been through hell.”

“I don’t mind at all. If something like that were to happen to me, I’d be completely distraught. I know I would want to stay somewhere other than home. Too many memories.” You replied somberly, beginning to work on the sheets, tucking your wings tightly to your back so they didn’t get in the way.

“I’m sure he’s grateful.” Jim paused for a moment, fighting with a pillowcase. “Ill come back when I’ve got more information, or the name of the murderer.” 

“Alrighty. I wish you luck with the case.” 

“Thank you.” Jim paused for a moment, worry glinting in his eyes. “I hope we can find the killer.”  

“You will Jim. I have no doubt.” You say, trying to offer some comfort.  

With that, Jim smiled, and  left you to finish off the comforter and the last pillowcase. 

Once you were done setting up the room, you headed back to the kitchen where you found Jerome sitting over an empty bowl of soup, looking into it as if it held the secrets to the universe and life itself.  

“Did you like it?” You asked as you made a b-line for the stove where the warm soup lay waiting for you.  

Jerome jumped as if he hadn’t heard you coming. He swung his head to look at you with wide eyes.  

“I’m sorry. I’m a quiet walker. How was the soup?” You asked once more, grabbing a bowl and filling it for yourself. 

“It was really good.” He replied. His voice seemed a little more confident than before, and that made you happy on the inside. You hoped that that meant that he felt at least a little more comfortable here.  

“Thank you. It’s my special recipe.” You say as you take a seat at the end of the table next to him.  

“You’re a very good cook then.” Jerome complimented.  

“Why, thank you.” You beamed inside and out, wings lifting a little in happiness. You liked it when someone complimented you or your cooking.  

You took the next few minutes to explain where his room was and the bathroom and everything he needed to know.  

“…And most importantly…… this is where I keep the hot cocoa.” You revealed the lower cabinet’s stash of hot chocolate dramatically, gaining a laugh out of Jerome as you giggled yourself.  

Once you calmed down a bit, you sat on the floor, letting your wings fall beside you, and Jerome sat next to you, careful not to step on, or sit on your wings. The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds just smiling and chuckling to yourselves. After a bit, you broke the silence.  

“Can I say something? Something that might be very offensive?” You ask hesitantly, worried about what you wanted to say. 

“Sure. As Long as I get to ask you a question in response.” He smirked a little before turning to look at you expectantly.  

“Alright. Ill give you that.” You smiled at him before continuing on. “Here we go… For someone who’s mother was murdered a few hours ago, you don’t seem very distraught.” You took a second to realize just how terrible that sounded out loud, and rushed to fix your mistake. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be that rude! I’m so stupid! Everyone has their own ways of coping with loss. How could I possibly be so-”  

“Don’t worry.” Jerome’s short sentence cut off your rambling, which took you by surprise. That and you were honestly confused by his answer.  “I don’t mind. Don’t tell anyone else, but I’m almost glad she’s gone.” 

You were surprised to say the least, but then again, you knew that not everyone has a happy family.  

“Do you mind me asking why?” You were almost scared for his response. Suddenly, Jerome’s face grew dark, and it was like you were looking st a completely different person.  

“Oh, she just nagged, and fucked around, and nagged some more, and then beat me within an inch of my life. With her ‘partners’. Multiple. Times.” By the end of his explanation each word was its own sentence. He was fuming. Meanwhile, your heart broke for him. Subconsciously, you laid a wing on his lap in some attempt of comfort.  

“I’m so sorry.” You barely whispered, staring at nothing in particular as you began to lose yourself in thought.  

You didn’t notice it, but Jerome looked at you. He couldn’t put an emotion to how he looked at you, but he just watched as you laid one of your beautiful wings on his lap. Strangely enough, it actually made him feel better, which was something completely unexpected.  

After a few moment’s silence you looked to Jerome who was staring at your wing, but you felt like he was lost in his thoughts as well. Deciding to break the silence, you spoke up with a quiet, almost comforting voice.  

“What was it that you wanted to ask me?”  

It was as if you had pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times before asking you what you had said. 

“I’m curious about what it was that you wanted to ask me.” You repeated softly. “Oh. I was just wondering about your wings.” He asked like he had just remembered something that was on the tip of his tongue. The darkness had left his face and he looked like the same ginger he was when you met him.  

You huffed a bit of a laugh.  

“Well, what about them?” You questioned.  

“Everything I guess. How you got ‘em. Why they’re red. Why there are four of them.” He started to ramble off.  

“Well, as far as I know, I was born with them.” You began, looking down to the wing that was still on Jerome’s lap. “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember, and they’ve always been this color. Except dad always said that they were pink for the first few months of my life. I’ve always had the four, and they’ve never let me down.” You explain with a sense of pride. You liked it when someone took an interest in your wings.  

“They’re fascinating.” Jerome stated, gingerly reaching a hand out to touch your wing.  

When you saw what he was doing, you quickly pulled your wing back, and he looked at you with confusion in his eyes and furrowed brow.   

“Sorry. I’m….hesitant when it comes to letting people touch my wings.  

“Do you mind me asking why?” He was curious.  

“It’s a long story… well, not long. Just…painful.” You respond, looking down at your wings and pulling them closer to you.  

“Alright then. I won’t push you.”  

After a minute or two of silence, just stewing in your thoughts, you announced that you were going to head to bed, and Jerome followed suit.