#She will go into a cocoon and bloom into something much more powerful

[completeoveranalysis]

[2]

I see Lava Lamp is practicing his dramatic poses for the future. It's always good to follow your passions!

But yes, Lava Lamp, amazing is correct! What is the sculpture that Sakura is praying at on the left there? I don’t think we’ve seen that before! It looks like wings closed together into a flower bud - which is alarmingly appropriate, given the entire future that lies ahead and the borrowed imagery from Cardcaptor Sakura, as this is how beings like Kero and Yue looked when they were transforming. It gives even more hints for the Cardcaptor Sakura connection that they’ve been sneakily whispering at us throughout this whole arc (even if it's misleading on purpose), and at the same time it also lends a bunch of associations to Sakura’s future, ie, her level of power, and how much change she'll go through in the process. (As well as a connection to Clow, I suppose)

[glassessence]

Elriel Hint and Analysis - includes analysis of Feysand & Nessian (ACOSF Spoilers)

I’m pretty new to the fandom, but I am currently obsessed with Elriel. This is my ship and I will go down with it until the day I die. As a fairly casual reader, I honestly had zero doubts the next book would be Elain’s and that the couple would be Elriel. 

Then I discovered the existence of the extra POV chapters and Azriel’s threw me in for a bit of a loop. Especially with the ending (which I genuinely believe is a red herring. I lean very heavily into the lightsinger Gwyn theory).

However, stalking Tumblr made me come across this again: 

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. 

Love me, touch me, sing me.

And then my brain accidentally vomited an essay on the symbolism in each sister’s journey... 

Life and death and rebirth so clearly symbolise Feysand’s journey. Feyre leaves behind her life of poverty for a brand new one with Tamlin. She journeys Under the Mountain for love of him and ultimately succeeds in saving not just him, but all of them. In the process, she dies. Not just in the physical sense, but spiritually too. Feyre the human perishes, giving rise to Feyre the High Fae. In a purely physical sense, this is definitely a rebirth. But it’s stilted, incomplete. She’s the newly born phoenix - young, fragile and yet covered in the ashes of its fiery death. Her spiritual rebirth lags behind her newly changed body. Like a bird in a cage, she is trapped in Tamlin’s realm, unable to finish developing, to spread wings and fly. 

That all changes when she is whisked away to the Night Court. She learns to read and some of the ash falls from her body. She makes friends and some more ash is brushed away by the Inner Circle. The final remnants of ash are blown away by the taste of freedom and the kiss of wind, and Feyre’s rebirth is finally complete. Spiritually and physically, she is changed. She becomes Feyre the High Lady. From life back to life, she is returned through the power of love. Take note that while love is important in all the sisters’ journeys, it is the focal point and highlight of Feyre’s. She is someone who has never been loved in that wholesome, selfless way Rhysand loves her. Tamlin was possessive and abusive; Nesta was barbed and sharp. Elain was fragile and ethereal. Love was something she had never really known and consequently something she desperately, desperately needed. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is love me.

Sun and moon and dark refers very much to Nessian. Nesta is the sun and she is burning. Has been burning for a long, long time. She is aflame, nothing but ashes inside, and her words are fire. She scalds anyone who dares approach, just as everything melts before the sun. Like Feyre, she has had her physical rebirth, but not her spiritual one. She is trapped in her own head, locked behind her own self-hatred, her own raging inferno that yields to no one. Like Feyre, she is also a phoenix, but one whose fire never stopped. In that sense, she has never died. Her spiritual rebirth is not simply incomplete; it has never happened.

Until she starts training with Cassian. Until she starts befriending Emerie and Gwyn. This is what marks the death of Nesta the human and the emergence of Nesta the High Fae. (I use the term ‘human’ loosely here, mostly as a way of conveying my point about her spiritual journey rather than the state of her physical being). She loses her solar flare, that inner blaze that was killing her and blackening her soul. She mellows from unapproachable sun to a softer moon. It’s here that she stays a while, seeming to progress and regress in her healing journey as the moon waxes and wanes. It’s not until the hiking scene that she finally breaks. She weeps despite Cassian’s expectations to the contrary. Through her tears, she finally extinguishes the long-raging fire and hatred that has been destroying her. No more blazing sun, no more wavering moon. Only darkness to cradle her, and acceptance. Through Cassian’s ceaseless efforts and her friends, her journey reaches its apex. She finally becomes Nesta the Valkyrie. 

Her journey hinges heavily upon the fact that nobody could reach her through the flames. Nobody had kept trying after getting burned again and again. Nobody except Cassian. He reaches out, time after time, even when she hurts him. Even when she burns him. Until he succeeds and touches her soul. That’s why the phrase that symbolises her is touch me.

Of course that leaves only the last line: rot and bloom and bones. I wonder who this could symbolise! Surely not the Archeron sister who is associated with roses and has a complicated romance dilemma with someone from the Autumn Court (rot) and someone else from the Night Court (bones)! Surely not!

Jokes aside, I strongly believe this line reveals Elain’s journey. If we continue thinking of the words as a progression, I think it makes a lot of sense. Keeping in mind the theme of life, death and rebirth, this is how I think of it: 

Life / Rot / stagnation, the start of the journey

Death / Bloom / change, the start of healing

Rebirth / Bones / ascendance and acceptance, the start of the future

There are several interesting things to note about the sentence: 

The word bloom is nestled among rot and bones

Elain’s two potential love interests both have strong associations with those words

I’ll address each point as we delve into Elain’s analysis. 

Let’s start with Elain the human. As previously established, this is when the character is at their worst, blind in the dark before the dawn. I see this as Elain’s forced transformation by the Cauldron. Everything she knows is ripped away from her and her marriage crumbled to dust. She is thrust into a world both unknown and at war. She emerges changed and cursed with powers she cannot control and does not understand. Her life, once a slow-blooming flower, has just rotted into nothing. She is lost, confused and deeply depressed. Her physical rebirth may be complete, but her spiritual rebirth cannot begin until she gathers the shattered pieces of herself back together.

This happens slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it’s hard to notice and easy to dismiss. She befriends Nuala and Cerridwen. Begins gardening again. Talks to the Inner Circle and buys them gifts for Solstice. Slowly, so very slowly, she is starting to piece herself back together. Off-page, she quietly unravels Elain the human and emerges from her cocoon as Elain the High Fae. Like a wilted flower that has dropped its petals, a new season has come, bringing with it new buds. She is blooming, opening herself to new possibilities for companionship, love and for a new self to rise to the surface. But blooms are fragile, newly born things. Elain hasn’t dealt with the full force of her trauma, of her lifelong lack of choice (I’m not going to delve into this as there are so many amazing analyses out there!). She is a trembling fawn, still trying to learn how to walk.

But her spiritual rebirth will remake her. Bones. It’s so different from the previous two words that it really leaves an impact. Blooms rot and fade. Flesh breaks and dies. But bones are strong, the frame that holds up our entire beings. Bones are unyielding and solid, taking no other shape like blood nor bruising like flesh. I see this as Elain standing up for herself, unswayed by external forces that have always governed her life and breaking away from the fragile flower people have always thought she was. By cutting away the rotting flesh, she will reveal the backbone beneath and ascend as Elain the Kingslayer/Seer. 

Of course, closely tied to each sister’s personal growth arc is her love interest. For me, I don’t see it going any other way than Azriel. 

SJM chose rot not only to represent the ‘life’ section of Elain’s personal journey, but also to represent Lucien. He has connections to the Autumn Court, a season that is often associated with decay and rot, but also with harvest and bounty. Highlighting the negative aspects of autumn invokes a strong sense of wrongness. Lucien is not right for her. Not to say anything bad about his character; he’s just not right for Elain. His presence in the books eats away at her newfound boldness; he rots away the path she is trying to carve for herself. 

On the other hand, Azriel is closely tied with death, with blood and bones and shadow. He’s not only Rhys’ spymaster, he’s also his torturer. His association is with bones, a word that invokes a sense of everlasting, of persevering beyond death. Bones is also used to describe the ‘rebirth’ section of Elain’s personal growth arc, the final aspect that leads to ascendance, and acceptance of one’s past and present. Meanwhile, bloom represents Elain herself and the ‘death’ portion of her story, the aspect that heralds change and healing. 

Rot, bloom and bones represent both her personal journey and her love interests. It’s all intrinsically linked. Lucien is ‘life’ and stagnation, Elain is ‘death’ and change, and Azriel is ‘rebirth’ and acceptance. As a progression, this is how I interpret the sentence: 

By rejecting the bond with Lucien, she is stepping into herself and forging something everlasting with Azriel.

Lastly, let’s not forget that the phrase symbolising her is sing me. This didn’t make much sense to me until I read Azriel’s bonus POV. In it, he confesses to Gwyn that he does sing. Why include this if it’s not a subtle callback to this prophetic paragraph in ACOMAF? It feels like a treat to hardcore fans who like finding all the little connections (since they’re the ones most likely to have read the bonus chapters). The fact that Gwyn also sings signals to me there’s an important plot point regarding song. Maybe homegirl Elain will be forced to throw a hardcore metal concert to save Az XD Wouldn’t that be a plot twist HAHAHA. 

I don’t know when SJM started planting seeds for Elriel in any serious capacity, so perhaps I am reading WAY too much into this. Either way, I am super keen for the next book!

Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts! I am desperate for Elriel right now hahaha. Thanks for reading! 

OH, BUT ONE MORE THING. 

The greetings are really interesting. Sweet thing obviously refers to Feyre. Lady of night and princess of decay are clearly meant for Nesta. 

Fanged beast and trembling fawn are left for Elain. It’s easy to write this off as being about her LI and herself, respectively, but I don’t know. The sentences build upon each other. A single moniker grows to two - the first separated by a comma, the second expanding to use an and. It’s something you see a lot in poetry, generally used to emphasise a point. I’m not entirely sure what the point is; it might just be a nice writing flourish, but wouldn’t it be interesting if both those statements were referring to Elain herself? Wouldn’t it just be juicy? 

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x Reader) Chapter 5

Warnings: Mentions of blood/swearing

Word count: 2.2k

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-Unknown POV-

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up, it’s not your time yet. There’s much to be done! Dangers are close. They won’t be able to stop the danger without you. You must wake up, for you are the key to it all, you hold the dragon soul.” 

-Saul’s POV-

“Where the fuck is she?” Saul screamed out, partly because he was in pain from his wounds, partly because he’d just seen the girl he loved fall like a sack of bricks to the ground with blood gushing from her mouth and nose. A couple of Specialists had helped to drag Saul to Mr Harveys lab, he’d been there for all of 20 minutes when he regained consciousness and started flailing around like a mad man, the only thought on his mind, you. He’d passed out when he watched you fall through the portal, only to wake up with the professor poking and prodding at his burned one wound. He couldn’t help but scream in pain, the infection spreading through his body, crawling through him like he was covered in thousands of ants. His veins black, filled with the dark disease. 

“Saul, she’s fine, she’s in the medical wing, in a secluded room, i’ve had to suspend her body in a comma like state for the time being.” Farah stroked Saul’s head as he lay getting his wounds tended. She could see the pain and shock flutter across his face. “She will be okay Saul I promise, it’s just a precaution while her powers regenerate, she should be awake by the end of the day.” Farah looked at him sadly.

“You know? How?” Saul could tell that Farah knew about his and Y/N relationship, but how? For how long? 

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. How long have we known you Saul? We’ve seen the way you look at her, the burning desire you have to always protect her. God, if I wasn’t mistaken i’d even say sometimes I can physically see the energy between the both of you. You’ve never looked at anyone like that in the years i’ve known you, not once.” Ben smiled and Farah frowned. Saul couldn’t believe that both of his friends knew and yet, they hadn’t done anything about it. 

“Please Farah, i’m sorry, I never wanted to keep it a secret, I didn’t meant for it to happen, it just did.” He placed his hand over his heart, worried that now the secret was out, things were about to change and not for the better. 

“Mate, you don’t have to worry, your secret is safe with us. We just want you to be happy, you can’t help who you love.” Ben finished cleaning the wound and helped Saul lay down fully, patting him on the shoulder. 

“I need to see her, Please, you should have seen what she did out there, it was scary, amazing, i’ve never seen anything like it before. She looked so fragile Farah, please I have to see her.” Farah patted Saul on the hand, explaining that Y/N needed rest and so did he, it wouldn’t be a good time and a good thing for him to see her the way she was. He tried to fight it he did, but before he could fight any more, the medicine Ben had given him started to kick in and the world faded into a blur of colours and objects and eventually, nothing. 

-Your POV-

You groaned. What a weird dream you’d had. Your eyes flickered catching glimpses of a fluttery sparkly, silver force surrounding your body, then they closed again, your body still tired from your excessive use of magic. 

They opened. Again, the same fluttering force surrounded you, it felt almost warm, powerful, like a battery, charging you, regenerating your life force. The sky outside was lighter now, but your eyes still fluttered, closing for a second time, your body still not ready to awaken.

It was light again by the time your eyes opened all the way and open they stayed. The fluttering force field of energy was replaced by black tendrils of your magic wrapped around yourself like a cocoon. You reeled them back in and winced as you sat up, your throat dry like sandpaper. You saw movement from the corner of your eye, then a glass of water was handed to you by a familiar pair of hands. Silva. His eyes were still tinted with black, he looked tired and his face was pale. Taking the water you drank greedily then set it to the side, you couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips, Silva moved you over and lay down on the bed with you taking you in his arms, you didn’t fail to notice the wince he gave when he lay down. He was still infected. He was your safety blanket, your safe haven, your home and he was dying. 

“How long was I out? How long has it been?” Saul kissed your hair, his other hand tracing circles on the skin exposed on your hip. 

“You’ve been in a coma for a week Y/N, I thought i’d lost you, Farah said you would have been awake by the end of the day, when you didn’t come round, we feared the worst.” He nuzzled your hair with his nose, breathing deeply, holding you a little tighter, happy that you’d finally woken. 

“You’re still infected? Why haven’t they killed the burned one yet.” You sat up slightly craning your neck to look at Saul, he sighed and his head fell into the crook of your neck. 

“Sweetheart, the problem is a lot bigger than we initially thought, there wasn’t just one burned one, there’s a whole group of them.. fighters killed one this morning, but as you can see, it wasn’t the one that got me.” Your jaw clenched, gritting your teeth to hold back the tears. 

“I won’t let you die Saul, you can’t leave me, you’re all I have in the world.” Your arms wrapped around him tighter and you snuggled down, listening to your mans steady heartbeat. 

-Later that night- 

After the morning spent with Saul, after him telling you that Farah and Ben knew about your relationship and they were going to keep in hush hush, you were given the all clear and were aloud to leave the medical bay. It hadn’t taken long for you to get roped into going to the Specialists party, and you couldn’t help but notice the stares and smiles people gave you in the hall, which you later found out was a new found appreciation for your powers and the fact you saved Silva from a worser fate. 

The party was in full swing but you didn’t feel like drinking, just incase anything happened to Silva, you wanted to be able to help if it came to it. He had reassured you that he would be spending the evening with Farah and Ben, reminiscing about the days when he trained at Alfea, telling you that he was one that started the annual Specialist keg party, but that was apparently a story for another time. 

Looking across the crowded room, you noticed Sky wasn’t drinking either. He was looking around, then caught your eye, suddenly making his way towards you. All of a sudden you were scooped up into a hug, by the taller Blonde guy. You laughed shocked and awkwardly hugged him back. 

“You saved him, you got him out of there, thank you.” You smiled. “I always knew there was something between you two, he never shuts up about you, you make him so happy.” You blushed. 

“God it seems that everyone knows about us when we were trying to keep it a secret the whole time, is it really that obvious?” He laughed and shook his head, his har falling in front of his eyes slightly. 

“No, only the people who know Saul best, so now that me, Headmistress Dowling and Prof Harvey know, I think your secret is safe.” Sky leant against the brick wall, taking a look around the room, a slight frown on his face. He still had a lot on his mind. Stella was across the other side, she noticed the two of you talking but all she did was raise her cup and nod in your direction, knowing that nothing would ever happen between you and the guy she loved. 

“Y/N, he’s dying you know. You’ve been out for a week so you won’t have been able to see the difference. He was better at the start, he’s just gone down hill from here. He didn’t want me to tell you but he tried to tell me goodbye earlier, just incase things went wrong, he didn’t want to worry you. We have to do something.” Well shit. Way to ruin the party mood you thought. Your heart felt like it was squeezed in a vice, your stomach tied in nots and all the air seemed to leave your lungs. It was really that bad? You knew that something had to be done, and that’s when you and Sky came up with your plan. 

It was around midnight when you met Sky at the edge of the barrier. Accompanied by Bloom? You didn’t ask.. the more the merrier you guessed, you needed all the help you could get and you knew that for some reason Bloom was able to sense the Burned Ones near, it was like having your own sniffer Fairy, you snickered to yourself which landed you strange looks from the pair. 

To say you were nervous was an understatement, you’ve seen first hand what the masters are capable of, but you also knew how much you were capable of, your powers sometimes making you feel untouchable. Bloom had lead you into the middle of the woods, she could hear it. It wasn’t until you saw the red eyes and heard it’s cry that you jumped into action. The three of you were pushed back, you hit the floor with a thud, the wind knocked out of you. 

“Close your eyes!” Stella? You turned and caught a glimpse of her before you closed your eyes. Even behind your eyelids you saw the forrest come to life with the light of Stella’s powers. Great, now it really was the more the merrier, you should have known that your roommates would come to the rescue, you were grateful, but you also feared for their safety. 

Stella and Musa helped you stand while Bloom hit the monster with the force of of her fire powers, Aisha hit it next sending the thing crashing to the floor where Sky finished it off with his sword. You winced, noticing you’d bumped your head on a rock when pushed back, blood matted in your hair, but you’d live. 

“I don’t think its dea-“ Musa started but never got to finish her sentence when the burned one burst into pieces. You all turned slowly when you heard the pissed off voice of Headmistress Dowling. 

Walking back in silence was weird. You still had a shit eating grin plastered on your face though. What if this was the one? The one that had got Saul. He’d be saved. You practically ran with Sky when you got to the barrier. Both of you walked cautiously through the green house doors, Ben was taking off Sauls bandages, you felt like you’d been holding your breath for hours. Letting Sky go in first, you felt a little dizzy, so tried to catch your breath. 

“You are an idiot, a stupid, impulsive, reckless idiot!” Well, he sure did sound like the old Saul you know and loved. 

“Is it better?” Sky asked in a frantic voice. You held your breath again. At this rate, you’d be able to give Aisha a run for her money at swimming with the amount of breath holding you had going on.

“Don’t smile at him” Ben laughed as Saul told him off and you peaked your head around the door to see Saul and Sky hugging. Happy tears ran down your face, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You coughed a little to gain their attention. Saul’s face flickered with a load of emotions, anger, surprise, happiness, love… then worry as he noticed the blood matted in your hair. 

“I had some help.” Sky pat Saul on the shoulder and left the room, giving your shoulder a pat too. Ben noticed you and took it as his cue to leave and give you both some much needed privacy. Then it was just the two of you. 

“Before you say anything I know it was stupid I know, I just couldn’t stand back and watch you die!” You’d barely pushed yourself off the edge of the door before Silva was in front of you, hand on the side of your face, drawing you in for a kiss that made you almost grateful that you didn’t have wings because the feeling he gave you in that kiss, would have had you soaring up into outer space. 

“So, you’re feeling better then?”

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Okay so I feel like this is slightly filler? IDK. I just hope you guys enjoy it, I can't believe the amount of support i’ve been getting over this story... im so grateful you don't even know! Let me know what you think in the comments... what you think should happen next, what you like/don't like.

Chapter 6 pt1 ------- CLICK HERE 

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[darkpoisonouslove]

Win a Heart

Summary: Icy can fight Bloom. Fighting the strongest person in the universe is not something she is afraid of. What she can’t do is voice her true feelings for Bloom and earn the right to owning her own heart.

This is an AU but I’d like to keep the suspense so more information is at the end. You can go there if you feel confused about anything.

The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. No matter how much power she put into fortifying her frost, Bloom's fire was eating it away one molecule at a time in pursuit of licking at her skin. Even if she did tap into her endless well of rage, she couldn't make ice at the rate Bloom was making her way through it. Her tactic would fail and she couldn't clear an opening for an attack.

She tilted her head back, gazing straight into the lake of fire spilling over the ice crust springing from her hands, and sent her magic down her hair. It was long enough to brush the floor and lead the ice where she intended it – freeing a path of escape for her. Bloom had no time to react when she glided backwards on the ice rink she'd made and away from the fiery downpour.

Frost encased Bloom into a cocoon she'd die in if she couldn't catch up. Bursting flames were not enough against the strategy Icy had devised just for her. The Dragon Fire gave Bloom an advantage but even it couldn't break through the layers of ice Icy had constructed to let her magic through to the inside. Every patch Bloom melted was freezing back against her body instantly to wrap her even tighter in her prison. The princess had challenged her and now the tables had turned.

Bloom writhed in her cage struggling to free herself with brute force but the ice was too thick even for her relentless stubbornness. There was no force or weapon she could use to crack Icy's victory.

Bloom locked eyes with her, having arrived at the same conclusion. The blue of her irises was still vibrant, though, like a boiling sea and her gaze reached into Icy's core melting through all her defenses. Ice shards dropped in her stomach as her heart shuddered to shake off the remnants of the cage she'd stuffed it in.

Bloom's eyes widened as if she'd seen the cracking walls inside her before she closed them in intense focus. Heat filled the atmosphere chasing away any shivers that could rock her concentration or Icy. The air trembled as Bloom's hair burst in flames dripping all over her body and Icy's cocoon.

The butterflies were in her stomach fluttering aggressively in their search of a way out. The warmth flooding her was inviting as she watched Bloom flaming her way out of her ice. The flaring fire wasn't threatening as it crawled through her handiwork to free the princess without a malicious intent. Bloom wasn't fighting to best her. She was overcoming herself and her own limits and she'd taken a page out of Icy's book to improve.

A block of ice shattered and crumbled to the floor where Bloom's chest expanded like she would swallow the whole world, and Icy, too. There was still something to do but it wasn't her turn. She would've skipped it anyway to see what else Bloom was up to.

Bloom answered her thoughts with the air she breathed out as it caught fire, too. She was a fire-breathing princess and Icy was captivated by the twirling flames as they wound around her cocoon and left it in a puddle on the floor. Everything was always so symbolic with Bloom, so... ethereal. Almost like they knew each other on an entirely different plane of existence.

"Don't count me out yet," Bloom held the fire retreating from her hair in her palms. A courtesy on her part to Icy who had drifted away like she never did in her own bed.

"I can say the same to you," Icy brushed away the smugness wafting from Bloom. It was deserved but it wouldn't last forever. Even if she didn't mind. All good things had an end. She just had to be grateful there'd been a beginning at all for her.

It was her turn to borrow and she crafted a blade of ice. Maybe brute force would work better combined with elegance. Maybe then she wouldn't break her neck.

She swallowed the thought like a lump of ice that would charge her magic and charged at Bloom with the weapon. Fire could take no solid form like that even if the streaks still flaming in Bloom's hair suggested otherwise. She had to try her hand at beating the most powerful person in the universe. Maybe then she would be able to outdo herself, too.

Swinging the blade was natural, the ice one with her as always despite her poor preparation with a sword. Bloom was an expert swordswoman but she had no way of conjuring a weapon from her magic. Icy had found the way to-

Bloom caught her ice blade with her bare hand unmoved by the sharp edges. She used her fire to leave the shape of her fingers in the wholeness of Icy's weapon. An imprint on her mind to join the one Bloom had been carving in her heart from the day they'd met.

Icy's breath caught but she let the ice take over. Gliding over it had been second nature her whole life. It was easy the same way dueling Bloom was effortless. Like a dance. Each move reciprocated with the due respect and desire to match it, raise the stakes until they were both engulfed in the flames of the intensity between them and the rest of the world couldn't reach them in their cocoon.

Bloom followed her movements intently, eyes on her frame like her gaze belonged there, like it was home. And there was the familiar pull. The invitation for Icy to spill into her but her spine couldn't bend that way without breaking. Her ice couldn't melt without drowning her. Perhaps it would kill Bloom, too. The risk was too great.

Stuck in her vicious circle, Icy faltered when her blade was stuck in Bloom's grip once again. Pulling did nothing with Bloom holding it as if her life depended on it and thrusting was impossible through the princess's strength. All she could do was supply more ice to restore the parts the flames coming out of Bloom's palms reshaped. They were caught in Bloom's will–like the rest of the universe except Icy's fate–and the moment stretched around them unbreakable. Whatever it was made of was stronger than Icy and she'd accept it if she didn't have to find her way to victory.

She willed the ice to grow, icicles with pointy edges reaching down from her blade through the fire eating it to pierce Bloom's chest. It had to free them from the spell she'd bound them in.

Air pushed Bloom's chest closer to the sharp tips aimed to stab through her heart but the heated burn of the flames inside her neutralized even that threat. Now it was water dripping from the icicles to soak Bloom's outfit and her heart. Icy had touched it – far more gently than she'd believed she could... with Bloom's help. The complimentary existence they led almost had her believing they were soulmates meant to be. Almost.

"You can't win this," Bloom let herself inside her head again, unafraid to roam even that space – the only one that did not belong to her. But Icy had given it. She'd given it away even if she had nothing left for herself. Just to see that smirk on Bloom's face. Was it worth it, though, if Bloom didn't know?

She couldn't win against the princess of Domino. She couldn't even win against the prince of Eraklyon who was younger than her but from a much more powerful kingdom than the measly royal of Dyamond that she was. She had to turn in and be his wife because she couldn't win. All her battles were meaningless, except the ones with Bloom. She always came out stronger, even in defeat. Maybe she was aiming for the wrong victory. Maybe it was Bloom's heart she was capable of winning.

"I've been in love with you for years." The crown meant for her head shattered from worlds away to let her draw in a warm breath. A free breath that her magic didn't attack to turn into a weapon of self-defense.

Shock slapped Bloom in the face like a wave she swallowed to a fail in her breathing. She had to shift to steady herself and slipped on the puddle they'd made on the floor. She tumbled down with the weapon Icy had to let go of so that she wouldn't fall on top of her with it and stab her.

A groan broke against Icy's ears to free her from her stupor. Bloom was alive and fine – more or less. Now it was her turn to get a verdict.

Bloom propped herself up on her elbows. "Good one," she muttered to make Icy's stomach flip. She was never that sparse with the due congratulations when Icy defeated her during sparring. It was the confession she hadn't bought and Icy couldn't blame her for looking everywhere but at her when she took the hand offered to her.

"I meant it." Icy held on to the warmth Bloom didn't pull away from her to compel her to catch her gaze. "I've been in love with you... ever since I learned how to love."

Bloom didn't let go after Icy helped her on her feet. "Why didn't you say something?" It was her turn to wait for Icy to return her gaze.

Because you would have saved me.

They'd become fast friends despite Icy's hatred for Domino and Eraklyon and anyone else who imposed their power over her. Bloom would've jumped in to the rescue. She would've pulled her from the arranged marriage with Sky and bound her to herself. She wouldn't have let her drown in feelings she couldn't freeze her way through. Even if it would've scalded both their skin off and razed their kingdoms to the ground. It wasn't Bloom's job to protect her. It should have been Icy's right to protect herself but Bloom was the only one who had given it to her, the only one who had believed in her enough to never hold back despite possessing the strongest magic in the universe. She'd let her be an equal. Maybe they were also equals in the way they felt.

Icy blew a touch of frost on her breath Bloom's way. It instantly turned into water in the heat of Bloom's lips. The ice couldn't even reach her. Bloom had never been hers to touch.

Bloom licked the water drops from her lip, her tongue frantic as if she was parched, before lunging herself at Icy and wrapping her in a kiss. Her breath was scorching and tickled through the cold Icy carried around with her. Bloom's fingers tangled in her hair like she wasn't afraid they would fall off if Icy sent the frost through her strands again. Bloom made it so easy to be strong, to be light and warm, so effortless to run her fingers through the red strands without fearing for her skin, nor for her magic within. She'd finally won the freedom to win the princess' heart.

This is an AU in which Bloom was raised by her parents on Domino after the Ancestral Witches were defeated. She became really close friends with Icy when they were little. Icy is arranged to be married to Sky in this. Bloom does not like Sky (and Sky doesn’t like Bloom) for a variety of reasons which I will not list because I will have to write a whole essay but not the least of which is his engagement to Icy. Icy is not a descendant of the Ancestral Witches and it has everything to do with Bloom but I will not explain it all because, again - a whole essay.

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - 8.5 Lysandra pov

AN: something slightly different this week but I absolutely adore these two and hope you do too!! 

masterlist - ao3

------ 

Lysandra took in where Aedion lay sprawled in her bed, lying across her pillows, the covers thrown haphazardly across his lap exposing his tanned chest. The grooves of his torso and the lines of his muscular arms had her biting her lip even though they had only just finished their last round when Aelin had arrived.

In Lysandra’s defence she hadn’t meant to start sleeping with her best friend’s cousin, especially not now that her best friend lived with said cousin, but something inside her had been drawn to him and hadn’t allowed her to let him go.

Their first time had been a night of drunken passion. All tongues and teeth and roaming hands in his bedroom after they left the bar where they had celebrated Aelin getting her new job. Without Aelin.

Lysandra had worried for her best friend, but relaxed when Rowan had put her to bed, more gentle with her than he had any right to be.  

Fenrys had offered to call her a cab back to her own apartment but Aedion had rested his hand against her lower back, his little finger brushing against the curve of her ass, and told him she wouldn’t need it, that she’d stay at theirs for the night. Presumptuous, but he wasn’t wrong, and she couldn’t pretend his confidence wasn’t working for her.

The brief touching of lips they had shared in the game of truth or dare had been all she had been able to focus on the whole time in the bar. Even when a different guy had approached her, bought her a drink and tried to chat her up she had only been able to consider the spark from the pressure of her lips against Aedion’s and had soon dismissed the hopeful without more than a single word.

Back at the loft she had muttered a brief goodnight to Lorcan and Fenrys before marching across the open living space to Aedion’s bedroom. She had enjoyed her night with Aelin’s roommates, they were surprisingly funny and easy to get along with, she even enjoyed Lorcan’s dark sense of humour.

Aedion had followed close behind her, not saying a word until she slammed the door shut behind them but she had felt his presence behind her. His warmth burning through the thin dress she wore where he pressed the long line of his body against hers.  

Once inside she had turned to him, placing a hand on his chest and teasing a finger into his unbuttoned collar to rub gently against the skin covered with a spattering of golden chest hair.

“You do not so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, you don’t even open your mouth,” She told him, needing to set the boundaries clearly before this even began.

He had only shot her his crooked, cocky grin before saying, “I think you’d prefer my mouth open, at least in certain places.”

She had attempted a response, but he had crashed his lips to hers, his lips warm and demanding as he stole her breath. He had pushed her backwards towards the bed, puling her purse out of her arms and throwing it somewhere to the side as he drew her arms up to wrap around his neck.

She had meant for that to be the last time, a one-and-done kind of deal, but one night he had texted her. It was only a short message asking her what she was up to, the classic, but she had deliberated long enough that she knew what her answer would be.

What she and Aedion had done had filled her thoughts for days afterwards, the mental image of his head between her thighs had inclined her to reach her hand downwards, trying to recreate the sensations a number of times since.

She knew what she was doing made her a slightly bad friend, but what Aelin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. They could be sneaky.

At least she thought so, she hadn’t been planning on Aelin turning up unannounced at her apartment while Aedion was tucked up in her bed, having been tucked up in Lysandra only minutes before.

He raised his eyebrows at her across the room. She still hovered by the door, nerves slightly frayed from the near miss. “Well?”

She sighed, tugging off the jumper she had thrown on in a panic revealing only a light lacy bralette and getting back into the bed beside him.

“She just wanted to talk about Rowan.” She told him, snuggling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder, slightly too hard to be a comfortable pillow.

Aedion’s expression was a multitude of emotions, scepticism and wariness were at least two of them. Aelin and Rowan were a car crash they could all see coming from miles away, she knew Aedion, Fenrys and Lorcan had a pool going on for how long it would take them to do something, but she hadn’t bought into it. Yet.

So far Lysandra had tried to dissuade her best friend from sleeping with her roommate but knew her efforts would only go so far once Aelin accepted how she felt about Rowan. She wasn’t sure how far she could push the Dorian angle, but she was happy Aelin had at least agreed to text him. Even if it didn’t work out she could say she tried.

Aelin could probably do a lot worse than Rowan she supposed, as Aedion’s best friend she knew Rowan had to be a decent guy and in her experience he had been. He also looked damn good next to Aelin, the contrast of their colouring, while both shades of blonde, his was icy to her warmth and it was a great combination.

“What about Rowan?” Aedion’s golden hair, a match to Aelin’s, shifted across his shoulder as he turned to her, strands of it tickling her forehead as he did.

“Just the pair of them being idiots, I can tell you later if you want.”

Her words were dismissive as she tilted her chin upwards, an unspoken demand for a kiss. He obliged her willingly, tucking his hand that wasn’t wrapped around her shoulders into her hair, cradling the back of her neck as he kissed her lazily.

Gentle strokes of his tongue had a burning building in her, but too soon he pulled back.

“We’ve literally just finished, you heathen.” He brushed a gentle kiss on her lips before pulling back even further, unwinding his hand from her hair.

She pouted and he laughed, his chiselled face lightening as his golden-blue eyes shone. He brushed a hand down her back, his touch sending a warm and cosy feeling through her.  

“Later, I want breakfast anyway so get dressed.” He told her, unwrapping his arm from her and standing up from the bed, giving her an incredible view of his powerful body.

------

He took her to a small, hole-in-the-wall café a few minutes from her apartment.

“The coffee here is better than any chain coffee store,” He told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re a dick,” She said fondly.

“I know,” He grinned at her as their breakfasts arrived, an almost predatory smile that did things to her.

She really had meant to keep this casual. Sex only, preferably in the dark hours of night that came with a level of plausible deniability, but here they were. Going for breakfast after a lazy morning in bed and a night of fantastic sex.

It was reaching the stage where she knew she’d have to tell Aelin at some point, but she wanted to keep it just between the two of them for a while. She wanted to enjoy it without any external input, and she loved Aelin but Lysandra knew her knee-jerk reaction to finding out wouldn’t be happy.

Lysandra wanted time with Aedion to herself. He wasn’t what she had expected, even though she had heard of Aelin’s cousin in the years they had been friends she had never met Aedion until Aelin moved into the loft. She had been expecting a typical frat-bro type, with the stories she heard from Aelin she had been expecting him to be a dick.

If she was honest with herself, he sometimes was a dick. One specific time came to mind at the thought, the first time she had got drunk, really drunk, with the occupants of the loft Aedion had slurred four words to her she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget, girl, I’mma marry you. Each time his words crossed her mind she had to bite back the smile that threatened to bloom.

He was a total dick she supposed; she just hadn’t expected to like it. And he wasn’t always like that, he had a sincere side that tugged at her heart too.

“What?” He asked her around a mouthful of his toast. That really shouldn’t be endearing.

“Nothing,” She said shaking her head and looking down at her own plate of eggs.

“You’re looking at me weird, is it not good?” He pointed towards her plate with his knife.

“No it is, I was just day dreaming.” She waved him off and he went easily back to his meal. A curl of his hair fell in front of his face and she tracked the motion as he raised a hand to tuck it back behind his ear.

He usually wore it tied back neatly, but she loved it on his days off when it hung loose and free. She loved when it would fall around her as a curtain when he pounded into her, cocooning them in their own little bubble.

She shook her head, trying to look anywhere but at him as the familiar pulse of heat spread between her thighs at the thought. As they finished their meals she debated inviting him back to her apartment again for another round, when it came to him she was insatiable, but he spoke before she could work up the nerve.

“I should probably get going,” He said as he waved to the waitress for the bill, pulling out his wallet.

She pouted again, and he laughed when he caught it.

“I have worn these boxers since yesterday morning, you wouldn’t want me if I wore them any longer.”

“Bet I would,” She muttered under her breath.

“Stop that,” he told her through his grin. “You could always come to mine with me while I grab a shower and a change of clothes.”

The waitress appeared with the bill, and he placed his card down before handing it back to her. He had paid for all of the breakfasts that they had gone for together in the mornings after the night before; she wasn’t sure what that meant.

She took a breath, “Wouldn’t that be kind of—I don’t know, a lot?”

“Lysandra,” He breathed, taking a moment and looking down at his plate. “I’m not sure I care at this point.”

His voice was gruff as he flicked his eyes up to hers, a sense of nervousness hanging in them.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Lysandra, I like sleeping with you, you know that.” He tapped his fist gently on the table before speaking again, “But, honestly? I’d like to do more than sleep with you. If you’d like.”

Shy wasn’t a side to him she had seen before, the light blush dusting his cheekbones was adorable in itself. A small smile was brewing on her face.

“What do you have in mind exactly?” She was playing with him slightly.

His striking eyes met hers, full of a rare kind of sincerity.

“I’d like to take you out, on a date.” She grinned at him. “Before taking you home with me again obviously.” He added with a feline smirk.

“I think I’d like that,” The smile she gave him was unusually soft.

When the waitress returned with his card he stood, holding his hand out for hers. She slid her hand into his, weaving her slender fingers between his own broader ones, and looked up to him with a bright smile.

------

Their first date had been magical. Well, she supposed, their first proper date. All the mornings they had gone for breakfast or the nights they had spent wrapped up together talking and drinking had definitely been date-like.

He had picked her up at her apartment, a crisp white button down tucked into his fitted grey slacks. He looked good—no great. His hair was brushed back into a tidy ponytail at the nape of his neck and it showcased the strong lines of his face. His straight nose and full lips. Gods, the sight of him sent a rush through her.

She had worn an emerald green, calf length silk dress with a slit cut to her mid-thigh. She had paired it with patent black heels and even with them he towered over her when he leant in to wrap her in a hug. Pressing his cheek to the top of her head then lowering it to whisper in her ear how she looked fantastic, but he couldn’t wait to tear the dress off her later.

She had swatted at him, telling him this dress cost more than his monthly rent, it had been a gift at one of her recent modelling shoots for some up and coming brand, but she couldn’t deny the flood of heat his words sent through her.

He took her to a trendy but formal restaurant downtown. He had held her chair out and tucked it in when she sat down before taking his own opposite her. They had shared a bottle of wine through the meal, Aedion’s cheeks growing more and more flushed with every sip and she felt her heart warm at the sight.

She couldn’t deny how quickly her feelings for him were building. Every time, the sight of him sent a thrill through her and she was past the point of pretending it was only sexual. Past the point of pretending her feelings for him were anything remotely related to casual. When it came to him she didn’t even know the word.

Their date had ended at the loft Aedion shared with Aelin and their other roommates. He had snuck in before her, leaving her lingering in the hallway and making sure the coast was clear before swinging the door open and pulling her in by the waist.

She couldn’t deny that the secrecy sent a thrill through her.

He had fulfilled his promise from earlier with a level of added care, peeling her dress down her body. Lavishing kisses down every inch that was revealed and the look in his eyes had her skin burning almost as much as the pressure of his lips.

At this point they were past quick fucks, there was tenderness and emotion every time he touched her now, his gaze locked deeply on hers as he moved inside her working gentle whimpers from her lips.

It was the kind of thing she wanted to scream from the rooftops, the kind of thing she and Aelin would spend hours dissecting every word and gesture. But that was a snag, the only snag. Aedion was Aelin’s cousin, and she had let herself fall so deep without telling Aelin that any reveal now would hurt her friend.

Rowan finding out had not been ideal, especially not the manner in which he did so. Hiding in a cupboard was not one of her proudest moments, but she had been desperate to keep this as it was for as long as she could.

She knew from a single glance at his expression that he was surprised, and she supposed that was understandable. Herself and Aedion was a combination that she hadn’t seen coming, as an outsider she would have likely scoffed at the idea, Aedion’s animated nature was a complete contrast to her cool and collected demeanour.

She should really stop having any expectations about them, should stop pretending that any of her predictions about the man would come true. He took her by surprise every day; adding new elements to her perception of him that only endeared her to him more.

She was falling and fast.

After Rowan had left the room and she had tucked herself into Aedion’s side, leeching his warmth.

“We need to tell Aelin.” She admitted.

“I know.” His voice was soft.

“I—How?”

Aelin was her best friend but she was at a loss for how to reveal this secret to her. Ripping off the band-aid was surely the best strategy, just clear and quick, I’m dating Aedion. But there were too many variables.

Aedion in the room? Aedion not in the room? In the loft? Not in the loft?

He seemed as lost in thought as she was, rolling his lower lip between his teeth gently, not pressing hard enough to break the skin but she worried for the tension in his face.

“I don’t know. But we should tell her before she finds out from anyone else.”

Lysandra nodded, finding out from someone other than herself would hurt Aelin even more than the truth. If she couldn’t face her best friend she couldn’t face herself.

“I can probably hold Rowan to a week, maximum,” He told her. “But we’ll need to tell Aelin soon.”

She frowned and his hand came up to gently cradle her face, his thumb stroking across her cheek.

“Yeah,” She sighed. “I know, but I can’t help wanting to keep this a secret for a little bit longer.”

“I know. We’ll tell her together, okay?”

“A couple more days?” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and his hand slid down to tangle his fingers through hers.

“A couple more days,” He agreed, dropping a light kiss to her lips.

She was silent for another moment as she ran through just how much she needed to discuss with her best friend. She had been the one to encourage Aelin to text Dorian, but she hadn’t expected the despair in Rowan’s voice as a result. He had actually sounded hurt by Dorian’s presence, and she wondered if maybe his rejection of Aelin wasn’t as clear cut as her best friend had thought.

She turned to Aedion; he would be more likely to know Rowan than she was.

“Do you think…” She began slowly, wanting to choose her words carefully.. “Do you think there’s something,” She waved a hand in front of her face, struggling for how to put her exact thoughts into words.

“Go on,” He prompted her.

“Do you think I was wrong to tell Aelin to not, with Rowan? And telling her to text Dorian instead?”

“Lys,” He sighed at her, adjusting where he sat so they were more upright. “Aelin’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions. You can’t blame yourself for what those two decide to do, or what they decide to not do.”

She went to speak but he interrupted her with a finger pressed against her lips.

“You also have to not get involved.” She frowned. “They need to figure it out themselves. I’ve known Rowan for years, he’s slow but he’ll get there. Who knows maybe Dorian will give him the push he needs.” He was grinning as he ribbed his best friend.

“I’m serious.” She began to protest.

“So am I but believe me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of where Rowan’s head is at, but I’ll have a word with him soon. I’m sure it’s harmless but he won’t hurt her. I won’t let him.”

She sat back, satisfied that Aedion would handle Rowan, and reassured that he wouldn’t let Aelin get hurt. Either way she still needed to speak to Aelin herself, first to find out what went down with Dorian, maybe that would be a line drawn, an end to whatever her friend was feeling for Rowan.

She also needed to tell her about herself and Aedion, but she’d need to go home and at least grab a change of clothes first.

She pressed yet another kiss to Aedion’s lips, losing herself in the sensation, before pulling away to gather her things. Aedion stood to throw on his own shirt, preparing to check whether the coast was clear for her exit. The secrecy was hot, but it got tiring after a while.

Once she was ready he poked his head out of the door and waved a hand for her to follow. She tiptoed out and crossed the room quickly to the front door, pausing with a hand on the handle to look back at Aedion one last time. Damn him, she was way too far gone.

------ 

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady​

[mordoriscalling]

The Colour-Magic Theory (7/?)

Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

@genkitaco

***

Bitter consequences can bring sweetness amid turmoil.

At Ciri’s request, Jaskier has dropped his glamour completely just this once. It took the girl only a week of travelling together to convince him, which is a remarkable feat. Geralt never even dared to suggest it in the first place, knowing it was a lot to ask.

Now Jaskier stands before them in his true fae form. Only the hair on his head remains unchanged – everything else about him is different. His facial features are sharper, so are his teeth. Jaskier’s ears are much bigger, elongated and pointed, while his fingernails resemble talons. The fae’s eyes are such a vibrant cornflower blue that they sparkle. His skin, in an olive tone, is also radiant; so much so that it appears as though sunlight was touching it. Jaskier is wearing only his boots and trousers (having foregone putting on any upper garment), and all over his hairless chest and arms, there are delicate veins of tiny speckles in all shades of brown and green. Freckles dust Jaskier’s face, too, light blue and beige in colour.

There are also some parts of Jaskier that haven’t been changed by the glamour – there were actually completely veiled by it until now. Small, sharp-pointed antlers are seated on the top of his head and on his back, there are massive, feathered wings. The feathers are dark brown at the root, just like Jaskier’s hair, but gradually turn beige and then blue at the tip; there’s also a blue-green shine to them.

Everything about the bard screams inhuman, and he exudes fae magic so much that Geralt’s medallion vibrates only because of Jaskier’s proximity. The witcher isn’t alarmed, however. He and Cirilla both admire the magnificent creature before them, unmoving in their awe. Geralt’s eyes roam all over the fae’s form, and the searing gold of his gaze reminds Jaskier of the sun itself. He longs to let himself bask and bloom in the warmth like a flower, or to fly towards it. Jaskier is a fae of the skies after all; his wings can carry him far. (But not far enough. The sun is out of his reach).

“Jaskier, you’re beautiful,” Ciri breaths out as she steps closer towards the bard, her voice full of wonder.

Jaskier smiles softly. “So are you,” he answers, then boops her on the nose.

Ciri giggles and hugs him. Jaskier wraps his arms around her, then his great wings envelop them both, only the fae’s face remaining visible. Geralt hears Jaskier make a deep coo, to which Ciri responds with a chirpy purr.

Jaskier’s gaze drifts up to rest on the witcher and the look in his eyes hardens. The cornflower blue gains a threatening glint but the bright gold doesn’t back down. Geralt wants answers but none are in sight since the bard refuses to talk to him. They continue glaring at each other but then Cirilla wriggles out of Jaskier’s embrace and the tension is broken.

They make camp for the night. Jaskier chatters with Ciri all the while, although he doesn’t reply when she asks why he seems angry with Geralt. Geralt offers no words on the matter too; he finds himself unable to admit to what he has done. Cirilla pouts and whines, as she tends to do when she doesn’t get her way, but the witcher and the bard don’t relent.

In the evening, Jaskier croons a lullaby to put Ciri to a restful sleep. Due to the glamour being gone, his fae powers aren’t restricted by anything, which makes his soft singing even more sweet and charming than it usually is. Cirilla dozes off very quickly but the fae keeps crooning, and Geralt starts getting affected by it too. He feels himself drift to sleep but doesn’t fight it – it’s like gently easing into calm, quiet and warmth. Suddenly everything he has been missing is there.

Then, Jaskier stops and the world turns cold. Geralt sits up abruptly, comprehension striking him like a lightning.

“Jaskier,” the witcher says. Jaskier’s sparkling eyes lay upon him and before he can think better of it, Geralt blurts out, “it’s you.” He swallows hard. “The blessing of my life, it’s you.”

Jaskier breaks the eye contact, a wry smile twisting his lips. “And yet you run to Yennefer every time,” he murmurs, his tone so bitter that Geralt can almost taste it on his tongue.

The witcher frowns, confused. “Jaskier, what? It’s not–”

“Spare me, Geralt,” the fae cuts in, waving his hand. He sighs, averting Geralt’s gaze, and goes on, “I’ve forgiven you long ago. And yet, I can’t forget.”

“Let me fix it,” Geralt replies, his voice balancing on the edge of pleading. Jaskier doesn’t react. “Please,” the witcher insists, inching his body closer to the unmoving, unmoved creature. “I want us to be like before. We used to be...”

Happy. The words linger between them, better left unsaid. The air grows thick with the bitter sting of memories – the moments of peace and laughter long gone.

Jaskier slowly looks up at the witcher, his features weary and rueful. “There’s no coming back, Geralt,” he says.

The truth rings out in the silence and Geralt can only fight for breath. His chest constricts, a voiceless scream filling lungs and burning his throat until his eyes begin to prickle. The witcher opens his mouth but no words come out. He can only stare at the beautiful fae he has hurt, self-loathing coiling in his gut.  

“There’s no running away either,” Jaskier adds, pointing at sleeping Ciri with his chin. “I think she’s bound to both you and me.” The fae gets up to sit by the girl’s side and starts caressing her cheek. “My bud-ling,” he says tenderly.  

Geralt understands the sentiment. A small smile lights up his face as he watches Jaskier and Ciri. The moment is quiet and soft. Everything is basked in the gentle light of the bonfire that makes Jaskier appear even more otherwordly. The witcher commits the sight to memory.

Soon after, Jaskier gets ready to put on his glamour again.  As he’s about to leave the campsite, Geralt says, “Just know that I’m sorry.” Jaskier stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. Geralt goes on, “I was cruel. You deserve so much better than... me.”

Geralt can’t decide whether he actually hears the whisper of, “Yet it’s only you that I’ve ever truly wanted” or his mind and the wind trick him.

When they go to sleep, they lay down on Ciri’s sides. As the girl sleeps between them, a feeling of wholeness settles deep into their bones, enveloping them like a warm cocoon. They hold Cirilla throughout the night, feeling like they’ve done something right.

*

Jaskier reaches for his travel pack, currently swung over Geralt’s shoulder, but the witcher moves away before he can take it.

“I’ve got it,” Geralt grunts and starts walking ahead, leading Roach by the reins.

Ciri jogs up to Geralt’s side but Jaskier stands in place for a moment more. The witcher has been kind to him in all those small yet grand ways – carrying his travel pack, making sure he eats first after Ciri, letting him ride Roach, and more – and the bard finds it hard not to let the gestures warm his heart too much. His heart is almost fully withered, after all; it would catch fire easily. He can’t allow wishful thinking to spark a disaster.

After Jaskier joins the witcher and the princess, he says, “We’re getting close.”

Ciri nods enthusiastically. “I could feel her,” she gushes, “she’s powerful!”

“That she is,” Jaskier agrees because there’s no way to deny it. The sorceress is almost pure Chaos, which, together with the other reason, is why the bard has always found her company hard to bear. Her magic clashes with his Order.

Trees talk to each other and their roots run deep. They know about what’s been happening miles away, and so do birds. When Jaskier, due to Ciri’s relentless insistence, kept asking them about a “lilac woman”, one day they finally answered that they had heard of a woman smelling of lilac and gooseberries. And so, two weeks ago, Ciri made them change their course, claiming that she needed the woman to join them. They had been travelling for a month at that point, and autumn was just around the corner, but there was no arguing with the princess, no matter how much Geralt and Jaskier dreaded meeting Yennefer again.

Jaskier started showing Ciri how to connect with the thrum of life, which allows to experience what plants and animals do in one’s mind eye. They would sit on the ground together, searching for any traces of Ciri’s “lilac woman”, and they soon discovered that nature’s Order was disturbed far away, both by a mighty Chaos-wielding person and a large group of soldiers who kept starting fires. They’ve been following the disturbance ever since despite the danger.

Now it won’t be long until they catch up with her. Geralt and Jaskier try savouring the last moments of calm before the storm. Although nothing between them is sorted, they both find peace in caring for Ciri. The three of them (and Roach) have settled into a rhythm over the past month. The daily travelling routine involves, among other things, Geralt teaching Cirilla self-defence and her learning fae magic from Jaskier. The lessons help the witcher and the bard to get to know the princess better, and vice versa. The girl took to Jaskier quickly, since she had met him before, but has grown close to Geralt too. She’s started seeking out Geralt’s attention and affection on her own. The girl even hugs him from time to time, much to the witcher’s astonishment. Jaskier laughs at the frankly adorable look on Geralt’s face every time it happens.

The evening on the day before they find Yennefer, after Ciri falls asleep, Jaskier addresses Geralt, which is something he still rarely does.

“Tell you what,” the bard says apropos of nothing, “in the end, I just find it annoying.” “What do you find annoying?” the witcher inquires. “It ‘s always us who want something from her,” Jaskier replies, “not the other way around.” Geralt huffs a laugh and answers, “Believe me, in this, she needs us more than we need her.”

Geralt says it with so much fondness betraying his deep affection and understanding of Yennefer that only one fibre in Jaskier’s heart stays beating. What else remained alive before now withers.

TBC

Part 8

[sushiandstarlight]

“Blustery”: NaNoWrimo 30 Days of Prompts

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

The wind was howling so loudly in Crowley's ears that he couldn't hear his own gasps and cries as he plummeted. It whipped through his curls and painfully wrenched feathers from his wings. A new sensation- a new emotion- was blooming in his middle; a feeling he had never felt before. It clawed it's way from the very center of him, up through his throat, and escaped as a scream that he still couldn't hear with the wind pulling it away from him as it rushed past his senses. Surely no amount of space could make a fall take this long. Tumbling end over end, he caught glimpses of the trail of feathers he was leaving behind in the sky. They didn't tumble as he did, instead they drifted away in peaceful irony. He longed to snap open his wings and catch himself, but they wouldn't open properly. Why wouldn't they open?

The feeling burning in his throat and aching in his very teeth, he realized, was terror. He hadn't any need for true terror in Heaven, only a respectful fear. The fear of love, as She had taught them. To know something so powerful was to fear it, but She would never hurt them and that was love. Or so he had been led to believe. This plummet proved otherwise; this wasn't love.

Terror, he came to realize, could only increase so far before it plateaued. At some point the screaming stopped. It wasn't doing him a bit of good anyway. He sucked in great breaths, trying to calm himself and curled inwards around his middle. Whenever the end came, he didn't need to watch it arrive.

Pain bloomed in the small of his back and he wondered if this was another new feeling to experience. He curled in on himself further, trying to escape it as long as he could. The prodding came again: this time at his hip. Belatedly, he realized it wasn't so much pain as pressure. It seemed like pain because he was already so overstimulated. It might as well be pain.

A tugging at his ankle only made annoyance slither it's way up his spine. He was falling indefinitely, being torn apart by the very atmosphere around him, lost to Her and everything he had ever known. Because he had questions, that was all. Because he had realized that others had questions, too. Why create beings with questions only to abandon them when they decided to voice them?

The tugging was more insistent now and, distantly, a voice.

No, that couldn't be right. That's not how this went. In fact, he should have hit bottom by now. He should be burning, his wings blackening, in a smoldering and seemingly endless sea of sulphur.

He mentally batted the voice away so he could concentrate.

This wasn't actually happening. Oh, it had happened. Just, not exactly like this.

The wind was so very, very real, though. It howled on, even as he realized that none of this was real. The terror wasn't real, though it had been. The wind ripping at his wings wasn't real, though it had been. The pain of separation was real and ongoing, but... that, too, had been replaced with something else.

The wind died down suddenly, as if it realized it couldn't hold the illusion any longer. Now it only ruffled his feathers in gentle waves. It wasn't dry as it had been when he fell, but damp and chilly.

The voice was closer now and soft next to his face. Warmth suffused his cheek and he leaned into it instinctually. He was so very cold. And that was the final thing that jolted him out of his memory-sleep.

“There you are, my dear,” blue eyes stared directly into his when he managed to open them, worriedly looking for recognition, “you gave me quite a fright when I woke up and you were gone.”

He swallowed hard, throat still burning and refusing to cooperate. But he did recognize Aziraphale with no small helping of relief. His world had not yet righted itself, but if the angel was here then he must be safe.

“Do you think you're ready to come down from here? It's okay if not, but I would like to hold you and I can't do that on this chair.”

Crowley blinked and tore his eyes away from the safety of Aziraphale's warm, slightly less worried gaze for the first time. It would appear that he was on the ceiling. It had been a while since he had slept here, though he had spent many nights in this arrangement before. Aziraphale was standing on a chair beneath him, in his dressing gown, a broom propped against the bed beside him.

“Your first thought was to prod me with a broom?” He couldn't help the incredulity that dripped from his voice.

“Well, I didn't want to leave to find a ladder at this time of night... it's so blustery, you see, and the house has drafts. And, I didn't want you to wake up here alone...” Aziraphale wasn't looking at him now, looking down at his own hands, instead, as he wrung them.

“It's okay, I didn't meant it like that,” his voice rasped and broke over every other word, “I should probably thank you for waking me at all.”

“I wasn't going to leave you in whatever world you were in,” Aziraphale got down from the chair carefully and made his way over to their open bedroom window, closing it but remaining there, looking out over the angry storm passing over their cottage, “I'll always come for you, Crowley, you know that. Wherever you are, that's where I want to be. And... if I can help, I want to help.”

Crowley slithered down from the ceiling and sat heavily on the chair for a few moments, grounding himself in the real world. He could hear the wind and rain and thunder. He could smell the musty books in the next room. He could feel the solid wood of the chair under his hands.

Aziraphale half turned his head from the window, but even with the occasional lightening strike in the distance, Crowley couldn't make out his expression. He stood and crossed the room in a couple long strides and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's middle.

“Now,” the angel tutted, “I said I would hold you. This is a little backwards.”

“Big backwards fan, me,” Crowley squeezed him gently and nuzzled his face into the side of his neck, “I'm sorry I frightened you.”

“Well that's... well.” Crowley didn't have to see his face to know he was pressing his lips together to smother a smile. He unfurled his wings and shivered in delight that they were intact, not broken and bleeding and burnt as they had been after his fall. He folded them around the angel in his arms, surrounding them in a soft cocoon of feathers that blocked out the roar of the thunder and rain as well as the flashes of lightening.

“Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming about?” Aziraphale's hands crept over his own, stroking over his knuckles.

“Not in detail; not tonight,” he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying more, to keep it from spilling out into the quiet little space that he had created. Not tonight. He didn't want to live it again. He wanted to live in the reality he'd chosen, the one he had chosen to protect. The one with Aziraphale.

“But... it was your fall, wasn't it?”

Crowley swallowed hard and nodded.

“You don't have to say more tonight, I just wanted to know,” soft hands squeezed his own before Aziraphale turned within the circles of his arms and wings and nuzzled his cheek. “Come to bed with me.”

Crowley nodded and put his wings away, watching Aziraphale watch him do so. The angel's eyes glittered in the dark room and his fingers twitched as if to touch the feathers before the left. But, he didn't make the request, only smiled and cocked his head coyly.

They parted momentarily to get into bed and crawled under the covers. Crowley immediately scooted towards the center and Aziraphale opened his arms to him, pulling him in close.

“I don't regret it, you know,” the words were mumbled into the linen covered chest in front of him, “it catches up with me sometimes, is all.”

“What don't you regret?” Hands were in Crowley's hair, combing through it rhythmically.

“Any of it.”

“No? You wouldn't do any of it differently if you could?” The fingers paused, buried deeply in a the sea of red locks.

“Absolutely not.”

“I can't imagine that kind of surety. I mean... Well, I don't regret what we did. Ultimately. But, along the way... things could have been... easier.”

“Nah.”

“Just like that?”

“Anything we might've done differently would have changed what I have now. Wouldn't wanna risk it, Angel,” Crowley peeped up and smiled lopsidedly at him. Aziraphale hummed in agreement, taking up stroking his head again.

“I suppose you're right. To everything there is a season.”

Crowley groaned softly and rested his head back down again.

The rain had slacked off outside now, just pattering away at the windows as the sun struggled to rise over the trees, to do battle with the clouds. Crowley snuggled in close and sighed softly. It had taken time, perseverance, and- he was convinced- no small amount of luck to reach his soft landing. No, he wouldn't change it for anything. Aziraphale was humming a familiar tune, though he couldn't place it. And, he didn't try. He listened and it felt it through the angel's chest and he allowed himself to drift, knowing that there was nowhere safer than where he was right now and nowhere he would rather be.

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 17

Adva woke to the birds singing cheerfully outside. It was far later then she would normally wake, the sun now perched high in the sky and a few rays broke through the chinks in the heavy blue curtains that shielded the room from the offending brightness. She was one her side, but behind her, there was a heavy heat blanketing back and legs with a welcoming warmth. Groggily she turned her head to find the sleeping Witcher contently slumbering behind her. As impossible as it was, he looked even more gorgeous, silver hair fanned out across his pillow as lightly he snored. The events of last night came hurtling back to her, causing to bite her lip and cast her eye over the man beside her. Never did she think the night would end with Geralt confessing his feelings or the dry humping, her face redded as she moved to squeeze together her thighs and felt the sticky wetness that dripped from her core. Turning slightly she gazed at the mans sleeping face, he looks peaceful and happy, the corners of lips tugged slightly upwards, the dark circles under his eyes were nearly gone and the fever mostly absent, just the gentle warmth that cocoons him.

Hissing slightly, she felt the strap of her bodice dig further into the dress. Sliding quietly off the bed, she slipped from Geralt grasp and to the little chamber off from his room. The room was illuminated by a wall rectangle window at the top of the room, just enough light to allow someone to care for their daily ablutions but not big enough that anyone could look in. Adva could barely face her reflection in the mirror without a giggle; her lips were red and slightly bruised, hair a wild nest of bed head which she managed to smooth into something a little more presentable, she was sure her eyes look bluer. Her dress was ruined, totally unsalvageable. The netting of the skirts had been ripped and pulled from the bodice; the bodice has been mauled by Geralt explore hands, but she could bring herself to care that much.

Moving behind the screen, careful hands peeled off the tight bodice, sighing in relief. Pouring the water into the washbasin, she dapped the damp cloth across her skin the best she could. Washing the mess from her thighs was the most laborious task, but it gave her time to contemplate what she should do. Should she quietly return to her room? Or slip back into bed with him? Or breezily announce she was leaving. Having limited experience of this left her at a loss, the whole ettiquict was not something she understood. The woman mind cast back over the confession. Geralt seemed genuine hurt when he thought he disgusted her.

‘I. Adore. You.’ The word repeated again and again in her head. What did they even mean? Did he just want a light and casual thing, or was it serious?

Her head hurt, rolling her eye she slipped on her dress, pulling a face as the bodice refused to do up, she pulled one of the Geralt shirts from on top of the dressing screen and pulled it over the top of the running dress. With a deafening, screech jostled her from her thought to reveal a frowning Witcher.

‘Arghhhh Geralt doesn’t do that you frightened me.’ Adva squealed, pulling her cloth tighter around her.

‘You left the bed.’ Scowled the Witcher

‘Is that a question or a statement? Generally, its what people do at some point in their life.’ Adva laughed awkwardly, franticly attempting to fastener borrowed shirt around her while keeping her eyes trained on the man in front of her

‘I mean you left the bed before I woke up.... that not very becoming for a young lady to leave her lover in bed….’ Geralt pulled away and sniffed the air. ‘have you washed’ he growled stepping forward and encircling his arms around  her, burying his face in her neck ‘hmmm I don’t like that you washed the scent of us off.’

‘Well maybe we could do it again….’ Adva shyly offered to pull back to.  Geralt smirked and leaned forward. ‘After I have a bath.’

‘Woman, you tease.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

God bless Triss. The bath had been already prepared. The fact that Triss knew she would need a bath and did not make it back to her room was not something she wanted to entirely think about, but it was welcome. Tossing a handful of baths salts, she pulled a pile of clean clothes from the closet and set them on a chair. Looking at the marks on her skin, a small blush flushed against her cheek, and her heart swelled, this was the happiest she had felt in a long time, hell the happiest she had ever been. Pulling the various oils onto the counter, she sorted through them. The oils where a collection that Triss had presented her with when she first arrived, along with several dresses and perfumes. Laying out the rest of her provision on the counters, she caught sight of a pair of violet eyes staring murderously at her in the mirror.

‘Well, well well, you are not what I expected. So, you are the Witcher Wife. Aren’t you a pretty thing? But not pretty enough. I don’t have all day; tell me the enchantment you use.’ A bronzed skin woman spat at her.

‘What enchantment? Who are you? Get out!’ Adva span around, eyes are running over the woman in front of her.

The strange woman was dressed elegantly. The finely embroidered dress clung to her slim, willowy figure, a clash of black and white was woven into a stunning dress fit for a queen. Yet for all her beauty, they were a murderous look etched on her face, make her look bird-like, with her gaze unmoving and unwavering.

‘Don’t give me that you little bitch’ The woman snarled, and a blast of energy burst from her sending her crashing through the floor.

The flesh of her back slammed with use force she though he had been split in two. Blood rushed through her ears like the sound of a ranging ocean.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier curses the Witch with all his being. He has awoken with a feeling of great relief that the plan had worked, that Adva and Geralt were together. Jaskier was not proud, but he had slipped into the house a while after Geralt had left to hear the soft moans of pleasure drifting through the house. Now he was having to carefully peel a dazed Adva off a pile of rubble all because of that demented Harpy. Pale blues eyes watched as bruised has started to bloom against her pale skin and cuts wept a crimson that smeared across her skin.

‘What happened? Adva blinked up, ‘If Geralt alright?’  

Jaskier stared down her with sadness, with Yennefer around he knew Geralt would not be able to withstand her predatory charms and Adva would be cast out. A bubble of anger gripped down in the pit of his stomach. It honestly he had thought Adva would be different, but it hadn't been, it was the same as it would always be, Yennefer would whistle, and he would come chasing after her, he was a fool for believing it would be different.  At that minute he hated Geralt, he should just whisk Adva away and pray their paths never cross again.

‘Yennefer blasted you through two stories of the house.’ Ciri broke in as came to stand in the doorway, looking down as the tattered women laying on a pile of stones and splintered wood.

‘Yennefer?...Why?…Help me up.’ Adva coughed, a trickled of blood escaping from her mouth. Jaskier looked worriedly over at Ciri who hung back, undecided whether to interfere.

The small was not what Ciri was expecting, not at all. She expected some tall slinking femme fatal. Instead, she was presented with the plump curvy figured woman with deep blue eyes. She also thought that she would have Geralt tied in some dungeon in a stupor, but he wasn’t. He was with Triss Merigold, in her home while both of them tried to calm a very aggressive mage down. Ciri’s light blue eyes run over the woman again in curiosity, never had she seen Geralt use any signs on Yennefer. He usually let her rage and rant till she stopped, but now he was throwing every spell he knew to calm the rampant mage from a second attack on the dazed girl.

Limping slowly, she was relied heavily on Jaskier to support her as she moved. Her whole body ached as she moved. The house was messy; walls where broken, furniture shattered and the marble of the tiled floor drug up in giant patches. Had she lost consciousness? Adva brain was foggy, and she could focus on anything for more then a couple of seconds, she would have remembered this happening surely? The noise alone at least.

‘Yennefer stop! Stop your going to kill her. She his soulmate’ Triss screamed at the top of her voice.

Lifting a very heavy head, she glanced the scene in front of her. The violet eyes woman was pinned against the chimney stack, the mage and the Witcher either side, crowding her submission, for the moment at least. The sound of Triss’s voice ricocheted around the inside of her head with such force she thought she might shoot out again through her ears. Wincing, her tentatively touched her head, bright red blood smear across her fingers. Sucking in a breath, she recoiled with sickness as she forced her misty eyes to focus on the conversation ahead of her

‘You can’t be serious! That creature? She has enchanted you!’ Yennefer chortled her beautiful face twisted in disgust.

‘Yennefer. Listen to me she had not enchanted Geralt. They are soulmates; I checked their bond myself. I used the blood trace Yen; there is no way she could create something that powerful to connect them in that way.’ Triss countered.

‘It not possible.’ Yennefer gritted out, a burst of wind crashed through the window sending papers Triss was holding flying across the room. It was such a force that it pushed her and Jaskier back, papers getting struct to their bodies.

‘We don’t know how or why but Cersi brought these two together. We think it about something to do with her book. Adva is important. She has an Arcana to protect her…we know that Adva is not human just don’t know what. We have spent the last Goddess knows how many weeks trying to find that out. We think that it has intensified the bond somehow. I know your hurt but stop; you kill her you kill Geralt.’ Triss pleaded to throw Adva red bound journal to the mage.

Geralt had her book all this time, and she was his soulmate. Soulmates were partnered souls, Adva brain hurt but she could vaguely recall something in a book Triss had made her read. If Geralt was her soulmate if such a thing truly existed, why not be with her a less he didn’t want to be because he wanted to be with Yennefer. Then why keep her around. Was everything just an attempt to sleep with her even though he clearly had feelings for Yennefer. A thousand thoughts passed through her head, and it made her feel weak, her leg slackened at the feeling and Jaskier grunt under the extra weight.

‘Yen I tried but I can’t… you have to understand…. Just stop.’ Geralt grunted.

The pain in his voice was evident. It was broken and tired. A surge of nausea washed over her; she was stupid and foolish; she should have gone with her first instinct. Of course, he didn’t want her. Of course, he couldn’t when he had someone like Yennefer. He was being forced. A pang of raw guilt knarred at her, he had tried to fight it. He probably resented her. Adva both hated and pitied him at the same time. For making her think that he could want her, for lying to her and for wanting to be with someone else. For bring her to Triss to be taught when she was really just being kept amused. Sheer panic rose in the pit of her stomach; bile rose in her throat.

‘You are really picking her over me. Someone you are forced to be with.’ Yennefer sniffed.

‘It’s not like that Yen, and you know it.’ Geralt spoke calmly but clearly.

‘It doesn’t have to be’ the willowy women whipped across the short distance between them and planted her lips on his.

It was short and passionate. For a brief second, Adva thought he would pull away in disgust, but he didn’t. From where she was standing, she could only see the back of Geralt, but it was enough. It was enough that he didn’t move away. It only lasted seconds, but to Adva it said everything that she wanted to know. Yennefer pulled back; her face was pinched and dejected as she backed away her violet eyes coming to focus on Adva.

‘You little bitch.’ Yennefer bite out lowly as she fingered the red book, looking over at the woman in defiance.

‘Adva…’ Geralt grunted out as he pushed his way passed Triss, his face was a swirl of emotion, which seemed so strange against the usual blank expression.

‘Adva wait’ cooed Triss.

But Adva ignored them, pulling her body away from Jaskier and back out the doorway they had been standing in. Tears weald up ran down her face before she turned and limped away, Jaskier shot a scathing look at the trio as he rushed off in chase of her, Ciri gave the three a lingering look before following.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva fingering a fading cut on her palm, she knew it had been to clean to be from that night by the fire, but from a knife to draw blood for whatever spell they need to cast. She should have questioned it along with several other things, but she was too caught up in the sheer thrill of learning proper magic that she hadn’t wanted to. Signing, she squared her shoulder and glanced around her room. It was in chaos. The very little she had was destroyed, it broke her heart to see all the clothes she had accumulated in the last couple of month in tatters. Even the leather under corset was ruined. Torn in half by some stray fragment of wood.

‘Are you okay?’ Jaskier asked, cuddling his lute to his chest.

Both Jaskier and Ciri watched as Adva picked through the ruins of her belonging

‘Yeah, I am fine.’

‘Are you sure as I think if I had just found out, I was not human, Geralt was my soulmate, and Yennefer had tried to murder me, I think I would be freaking out. I mean when Yennefer tried to kill me, I think freaking out was an understatement.’ Jaskier pondered.

‘I am just an idiot…foolish girl.’ Adva wavered and gave a watery smile. ‘I will be fine….just a little banged up.’

Ciri shared a look with the bard; it was a knowing look. If she had been Adva walking in at the precise moment, she would have been upset too. She had been there the exact moment Yennefer felt their bond break, she was enraged calling Geralt every name under the sun but as they travelled word of the Witcher Wife spread which fuelled Yennefer to find out what sort of enchantment could break a Jinn’s magic. Love was a very strange thing. But Ciri gave the girl a sorrowful smile as the woman held a ruined bundle of clothes to small cut at the side of her head.

‘I haven’t introduced you to Adva of Brightwater this is Princess Ciri….’ Jaskier merriness died on his lips as Adva blankly blinked at them still pressing the tattered scraps of her material to the side of her head.

‘You're not going to blast me through the wall, are you?’ Adva slowly asked, wincing at the pressure she applied the cut.

‘No…I am sorry about Yennefer; she can be a little bit of a…’ Ciri hesitated, unsure what to say or do, glancing for support at her friend.

‘Harpy? Bitch? Murderous Hag?’ Jaskier offered causing Ciri to laugh, eyeing the other girl in the hope of a reaction but nothing, but return to her searching.

Ciri watched the woman shift through her belonging. She was very pretty, with a very satisfying body, different from Yennefer but she had seen Geralt go through all types. However, in her long relationship with the man, his women always seemed to be…outspoken and forthcoming. The Witcher was not one for teases and disliked the chase. Adva seemed innocent and untouched, very much the virginal type that Geralt didn’t normally go for. Maybe there was something in this whole soulmate thing she pondered.

‘I need to have a bath.’ The curly hair women winced as she bent down to gather the little pile underwear. ‘Could I use you bathroom Jaskier? Mine is a bit…destroyed.’ Adva gestured to the collapsed floor as a door swang clumsily on one hinge.

Jaskier nodded silently, and two pairs of eyes followed her as she scurried away.

‘Right Jaskier explain everything.’ Ciri snapped.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The marks on her skin were still visible, she remembered the tenderness of his touches, and the painstaking sweetest that he lavished on her was excruciating beautiful, but now looking at them made her feel hollow and empty. Slipping off her clothes was harder than anticipated, the dried blood coated her skin and pulled as she attempted to rid herself of the clothing. If the dress hadn’t been ruined by activity last night, it was now. Glancing at the mirror she was reminded of what had happened, the feelings she felt, the way Geralt had felt. The way he acted towards the morning after made her feel wanted, to think it was all fake burnt her. Why didn’t he tell her? Was she really that bad he did not want to tell her? Adva knew the answer, and she refused to dwell on it a moment longer.

Removing the last of her clothes she pulled a stray page that had stuck to her from the pages that the had been in Triss’s hand from the shirt she had borrowed from Geralt, Cersi messy scrawled smeared across the page.  It detailed placing her it ‘suitable accommodation’ and how she reacted to her placement in a brothel. Her whole life had been an endly string of manipulation, of being prodded and poked and used. Bitterly she thought she had gotten away from that with Geralt and Jaskier, escaped to a place where she was just Adva, but she was wrong. Her sole purpose was because she was Geralt’s mate or soulmate whatever that meant when he clearly would have preferred Yennefer, the honeyed skin siren. Her mind replayed the scene in front of her, his tone when he talked to the other mage and the kiss. The kiss broke her. She didn’t know who she was the angriest at, Geralt for lying to her or herself for falling for it. Geralt hadn’t really wanted to be with her. They even looked good together, both tall and statuesque; she didn’t fit in with that.

Climbing into the cold water, she was too exhausted to heat it and scrubbed her skin raw till she could no longer smell any of his scent on her skin she wanted to erase any reminder of their night. But the scent still lingered, throwing the cloth against the wall Adva screamed into her hand. It was the kind of silent scream; an angry scream as invisible sobs wracked her body. A sadness waged within her, along with an undercurrent of repulsion. It was quite clear that Geralt preferred Yennefer to her. For a while she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. The whole revelation that she was not human was a surprise but not something unexpected that was always something different about her something that Tradi took great joy in exploring, her mind went to Cersi notes she most probably knew something about her she was the reason she was placed in the brothel, the reason Geralt took her. A swirl of resentment toward Cersi swelled. Why should she been controlled and manipulated for the whim of mages who didn’t care for her, she was worth more than that. If she could survive Tradi, she could survive anything. Yes, it hurt and would hurt for a long time, but why should she be the one wallowing in self-pity. If Geralt wanted to be with Yennefer he could, she would be okay whatever happened she knew that. That what she thought as she curled up to on the side of the tub and buried her head into her knees.

Sorry this chapter was late! Very busy week with birthdays and work.

So what do we think? I know I am a horrible person but blame Yennefer! 

Some interesting chapters coming up so please stay tuned- I promise that Adva will be kicking ass soon.

@ayamenimthiriel​ @uncoolcloudyhead​ @multixwolf​ @shesthelastjedi​ -Your comments made me so happy  

Please let me know what you think!

@sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle

I hope everyone is safe and well. With all the terrible things that are going on the world seem terrifying and uncertain place but please remember. Three things Faith, Hope and Love. But the greatest of these is love.

[lilhemmo]

Kinda a silly request: Could you write a Vegeta x reader using this as a prompt- “I’m gonna fight the next person who talks shit about you.” “I’m such trash.” “Alright, put them up. Fight me.” Have fun with it!

a/n: you were right, this was loads of fun! please feel free to request more!!! this is definitely kind of an au??? haven’t really decided let’s just have fun with it!! 

ps, i think this is semi-established relationship?? can’t really tell myself. just wanted vegeta to make out with reader, so this is what you get!

“I mean, what’s with the stupid monologuing all the time? And that stupid pointy hair he’s got?! How lame!”

“Shut up, Yamcha!” you find yourself screaming at dinner one night.

You’ve had it. You’ve had enough of it.

You growl, slamming your fists down on the table. He’s not here to defend himself, and that’s what makes it worse.

You narrow your eyes across the table, “The only reason you have anything nasty to say is because he’s not here to kick your ass. So keep your mouth shut before I do it for him.”

Your fangs are bared and your eyes are threatening to glow blue at the pure rage pouring through your body like liquid metal. The base of your spine starts to tickle and you know if you don’t control it, you’ll go super right here in front of everyone. You ache for your tail, longing for the time when you could rampage and blame it on the uncontrollable, archaic form of your ancestors.

The way your stomach twists makes it easy for you not to be hungry any longer. Your Saiyan brethren would be disappointed, but you don’t care. Ferocity eats away at you like an itch you can’t scratch and you walk away from the group before you’re threatening them one too many times.

After a while, you find yourself trudging along the sandy pathway that leads to the different areas of Capsule Corporation grounds. Your fingers pass over the bushes of flowers, plucking a plume for yourself. Holding it up to your nose, you lose yourself in the scent as you continue to where Vegeta and Goku normally train - a special arena built by Bulma to simulate natural fighting situations.

The grunting you hear off in the distance makes you feel like you’ve intruded on someone’s personal time - as a Saiyan, you know how important training is to the others. Vegeta’s form is hovering midair, mocking punches to a faux enemy as his hair glows a bright golden. He senses your energy and turns his attention to you, muscles tensing momentarily before his body relaxes.

“Oh, just you,” he clears his throat and levitates near the ground before pointing his toes and dropping downward. “What do you want?”

You narrow your eyes and curl your hands to fists, “Spar with me.”

Vegeta raises a brow, “Something has you angry. I can feel your energy rising the more you sit there, thinking about whatever pissed you off.”

“The earthlings have rubbed off on you, Prince,” you sneer, turning your hips so you’re in fighting position. “Shut up and fight me.”

Your Saiyan counterpart smirks and braces himself at the knees before charging at you, fists held forward in an attempt to land a punch to your face. You turn, allowing him to pass you by and also giving you the opportunity to land the heel of your foot into the base of his spine, successfully slamming his body into the dirt.

Vegeta lets loose a grunt and digs his hands into the soil, gritting his teeth as he glares up at you, “Cheap shot! Have you no pride?!”

“Pride enough for the both of us, baby.” You curl your toes and channel your Super Saiyan form, your scalp tickling as you stack your energy in your stomach. You grip your hands to fists and cry out in a feral rage, eyes blinded for a moment while you transform. When you come out of your power-induced cocoon, you see the cusp of Vegeta’s fist about to punch you right between the eyes.

His upper lip curls into a proud snarl as you grab him by the knuckles and stop his attack before he can touch you. You grip him harder and the sight of him reminds you why you’re here, sparking your anger all over again. 

“F’ing Yamcha,” you growl, turning Vegeta’s wrist so he does a twirl midair before you sling him to the ground.

He catches himself before he crushes the earth beneath him, hovering only inches above the grass. Vegeta’s eyes simmer with ferocity and he lets out a short yell before his super form overtakes his body and his blue irises are scanning you for weaknesses in your form. With a quick shout, he bursts forward to land a punch to your gut.

The two of you trade blows, and with every fist he throws your way, you hear another insult, another one-liner from another villainous mouth. You feel the way the energy curls up in your spine, your super form threatening to become something much more menacing. Sweat drips from every orifice of your body and your face is bright red.

“Hey,” Vegeta’s voice calls you out of a blind rage of volleys.

You blink hard, pausing in midair, “Wh-What?”

He grabs both of your fists and immobilizes you, “What’s actually going on? You said Yamcha’s name earlier. Should I be worried about something?”

“Hell no,” you shake your head and power down, your hair falling back to your shoulders and your form slimming down. You sigh and he releases your fist, his own super form retreating.

“I’m just so sick and tired of you getting the brunt of everything,” you shake your head and the comments and remarks start repeating in your mind. You swallow, “The butt of the joke because they know you can’t do anything to them, not with Goku standing in the way. They’re only asses because they’re not afraid. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to make them afraid again.”

Your hands shake with the threat of power overtaking your body, blind rage like that of an ape curling around your spine and strengthening your posture. You grit your teeth and look him in the eyes, “Goku gets the praise every time. I’m sick of it! You do so much for us and...and this is what you get?!”

You’re surprised to hear Vegeta chuckling, and it only spurs your rage on. Your heels dig into the dirt and you break the surface of the earth, your form becoming heavier the longer you think about it.

“I’m gonna fight the next person who talks shit about you,” you vow, holding your hands in tight fists. You growl, your fangs bared as you look up at him, “I’m done holding back!”

Vegeta feels something stir in his stomach at the sight of you so enraged on his behalf. His pride swells and he tilts his head, considering you before he speaks, “I’m such trash. Such a waste of space. Pathetic excuse of a Saiyan.”

Your jaw drops, “Wh-Wha-fine. Put ‘um up. Let’s go.”

There is an air of confidence about him when you start sparring again, the both of you pushing one another to your very limits, trying to break through your ceiling of power. You scream and the very sound makes Vegeta’s hair stand on end, but it does more to fuel his desire than anything else. 

Your fist connects with his stomach, tossing him in the air. You take the advantage of him being blindsided to teleport above him and, using your fists curled together, slam your hands into his back. He reels downward, unable to catch himself before he makes a deep dent into the earth below.

Just as you go after him, the group celebrating at Bulma’s makes their way into the woods, wondering where all the noise is coming from. Your eyes connect with Yamcha and you see red, flying towards him with power at your heels, your fists shaking with the need to send him to Other World for what he was saying earlier. 

“Oh my god, wait, I’m-” Yamcha puts his hands in front to protect himself as best he can, but you never make contact.

Your jaw is close to snapping under the pressure of your teeth, fist just millimeters away from connecting with Yamcha’s nose. The only thing saving him is the pair of arms wrapped around your waist belonging to a certain Saiyan Prince.

“You’re lucky,” you seethe between your teeth, eyes narrowed at the earthling. “You’re lucky that he’s stronger than me, or else you’d be in other world crying to King Yemma right about now.”

Yamcha starts stuttering, but Vegeta has already bolted into the sky, leaving the group of earthlings dazed and confused below. Even in the distance you can hear Bulma complaining loudly about how much she’s going to have to pay someone to fix up the battle grounds.

“Why did you do that?” you ask once he’s deposited you on the balcony.

Vegeta’s mouth is on yours in a moment. His body backs you into a wall, hands gripping at your waist like his life depends on it. You feel the tip of his tongue nudging at you and you gasp, allowing him to map out the cavity of your mouth. You feel his palm tap at your hips and you jump up into his arms, rocking your hips against his as you situate yourself in his grip. Your hands tug at his hair, silently begging him to make quick work of your body with that devilish mouth.

“Can’t resist you when you’re bloodthirsty,” he growls against your collarbone before running the tip of his nose against your jugular. You gasp, hips canting as he bares his teeth to your veins, your body keening at the idea of a bruise blooming on your throat.

You grip his hair tighter, tugging at his scalp but it only spurs him on, “O-Only for you.”

“Damn right,” he mumbles into the swell of your chest. He presses sloppy, wet kisses to the area and when the balmy afternoon air washes over the two of you, you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze against his hips as gooseflesh blossoms on your skin.

Vegeta slams open the balcony door and tosses you onto the nearby mattress, the layout of your bedroom overly familiar to you both. He smirks as he closes the door and shuts the blinds, encasing the room in a shadow.

The last thing you see before your eyes screw shut is electricity crackling around his teal irises, palms open and ready to take you for all you’re worth.

a/n: wow, that turned.. spicier than i intended. request more if you like! 

[cronquette]

:four: 

Disclaimers:

-Dedicated to Julia

-I do not own any of the Naruto franchise, I’m just making my SasuSaku dreams come to life.

-More personal notes will be situated at the end of the chapter

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost.”

― Erol Ozan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dewy grass left trails of freshness that wafted towards her nose, for it was sunrise when she had approached the village. It was massive, buildings wrung with wood and stoned grounds, stalls brimmed with fresh, rosy apples or exotic, blooming flowers flung themselves at her every second, catching her cocooned curiosity quickly. Her dress was modestly masked with a cloak, in case the spring cold would make itself known once more, and torment her small being with its ever freezing bite.

Her footfalls scraped slowly as she wandered through the streets, not paying heed to much of the crowds or clamour for she wanted to check her surroundings at the very least; it was not as if she had anything physically to hide. Her most prominent feature that would glimmer daintily in the sunlight, her glowing pink tresses, were now concealed from prying eyes. And her jewel, the captivating viridescent rhinestone, was tucked away safely in her skirt pocket, where her hand had been tucked in, lightly grasping it for fear that it would suddenly disappear. The only thing that would hold people’s gaze would be her foaming green irises, but she had held her head away in her hood that it would be impossible to observe such globes with practically no sunlight to hover over them. They practically glimmered under the sun’s speculation.

Her strides were slow, and her chest heaved slowly. She took in her sights, savouring her surroundings as she walked further, and further, through the roads. Marketing was certainly a thing she’d caught on straight away, for there were a myriad of sellers, creating clamour for people to take a peep at the things they held in possession. Many were farmers, she took a guess, as they had all sorts of crops and vegetables, fruits and whatnots sitting in their respective baskets, just anxiously waiting to be eaten. Others seemed to have sewn fine clothing, or smooth, meticulously crafted pottery, lathered in clean coats of polish to finish them nicely and make them look quite presentable.

The domesticality was all new to her, a culture she wasn’t very familiar with. Living in a coven all her life, food supplies either discreetly and swiftly delivered or fetched as soon as possible. Residing secretly was something she was used to, the exception of the ritual she had just experienced, along with attending all the others. She wasn’t suited for such open marketing, which proved her uselessness currently all the more when she realised there was not one silver coin in her pocket. Even packed with all her clothes, food to suffice for just a few days, and scrolls to help her study, she wasn’t able to purchase one single thing. It was fruitless to whine and beg, she wouldn't succumb to such vulgarity. Her mentor taught her that, and even so, there was no way she would lower her position as a witch before those humans. 

Even so, she couldn’t help but smile. Ino would enjoy this, she knew. The outdoors was just so suited for an out-going, confident girl such as the said blonde, and it was unfortunate she wouldn’t be accompanying the pinkette. The sun would be much entertained playing with golden locks, and accentuating such crystal eyes.

A new start was certainly refreshing, and she had a tingling feeling that it would be quite soon that she would be reaching new horizons and milestones

::

Wherever Sasuke traversed, a cold, sinister aura always accompanied him, But his firmness wasn’t able to intimidate everyone, so to say. There were, however, many who greatly feared him and the power he held. Those were mostly outside the palace walls, though. Within the elegant patterned pillars and marbled flooring, there was nothing short of being annoyed by the Uchiha. His servants, the dainty things they were, served him rightfully, not complaining unless amongst the company of themselves, and he paid no heed otherwise.

Hearsay was something not really familiar within the castle walls.

However, in the court, it was more than likely to be the everyday news.

Sasuke took his place at the old oak table, sitting comfortably at the head, his eyes steely piercing through the silence of the room. To his right, sat stiffly none other than Hyuuga Hiashi, in all his glory, arms crossed low around the biceps, his mouth achieving such a downturn it surfaced a memory of his own father doing such imposed actions. It made his brows knit deeper, before cooly turning to face frontwards.

“I take it you’re all well,” his words meant nothing; it was just procedure to stall a little before heading to the main topic, he had to remind himself. He’d seen many of his ancestors do so before him, and he wanted nothing more than to place his feet in their steps. A cold stand of wind shook the omnipresent tension this room always carried when such meetings took place.

Silent nods prodded him to continue, and so the raven folded his hands, leaning his elbows pointed on the table as his palms stood in front of him. He sharply inhaled: this conference would last an hour (as always), and so bringing different subjects to light at the right time was always something laying dormant at the back of his mind. He decided to start with the one that probed the nightmares that shook the living daylights out of him.

“Witches. And Warlocks. Those creatures still hang free,” He licked his lips in such a tantalisingly slow way it made one gulp.

“Why?”

His Adam's apple bobbed as the last word came out. His voice was a dagger, slicing the peace of the government before him in one single blow.

“Pardon me, your majesty,”

It was one of the further participants at the table who spoke, nevertheless, his voice wrung firmly, and his eyes, though pale like milk, shone with tenacity that they were quite nice to be held in.

“Those creatures may be vulgar, but they hold some sort of intelligence, sire. They’re hard to catch, and they certainly do not want to be found. I suspect they dwell in an abandoned part of Konoha’s vast forests, but it would be a matter of searches to see. Alas, you and I both know these follow ups have been taken before, and everytime, the result has always been futile.”

“Do you suggest that we abandon our searches entirely, Neji?” he gritted out with venom spitting from his teeth.

“I do not suggest as such, my Lord. However, there is only so much you can do; you’re not yet King of this land, you are Crowned Prince. The level of your status has merely succeeded upwards. There are still elders who have more power over you,” he fussed haughty, for his own clan leader was one of the few. The temptation to stomp over to his chair and rip his throat with the Uchiha’s bare hands was so enticing, but he had self control. He knew it was not the time to play like animals.

But Neji was truly a jackass.

“Hyuuga,” the domineering, stygian orbed male nodded to Hiashi, receiving his stern attention. The silence between them spoke louder than anything, for the elder knew exactly what the prince desired. And although it was something that was made to sleep for the moment, everyone in that room wanted nothing more than those chakra-wielding things to die. A common trait shared by all the civilians and warriors. Those of flesh and bone.

“You ask me to send out troops to find passages to where they lay, Sasuke,” he bit out gruffly. He cleared his throat, almost as if to show he had still a sort of superiority towards him.

“I can do so, but the most I can send is two troops of twenty. It’s a fleeting risk, however, all the more scarce that they will have to split halves in order to scatter north, south, east and west,” he answered. Sasuke refused to release the relieving breath he was holding, and instead flared his nose, as if to contemplate the proposition. It wasn’t much: ten of their men each searching thousands of acres, How long it would take to know of their return infuriated him beyond measure, but then again, less members meant more freedom.

They could move better in less numbers, so that was something that he could hold himself onto. Apparently, it was enough to convince him.

“I’ll take that chance,” his voice was hoarse from not trying to rush his words, an attempt to not sound desperate, for even in a room full of eyes his pride was bound to be torn like a ravaging pack of lions.

A small nod from the Hyuuga was all that he needed to know. Another search was going to be sent.

“Is that all you want to discuss with us, my Lord?” the aforementioned narrowed his eyes at the man who spoke. The lackadaisical, smart annoyance had his arms crossed behind his head, leaning comfortably on the back of his chair as if he had a care in the world. It wouldn’t surprise him if he didn’t. The audacity of the Nara didn’t disturb the Uchiha as much as before, so it only gave him so much as a twitch to his left eye.

“No, but most of the topics I am to discuss aren’t as much of importance. Feel free to sleep through the rest of this conference,” he spoke the last sentence sarcastically.

“May I but in before I snore then, your Highness?” he sighed.

The dark haired male shrugged, as if to say do as you wish.

“Some girl entered the village today,” he chided, “strange gal. Doesn’t look like she’s from here. We ought to keep an eye on her.” he proceeded to yawn, and leant back further, he looked as if to fall off his chair.

“Her appearance, Nara?” the young Hyuuga male inquired.

From his observation, she wasn’t very memorable, having been concealed through a cloak. The only thing that caught his eye was her eyes: the bright, emerald orbs they were.

Interesting.

::

It didn’t take long for Sakura to tire herself out through gallivanting aimlessly, padding her way through stones and pebbles on the ground, the sky’s heat accentuating through every hour, and the board weighted pack on her shoulders smally growing heavier by the minute. She wiped the swelling beads of perspiration that scurried down her forehead with the back of her hand, and released a breath of exasperation.

This village was immense in land expanse, and she hadn’t even gotten through to the heart of it, the place that made her mind twist with fascination-- the palace itself. In all its splendour, the building stood proudly in the heat, almost glimmering with pride: she could see it. But it seemed today was not one of which she could journey so far. She’d seen carriages steadily rocking bye, the horses trotting with such elegance she was entranced so much she stopped just to see them going by.

Oh, what a place this was.

She’d brought with her many of the scrolls containing the recounts of some of her predecessors’ experience, those--of course-- who’d made it out alive, and she pondered whether her experience would be deemed just as exhilarating. Or, gruesome enough to know she’d be burnt alive at the stake. She really didn’t know.

She then had encountered a bakery, blooming with warmth and delicious treats stacked at the window sill, enticing all who laid eyes on them. The pinkette frowned in despair as she knew she would not be able to purchase such a delicacy. Her stomach even whined at how imbecilic she was for not even bringing any coins to spare.

As she was about to move along, a voice caught her attention.

“Excuse me Miss, I can’t help but see how you’re looking at the pastries in our shop. Would you like to buy something?”

Unlike the Haruno, this girl wasn’t wearing a dimple, and so her chestnut locks gleamed hazelnut-like as she made her way towards her. Said strands were neatly folded round the top of her head to create two buns, only a ragged fringe framing her face. She dressed simply, with very few (maybe two) rosy petticoats that rivaled Sakura’s own hair. Not that it mattered-- it wasn’t as if she could see it anyway. She wore a slightly darker shade for her bodice, the tone drifting to a crimson, and her flat stomacher was an off-white, almost cream colour. She was a civilian, no doubt, but she seemed more dressed up than what would be necessary.

“Your shop?”

“Ah, it does seem like I’m not best suited for the occasion in this,” she picked up the thick skirts as a way of gesturing to her outfit, “however my family does own the bakery. You’re not from here, are you? I’m Tenten, a pleasure to meet you!”

Her beam was so bright and fulfilling it made the rosette pop a grin as well, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“Sakura, nice to meet you too,” she smiled softly.

“And I would love to buy something from your shop, it’s just that I don’t have any money on me right now. I’m very gratified at the offer, though.”

The brunette shook her head with a laugh, before grabbing the Haruno’s wrist and practically dragging her into the store. They were instantly met with the cozy smell of bread and sweet aromas, and the warmth of ovens burning with fervour.

“Oh, har har! Since you’re new around here, I’ll let you have a pastry for free! Your choice: pick one and it’s on the house,” she gestured to the room. The room was tantalisingly dizzying her with spells of temptation, and this girl was a civilian!

The pinkette smiled weakly and bit out a childish, nervous giggle. Not eating for a while seemed to take a toll on her. 

“I couldn’t. Really, Tenten, I appreciate the offer, but I must get going-”

“But you’re new, Sakura! I bet you don’t even have a place to stay.” she wagged an accusatory finger at the aforementioned. The latter grew pale at the revelation, trying to scatter ideas through her head and pick out the most logical option. However, there was none. It really was inevitable. She didn’t know what to do or say, but opening and closing her mouth frantically in an attempt to let out words was an amusing sight to display.

“Aha!” The brunette smirked. She then proceeded to run behind a counter, and with a flimsy towel, she meticulously pulled out a small, hand-sized meat pie, with slow strings of steam wafting upwards. She pushed her hands towards the Haruno’s petite frame, and instantly caught a whiff. She swallowed, before acquiescing.

The inside of her mouth burst with flavour as she took a bite. Her tongue tingled as she chewed pensively, still captured in the eyes of a certain baker’s daughter.

“I-It’s good,” she commented.

She ended up eating another one after.

::

Shikamaru was always observant, his skills made prominent for the Uchiha’s gain, and although it was a trapping situation, he didn’t mind. His life always bore him no matter what he did, the most he spent doing was making out the shapes of clouds in his spare time. That, and help soothe the load of paperwork that had been flung on his shoulders.

As of this moment, the conference had come to a close, and he was free to roam as much as he desired. 

Instead, he sat at a small bar stall, a metal mug of beer filled to the brim with golden alcoholic liquid, topped off with frothy substances bursting atop. One pint of the drink, and above all, his tobacco pipe puffed with intoxicating reels of smoke, making the man beside him choke in disgust.

“God, Shikamaru, do you have to smoke that crap?! It stinks!”

He would have scoffed at the said Uzumaki, who vexibly stalked him to this den after claiming that he needed some sort of relief off of all his errands as ‘Teme’s Right-Hand man’, and wanted some company. He still had no clue how the blonde was able to get away with that filthy nickname. But it wasn’t his place to judge their relationship, as the topic itself was something so obscure it confused even the two men in the involved party. And the Nara really didn’t appreciate getting himself into puzzling situations that twisted his brain unless he was forced to, or it was a pastime he participated in.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave, Naruto.” he sighed, as he took a swig at the beer in front of him, gasping as the bitter drink swelled down his throat. It was a bitter-sweet feeling, but he was used to it. It burned, but he relished in the pain.

“No way! I’m staying, ‘ttebayo. Oi, bartender! I’d like a pint sized mug of whiskey if you will!” she exclaimed, slamming his fisted hand on the sticky countertop. No one made enough effort to properly clean the wooden table, but no one complained.

Shikamaru shook his head, punching the blonde’s bicep rather harshly:

“I’m not taking care of a drunk you.”

He swatted his hand in the air as if dismissing him lightly, his nose wrinkling in laughter. As his drink was carefully handed to him, he recklessly bumped it towards the beer on the counter, slightly tipping the liquids together in an attempt to make some sort of toast.

“I’ll be careful, promise.”

The Nara was tempted to mutter something along the lines of ‘tis what you said last time’, but he held his tongue and instead sucked in yet another breath of tobacco, his mind slightly clouding in a sort of dizzy utopia. He heard a breathy exhale from his left before a slightly slurred sentence arrived, leaving his brows furrowed in calculation.

“Hey, heard from Sasuke that there’s a new girl in town. Do you know where she is, now?”

“What, are you willing to scare yet another one of the female species that resides in Konoha?”

The Uzumaki sputtered, leaving a smirk to cross the brunet’s features.

“Go to hell, Shikamaru!”

“And no, I just wanna meet her.” he lipped, pouting like a child. He was obviously highly offended, and that added to the other man’s pride.

In the end the two downed their drinks forcefully, not wasting one drop and yet attempting hard to sustain themselves from succumbing to the drunkenness. However their walking patterns seemed quite unsturdy and Naruto was easily daydreaming, so it wasn’t a good sign. In the end, they tossed their cash to the bartender carelessly, and stumbled around the village in search of a certain lady.

::

They found her, and quite simply too. The Nara remembered she was last seen, and where he found her, at the bakery he most frequented, since their baked goods were better than the others, it was a good travelling pace of exercise, and it was conjoined with a neighbouring weaponry store next door which they also owned. So, easily, they found her, although that was just going to be a place of questioning her whereabouts.

The bell chimed as the wooden door opened.

“Tenten,” Shikamaru respectfully regarded, a clumsy Naruto staggering behind. The shop was warm and cozy, and instantly scents of sweet and savoury adorned his senses.

“Tenten! Nice to see ya, we were wondering if you’ve got any information about where the new girl is-”

The brunet stopped in confusion at the sudden halt of breath from the Uzumaki. Something that he didn’t do often. Something in his opinion that he should do often. But that wasn’t the point.

He found the blonde gaping ahead of him, all sense of inebriation perished as his eyes glistened with a look of familiarity at whatever was behind him. Instantly, he turned around.

A small girl sat at the furthest table, shoulders squared and eyes wide with the same look of intensity as the male beside him. Her mouth hung lowly, as she was blinking frantically, as if they were an illusion she was trying to escape from. Her rosy brows knitted as she tried to find the words to say, but the whole room rushed cold as the two apparently came to the same sort of conclusion of words.

“Sakura-chan?!”

“Naruto?!”

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

Hi! Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate around this time. Can you believe it? 2020 is finally over, my God. My friends and I are deciding to go on a zoom call and play rick astley’s never gonna give you up as the end credits of this year. Seriously, it all goes downhill from here fnhdbkjdf. One of my friends is already stomping on 2021, don’t get me started lol.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please comment/review, as I really like to know that people still read my story, especially on ffnet and ao3. To those who have done so before, thank you so much! Every comment/review makes my entire day.

since my beta reader had something come up, until you read this, Julia! XD

Yours truly,

-Avis

[leet911]

Flowers in the Fall

Fandom: Critical Role Pairing: Keyleth/Yasha Word Count: 1988 Warnings: Spoilers, nothing else Description: A sequel to Flowers from the Tempest the only Keyleth/Yasha fic I know of (also written by me incidentally).

---

Yasha knows that Keyleth cheats the seasons, just a little bit. Because even though it is well into autumn, there are still flowers blooming in this field. The leaves have changed, and the northern winds already carry the promise of winter, but summer blossoms are what they associate with their connection, so Keyleth’s magic pushes back against the inevitable tide of the seasons. Summer is when they became friends, bared their grief to each other, and let the storms wash it away.

With a wave from the druid, the tree above them sprouts a few more leaves and a pure white flower, as fresh as the first day of spring.  It won’t last of course, Yasha knows this, but she likes the flowers.  And Keyleth is here, right next to her, leaning against the same tree trunk, crafting plants all around, while Yasha strums scales absently on her harp.

Despite the rushing winds, it is not cold.  Yasha thinks that’s also because of Keyleth, but she hasn’t yet found the right words to ask.  This is Xhorhas after all, and there is no way it’s this warm this late in the year.  And Yasha isn’t even sure what they are to each other.  She only knows that Keyleth visits often nowadays, that they sit in this meadow (their meadow), and that Keyleth doesn’t hide inside a tiger anymore.  Sometimes Yasha plays music, and sometimes Keyleth weaves powerful magic; but mostly they sit and talk about stupid things.  They talk about flowers and friends, and fate and fighting, and days gone by and dreams about forever.

It’s only been a few weeks, and they’ve spoken – truly spoken – only a handful of times.  And they’ve never seen each other anywhere besides here, in this field.  And Yasha isn't sure if she's allowed to ask, but she does anyway.  “Where do you go when you leave this place?"

Because this is Yasha’s spot, this little patch of Xhorhas that Keyleth has made beautiful.  This was Yasha’s spot even before Keyleth.  But she wonders if Keyleth does this for herself too, if she lets herself have beauty and wonder on her own sometimes.

The druid stands, holds out her hand.  "Come with me."  She recites the words to a spell, her eyes flare with power, and the tree before them splits open like a tunnel.

Yasha looks up at the redhead, takes the outstretched hand.

They step through, Yasha first and Keyleth following close behind.  It’s early morning on the other side, the rising sun framing a collection of huts and houses nearby.  The air feels thin, like they are up in the mountains.  There is movement in the village, but in this clearing there is only an empty fire pit and no one else around.

“This is Zephrah, my birthplace,” Keyleth says, gesturing towards the village.  “And this is the Raven Tree.”  She points behind them.

There is a tree where they emerged, nearly empty of leaves, with a large raven perched in it.  As Yasha watches, another raven arrives, then another, and another, until it is an entire flock of birds gawking at them.  There are so many ravens Yasha is afraid the branches will break and the tree will collapse.

The ravens are quiet, only the rustle of wings and their heads turning as they eye the two women.  Yasha tenses, nervous, because she doesn't understand how there can be so many birds here, even if this is called the Raven Tree. Keyleth holds her hand tight though, and Keyleth doesn't seem concerned, even if there are tears streaming down her face.

As one, the ravens shriek, a deafening cry that shatters the dawn. Then they flee in a giant beating of wings, scattering in all directions, until there is only a single raven left.  The largest raven, the first one that Yasha saw, remains looking at Keyleth, questioning.  Yasha doesn't understand, but she's not a druid, and she knows Keyleth has a connection with animals.  They stand side by side in the morning light, and Yasha feels like she’s being judged; the two of them holding hands in front of the Raven Tree.  The large bird flutters to a lower branch, caws twice.  Keyleth seems to be answering the raven's gaze with a teary one of her own.  

The antlers bob up and down as Keyleth nods, and Yasha can almost swear she sees the raven nod back.  Then the bird opens its wings and flies off into the rising sun.

Keyleth is trembling, palms sweaty where her hand touches Yasha's.

"What just happened?" The aasimar asks.

“I lost someone too, a long time ago.”

And Yasha thinks she understands that, the guilt and uncertainty and am I even allowed to do this?  Because that felt almost like asking for permission.  She doesn't know Keyleth's story, not fully, but her own heart screams just as loud sometimes when she looks at her scrapbook full of flowers. Neither of them has a reason to feel guilty about this, not for real, but emotions don’t always make sense.  Yasha’s grief is still tied up with memories of impotence and inadequacy.

Keyleth's loss seems like it was longer ago.  But also much more powerful, linked to the magic of this place, and this tree, and maybe even the ravens.  Keyleth has never mentioned it before.  

And Yasha isn’t one to pry, so they are silent for a long moment before Keyleth continues.  "Vax was a champion of the Raven Queen.  He traded his soul for this world."

Yasha doesn’t know exactly what that means, but she does know anguish and sorrow and regret, and that those things do fade, that having friends helps, and maybe Keyleth is the one that showed her they’re allowed to move on, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

So Yasha puts her arms around Keyleth, wraps the druid in a hug, and holds the Voice of the Tempest close.

When Keyleth composes herself a few minutes later, she draws up to her full height, and Yasha can see she deserves to be leader among her people.  Keyleth is powerful, vulnerable, empathetic.  She is strong and beautiful and everything Yasha wishes she could be.

They don’t go into the village that day, because Yasha is far too nervous to meet anyone.  Jumping across Exandria also changed the time of day.  It is evening in Xhorhas, but morning here.  Seeing the sun climb the sky again makes Yasha feel like they were up all night.  And Keyleth has a house in the village of course, but she also has lots of hideouts in the mountainside, lots of private spots that are hers alone.  She takes Yasha to one of them, an isolated copse of trees overlooking a cliff.  Beneath them, the valley is a panorama of autumn colours, bursts of red and gold punctuated with swaths of evergreens.

Keyleth fits right into the scene, her mantle blending with the colours below.  She looks regal to Yasha, standing atop the cliff with her staff and circlet, surveying the mountain like some benevolent protector.  This is how Yasha thinks of her, some mystical spirit of nature, attuned to the land.  Maybe that's why Keyleth is different in Xhorhas, away from this place.  In their little field, it's just them, and their blooms.  Here, she still has the weight of responsibility nearby.

She is pensive for a moment, and her profile shows her resolve.  Then she turns to Yasha and her face softens.  When she speaks, it is almost shy.  "Do you want to stay for a bit? Or I could send you back home if you want."

This seems meaningful to Yasha, portentous.  She knows why Keyleth is hesitant.  They’ve never done this before.  And it’s not nighttime, but this feels like she's being asked to spend the night.

They never talk about spending time together, it's just something they do.  They don't arrange to meet, they just show up at the same place all the time, and the day passes.  They don't make plans, they don't do activities or dates.  They talk, and bask in each other's company.  Yasha never asks for more. She's not sure she's supposed to.  And the power is in Keyleth's hands anyway.  Keyleth is the one who comes and goes as she pleases.

So this is new.  This is not neutral ground.  This is Keyleth's homeland.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Yes," with a dip of her staff the trees fold out around them, cocooning them in this spot and shutting out the world beyond the view of the valley below.

Keyleth sits, shifts her mantle so that they are touching arms, skin to skin.  Yasha shivers, not from the cold.  She's touched Minxie so many times, nuzzled the white fur, but that didn't seem like it was Keyleth then.  This is warm skin against her, a thin smooth arm beside her sturdier one.  Yasha knows their strength is different.  She knows the druid’s humanoid body is not indicative of her true power.

Without words, they lean against each other for a long time, breathing quietly, until Keyleth turns and kisses Yasha on the temple.  Yasha holds her breath, waits for Keyleth to take the next step, but none comes.  Keyleth is always the one with the initiative, always careful not to overstep boundaries.  Except that first time.  Yasha wonders exactly what happened in Keyleth’s past.

So Yasha takes the leap instead, holds Keyleth's chin in place so they can kiss properly.  When their lips touch, Keyleth melts against her and the kisses don't stop.  Maybe they both need this.

They break apart many minutes later gasping for breath.  Yasha thinks she can smell their excitement in this grove.  Keyleth looks away, embarrassed. 

She conjures a gentle breeze, to cool them off and clear the air.  To further distract them, Keyleth fashions a harp out of magic, crafted from wood and animal hair, a gnarled viny affair with little flowers adorning it.

"Can you play something? Anything?"

Yasha understands wanting company but not wanting to talk, looking to fill the silence.  She thought Keyleth knew they were past that.  That it's fine to sit in silence and just be together, to feel and process your own experience without holding back, without being alone.

Yasha understands, but she plays for Keyleth anyway.  So she plays something faster, with energy, and hopefully uplifting.  Maybe this is more her usual fare, but not to Keyleth.  These aren't the haunting melancholic melodies Keyleth has heard before.  This also isn't Yasha’s harp, but she pushes through the unfamiliarity.  If it's less than stellar, Keyleth doesn't show it, she just drapes herself around Yasha and lets the music carry her.

When the song ends, Keyleth smiles into Yasha's shoulder. "That was really nice."

"My friends used to joke about starting a metal band where I could play the rock harp.  Yasha and the Orphanmakers, we were going to call it."

Keyleth laughs at that, the image of Yasha jumping around on a stage, harp in hand, hair flailing around wildly as loud music echoes beneath the moonlight.  She can picture it in her mind.  She glances at Yasha, catches her eye and the end of a smirk.

“I would love to see Yasha and the Orphanmakers perform.”  Keyleth wraps her mantle around them like a blanket, lets out a long sigh.  She feels happy here, content in a way she hasn't felt in quite some time.  Keyleth looks skyward, and there is not a single raven nearby.  And she strains to hear their caws, but there are none of those either.

Yasha too, looks for the storm clouds that always follow her, but the sky is blissfully clear today.  There is only the sun, shining down on them and the canopy of colours below.  This is not the doing of Keyleth’s magic.

This is just Keyleth.

[soyforramen]

Old Times

Gladys hadn’t been back in town for a month before Alice showed up on her front porch at four in the morning, tears streaking down her cheeks (makeup looking just as good as when she’d applied it that morning; gotta love a woman who can afford Avon).  A wide-eyed teenager, the spiting image of a younger, more precocious Alice, tagged along behind her.  Without hesitation Gladys ground her cigarette out on the arm of the rocker (saved from Mr. O’Neil’s Tuesday trash pile) and pulled them both inside.

Without a word spoken, Gladys went to change the sheets in her bedroom.  Alice and the girl spoke softly in the kitchen, and try as she might, Gladys couldn’t make out a single word.  Whatever it was, it had been bad enough to bring Alice here and not one of her fancy, high-society friends’ houses (probably put out jello molds and finger sandwiches and food that tasted like creamed dirt).  Something big enough to ruin the entire Cooper household.

The pillowcase hung from the bottom of the pillow, wrapped around its middle in a suffocating grip, as she realized Hal hadn’t been with them.  In fact, she hadn’t seen Hal and Alice in the same place since she’d moved back to town (long-since overstayed, parents basement too crowded with two bickering teens and three shifts at the grocery store, g.e.d. just out of reach).  She’d exchanged enough nods with Hal in the frozen dinner aisle, both pretending the space between them wasn’t mired in ancient history and still raw rivalry.  Her path with Alice was limited to the high school drop-off lane, the one public gesture of maternal affection Jughead still allowed

Now, though.  She sighed.  It wasn’t uncommon for the women around here to lean on one another for comfort and safety.  Sad, really, how often that came on the heels of the men not living up to even the lowest standards.  

After a second thought, she fluffed up pillows and headed back towards the kitchen.  Coming towards her in the claustrophobic hallway came Alice and her child (Betty, she realized with a flash of deja vu, a reminder of when she and Jughead were the ones on the other end of this), and Gladys flattened herself against the wall.

“Thanks, Ms. Jones,” Betty murmured, her eyes downcast.

Gladys hadn’t the heart to tell her she hadn’t been a Jones for almost fifteen years.  

“Not a problem at all, darlin’.  What do you think about strawberry pancakes in the morning?”

Betty gave her a watery smile and Alice shooed her into the bedroom.  The door closed behind them, and Gladys let out a heavy breath.  There was always something going wrong around here.  You expected it, but it still hurt to see it happen.

Filled with a nervous energy (live wired and on fire, as her daddy used to say before the tar and the coal got to him; put a cork in that and you could power the whole nothern half of the states), Gladys flitted around the house, straightening and tucking and dusting, nothing seeming to be enough anymore.  She had another two hours before she had to be at her first shift at the factory down the road.  Then again, maybe she’d return that long ago favor and call in sick.  After all, she was entitled to a few days here and there (nothing like the dump in toledo where they squeezed every drop of your soul, pennies on the dollar, and still demanded more).

Just as she was running a cloth over the television set (only three channels, black and white; older than either of her children who preferred leeching ole’ henry’s wifi instead of -), the bedroom door shut quietly.  Gladys straightened and waited for Alice to appear.  When their eyes met, Alice’s stoic, no-nonsense rock solid mask crumbled into a mess of tears and grief.

“He’s -“

Poor gal couldn’t even speak properly anymore.  Whatever Hal’d done, it was enough to knock the sense out of Alice, and that was a scary enough prospect on its own.  She hadn’t been that thrown for a loop since they’d raided (stole) Mantle’s stash of E (curled up like kittens, high in the dusty sunlight on the trailer floor, alice laying out her future with hal and not her…).

Gladys quieted her and lead Alice to the love seat (third-hand from earl and katie, bless their hearts even though it did smell like that damn cat).  Alice tried to apologize for the interruption, but Gladys refused to let her.  Jughead she didn’t have to worry about - boy slept like a brick in a tornado - and J.B. was at a sleepover with some of her friends (best friends on the first day of school, always did get her daddy’s better traits, while jug soured down into his old records and writing, lost in his own world, too much like his mama to make anything of it).

Once Alice was settled, Gladys poured out a shot of rum and set it on the coffee table along with a box of tissues.  A few steps back, and Gladys was in the kitchen to give Alice a modicum of peace in the tiny trailer.  She poured a glass of water and set it next to the empty shot glass.

“Another one?  I have whiskey, too.”

Alice shook her head, a crumbled tissue in her hand halfway shredded to hell and back already.  On the table lay three more (three bucks a pop here, can you believe) and Gladys couldn’t help but want that to be the remnants of Hal’s body.  

“Hal, he -“ Alice’s words were cut off with a gut wrenching sob, and Gladys rushed to her.

Like she did when the kids woke up from their nightmares, she murmured platitudes and soft words, her arms wrapped around Alice in a cocoon of safety.  After a good long cry (glad she still wore waterproof, cheap, drugstore mascara would have ruined the fabric, though the concealer would do hell on the blouse), Alice steadied herself.

Despite her hair falling out of its unnatural wave, despite the botchy cheeks, red eyes, and snotty nose, Gladys was still struck by how well Alice carried herself.  Likely an armor built up having to suppress anger and frustration in this ticky-tacky town (hoa’s, pta’s, cya’s).  A rose of anger bloomed on her cheeks sent Gladys rocking back on her heels, a thrum of excitement rushing through her.

“I suppose you’ve heard about our town’s little problem,” Alice said, still speaking in polite euphemisms and innuendos.  She reached for the glass of water and primly cleared her throat (cats and spots, zebras and strips, snakes and scales; once, always).

“Depends on which one you mean,” Gladys said.  

She was being sarcastic, she knew, but it was the truth.  Riverdale hadn’t changed much from when they were growing up, damn whatever bullshit Hiram and his developers were trying to sell.  It still had the same pristine front, picture perfect suburban life style, full of well respected men trying to save the village green from its own preservation society, but now the fetid foundation it had been built upon was bubbling out from the seams.  The drugs, gangs, and murders were more visible now, no longer brushed under the railroad tracks into the Southside of town.

Hell, the only new thing about it seemed to be the mafia trying to gain a foothold.  And Gladys had her own plans on how to deal with that.

Mostly, though, she’d missed being able to push Alice’s buttons (eyes narrowed, tongue beneath her teeth, a flash of heat in a pan), to get a rise from her so she was the center of her focus.  If nothing else, it drew Alice’s attention away from her grief at hand.  

“But, if you’re talking about that black hood idiot,” Gladys drawled, wincing at the pins and needles attacking her as she stood, “then I’ve heard a bit.”

“Yes, well.”  Alice cleared her throat and looked away.  “It turns out you were right.  About Hal.”

“Oh?”

Gladys let it hang in the air.  It wasn’t often that Alice Cooper, nee Smith, admitted to being wrong about anything, especially when it came to her life choices.  And yet the juxtaposition of the two - the Black Hood and Hal - had caught her attention like a hook in a trout’s belly.

“About -?”

“About Hal,” Alice snapped.

She stood to pace the thin carpet of the trailer, her hands wrapped tight around her arms, the pastel green cardigan wrinkling under her fingers.  

“He’s been going around these past few months like a god damned fool, playing at being an avenging angel, murdering people who he thought deserved it.  I can’t believe I bought his lie about going bowling. The man can’t even lift a lawnmower, let alone a bowling ball.”

Gladys sat down on the love seat, one leg thrown onto the coffee table and watched Alice stew in front of her.  It was a mirror image of fifteen years ago, almost to the day.  She gently touched the corner of her eye, still bearing a white scar, and cursed the day she’d ever met that man.

“And then the bastard has the audacity to say that our children need to be purified.  That I need to be purified.  It was bad enough that he sent that letter to Polly, what he did to Betty -“

Alice stopped and tugged at her hair (bottle blonde to cover up the slow, steady march of time; at least a week’s worth of gladys’ pay for vanity every month).  Gladys stood and guided Alice back to the love seat.

“How about you start from the beginning?”

Another stream of tears, this time borne of frustration and anger, slipped down Alice’s cheeks as she dove head first into the long tale.  Hal always had thought himself above the rest of the town (secret son, hidden away from the world) even though his own sins bore bitter fruit of their own (alice angry and self-destructive in senior year; drunk on the floor; od’ed in the bathroom; blood running down wrists).   Somehow he’d managed to fuel that into something more productive - a picture perfect nuclear family and modest but plentiful business - until he finally didn’t.  

The first murder attempt, then the second, third, and fourth followed, no longer attempts.  Quit murders in the surrounding counties that went with only a few murmurs of disapproval.  Even his own family hadn’t been immune; daughters, tortured and deceived by the man meant to protect them from such things (kids of all things; for crissakes was nothing sacred?.

And Alice…

When she was done with her macabre tale, ending in Hal’s entrapment of his family and their violent escape, Gladys let out a low whistle.

“Well.  Shit.”

Alice let out a wet, wry laugh.  She curled her legs up under her and hugged a throw pillow tight (bought on a whim at a yard sale - two’fer deal she’d haggled; matched the lace curtains jb couldn’t help but make fun of).  Gladys stood and walked towards where her father’s urn sat on the mantle, a place of honor in a family who had little to do with ghosts of the past.

“What do you want to do about it?” Gladys asked.  

Standing on her tiptoes, she reached in an pulled out a rusted Altoids tin and a lighter.  When Alice caught sight of it she let out a real laugh this time, one that drew memories of simpler, happier times when it had just been the two of them against the world.  Wonder Woman and Sarah Conner, united together.  Until they grew up and out of middle school dreams and into the real world where bills piled up and mouths had to be fed.  

“You know we’re not in high school, right?”

Gladys grinned and fell onto the love seat next to her.  She popped open the tin and held it out to Alice.

“Do you want to do the honors?  You always were better at it than I ever was.”

Alice chewed her lip, the implications and scandal of what Gladys was proposing flashed across her eyes.  It was easy enough to guess the arguments against it, the same old ones she’d heard before (what if your mom/daughter/sister finds out you keep that in there? she’ll be more pissed that she didn’t find it sooner), but her hand was steady when she took the tin. Gladys watched her fingers work, long thin fingers still trapped by a band of gold.  The ring of a promise that fell flat and brought with it a hell of a right-hook in the end.

As she watched, Gladys let her mind wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t allowed themselves to be torn apart in high school.  If she’d only beaten the truth out of Hal in junior year when Alice vanished.  If only, if only, if only.

“What I want,” Alice said with a finality, the lid snapping shut a punctuation to her decision, “is to rip his guts out and feed them to him while that harpy mother of his watches.”

Gladys flicked the lighter, the flame dancing around the end of the joint.  Her eyes didn’t move from Alice’s lips as she took a hit.  Lines ebbed and faded, reminders of their time spent apart, waves of years and youth wasted.  In the poor ventilation of the trailer, the smoke wrapped them in a thin cocoon of safety, a gauzy curtain to shield them against the reality of their choices.

“Might have to lay a tarp down, but I know a few guys.”

The phrase sent Alice into a fit of giggles (ask freddie and fp, they know some guys) and Gladys shushed her with a crooked smile, reminding her that Betty lay sleeping not forty feet away.  Alice took another took and blew the smoke into Gladys’ face, a ribbon that caressed and teased her skin

“Or we could take care of it ourselves.”

“Just like old times?”

“Just like old times.”

(A few months later found Jughead and Betty at Pop’s working on a school project under Gladys’ critical eye.  Jughead, used to his mother’s hovering nature, enjoyed the free fries she dropped off between customers; Betty, it seemed, was far more perturbed by the woman’s sudden closeness with her mother.  It wasn’t until they were writing about Lady McBeth  (‘out damn spot’ seemed to Jughead less of a guilt ridden complex after this Black Hood business and more of an attempt at an evidentiary coverup) that he spoke on a subject that had been bothering him for a few weeks.

“Doesn’t it seem odd?”

Betty hummed and continued to write.  “What seems odd?”

“My father disappears three months before my mother leaves town, never to be seen again.  We come back, and three months later your dad disappears.  And each time, our mothers renewed their friendship just weeks before.”

Any goodwill Betty might have held towards Jughead froze quickly at the implications in his words.  Her fingers gripped the mechanical pencil hard enough her knuckles went white and the plastic cracked.  

“My father was a serial killer,” she snapped.  Blooms of anger rose on her checks and Jughead shifted under her glare.  “It’s not surprising that he’d run away after trying to kill his wife and his daughter in their own home.”

Cowed, Jughead picked at the lukewarm fries.  Her words didn’t change his mind, didn’t move his suspicions a single degree, but it did quiet his need to pry further into her opinion.

The matter was dropped as Macbeth and his realm descended further into madness.)

[suitov]

Komaegi Week: Garden

“I’m sorry it’s not a normal kind of date.  I just remembered I’d agreed to help Shikiba and I didn’t want to cancel on you outright...”

“For all the experience I have, this could be a completely normal date!” said Nagito cheerfully.

“But do you know what Celeste said when I told her?  She said ‘Well, I wouldn’t trust you pair of submissive lambikins around any kind of tools’...”  Makoto unlocked the garden shed.  “But then I asked if she meant she wanted to come help, and she said ‘That’s what I have men for, dear’.  Like, make up your mind!”

“It’s not as though we’re doing anything dangerous,” said Nagito, picking up a trowel and giving it an uncertain heft.

“He even labelled them for us, he said.”  Sure enough, Makoto found the small sack marked Early Onions without difficulty.

Nagito had found some gardening gloves; he handed Makoto a second pair.  See, they were off to a great start!

“All right.  He said it’s this bed over here, the one under the cherry tree…”

Nagito followed him with the rest of the gear, sparing the tree a wry look.  It was bare, of course, being February.  No blossoms for Makoto’s birthday.  But maybe there would be for Nagito’s!  He could take Nagito to look at them.  Yes, they’d go together and they’d hold hands—Nagito would finally agree to let people see they were dating, he’d realise he was worthy of Makoto—better yet, he’d realise there was no such thing as worthy, and then maybe… maybe they’d kiss!  In front of the trees and everyone!  Now there was a hopeful thought.

Makoto tripped over his feet in excitement and planted his face in the bare earth.

“Are you inspecting the beds personally?” asked Nagito with all that subtle irony he displayed sometimes.

“Yeah, something like that.”  Makoto picked himself off, brushed off his nose and the knees of his uniform pants—on reflection, he should’ve done like Nagito had and changed into something more casual before heading off to grub around in the dirt.  He’d been too excited to think about details.  Cute guy and all that.

Nagito smoothly folded his long legs into a kneel.  “Ah… Shikiba really didn’t leave much to chance.”  He held up a hand-drawn diagram of a bulb, tiny feathery roots and all, firmly labelled PLANT THIS END DOWN.

They set to work.

“I guess everyone thinks we’re that hopeless,” said Makoto with a rueful grin.

Nagito’s laugh was gentle, as if apologising for its audibility.  Makoto wanted to hear it more often.  “Then they’re wrong.  It’s never hopeless with Makoto around.  By definition.”

“Are you talking about—ah, Nagito, you know Ultimate Hope is just a nickname my classmates came up with!  Now I think about it, it must have been after I tried cheering Toko up one too many times…”

“That many Ultimates can’t be wrong, that’s what I always say,” said Nagito, who was capable of digging in his heels on certain topics every bit as effectively as he was currently digging in the onion bulbs.

Makoto stuck out his tongue, but he continued in Nagito’s wake, patting down the soil and giving the bulbs their first watering-can baths.

It looked as though, in spite of certain people’s expectations, their task would soon be finished without any disasters at all.

“I wonder how long until we see them growing,” said Makoto.  Dim recollections arose of the time he’d planted an acorn and checked back hourly on its progress, before running to his mother at dinner time in tears because it hadn’t become a tree.  Hey, he’d been five, all right?!

“Assuming my accursed presence hasn’t poisoned them somehow,” Nagito offered cheerfully.  “Knowing my luck, they’ll all wither and the soil will go completely barren, or they’ll grow into homicidal monsters, or…”

“Or,” said Makoto, before the ball of hypothetical horrors could really get rolling, “what if it’s good luck instead, and they all grow big and beautiful and tasty in stir fries?”

“Oh, no, I think I’ve already identified the good luck in this situation,” said Nagito with hooded eyes.

“Really?  What’s th— Nagito, why’s your bag glowing?”

Nagito followed his eyes.  He took off his gloves and opened his book bag.  “Ah...” he said.

Makoto realised what it was just before Nagito produced his wand.  The weird, dark metal wand, one of the pair they’d found by accident while out walking together.  Glowing, which was why they’d originally seen them, but hadn’t happened since then.

“Do you think it senses danger?”

Makoto picked up his own backpack.

“Ha!  So you don’t want to be far from yours either?”

“I feel all uneasy and lonely if I get too far away from it, a little like when I’m away from… um, from home,” Makoto quick-thinkingly unadmitted. Ha, and to think Kyoko had called him an open book!  “But mine isn’t glowing, look, so either it doesn’t mean that or… heehee… I’m the threat.”

Nagito gasped dutifully at Makoto’s fierce face and intimidating flex.  But he did grin a little.  “If I ever find the Ultimate Hope is my adversary, I’m switching sides.”

Makoto zipped his backpack up again.  “So maybe yours wants you to transform.  You could try it.”

“I don’t even know how it happened the first time.  Do you?”

“Um, no.” Makoto frowned and touched his chin with a knuckle, a gesture he’d unconsciously picked up from Nagito.  “Maybe wave it around?  Twirl with it?  Is there a magic word written on it…?”

“No, no and no,” said Nagito dizzily.  “I don’t even think I was thinking anything special that first time.  All I remember was—um, well, that surely wasn’t it.”

Makoto leaned forward like a puppy seeing a ball.  “What?  What?”

“Oh, nothing… um.”  Nagito squirmed.  “I was just feeling very… extremely ga—”

It happened immediately.  Nagito’s formerly quivering fingers clamped firmly around the wand and he struck an unlikely pose, spine bent such that somehow his chest and his rear were in view at once.  Blood-red ribbons of light spilled out and cocooned him.  Makoto even thought he heard a faint theme song.

Nagito’s high heels touched the ground again.  He looked down and smoothed his slinky red cocktail dress.

Makoto choked on a giggle.  At the questioning look, he said, “They’re back…”

“What are—oh no.”  Nagito reached up and tugged at one fuzzy cat ear. “Magical girl and catboy now?  How is this reasonable?”

“I don’t know about reasonable, but it’s cute.”

“Yes, but we didn’t even turn into cats… dog… animal people on the same day—they were completely separate incidents!”

“Maybe your magic wand found it cute too.”

Nagito’s fluffy white tail lashed.  He started to lick a hand, then thrust it embarrassedly behind his back.  “And what was even the point of this?” he demanded of the magic wand.

“Ooh…” said Makoto.

“…just trying to have a normal date with a very adorable boy and you go around glowing and, and giving people hairy ears willy-nilly…”

“Um…” said Makoto, who was all squeaky inside after being described as very adorable.

“…appreciate some idea of what you want me to do here.  I mean, magical girl powers aren’t exactly something the guidance counsellor can help with, and I’ve asked her…”

“Nagito, look!”

“…said it wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’s been asked by a student at this school, which is saying somethi—yes, Makoto?”

Makoto mutely pointed.

“…oh,” said Nagito, accurately.

The onions were growing.

The onions were growing big…

“Nyaow!” Nagito hissed and swiped his wand at a waist-high bundle of leaves.  The leaves took no notice, neither to attack him nor to quail away from his indignant hiss.  The bulb at the base of those leaves, half submerged in soil, was massive, more like the size of a pumpkin.

The onions stopped growing with a self-satisfied chlorophyllic creak.

“Uh,” said Makoto.

“…Yeah,” said Nagito, slinking farther away from the garden bed before anything else could happen.

“So that was…”

“It sure was…”

“Do you think that’s your magic power?  Nagito, that’s such a cool power! They’re blooming like crazy!”

“I don’t think onions bloom, do they?”

“I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure they don’t normally do that, either.”

They stared at the vegetable garden a little more.  Then, both at once, they started laughing.

“Onions, right? Pungent and making people cry.  Perfect imagery for me!”

“Nooooo, onions are good!  They’re good in cooking, they give things flavour, and… they have like, circles.  What’s the word?  Like layers!  They’re complicated, just like you!”

“You think I’m good?”  Makoto realised Nagito had stopped laughing.

“Yes, silly catboy, I think you’re very good.”  He stuck out his tongue, just to be extra convincing.

Nagito wordlessly reached out and brushed a petal out of his hair.

“And I’m not sorry we’re dating, even if weird stuff like this happens every time.”  A falling petal tickled his nose.  He rubbed it with the back of his gardening glove.  “At least I get to experience the weird stuff with you.”

Nagito shuffled his feet.  Or maybe he was just trying to keep the heels from sinking into the grass.  He rubbed the back of his neck, trailing the red veils that formed part of his distractingly alluring outfit.  They looked kind of nice, spangled with pink petals.

“Wait a minute,” said Makoto, looking up.

At the riotously blossoming cherry tree.

They gawped at each other, framed in falling flowers.  Then one of them reached for the other’s hand, and later on neither remembered who it had been.

They did remember the kisses, though.  So it was a pretty good date after all.

[tiny-maus-boots]

The Howl pt 9

A/N: ty ty ty ty ty to my bestie and beta for doing all the things. @chloes-yellow-cup and lots of thanks to @wlwoolf constantly supports this work. and a very special thanks to all take the time to read all this stuff. 

One last thing. Unedited because...well I’m lazy. 

09.

“I love you”

She really hadn't meant to say it, didn't even know it was in her mind or heart to speak honestly. It started as a laughing commentary to Aubrey's slow wit but once it was out Stacie knew it was the truth. Painfully startling as it was she couldn't seem to find an argument against how she felt. Aubrey had dropped into her life and from one moment to the next everything had changed. The world was different now and not just for her, for the vampire too. She could see it in the way those gorgeous silver-gray eyes filled with the knowledge that she was being truthful.

The blonde's brow furrowed slightly as she processed the words still hanging between them. Stacie had been on her own a lot in her life but she had never really been lonely. Not the way lonely echoed through Aubrey like a mournful song. “You don't even know me...”

But that was the thing. She did know Aubrey. “I knew you the moment you saved my life.” It was a mistake to have saved her life when she could have easily let Stacie die and gone about her business that evening. It likely would have been safer for the vampire had she let a stranger die but she hadn't. She'd come from nowhere and fought that disgusting thing, killing it before she herself succumbed to her wounds. Aubrey was different and Stacie knew it in the deepest recesses of her heart and spirit. She could even feel the way her words so foreign to the other woman, and yet were so desperately needed.

Arms tightened around her, pulling her closer and Stacie sighed happily as she tipped her head to the side. The thought that she might be just a little addicted to the feel of the vampire feeding and that it could become extremely dangerous flitted through her mind for a fraction of a second. But Aubrey didn't bite her as she had expected, or maybe even craved. Cool soft lips brushed over her bites in a delicate caress that made her toes curl. The tip of the blonde's nose grazed the length of her neck, and she nipped lightly at the corner of Stacie's jaw.

Aubrey didn't have to say I love you back because she could feel it in the way was being held and the gentle, careful attention being paid to her marks. She knew it in the way Aubrey had twice now risked herself for Stacie. She didn't need to hear the words when she could feel the love in every reverent stoke and kiss. Aubrey's tongue lapped the edge of her bite in an intimate touch she felt the sense memory of  between her legs. Stacie gasped and gripped the front of the other woman's jacket needing it to anchor her in the overwhelming feeling of being more than desired, more than just the blood and sex shared between them. She felt cherished in a way her mind couldn't fully grasp and she thought maybe it was because Aubrey had yet to understand it herself.

She was so completely rolled in a sensory overload that she hadn't noticed another person was there until a deep growl tore through the haze she was happily cocooned in. The solid weight of a long body knocked into them, pulling them apart forcefully. The shock of it made her slow to react, still too busy trying to process the image of Redd straddling Aubrey's chest as he landed punch after devastating  punch to get her limbs to start working right away. Stacie scrambled to the edge of the bed ready to yank Redd back when she felt a shift in her connection to Aubrey. Cold fury slammed into her chest, sucking the air from her lungs with its intensity and physically staggering her back.

Redd raised his bloody fist to land another blow, his anger making him oblivious to death staring him in the face. She couldn't see Aubrey's expression but she could hear the hiss seconds before Redd's body was lifted and flung into the open closet doorway like a pillow. Aubrey stood in a move so fluid and quick that Stacie could only see a blur of motion before the vampire crouched, ready to leap in attack.

“Stop!!”

She honestly didn't know if she was saying it to Aubrey or Redd but the vampire froze just a fraction of a second before she would have pressed the advantage she had. Shoulders went slack, her posture lazy as the fight drained out of her from Stacie's plea. It should have ended things there, he should have stopped and realized that he was outmatched but Redd lunged out of the closet using all his weight to topple Aubrey back. She stumbled back under the force of impact, both of them crashing into the television mounted on the wall and cracking it.

It was all happening too quickly and she knew she had to stop it before someone got hurt. And by someone she meant Redd. He might still be full of the wolf from the night before but he wasn't going to be any real threat to a vampire that had just fed. The pair struggled across the room, each landing hits with blinding speed. Stacie managed to finally find her feet and closed the distance between herself and them. One hand reached out to grip Redd's shoulder to stop him from raising another hand to Aubrey but he shrugged her off, throwing an elbow back that caught her chin and made her see stars.

Son of a bitch! That hurt.

Aubrey let out a truly inhuman yowl, her rage beyond the point of reason and were it not for the nearness of the stair edge she might have twisted Redd's head right of his body in that moment. But her movement overbalanced them and they went down the stairs still locked together in combat. They tumbled down the step after step and landed hard on the floor to her office. Stacie bounded down after them in two big leaps, finding Aubrey wrapped around Redd like a python, fangs bared and glistening.

She was barely aware of her people walking into the scene with alarmed bewilderment. Aubrey lashed out with a growling bite and the pack gasped collectively. Jealousy bloomed hot and sick in her chest and she tipped her head back for a challenging roar. Redd struggled for a moment but she knew all too well what it felt like when the blonde fed. Aubrey pulled back seconds after her bite and dropped Redd's slack body to the ground, she gave a snarl and spat out his blood with a sneer of absolute snobbery. And oh God it was so fucking hot.

Stacie gave herself a mental shake pushed her way between Aubrey and every other wolf crowding into the office. Cynthia Rose caught her eye from across the room and shook her head in disappointment. This didn't look good and she knew it. Growls rumbled menacingly as some of the pack tried to crowd around Redd protectively but he scuttled away from all of them panting as he tried to pull himself together. Without Redmond to protect the wolves turned their attention to Aubrey and started a slow advance.

The blonde tilted her head as she eyed everyone's position and slowly reached back to rest her hand lightly on the hilt of the weapon strapped to her back without a flicker of concern or fear. It was getting out of hand and if she didn't intercede a lot of people were going to die. Stacie pulled hard on the power of her wolf letting it rise to the surface and fill her body like a tub full of warm water. Not quite enough to spill over the edges, but full enough that a single drop more would cause a cascade.

It was not a warning that growled out from her chest with the force of her beast. It was a demand for submission and she pinned them all with a cold golden eyed stare until they backed away, glances dropping quickly. She wasn't happy at having been jarringly tugged into the present, or getting clocked and she sure as hell wasn't happy with Redd getting bitten. Having her pack defy her would be just too much to bear and she didn't think anything could stop her wolf from doing something terrible.

“This is all just a big misunderstanding so everyone just take a breath here...”

She was trying to soothe them, ease the tension enough to explain what was happening but her voice was still rough and full of gravel and Redd was having none of her conciliatory gesture. He pushed himself to his feet, knocking CR and one of  the pack loners out of the way. His face was scarlet from exertion and embarrassment. She might have felt sorry for him if she weren't just barely containing the urge to lash out him with clawed hands and sharp teeth. Jealously rose again when she caught sight of the trail of blood at his neck and she had to look away. She could feel the shift in his posture and knew he thought she was backing down, maybe he even thought it was in shame. It was enough that he pushed on and immediately and pointed at Aubrey with undiluted hatred.

“You gonna tell us I didn't walk in on that...blood whore...sucking you dry? Just like she tried to do to me??”

Aubrey rolled her eyes at that gave a haughty derisive snort, it was clear she didn't think him worthy enough to actually drink even if she hadn't said a word. He swiped angrily at his neck and held up blood slicked fingers for the whole pack to see. She would have argued that it wasn't at all what Aubrey had been doing to her when he walked in on them but they could all see the fresh bites on her neck. That she wasn't being bitten at that exact moment mattered little when she willingly offered her blood to Aubrey moments before. Stacie didn't even try to hide it because she wasn't ashamed of Aubrey's marks on her. That wasn't her issue with his words at all. Her issue was with his use of the term 'blood whore' in reference to Aubrey. Her wolf surged pulling her forward a dangerous prowling step toward him.

“Apologize.”

“What?!”

The incredulity of the question made Stacie twitch, her lip curling back in a snarl as she took another step closer. There was a fine tremble in her body as she struggled against herself to contain the wolf-rage built up inside of her. She could see him calculating his odds before he squared his shoulders and faced her fully. The challenge in it was clear, he was going to stand his ground in front of the pack. Another drop of power hung precariously over the metaphorical tub of her control, trembling and full ready to cause a flood of rage.

“I. Said. Apologize.”

“Fuck. You. I'm not apologizing to that fucking demon fo...”

There was no thought to her action, one moment she was standing there and the next she was on top of the other wolf, riding his body to the ground with a wild snarl for the second time that day. Wolves skittered back away from her in abject fear and the animal in her delighted in it. Good. Let them fucking fear her. Stacie roared out her feelings, one hand slamming Redd's head into the floor with two concussive thumps. She pulled the front of his shirt, lifting his body toward her and plunged forward with the intent to rip his throat out. How fucking dare he?!

Cold bands of steel wrapped around her, lifting her bodily from Redd and she barely registered that it was Aubrey until the other wolf was out of her reach and she found herself able to breathe. The unbreakable grip she was caught in shifted, one arm sliding across her chest in a soothing caress. The vampire's voice soft as a whisper, breath cool against her ear.

“Can the pack afford to lose another today?” She almost didn't care but for a quieter echo at the back of her mind asking gently. Can you afford to lose them all now? It was exactly what would happen too if she attacked Redd and killed him but the logic of it wasn't quite enough to keep the low and constant growl from trickling out.

There was a nervous twittering shift of bodies in the room and Stacie let her gaze drift over them. They were confused, angry, and maybe...maybe she could see a little betrayed. The pack had just found Wade murdered by a vampire and here she was defending one that had bitten and fed on her, had bitten Redmond too. It was a lot to process and she knew it. Angus looked around at them all then jerked his chin at in Aubrey's direction.

“What's going on here, Stacie?”

He surprised her with the lack of challenge and aggression he normally showed but the distrust was clear. Stacie took a breath and relaxed into Aubrey's arms as she faced them. She supposed it was now or never, the pack had to know that things were going to be different now.

“She's my mate.”

The was a faint thump against her back that she registered as a single heartbeat from the vampire. The wolves surrounding them stared half in disbelieving shock the others in confusion as if this were all some disturbing joke. Redd growled and started forward but thought better of it when she lunged in Aubrey's grasp, straining to lash out at him. The vampire held her tighter still and he glared at them with the kind of hatred that made men into devils.

“That's a lie! She killed Wade and now she wants you!”

Stacie snarled but stopped struggling against Aubrey and shook her head. “No she didn't! She couldn't have because she was with me all night!”

More bodies shifted and the energy in the room rose to a near unbearable pitch. Cynthia Rose cleared her throat and kept her gaze from showing outright hostility. “Thought you said something bad was out there...but you were with her...”

“There was something bad out there. If Aubrey hadn't intervened Wade wouldn't be the only body left in the snow.” There was a soft grumble as the words sank in. Some looked thoughtful and that was at least a start. She let her gaze rest on her Betas trying to read where they stood. It was hard to tell and she felt her confidence falter.

“You believe a revenant took your wolf from you?” Stacie turned her head to look over her shoulder at Aubrey. The vampire's face was blank of all emotion but there was something trebling through their connection that caused her to raise a brow questioningly when she nodded. “I must see the body.”

A roar of shouts burst suddenly from the group in protest. She didn't agree with them but she understood why they didn't want to allow Aubrey access to him. Wade's body was sacred, it needed tending and respect, not a cold impersonal inspection from a vampire no less. Stacie was stuck between a rock and a hard place and she was weighing her choices when Cynthia Rose whistled to get the attention of the assembled crowd.

“Stace?”

She knew they needed her to make a choice one way or the other right now. She sighed and pulled a little away from Aubrey so she could turn and meet a cold gray eyed gaze. It warmed and death bled away to the familiar pale jade of Aubrey's eyes.

“What do you need to inspect him for?” “The night we met I was tracking the creature. I believed it the last when I took its head...but if there are others I must find them and dispose of them quickly.”

“To bury the evidence of your feeds?” It was someone in the back, she couldn't see who exactly and couldn't place their voice but she didn't need to when there were agreeing nods around.

Aubrey straightened her spine and shrugged indolently as if it were the stupidest question she'd heard. “If I wanted to hide my feeding I wouldn't have chosen your wolf queen to mark.”

Another unsettled titter passed through them and Stacie frowned. “And if you find out it is a revenant bite? Then what?”

Seconds ticked by as Aubrey stared impassively at Stacie. “The infection can not be allowed to spread.” There was something in the clinical way she said it that made the tall brunette huff. Aubrey was holding back and she could feel it. Stace glanced at her pack and then Aubrey and nodded slowly. They'd cross the 'what if' bridge when 'if' became a real thing.

“He's in the bed of the truck.”

They all looked toward the garage and a low mournful whine rose from multiple throats including her own. Aubrey moved gracefully into the garage and climbed into the bed of the truck. Several wolves surged forward to crowd around protectively, Angus among them. The blonde pulled the tarp back and her sharp eyes took in every detail of him before she leaned forward over the body. Angus snarled but Aubrey only sniffed delicate around Wade's head before frowning.

Her words came out respectfully soft and it took Stacie a moment to realize Aubrey was speaking to the pack, and specifically to Angus who had climbed into the bed with them and was holding Wade's hand.

“May I touch him?”

It confused Angus and the big man looked over to Stacie, unsure how to respond. She tipped her head gave a slight nod letting him know he could trust the woman. He blinked at her once then turned to the blonde and gave a gruff nod. She was careful, gentle even as she turned Wade's head and probed the bite with a fingertip judging it's depth and the damage caused before pulling the tarp back over his head. She seemed to sense that her presence so close to the body made them all uncomfortable and moved to lightly drop to the ground.

The pack sighed in relief and Stacie gave a soft grunt. “So what's the verdict?”

Aubrey looked troubled and she held her hand up. “Can you tell me what you smell? Your nose is more acute than mine. I...I have to be sure.”

The brunette brought the vampire's hand closer and sniffed delicately. The scent of decay was there, the same as before but...not. It confused Stacie and she sniffed again. “It's faint...flowery...what is that?”

Cynthia Rose nudged her way forward and gave Stacie a nod. “Lemme.”

Stacie stepped back as her Beta eyed Aubrey warily and sniffed at the blackened blood coating her fingertips. She growled and pulled back with a sneeze, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “Violets.”

The change was almost imperceptible. Just a tightening of the shoulders but Aubrey's eyes had gone distant and contemplative and she could feel something closing off between them. Stacie narrowed her eyes in suspicion and hummed softly. “That mean something to you?”

Now wasn't the time to hesitate, they had to show they trusted each other. To the pack and maybe to themselves. Stacie reached out and cupped Aubrey's jaw gently commanding her attention. The vampire's cheek filled her palm and Stacie smiled gently. It was a habit of the blonde's and one that made the wolf go soft every time. Aubrey sighed deeply and gave Stacie a look of honest regret.

“He is infected. If there were another way...” She hesitated and Stacie raised a brow. His head. The inhale was sharp as the words sunk into her brain.

“No. There has to be another way.”

The wolves started crowding in closer, Redd keeping his distance but unwilling to be left out entirely. Cynthia Rose looked between them wonderingly, a furrow appearing between her brows as she made of soft hrmpf sound. “Y'all mind telling the rest of us what other way you're talking about?”

Aubrey let her gaze drop before she faced the wolves. “Your friend....Wade, was attacked by a very sick vampire. An attack on a human from it would make a revenant from bite alone. It would become the type of creature that attacked your Alpha. It would have no feeling, no thought, no loyalty save to the nearest source of blood. The only thing they fear is the sun and their maker. They are faster, unreasoning, and strong. Stronger than most by far. Were it any other vampire bite I wouldn't worry but a sick vampire means we can not risk the contagion spreading. If Wade...”

“Don't fucking say his name!” Redd shoved someone out of his way and got in Aubrey's face. It was stupid really given how she'd already hurt him once and given how Stacie had acted at his insults but he wasn't thinking clearly. He was angry and jealous, wounded both physically and his oh so fragile ego. Stacie growled when he used his height to try and intimidate the blonde. “You don't ever get to speak his name, do you hear me?”

CR reached out to put a hand on his arm and tug him back but he shrugged it off and pointed right in Aubrey's face, centimeters from her nose. Aubrey's response was slow and drawling when she shifted her weight and subtly.

“If he rises as a revenant there is no telling what power he will have or how virulent his bite may be. We could lose the town. The entire pack and eventually the coven. There would be total devastation. I have seen it once before in the 1500s. I believe colonists refer to the event as the Lost Colony of Roanoke. I was still young, barely two centuries, but I recall The Lady of the coven riding into the settlement with a few of her strongest warriors. Only she and another vampire survived.”

Colonists? The 1500s? TWO FUCKING CENTURIES?? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask exactly how old Aubrey was but she thought better of it, choosing to question that later in private when it wasn't so obvious that they didn't know anything about each other's history.

“How do we do that? Stop the spread?”

Aubrey pinned Stacie with a heavy look as she answered the dark skinned woman still watching them both with naked curiosity. “Burn the body to ash or take the head.”

It was direct, perfunctory even. A statement of fact but she held Stacie's gaze and the wolf could easily read the things unsaid between them. If there had been another way she wouldn't put them through that.

“It's too cold for a hot enough cremation in the wilderness. And enough planes and choppers fly over for the smoke to be noticeable. We can't ride around with him all the way to Juneau without everyone knowing our business. So that leaves one option, you wanna...do that. To his head.”

Aubrey broke and turned back to Cynthia Rose with a slight nod. “I don't want to. I regret deeply that it must be done but I won't risk any others. I will not risk Stacie.” It was firm and sure and if anyone would have dared argue one look at Aubrey's set jaw would have silenced them.

The deep bass of Angus' somber voice made them all look over. “If you do this it saves a lot of people?” Aubrey nodded once and Angus looked to Stacie. “I hate it with every part of me but if you trust her I'll follow your lead.”

“Just like that?” It wasn't that she was questioning his loyalty to her. She knew he'd do what he said but Angus had always held some resentment toward Stacie, always pushing her limits and challenging her choices. Now he was too calm, too settled in the face so something violating to the pack.

The big man lowered his head and looked over at the truck one last time. He turned back sadly, shoulders hunched in pain. “Ain't gonna lose another of our people Stace. I don't trust vampires, not sure if I'll ever trust this one. But if she's your mate like you say then I trust at least that when it comes to you she's telling the truth.”

“She is. I saw one of those things...we can't let another one get loose.”

Redmond frowned and crossed arms belligerantely over his chest. “And the source? How the fuck do we fight a sick vamp if one bite can make us like you?”

Aubrey's nostrils flared at the insult but gave him a leveling stare. “When I find the vampire that hurt your packmate I promise you I will see them suffer before I kill them myself. No matter who it may be.”

It was odd and Stacie canted her head slightly as she filtered through their connection trying to find whatever it was that Aubrey was omitting. Redd snorted and threw his hands up in the air as if that were just what he expected her to say and Stacie realized no matter what Aubrey had promised he wouldn't have believed her anyway.

“Right. Vampires take care of their own, you don't give a shit about justice for Wade or any of us. All you care about is covering your people and stealing what ain't yours to take. You're not one of us, you're never gonna be one of us!”

There were a few grumbles of assent but Stacie was surprised to note that there weren't that many. They were starting to listen, to see how Aubrey was, to see what Stacie saw when she looked at the other woman.

“No she isn't but she is mine. My wolf chose her as equal. She is MY mate. You may not like it but I don't give two squirts of duck shit about what you like. The packed wanted me to mate? You're welcome. I'm mated.”

Someone in the group snickered softly but like before she couldn't tell where it had come from. Though she strongly suspected it came from the outlier that Redd had shoved aside earlier. He whirled to look for the culprit but Redmond found only blank stares watching him carefully. He was starting to walk a fine line and it was becoming obvious to the pack.

“You know you were supposed to breed...”

“No. See I don't think that was ever part of the original plan to keep me close. I think the pack would just be happy if I picked someone to build a life with. Something solid and real besides an easily abandoned garage. I think that last part is all you Redd, and you know what? If you're looking to breed pups you better find another tail to chase.”

There was a low rumble from behind her but Stacie didn't chance a glance over her shoulder. She didn't have to, she could feel Aubrey's power rolling out like a cold wave. Jealousy flared through their connection and she smiled at it. At least it wasn't a one sided feeling. Redd turned on a heel and started to storm out through the office door. He managed to get two steps before lightening like flash resolved itself into the figure of Aubrey, her wickedly curved machete steadily pressed against Redd's neck.

Stacie hadn't really seen her move, hadn't even sensed the shift in air pressure until Aubrey had passed her. Everyone froze and waited with baited breath, Redmond barely chancing a gulp as if he was afraid even the slightest pressure would part the skin under the sharp blade. The tall brunette reached out and rested a hand on the vampire's arm slowly pushing it away from Redd.

“Let him go, I'm done with him here.”

The weapon held steady, fully extended in Aubrey's expert grasp, her voice dark with intent even as her eyes glowed the soft amber of Stacie's wolf.

“I'll be seeing you again. Very soon, dog.”

“We'll settle this under the blood moon. You're not going to be so tough against a wolf then.”

He snarled but backed away from the blade slowly before pushing his way out of the office. Aubrey watched him go for a moment before she sheathed her blade and turned back to her mate. Patiently waiting for her decision and not at all concerned about having threatened one of the pack.

“Do what you have to. “

Aubrey nodded and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Tonight long after the sun falls and the town sleeps. It will be easier to take him to a place to rest.”

She nodded and rubbed her hands over her face. “Fine. Everyone just get the fuck out. Please. I promise I will explain everything. But for now just give me some room, yeah?”

Angus gave a nod and started herding the wolves toward the door as Cynthia Rose rocked on her heels before them and gave a slow nod. “I think this mating is legit. I saw them eyes. Those were wolf eyes not vampire ones.”

Stacie nodded to confirm it and Aubrey gave a surprised hum as she processed it. “Yeah. And I've had hers flash in mine. Figured it's a side of effect of the mating.”

CR gave a non committal grunt. “Maybe. We gonna talk about this soon, Stacie. You, me, the pack. I'll be your ride or die but not if you shut me out, you hearing me?”

Despite the hardness in the words she knew it wasn't a challenge for Alpha but a reminder that she had a responsibility and she respected her Beta for it all the more. Stacie nodded and reached out to rest a hand on the woman's shoulder. CR made a soft tsk sound and pulled her into a tight hug. When she pulled away from the hug Cynthia Rose gave Aubrey one last pondering glance then before nodding at something only she knew. Aubrey dipped her head once in an acknowledgement of whatever had just passed between them. It was such a tentative start but at least there were people willing to listen, to see the truth.

Stacie waited until the last wolf had left and the door clicked shut with finality. She moved forward quickly and flipped the sign over before twisting the lock and removing the key. Aubrey hadn't moved and she was glad because she had so much to say and so much to ask... but her instinct won out over such trivial things and she lunged at the blonde pushing her against the side of the desk. Stacie let her hands drop to Aubrey's hips and she lifted her easily, bringing their lips together in a heated and possessive kiss. Stacie pulled back with a growl taking Aubrey's lip between her teeth roughly.

“You don't get to put your fangs in any wolf but me.”

The vampire snarled at that and ran her fingertips down Stacie's spine in a warm and heavy caress. Her own arousal flaring at the rough possessiveness. “What's the matter, you don't want to share your little boyfriend? Are you jealous?”

“You're goddamn right I'm am. You're mine, he doesn't get to enjoy any part of you.”

Their lips crashed together again even as their hands struggled to divest each other of the layers of clothes between them. Jealousy was new, it hadn't been a thing she'd ever experienced before, always intentionally moving to keep attachments to a minimum. But the idea of anyone's hands on her mate made simple jealousy seem like a mild sunburn compared to flare molten heat and fresh rage in her chest and Aubrey could sense the echo of it in their connection.

“As long as you're not enjoying any part of him on the side. You're mine and I don't share.”

The kiss that consumed them was a desperate fight for dominance, each claiming the other as clothes peeled away from them. The possessive demand in Aubrey's words igniting the powerder keg of lust already burning her from within.

“Long as we're on the same page.”

“If we were on the same page you'd be inside me already...”

Stacie's lips curved in a devilishly amused grin as she slid a hand up Aubrey's thigh. Fingers stroked through folds already slicked with need and she growled deeply. Aubrey's head fell back at the swift and deep thrust that filled her, fangs lengthening as she gasped.

“Y-yep, you're definitely on the right page now...”

Stacie chuckled against Aubrey's smooth neck and she nipped lightly. Impossible as it seemed, she had found home at last. Where ever they were together she was home.

[daedaluscried]

Pray for the smut drabble meme w/ Gabriel and Ari... but if you feel so inclined maybe a two-for-one since they both have different "houses of worship" but no pressure

Under the cut for reasons

“ This allowed? “ Ari asked as the small lionborn stood before Gabriel. Her religion... her people... she wondered if they would have an issue with someone having sex in a temple or something similar. One half of her pondered on the thought that it was disrespectful to the dead - perhaps a mockery of what they missed. The other half reminded her that love and life was holy just as much as death was.

“ It’s allowed if I say it’s allowed, “ Gabriel chuckled. That chuckle had a tendency to brush Ari’s fears aside. It read of control and spontaneity at the same time. Of power and letting go of power. It spoke of enjoying the moment. The moment.

A moment or two later, he had laid her down among all the candles and the stained glass. Beautiful, but Ari wondered if that was really indicative of him. There was a pause as the two looked at one another, silently repeating the verbal consent from earlier. And then they came together. The breath caught in Ari’s throat for a second, her hand gripping at his shoulder. He slowed down, easing himself in and the smile bloomed across Ari’s face.

This was almost surely sacrilegious, Gabriel thought, and yet, when he looked down at her, Ari’s face touched by a golden dust and her body arching into him, he wondered how such beauty could be sacrilegious. Rules were made to be broken, especially for something like this.

Once Ari seemed more comfortable, Gabriel sped his thrusting up, moving himself closer to her. Her heart pounded up against his chest and the smile the two shared grew larger. Her legs rose, one nestling her ankle behind his knee to hold herself close. Ari’s eyes darted around the church occasionally, to the faces of saints and holy men, but their faces didn’t hold an inkling of the same passion and heart as the one above her. She smiled up at him.

It went on longer than he even expected. Even in all of his distant pining, he hadn’t imagined the way their bodies would melt together, and how even the slowest movements felt joyous. Eventually though, there was one thrust in that seemed to gather in power before Gabriel spilled out. Ari reveled in the warmth for a second, picturing herself in the sands of her home - warm and safe and happy.

Gabriel was used to the sand. He had watched people wander deserts for so long, people he cared about. People suffering, people searching, people hoping for a better life. But not her. She was perfectly happy in the sands. He could imagine that teethy smile beneath her veils.

Years of work. Years of studying and helping the spirits to earn the flowing black veils. Gabriel had said he could help her. Surely, with a few snaps of his fingers and waves of his hand, there was some miracle he could manifest that would help her in becoming a proper priestess. But Ari refused each time. She wanted to do it herself.

So, she had promised him a celebration. Although, Gabriel wasn’t so sure what sort of celebration was just two lone people standing in the desert. Until he moved closer.

Veils upon veils upon what might be more veils. It was a complicated ornate tradition that Ari had explained once and Gabriel did his very best to listen. Good thing too - because he was almost positive that there was supposed to be at least one robe neath the veils.

“ A gift! “ Ari spread her arms wide with a faint laugh.

“ A gift? “ He lifted an eyebrow in response.

“ You... unwrap gifts, yes? “ For a moment, her attempt to be sultry faded and Ari looked confused and worried. Had she messed up again? But the smirk spreading across Gabriel’s face spoke otherwise and so did his quickening step towards her.

That veil revealed her shoulders, this one her face. That one her arms. She shed the layers like a cocoon. His hands were growing a bit unsteady and sloppy, eager and ready. He wanted to remain calm, but Gabriel could feel himself losing control to the hungry feeling inside of him. Like a child on their birthday, he wrapped his present with gusto.

The sand was unsteady beneath them, giving way to each movement as she helped to position himself up against her. Ari pictured the sands rising up and swallowing them whole. Gabriel had prepared a joke about sand being grainy and getting everywhere, but it died on his lips as he moaned into her mouth.

“ Priestess, “ He murmured as he pulled back before peppering kisses along her shoulder, “ Oh if the spirits could see us now. “

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (16/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: We earn our mature here. I wrote this while people installed central air in my apartment and it is as close to smut as you’re going to get out of me. Plus some feelings. If you’re clicking on this and reading all these words, I think it is very nice. Also thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ @distant-rose​ and @bmbbcs4evr​ for being fantastic. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || 

“Gods, that’s stupid.”

The laugh he lets out tickles the back of her neck, making Emma shiver despite the small mountain of blankets she’s cocooned under and the arm around her waist tightens just a bit. They must have drifted at some point in the middle of the night, her back against his chest and it’s left them in the very pleasant position they’re in now – Killian’s lips ghosting over her skin and his fingers trailing over her thigh and Emma’s inhale sort of stutters its way into her lungs.

It is, as announced, stupid. 

And wonderful. 

And some kind of descriptor regarding the temperature. That doesn’t have anything to do with the blankets, but everything to do with his arm and his lips and...him. 

Full stop. 

She opens her eyes. 

There’s light everywhere, rays of sun peeking through half-closed blinds and casting shadows across the few inches of floor that aren’t still covered by dirty laundry. And, for the first time in quite some time, the shadows don’t freak her out. They’re...comforting or something, like it’s proof that the sun is there and today is possible and Emma’s teeth find her lower lip. 

She’s only a little worried about what the force of her smile will do to the paint on her walls. 

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Swan,” Killian mumbles, nosing at her skin again and there’s got to be hair in his face. 

It doesn’t appear to be a problem. 

Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, not exactly confusion, but maybe a bit of lingering sleep and how incredibly, impossibly comfortable she is. She can’t remember this mattress ever being this comfortable. 

It is not the mattress. 

Like. At all. 

“Regarding the overall stupidity of whatever it is you think I’m doing,” Killian continues, dropping his mouth to the curve of her shoulder and she kind of hates that she arches her back. She can’t help it. Biology, or whatever. 

And it makes him chuckle again, the feel of his smile pressed into a bit of skin because, at some point, her shirt has shifted as well and her shoulder is peeking above fabric and there are probably going to be red marks there from the scruff on his jaw. 

Gods, it’s weird to think she’ll relish that. 

And yet. 

“If you’re trying to get me to swoon over your vocabulary, it seems unnecessary,” Emma mutters, and it’s getting more and more difficult to breathe at a consistent level. 

His hand is ridiculous. 

She hopes it never stops moving. 

“Does it now?” Emma hums, not quite nodding because she’s also managed to knock a few pillows off the bed and she doesn’t really want to scrape her cheek against the mattress. “Yeah, yeah, yup,” she stammers, drawing another wholly unfair sound out of Killian. 

“Did you just say yup?” “I honestly have no idea.”

There is not a word to describe whatever noise he makes. It’s triumphant and overwhelming and so goddamn attractive Emma is certain she’ll think about it on loop for, at least, the next forty-eight hours and then probably once every two days for good measure. His teeth graze her skin again, a brush of his tongue and press of his lips and her eyelids flutter. 

She’s certain she can still see the sun. 

That is, hands down, the single most sentimental thing she’s ever thought. 

And her back is still arched. 

“You squirm quite a bit, you know that, love?” Killian asks, voice turning slightly breathless and Emma’s going to take that as her own sign of vaguely romantic victory. 

“Is that a problem?” “Did I say that?” “This is not an organized conversation,” she says, not sure if she’s laughing or her voice is just going to do that from now on, shaking slightly with the force of her joy and general sense of happiness. 

“Aye, well, you’re distracting. It’s difficult to--” Killian hisses in a breath, Emma twisting against him in a way that is only slightly deliberate. “Swan,” he warns. She moves again. So does his hand, away from the top of her leg to the inside, fingers dancing across skin and the edges of fabric and the light in the hallway turns on. Killian makes that noise again. “Well, that’s interesting isn’t it?” “Oh, don’t get smug.” “Would I do such a thing?” “You’re doing now,” Emma points out. “And doing a fairly pitiful job of answering my question, you know.” “Distracting, love, we’ve been over this.” She opens her eyes again, understanding rattling around her brain and her soul and it takes some finagling to twist around, Killian looking only slightly scandalized, but that means he’s also looking at her and Emma isn’t entirely prepared for the force of that. 

The sun, or whatever. 

“How long have you been awake?” 

He blinks. “Not long.” “Once more with feeling.” “Not long,” Killian repeats, but Emma scrunches her nose. It’s an unfair tactic, years of experience and a variety of curses that have led her to realize that one scrunch of her nose and a slight twist of her lips is, usually, more than enough to get him to do just about anything. 

She’s hoping they’ll get back to the ravishing eventually. 

Just maybe after the talking. 

That will probably make the ravishing better. 

“Babe,” Emma continues. She has to shimmy some more to get her hands free, scratching her nails lightly at Killian’s chest and it’s not entirely bare. 

She’d noticed it the night before – or, well, half noticed it, but that sounds kind of horrible and she’d rather not consider that word for the rest of the morning. It’s leather, a band that circles around his shoulder and wraps around his elbow, a makeshift harness and more at the end of his arm. Emma’s eyes narrow, trying without much success to avoid staring, but she can tell it’s well made and she’s got more than a few suspicions about that. She can see where the hook clicks in, a bit of metal and more bands of leather and she reaches her fingers out. 

Only to pull them away. 

And reach forward. 

And back. 

Her teeth threaten to dig through her lip, a charged energy in the air that isn’t quite tension, because she’s still pants-less and her mind keeps bouncing back to ravishing and how much she’d like to get her mouth back on Killian’s, but there’s something there and they’ve got to acknowledge it. 

There’s no way around it. 

“Old habits,” Killian murmurs, answering a question Emma has genuinely forgotten about. She scrunches her nose so hard it almost hurts. 

And his laugh isn’t anything except absolutely confident, the sound of it stretching across the minimal amount of space between them in a bed that is not made for more than one person. It breaks through those charged air particles and drifts over Emma’s skin, lighting metaphorical fires and sparking literal magic, the feel of it making both of their eyes widen slightly. 

“Yeah?” “Yeah,” he echoes. “Something about dawn, I’m sure. And sailors. I’ll have to look up the right cliché at some point.” “Can’t remember it now, huh?” “How many times would you like me to tell you that you’re capable of driving a man to distraction, love?” “I mean--” Emma starts, and she can’t shrug on her side, but she tries and it’s difficult to stay balanced like that. Killian’s hand moves again, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead and she’s not sure if he means to let the tips of his fingers linger on her temple, but they do and there are more sparks, of the metaphorical and literal variety, and -”I think I’m pretty much caught up to speed.” “Good.” “Did you...well, I know there’s the sailor cliché and like...red skies at night?” “I’m not sure that’s relevant in this situation, honestly.” Emma clicks her teeth, not really frustration, just more nervous excitement and generic hope and she has so many questions her mind can’t possibly be expected to land on one. “You’re thinking, love,” Killian says, and that isn’t really an accusation, but it might be a statement or, at least, the starting point of this inevitable conversation. 

“Are you going to be weird if I apologize?” That’s not the way she planned that. She didn’t plan it, really. So, maybe it’s exactly right. 

Killian smiles. “Yes, incredibly.” “C’mon--that’s not helpful at all.” “Well, seeing as I’ve spent the better part of the morning trying to surreptitiously wake you up so I could do the same thing, it only seems fair that I get first crack at it.”

Emma’s lips actually pop when her mouth falls open. It’s probably not attractive. Killian’s eyebrows suggest otherwise. “Wait, what?” “I did consider getting up to make coffee before we did this, but you were rather twisted around me and I didn’t--” “--Oh, no, no, no, you do not get to use that,” Emma cuts in. It makes his eyebrows do something else absurd, jumping and arching and she refuses to be blamed for the way her body shudders. She’s far too busy tilting her head up to kiss him anyway. 

And it’s not their best work. 

Emma knows her breath is a little stale and Killian’s lips are drier than normal, but it still feels a bit like coming home and settling back into something and whatever noise he makes when she slings her arm around him is dangerously close to perfect. 

“I didn’t want to move,” he admits softly, sounding like he’s giving up state secrets. 

She kisses him again 

It gets better. And longer. Roaming hands and fingers in his hair, the feel of his tongue against her mouth. They rock and press together, far too much skin and not nearly enough, the heavy weight of his brace landing on the small of her back when he tugs her closer to his chest. 

“Don’t then,” Emma mumbles. It’s not a command. It doesn’t even really make sense, but she can feel Killian’s smile against her mouth and it’s probably more like a plea. 

“Not even if I tried, love.”

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, more contentment and magic, inhaling deeply like she’ll be able to breath in the sentiment as well. “Why do you think you need to be apologizing for anything?” Emma asks, voice dropping when the emotion wells in the back of her throat. “That’s just--you didn’t do anything.” “Oh, that’s not true at all, Swan--” “--No, no, come on, I--” She huffs, gritting her teeth and propping her head on her hand. She can’t actually move anymore, far too aware of Killian’s arm and the slightly pained expression on his face and she definitely should have come up with a list. 

The conversation would be a bit more streamlined then. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, disappointed at her inability to hold his gaze. Her eyes fall to the mattress, a distinct lack of sheets underneath them. That’s probably a metaphor. Maybe a cliché. She’s not the librarian in this relationship. “For--for all of it. Killian, I’m--” 

The words get caught in her throat, pinched vocal chords and even more emotion, and Emma wishes she could melt into the mattress. 

She doesn't. 

Obviously. 

And the stupid thing creaks when Killian shifts, thumb under her chin and understanding in his eyes as soon as he tilts Emma’s head back up. “I think we should start with the name thing,” he says, flashing a smile when Emma makes another noise of confusion. “Yours, love.” “My--oh, yeah, that’s uh…” “I’m going to tell Regina that you should make all the royal proclamations from here on out. You’re the most articulate woman I’ve ever met.” “Don’t mention Regina when I’m thinking about all the ways to actually get you naked.”

His eyes widen and the color that lands on his cheeks is the most delightful shade of red, a bit of modesty that’s as unexpected as it is misplaced. 

Emma, after all, is not wearing pants. 

“Distracting,” Killian mutters, but there’s that note of adoration there still and it’s difficult to be too upset when his mouth finds its way back to the side of her jaw. “And I thought about that too. When I was---” “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Emma interrupts. She doesn’t want to hear the word dead again. He’s not dead. He’s there. With her in. In a bed he didn’t want to get out of. 

Killian’s fingers graze over her side when he notices the shift in her voice – another flutter of magic. “I’m sure there’s a magical reason for it,” he says. “For us remembering bits and pieces of it, but--well, I couldn’t seem to get past your name. I--” He shakes his head, an incredulous smile that’s far too tight lipped. “I love you.”

“Gods, that’s sappy.” “Aye, it absolutely is. Did you use the name here?” “It was my name,” Emma reasons, another pitiful attempt at a shrug. “Is, even. Ok, so...yeah, this was--damn, it’s so weird to think about this place now. I can’t quite get everything to fit, you know what I’m saying?” Killian hums, the tip of his tongue pushing against the side of his cheek. “Perfectly. Were you really the sheriff here?” “You were a librarian, weren’t you?” “Touché.” 

Emma makes a face – not a victory, because it isn’t actually an argument, but it may be flirting and she’s lost any sense of control regarding her pulse, her heartbeat or her magic. The super trifecta of making Killian’s eyes bug slightly. “If I think about it, it all does kind of match up,” she reasons. “You know, with...Regina--” “--Swan, the naked’ness!” She swats at his chest, but he’s always had ridiculous reflexes and his fingers are warm when they wrap around her wrist. Emma nearly swallows both her lips and her tongue when he kisses the bend of her knuckles. 

She hasn’t told him she loves him back yet. 

Maybe she should get that sky-written. “That’s not fair,” she grumbles, and it only serves to get another kiss, which is actually kind of a victory all things considered. “What I’m saying is we all kind of matched up here. From what we were before. I...it makes a lot of sense that I’d be Emma Swan. Even cursed.”

Killian doesn’t respond immediately. Emma isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not, but it only takes a few moments to realize it may be the best thing because his expression shifts again, dark blue and decidedly emotional and--��Are you going to take credit for the name thing?” “That seems incredibly selfish, don’t you think?” Emma makes a contrary noise, burrowing further against him and letting her legs tangle with his. “Well, really,” she mumbles, “it’s kind of yours. If you want to get technical.” Killian freezes. Not tenses. Not flinches. Freezes. Completely. As if he’s been stunned or thrown completely off course and that’s a fairly solid sailor-type pun that Emma doesn’t actually voice, her own emotions churning like a variety of tides and she’s got to stop making jokes. 

His mouth parts slightly, a burst of air on her cheek and her chin and the bridge of her nose. It’s quiet, not much more than an exhale that Emma’s certain she can only hear based on the rules of True Love or feelings supported by a variety of mythical figures and that’s as long as it takes him to move. 

Pounce, really. 

But that sounds a little negative too and she’s far too busy laughing and smiling and rocking her hips up to be anything except entirely and explicitly positive. 

Emma digs her shoulder blades back into the mattress, hair fanning out under her when Killian’s mouth catches hers. Her hands fly up, searching for purchase in a distinct lack of fabric, and it only to leads to more soft scratches on his back and fingers carding through his hair, working a handful of very particular noises out of him while his body rocks against hers. 

She has no idea when he found his way on top of her. 

She’s glad he did. 

He’s got very good balance, she thinks absently, Killian’s legs bracketing either side of her hips with most of his weight resting on his forearms. Emma can’t seem to stop moving, rocking up at the same time he rocks down and there’s far too many clothes and not enough clothes and her mattress is going to break at some point. 

It will be a gallant death, she’s sure. 

“Pants, pants, pants,” she mutters, working a laugh out of Killian. His head’s dropped at some point, searing kisses she’s sure are leaving brands on her skin. The scruff on his jaw leaves a pleasant burn as well, her breathing picking up like she’s moved somewhere. 

She has not. 

Although Emma feels as if she could run to Misthaven at this point. 

That may have something to do with her magic, the weight of it settling between each one of her ribs and surging through every single vein and artery she is in biological possession of. And for a moment, Emma isn’t sure what that noise is, but then she realizes---

The soft crackle between her fingers isn’t really electricity. It’s more like energy and light, an inextricable mix that’s heady and, possibly, a little greedy, because it seems to be feeding on the feeling blossoming her chest. 

“You’ve got to take this shirt off, love,” Killian mumbles, tugging on fabric and they both gasp at the telltale sounds of threads ripping. 

“Oh my God, calm down with your feats of strength.” “Swan, you are genuinely emitting magic, I don’t think you’ve got a leg to stand on here.” “I’m not interested in standing at all, that’s going to make this a lot more complicated than it has to be.”

He snorts, laughter and kisses peppering her cheek and her collarbone, drifting towards her ribcage and further, further, further. She can only imagine how he looks under the blankets, knees barely staying on the mattress and feet, very likely, on the floor, but she’s less interested in the structure of what’s happening and more in that it’s happening, kisses pressed to the inside of her thigh and the bend of her knee. 

His fingers graze over her skin, more brands of the emotional variety, and Emma kind of hates that her eyes close again. 

She can’t help it. 

There’s another tear, more grumbled words about the integrity of the fabric in this realm that would probably be less endearing if she weren’t so impossibly and completely in love with him and Emma supposes that emotion is rather important when the object of that affection has his head between her thighs. 

Killian pulls again, a jerk of his arm and twist of his hand and Emma’s eyes are still closed. She assumes this is what happens. And the first swipe of his tongue is like more magic and actual electricity, a shock to every part of Emma’s entire system and her soul. She gasps, back arching high enough that she’s almost worried about the state of her spine, but then his arm shifts, palm flat across her stomach and fingers tracing easy patterns over her skin and she can’t do anything except...be. 

Her hands move again, fingers finding their way back to his hair, like she’s trying to keep him exactly where he is. He does not seem all that inclined to move. 

And she knows she should be frustrated at how quickly it all happens – a twist and a tightening and the pulse of her magic, but then there are stars bursting behind her eyes and an energy under her skin and the mattress creaks again. 

She doesn’t yank him up – can’t, there’s still no goddamn shirt, but her fingers find his belt loops and if this is how ravishing works then she’s not going to complain. Until. It slows. Killian slows. He leans back, brows pulled low and lips pressed together, an unreadable expression that makes her feel more than the pleasure still rippling through her. 

And Emma tries to catch her breath. 

It doesn’t work. 

She didn’t expect it to. 

Because the weight of his expression is heavy with everything they still haven’t said and apologies she’ll never be able to utter enough of and-- “Can I see you?”

Killian tilts his head, eyes, somehow, getting even more narrow and Emma’s throat aches when she swallows. The tongue thing, again. Gods. 

“What?” he breathes, all cautious concern. Emma licks her lips. 

“You--I…” Her fingers don’t shake when she moves, twisting to free her hands  and the leather under her touch is rough, as if it’s been worn by time and realms, saltwater and waking up at dawn. Killian’s jaw tightens. “I love you,” Emma whispers, not sure if that’s the right approach. It’s a honest one, though. 

And he shouldn’t have to apologize. 

For any of it. 

He will. She knows. And so will she. Over and over again until the words find their way into every corner of them, a foundation for the rest of everything. 

Killian shakes his head slowly – disbelief and trepidation, hair shifting with the force of it. “Swan, that’s--” “--I know,” she cuts in, because she does. She knows it will not be pretty. She’s not particularly interested in pretty. “But, I--well, the name thing was you. And it’s always been you and it’s…” Gods, she might be crying. 

He might be crying. 

And they have to break for kissing, some sort of True Love rule of the universe, but it’s not ravishing. It’s something closer to reverence. It’s all rhythm and rock, finding a pattern to their movements that’s like drifting back into those memories neither one of them ever really forgot.

“I love you,” Emma says again, Killian's body shifting again, the feel of him resting on her. She hears him swallow, a quick inhale and sharp exhale, lips pressed together and her thumb brushes over the pinch of his forehead. “Just you. Always.” He nods. 

And she doesn’t trust herself to move quickly, so Emma takes care on every shift, every bend of her elbow and flick of her finger, undoing buckles and pulling on leather, slow and mindful, almost too aware of every hitch in Killian’s breath. 

“It’s ok,” she whispers. He smirks at her. “Oh my God, are you serious right now?” “I’m wooing you, Swan, just go along with it.” “Yuh huh.” He twists his eyebrows, smirk turning into full-blown smile and they both know it’s working perfectly. Until. The brace pulls away from his arm, Killian’s quiet curses sounding like they reverberate around Emma’s skull for a moment. 

“Hey, hey,” she mutters, hating that she’s not able to sound more confident. He eyes her, a bit of fear and flash of something that’s almost anger. Emma smiles. “Look at me,” she continues, free hand going to his cheek. He kisses the inside of her wrist. “Seriously, if you don’t stop trying to get me to--” “--Swoon, love, obviously.” “Gods.” Killian laughs, another kiss and poor distraction technique. His left hand is still hanging in the air, eyes looking anywhere except it and her, but Emma’s aren’t quite that tactful and her gaze darts towards the skin she knew would look like that. 

She has to lick her lips again anyway. 

Because it’s bad. It’s...bad. She can’t come up with another word, is only a little disappointed by her own limited vocabulary, but it’s bad. The skin is knotted, scars that she’s sure were angrier at some point and have dulled with time and distance. There’s a hint of gray to it, like the darkness is still clinging just a bit and the color makes her stomach heave, a jump in her gut and twist of her throat. 

She blinks. There are tears there. 

And Killian refuses to meet her gaze. 

“Told you,” he mumbles, a disregard to the pain and the moments and that’s what does it. Or, at least, what pushes her over the edge. Metaphorically. 

Emma pulls his arm up, a wholly uncomfortable twist of her own limbs and turn that her spine does not appreciate, but she’s determined and stubborn and if she’s going to apologize for everything several thousand times, then this is how she’s going to start. 

She kisses the blunt end of his arm. Once, twice, over and over, trying to cover every inch of it with the force of her feeling and the burst of her magic, doing her best to make him understand and believe and--

“Every single time,” Emma mutters, like that makes sense. “For curses or worse.” Killian lets out a shaky, watery laugh, eyes lifting up to meet hers and there’s so much there. It’s blue and deep, another misplaced word and measure of distance that’s really just how obviously he loves her back. “Is that how it goes, then?” “Probably depends on the realm, I guess.” “And which one are we talking about here?” “Dealers choice.” He scoffs, some of the tension leaving his shoulder blades disappearing. “A good, if misused idiom, Swan.” “Ah, well, now you’re getting into specifics and--”

She doesn’t finish. He doesn’t let her. It is a loss she’s more than happy to take, another burst of kisses and friction, fingers that drift back to belt loops and zippers, yanking and tugging and pushing and Emma cannot get her shirt off. 

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, one arm out of one sleeve and the other inexplicably twisted behind her. Killian is mouthing against the side of her neck, seemingly more than content to do that while she deals with the clothes, but then there’s a hand under her back and her bra is gone and--she makes a noise. 

Several noises, in fact. All of them are a little breathless and excited and Emma is dimly aware of Killian’s smile when he shifts again. 

He may groan. “Oh, I’m going to--” Emma starts, but the rest of the words get caught in her throat and disappear on her tongue as soon as his body finds hers and there’s some metaphor about whole to be made. She doesn’t. 

She cants her hips up instead and wraps her legs around the back of his thighs and it’s good and great and-- yeah, like that and Gods, love you feel good and just...just move your hand and oh fuck there. 

The lightbulb in the hallway bursts. 

Killian’s head falls to the curve of Emma’s shoulder, body shaking while she trails her fingertips over the ridges of his spine. She clicks her tongue. “I’m going to be impossibly smug about that for a very long time too,” he mumbles, and she can’t really blame him. 

“You know what, I’m going to take that as a compliment.” “Well you were an enthusiastic participant.”

“Jeez.” “Tell me I’m wrong.” “Shut up.” “Sounds like a you are absolutely right, Killian to me.” “Yeah, you’d think that,” Emma groans, and there’s absolutely no frustration in her voice. Love, possibly, but no frustration. He hasn’t made any move to flip back onto his side of the bed, a pleasant heaviness that makes it a little difficult to breathe, but easier to keep touching him and that’s kind of the point. 

The brace is on the ground. 

“I love you,” Emma adds, one side of her mouth tugging up. She’s not really trying to reach some kind of quota, but it gets easier to say every time and she wants to keep saying it and reminding and it’s kind of selfish too. Because-- "I’m so sorry.” “Swan, you’ve got to stop apologizing, love.” “But--” “--Ok,” Killian sighs, flopping back to his side of the bed. HIs hair is stuck up in the back. Emma going to take that as a compliment too. “Why?” “What?” “Why?

“Why what?”

“Swan.” “No, no, I genuinely don’t understand the question,” she mutters, only a little flustered and that’s definitely because of his hair. And the pants. The distinct lack of pants. He is exuding heat, she’s positive. “Are you kidding me? I mean...babe, I--” “--You know, I’m going to have to request that you keep doing that when we get back home. I’m a big fan.” Emma laughs. “Yeah?” “Was the ravishing not obvious?” “Ah, so we’re calling that ravishing, huh?” “Swan, don’t act like you weren’t properly ravished,” Killian chastises, crowding back into her space so he can trail kisses against her jaw and she’s going to have magically fix her spine. “And I know what you did, love. I thought of not much else for several years, but I also know that I--” He takes a deep breath, the force of it moving his chest under her and Emma doesn’t dare look up. “I’m not sure I would have been able to do anything differently. If it was you.” “Are you going to make fun if I say what again?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Well that’s stupid.” “We’re going in circles, darling.” Her magic...does something, Killian’s eyes widening in more misplaced relationship triumph. He kisses her. Not hard. Not bruising. Just kisses her. Like it’s only natural. “We fucked it all up didn’t we?” She scoffs, unable to disagree. “Yeah, I guess so,” Emma mumbles. “I just...you were right. What you said before. In the track or on the track, what’s the right grammar there?” “On, I believe.”

“Really?” Killian hums, a small smile tugging at the ends of his mouth. “Huh. Whatever, I--you were right. I wouldn't let you die. And I know I should regret that, I’m not...it’s not like I’m proud of it, but I couldn’t--” She grimaces when she retreats back to excuses and almost-lies. “Wouldn’t,” Emma corrects. “I wouldn’t do it. And it’d be the same no matter what. Every single time. Even if...I don’t know, you tripped or something.” “You think I’m tripping over something and immediately dying?” Killian asks skeptically. “That’s a distinct lack of confidence in my balance, Swan.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” “Naturally,”

Another scoff and more magic, nerves and butterflies and the seemingly overwhelming desire to keep kissing him. She’s getting kind of hungry. “Can I ask something?” “You don’t need to double check.” “It’s not really great,” she grimaces, Killian’s eyes widening expectantly, “are you ok? And I know, I know that’s an impossibly big question and stupid unfair--” “--Stupid unfair?” “Ok, the interrupting is not cool.”

He hums, a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Go on, Swan.”

“I wouldn’t let you die,” she repeats. “And I--well, it was wrong. It...I know you weren’t all dark and, Gods, it’s ridiculous to tell you that it wouldn't have made a difference even if you were--” “--You may want to reconsider some of that eventually.” Emma scowls. Killian grins. “I’m going to punch you.” “Please don’t do that.” She huffs, still a lack of any real frustration. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for forcing you into that and ignoring what you wanted because it wasn’t what I wanted and I--you told Regina you didn’t have any magic.” “Was that you double checking?” “Kind of,” Emma admits. “I guess I just want to make sure that’s not...when my magic started disappearing here, it was like losing my tether. And that wasn't sudden. It kind of drifted out and then surged when--”

“--You got to New York.” She tries to punch him. He doesn't let her. So she kisses him instead. It seems like a fair trade. “Are you ok?” Emma asks again, the words mumbled against his mouth and it leaves his whole body taut for a moment. 

“That’s a very broad question.” “I don’t have anywhere to go.” “And that’s a complete lie.” “Eh,” she objects, laughing when he hisses at the overall temperature of her feet. “I’ve got priorities or whatever.” “Whatever,” Killian echoes. “How can your feet be this cold? You have not left the blankets.” “A modern marvel.” “Something like that.” He chuckles again, letting go of a breath Emma didn’t realize he’d been holding. It ruffles her hair and makes her heart pick up and she hopes and wants and she can probably figure out how to get back to Misthaven on her own. “And, I, uh--I don’t know, love. Honestly. It’s...I don’t think it’s as jarring as yours was because, like you said, mine wasn’t...it wasn’t exactly part of me, right?” “Is magic part of me?” Killian hums, sounding surprised at the question. “Of course.” “Shit, that sounds horrible.” “No, no, it’s a compliment. It’s---you did shatter a lightbulb before.” “That was a distinct sign of my lack of control,” Emma argues. “Regina would--” “--I thought we agreed, Swan,” he grins, and it’s clear he fully expects her eye roll. Her nose is going to stay permanently scrunched. “But, well, it was there and it was...powerful, for lack of a better word, and even when we were here, when I didn’t remember and didn’t know, there were moments when I did kind of.”

“The bar?” 

Killian nods, a flash of regret in his gaze. “And Times Square. But it was easier when you were there too, like I was regaining my moorings. Don’t make fun of that,” he adds quickly, one side of his mouth pulled up. Emma presses her lips together. “I never wanted the magic, Swan, not at the beginning, at least. And it didn’t really want me. It wasn’t pleased by someone who wasn’t willing to give in all that easily.” “But?” “But,” he echoes, half a smile and a bit of disappointed amusement in his gaze, “things changed. The years got longer and the voices got louder and--” It’s just disappointment now. “You were right. On the track. I never tried to show I was the Dark One, but I certainly didn’t mind using the magic at some points. And, now, well...it’s strange now, to be...here, again, but it’s also normal?” “That was a question.” “Aye, well, that’s because I’ve lost track of the definition of the word, at this point.” “And that’s shitty.” “A little,” Killian admits. “But with the potential for getting better.” He sighs, although it doesn’t sound all that dejected. It sounds a little hopeful and a little cautious, like he doesn’t want to get too far ahead of himself and that box Emma’s mind keeps drifting back to. “Right now,” he continues, “it’s a bit like floating. Peaceful, almost, but there’s still a threat of riptide. And missing the magic.” Emma’s laugh isn’t much, but her heart is still a little irregular and that’s still probably because of his hair. And his eyes. And how they both direct right back to her. “Do you think that’s why you could always feel it?” she asks. “My magic, I mean. That--that the world knew you’d have your own at some point too?”

“It’s possible, I guess.” “But?” “There doesn’t have to be another contradiction.” “Please,” Emma mutters. “That...almost makes sense, don’t you think?” Killian clicks his tongue. “I’m not sure I want it to, honestly.” “No?”

“Nah. I--that magic wasn’t part of me, Swan. Not really. And I’d felt yours long before mine showed up. It...I understand why you did it and I would have done the same thing, I--it was like waking up, turning around in that hallway and finding you again and I would have...I was half in love with you from the moment I saw you, Emma. Every single time.” “Oh, God that’s stupid sentimental.” “Yes, that was the general idea.”

She’s not crying, so that’s certainly a step in the right direction, especially considering this is still a post-coital discussion and they really need to eat at some point, but Emma’s magic reacts anyway and her pulse is never going to recover and she wants, wants, wants. With her whole soul. “I love you,” she says. 

Killian beams. “It’s just us. Not the magic. Or the prophecy. Or anything else. Just us.” Her stomach growls. 

Emma curses under her breath, flopping dramatically on her back with her arm flung over her face and the sound of Killian’s laugh echoing off her otherwise depressing apartment walls.  

“The most dignified princess in all the realms,” he chuckles, hands moving back over the curve of her hip and pulling her against his chest. There’s got to be hair in his mouth. “Are you hungry, then, Swan?” “Was that not obvious?” “That may require us to get out of bed, you know.” Emma groans. “Do you want to shower?” “Sounds like you’re suggesting I should.”

“I’m offering you the shower first,” she counters, already pushing up and regretting the loss of heat and something else that might just be the safety of affection and getting this back. “So that I can make food.” “That so?”

“The teasing is only cute for so long.”

He shakes his head, the unruly bits of hair moving with him and Emma’s breath hitches when his lips catch hers. That seems to have been his goal. “Gods, I love that,” Killian mumbles. “And, I believe, your highness, you just admitted to finding me cute, so--” “--Oh my God, go shower,” she snaps. It earns her another kiss, a nip of teeth and swipe of his tongue that makes her whole head spin, but then the mattress is creaking and Emma’s feet are moving and she hopes there is, actually, food in her fridge. 

She finds, exactly, one box of pancake mix. 

And she’s halfway through making far too many pancakes when she hears the footsteps behind her, the soft creak of the floor under his obviously bare feet. It’s endearing in a way she doesn’t entirely expect, but would also like to covet, leaning back as soon as Killian’s arms work their way around her middle. 

“Smells delicious.” “I literally added water.” “Ah, but I wasn’t talking about the pancakes.”

“Oh, what a line,” Emma mutters, the words more than a little wobbly as soon as his mouth finds the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “If you leave a mark there, I’ll--” She gasps at the feel of his teeth on her skin, magic simmering in the pit of her stomach that only seems to spur him on more and-- “You were saying, Swan?” “Way too confident.” “Something about years of practice and making up for lost time, I’m sure.”

She chews on her lower lip, doing her best to maintain control of the situation and avoid any possible small kitchen fires, but that lasts all of two and a half seconds and then Emma’s spinning on the spot, pushing up on toes and letting her arms twist around Killian’s neck.

He’s smiling. 

That’s important. 

In a sparking everyone’s magic kind of way. 

“What?” he asks softly, an expression she’s never seen and only ever wants to see again. He looks a little stunned, drops of water hanging on his temple and he’s put the same clothes back on, but it’s just a t-shirt and the t-shirt is good and she has to curl her fingers around his shoulders to keep her balance. 

“I’m really happy,” Emma whispers, like that’s an admission and not almost painfully obvious. She’s a little offended by the crinkles around in his eyes. And whatever they do to her magic. “Just kind of...surprising, I guess.” “Aye, love me too.”

She’s genuinely not surprised by the kissing, expects it to happen quicker, honestly, but then they’re both moving and the rhythm is starting to get so familiar at this point, Emma is positive she’s memorized the feel of him against her. 

It’s...wonderful. 

She needs to read more books. 

She will do that once she’s stopped fixating on the noise Killian makes, a low growl that rumbles out of him and settles into her and that’s about all it takes for the rhythm to shift. Drastically. They’re going to burn down the whole goddamn apartment. 

It will be worth it. 

“Oh, to hell with the pancakes,” Emma mutters, pushing on his chest and he really is very good at keeping his balance. He drops back onto the edge of the kitchen table, bringing her with him and shifting Emma between his legs, hand and hook moving towards the tie of the bathrobe she’d put on at some point and--

Someone knocks on the door. 

Kicks, really. It’s loud, whatever body part it is, as if the person on the other side of the door has put all their weight behind the movement. 

Emma doesn’t stop kissing Killian. Or the other way around. Her hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him forward and it earns her another noise and another kick and she’s only a little worried about how tightly her fingers are curled around his shoulders. 

It sounds like someone has thrown a boulder at her front door. “I don’t want to be here either,” Ruby calls, Killian groaning into Emma’s mouth and she’s not sure if that is all from the interruption. She leans back, smile amused and breathing a very distinct challenge. “Do you know what time it is?” she asks. Killian shakes his head. “Too early.” “I heard that,” Ruby says, a huff when, what sounds like her shoulder, lands on the door. “And I have to agree with the pirate, but David is freaking out and---am I interrupting something?” “No,” Emma sighs at the same time Killian yells “yes, obviously” and Ruby appears to be cackling. It’s very loud, at least. 

“At least he owned to it, Em.” Emma sighs, head falling onto Killian’s chest. He kisses her hair. “Why isn’t Mary Margaret controlling David’s freakouts?” “Shit if I know,” Ruby, presumably, shrugs. “But I think Isaac is getting impatient with us and--” “--That’s very easily remedied,” Killian interrupts.

“Yeah, yeah, and, again, I agree, but David is frustratingly pigheaded when he gets an idea and I think he believes Emma can convince this guy not to be an absolute dick and--” “--Wow, that is a lot of pressure,” Emma says. 

Ruby hisses. “I can tell something is going on. You guys...well, you’re noisy. And potent.” “Oh my God.” “It’s a wolf thing.” “Oh my God!” “It’s a wonder you were able to fool anyone at home ever. Even without making constant eyes and sneaking off and--” “--We did not make eyes,” Emma shouts, but even Killian makes a contrary noise at that and she can’t fight the double team. It’s not much of a fight.

“I was definitely making eyes,” he admits. 

Ruby definitely cackles. “See! Thank you, Jones. And, uh, Em, I know you guys are all honeymoon’ing in there, but strictly speaking there should be a proposal before that and we do have a kingdom to save. Still.” “Always, it seems,” Killian grumbles, and Emma notices the tips of his ears have gone red. She will try very hard not to think about the box for, at least, the next two hours. Maybe three. 

“I heard that too,” Ruby yells. “Get on that wedding, then!” Killian sighs, every one of his teeth obvious when he grits them. “You better go shower, love,” he mutters. “I’ll make coffee and we’ll go see about this saving the kingdom thing.” It’s a very simple sentence. It’s not even proper structure, really. But Emma’s heart swells and her emotions threaten to burst out of her, a decidedly disgusting descriptor for what is the nicest feeling and she takes the world’s deepest breath before she nods. 

“I love you.” He kisses the pinch between her eyebrows. “And I love you. Go, maybe it’ll warm up your feet.”

It doesn’t, really, but there’s cinnamon in her coffee and Emma can only imagine how many cabinets he had to open to find that, so she figures it’s a wash, particularly when a very self-satisfied Ruby is sitting cross-legged on her steps when they open the door. 

“We good?” she asks, false brightness and fake positivity and Emma knows something has happened in the last twelve hours. Figures. 

She nods. It’s a lie. It’s an obvious lie. Ruby rolls her eyes. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Killian says, an arm moving around Emma’s shoulders almost immediately. 

A second eye roll. “You want your sword don’t you?” “We’re going to leave without you, Lady Lucas.” “Gods, that’s getting old.” “That was your idea, Rubes,” Emma points out. And, that time, she gets a bit of pointed and obviously opinionated tongue with the eye roll. “Is there some kind of dungeon we should be teleporting to?” “I’m going to tell Regina you said that.” “And it’s not an answer,” Killian says. He’s already trying to move, an impatient energy that Emma understands perfectly. Ruby huffs, but she also looks almost repentant, fingers fluttering over the front of her amulet when she jerks her head towards the end of the street. 

Towards the clock tower. 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” “Goddamn,” Emma sighs, but they’re walking and there’s still an arm around her shoulders that eventually becomes an arm next to her and she’s not entirely sure when it happens, but her fingers curl around his hook again and the soft hint of smile he flashes her direction when Ruby opens another door is nearly reassuring. 

Until she sees Isaac. 

Or who she assumes is Isaac. 

There’s a small crowd around him – a glowering David and clearly magic-prone Regina if the low rumble coming from the ground is any indication. Mary Margaret appears to be tracing the same few feet of space, fingers flexing at her side, and both Will and Belle are sitting on the same windowsill, shoulders bumping whenever Belle flips the page of the book in her hands. 

They all jump when the door slams shut, and Emma doesn’t mean for her grip on Killian’s hook to tighten. And, rationally, Emma knows he can’t actually feel that, but he can absolutely feel her magic, the way it spikes and twists, rises up in some misplaced attempt to protect because she’s fairly positive she has to. 

Isaac looks like complete and utter shit. 

His eyes are hollow, a gray pallor to his skin that makes it clear he hasn’t seen the sun in quite some time and his lips are obviously chapped. His hair is matted to his forehead, greasy and grimy and probably some other word that starts with ‘g’ and may just be gross. 

It’s gross. 

He’s gross. 

Mary Margaret was right about the smell. 

Emma exhales, but the sound is a bit more like a gag than she wants it to be and her magic flares in her chest. The ends of her hair flicker with barely contained light and she doesn’t notice it at first. 

“Whoa,” Ruby says, widening her eyes at Emma’s quiet hum of confusion because that word was not meant for her. 

Emma shakes her head, but Ruby’s eyes don’t return to their correct size and Belle’s hand is frozen mid-turn and it takes approximately four seconds, and one mumbled oh to snap her gaze to her right. Her fingers tighten again. 

And Killian doesn’t look away from Isaac. 

He doesn’t look entirely like him either. It’s...something else than it was with the darkness. There are no obvious shadows, no pulse of magic or feel of anything except how low his eyebrows get and how thin his lips go, a snap of his shoulders and shift of his spine, like it’s getting longer somehow, a presence that makes it all too clear that the pirate she loves has quite suddenly become the pirate everyone fears and Isaac’s laugh rings out in the silence around them. 

“Oh, Captain, Captain, Captain, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Killian sneers, gaze going sharp and Emma flips her free hand, the ball of light and burst of magic bright and decidedly powerful and it’s a strange counterbalance that she’ll probably think about when she’s got time to think about anything. 

“I’d heard about you, Hook, absolutely horrible, terrible stories,” Isaac continues, rocking forward where he’s sitting on the floor. There aren’t any shackles, no signs of physical restraint, but Emma can see scorch marks on the tiles and she gapes at Regina. 

“Do not,” Regina cautions. “That wasn’t easy magic.” “He tried to run,” David explains, drifting back towards Mary Margaret and that would probably be nice in any other situation. “That’s--I really was not trying to ruin your day.” Killian hums, a note of disbelief in the sound. He’s still staring at Isaac. “Why would you do that? You want to go home, don’t you?”

“Is it home though?” Isaac challenges. “For you, at least?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Isaac chuckles again, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands and Emma hadn’t noticed what Mary Margaret was holding. The pen. With her blood in it. 

“True, true,” Isaac agrees. “You know, I wasn’t born with my power either, Hook. Inherited it, rather brutally from the last author. And I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into, but, lo and behold, I became rather sought after. Particularly by those who wanted to control things. Set an example, settle into a plan.” “And I take it that’s not really your schtick,” Emma mutters, sensing where this is going and maybe she’s starting to enjoy the fire thing. 

“It was at the beginning, your highness. A well-constructed story is a very difficult thing to achieve. You’ve got to hit all the high points, the emotional cues. Nothing worse than a disappointing climax is there?” “Get to your fucking point,” Killian growls. He’s got one foot in front of him now, like he’s getting ready to pounce, but Emma’s still got a pretty solid grip on his hook and his shoulders twist again when he feels the shift in her magic. 

Isaac smiles. Slow. Measured. As if he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I am, Hook,” he promises. “That is my point. All these stories. All these bits and pieces, coming together, getting rid of superfluous characters. You lot all think you’re in control of me, but that’s not true is it? And you, my dear, Captain, you’ve suffered as much as anyone. What are you all going back to? A broken kingdom and a string of regrets that you’re, finally, starting to remember. It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure.” “Why run though?” Emma challenges. She makes a noise in the back of her throat when Isaac jumps to his feet – and the pulse of magic from everyone is impressive. Her light flares, a sudden cage around Isaac that seems excessive considering the fire at his feet as well. The ground shifts again, David mumbling words under his breath, and Mary Margaret’s grip on the pen in her hand tightens threateningly. 

Ruby may growl. 

And Killian freezes. In a way that cannot possibly be comfortable. He’s half leaning forward, free hand reaching for his belt and Emma’s heart thuds, the sound of the magic in her ears at war with the silence around him and Isaac’s increasingly obnoxious laugh. 

“Because I am tired of the stories,” Isaac answers. “Of playing for the rest of you. And setting you up for success. I’ll write you home, but I want my own story as well. I want that slice of the pie, so to speak.” “Gods, we really are talking in clichés all the time, aren’t we?” Ruby mumbles. 

“You know, Hook,” Isaac continues, “it would be very easy for me to write a different story for you. Erase all those pesky things you did back in Misthaven. I can’t--well, I can’t bring people back to life, but I could probably make you forget about them. Maybe then you’ll feel a bit more worthy in front of the princess.” Killian doesn’t answer, but a muscle in his jaw jumps and Emma knows it is absurd to turn her back on the villain. Another villain. Gods, she’s going to sleep for forty-seven years. 

She spins, untwisting the knotted charms hanging from his neck and curling her fingers around the front of his jacket. Her smile doesn’t feel quite right, but they don’t have a ton of other options and she can’t imagine there are a lot of magic beans in the Land Without Magic. 

He wasn’t being entirely honest about the magic thing. 

“How’d you get the scar?” Killian blinks, Regina all but growling next to him and Will may actually mumble did they always act like this under his breath. “Worse,” Mary Margaret mumbles, but it doesn’t sound like an insult. There’s a bird chirping somewhere. 

“Wonderland.” “Wonderland?” “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that Emma has to strain to hear it even standing in front of him. Her fingers trail up, ghosting over the thin line and this isn’t the time or the place and Isaac is still making that goddamn noise, but there’s probably a cliché about stories and starting new ones or something. “Horrible place. But, uh...a rumor about a man and a hat that could open up portals to other realms and it was another dead end and--” “--Killed several of them, didn’t you, Hook?” Isaac interrupts knowingly. 

Killian licks his lips. “Aye, I did. Although that one monster wasn’t my fault.” “Monster?” Emma echoes. They do not have time for this. Isaac is still in that cage of her magic.

“Bandersnatch?” Regina asks, but the question seems more like a courtesy than anything else. Killian tilts his head. “Yeah,” she continues, dragging the word out, “my mother--before, well, before I went to the Dark One, she’d spent time in Wonderland. You didn’t happen to brutally murder her as well, did you?” “Oh my God, Regina,” Emma sighs. 

“I don’t believe so, no,” Killian says. “But you’re right about the bandersnatch. Rather sharp talons on that thing.” Regina hums, lower lip jutted out in something that may be understanding or possibly pride, which seems a little misplaced, but Isaac looks more than a little stunned that his story didn’t serve its intended purpose and--

“I’ve had an idea, your highness,” Killian muses, a quick kiss pressed to Emma’s forehead. She hopes that keeps being a thing. Her magic is out of control. 

“Don’t hold back now, pirate.” He gives her a tight smile, but Regina almost looks like she’s having fun. “I seem to be without a sword right now, but--” He holds up the hook--”Not entirely unprepared. And I also seem to recall you having the rather impressive ability of coercion when hearts are involved.” Isaac pales. Noticeably. So does David. And Mary Margaret. 

Emma is...considering it. 

She wants to go home. She doesn’t want Isaac to be a problem. She wants to start over. 

Clean pages and emotional high points that they’ll get to in a normal amount of time with normal experiences and far too much flirting at inopportune moments. She wants the box. 

“I think that’s a compliment,” Regina says, a quick shrug from Killian. “And it’s definitely possible, although I’d imagine it’d get a little messy with the hook.” “I’m almost willing to sacrifice the floors of--what is this building, technically?” “Town hall, Mayor’s office and library,” Mary Margaret answers. There’s a bird on her shoulder now, an open window on the other side of the room and Emma lets her magic calm a little, confident that the lack of blood flow to Isaac’s face has tempered the threat. 

At least for the time being. 

That will, eventually, be a mistake, but her biggest one was definitely getting out of bed and, in the moment, Emma is something almost resembling confident. 

Killian’s hand and hook move back to her hips. 

“They’re really fascinating books,” Belle adds, not lifting her gaze up when she’s started reading again. “Seriously a bandersnatch? Like straight out of Wonderland.” “Straight out,” Killian promises. “That is nuts.” “You’re nerding out over this, aren’t you?” “Obviously.”

Killian grins, letting his cheek rest on the top of Emma’s hair and whatever noise David makes is kind of funny and kind of absurd and--”Rubes, are you seriously not going to critique the use of the words nerding out here?” Ruby opens her mouth – presumably to respond with something equally snarky, but that mistake has come back to bite them all on a variety of different magical body parts and they should not have gotten out of bed. 

Like ever. 

Isaac lunges and Regina can’t react quickly enough, a yelp of pain from Mary Margaret when the pen slices at her hand again. Her knees buckle, David jumping forward to pull her against his chest and Emma briefly wonders where the paper is. He’s not writing on paper. 

He’s writing on the floor. 

In blood. 

“Oh God damn,” she hisses, but the words are barely past her lips before everything starts to shake. She’s got to learn more about building foundations if they’re going to keep doing this. 

And it happens quickly, Isaac’s arm moving impossibly quick, more magic that Emma resents and Killian’s arm tight around her waist, like he’s absolutely terrified of what will happen if he doesn’t keep her pressed to him. He’s mumbling words in her ear, but she can only make out a few of them and they’re all so...desperate and worse, quiet pleas to what may be a few more mythical beings and Emma blinks and the floor under her is different. 

“What the hell,” Will gasps, head on a swivel and that’s an understandable reaction. They’re not in Storybrooke. 

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. She tilts her head up, trying to take in the surroundings without passing out and it’s a close call, but she assumes the familiarity of the throne room helps and she’s not wearing jeans anymore. 

She’s wearing the pants she had been. Before. The last time she was in Misthaven. 

They’re in Misthaven. 

“Got you, didn’t I?” Isaac laughs, drops of Mary Margaret’s blood still falling from the end of his pen. And she’s not sure who moves first then, but it is, very likely, David and if Emma weren’t drifting close to the precipice of another complete breakdown in that stupid, awful throne room, she’d lord it over him for the rest of his life. 

He crosses the room in three steps, arm pulling back and fist colliding with Isaac’s face, a crumpled body at his feet and the pen rolling towards his boots. 

He’s wearing boots. There’s a sword strapped on his hip. 

They’re in Misthaven. 

“Asshole,” David growls, ducking down to snap the pen in his hand and the magic that rushes out of it makes Emma’s skin explode into goosebumps. 

She leans against Killian’s on instinct, relishing the feel of his lips on the side of her neck and her fingers reach back, searing blindly for his hook. David kicks Isaac. 

And the silence returns, stunned and tense and not at all what they planned, particularly with two new inhabitants joining them, but there’s a roar of voices outside the castle window and he must have brought all of Storybrooke back. 

Ruby slides down the nearest wall, expression turning almost amused when she runs her hand over her face. “Well,” she says, “there’s no place like home, right?”