#and houses built of stone that glow in the afternoon sun

[e-louise-bates]

Never been to the Cotswolds before, wasn’t sure they would live up to the hype.

They definitely do.

[i-have-not-slept]

Malectober Day 31: Golden

“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” Alec asked.

Magnus looked up from the Portal currently forming in front of him, blinking through the sparks. “It’s a surprise.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you trust me?”

Alec smiled back. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” Magnus said. He held out a hand to Alec. “Come on. I’ll explain everything later.”

Alec took his hand and followed him through the Portal, trusting Magnus to guide them both to their destination.

They emerged onto a cobbled street in bright sunlight. Alec looked around, blinking, at the whitewashed houses, red tiled roofs and rocky brown mountains rising in the distance. The air was warm and smelled like baking bread and spices.

Alec glanced over with Magnus, who was looking at him with a small smile. “Where are we?”

“Peru.” Magnus said cheerfully.

Alec put his hands on his hips, frowning at Magnus severely. “I thought you were banned from Peru. Catarina and Ragnor are always talking about it.” He gave Magnus a suspicious look. “Are we going to have to run from the police again?”

Magnus put on an injured expression. “I resent the implication that I’m constantly dragging you into law-breaking shenanigans. I obtained special permission from the High Council of Peruvian warlocks to enter the country for an afternoon.”

“And they just gave you permission?” Alec said dubiously. “Just like that?”

“Well,” Magnus said slowly. “I may have mentioned that my husband happens to be the Consul of the Shadowhunters and he might not be entirely happy to hear that my request was denied.”

Alec burst out laughing and stepped closer to Magnus, wrapping his arms around him. Magnus leaned into him, nuzzling Alec’s cheek.

“I love you.” Alec murmured against Magnus’s ear. “But you’ve really got to stop using me as a political weapon to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop one day.” Magnus said happily. He kissed Alec’s cheek. “Now, Jace and Clary are watching the boys for the afternoon, so we can stay here until sunset. Come on.” He grabbed Alec’s hand and set off down the street, pulling Alec with him.

“Hey, wait.” Alec said, laughing. “Aren’t you going to tell me why we’re here?”

Was it his imagination, or did Magnus look slightly uncertain? “I’ll tell you later.” he said, squeezing Alec’s hand. “Promise.”

Smiling, Alec shook his head and let Magnus lead him towards the town square. He could put up with a little strangeness if it made Magnus happy.

Hours later, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, and Alec still wasn’t sure why Magnus had brought them here. He wasn’t complaining, though, because every minute together had been wonderful. The town was peaceful, with small, brightly coloured houses and an old cathedral built of white stone that shone in the sunlight. They’d spent hours wandering through the streets, eating food from the roadside vendors, poking into cafés, museums, bookshops.

It was the sort of thing they didn’t get to do very often, time spent outside of home with no sense of urgency or responsibility, no mission to complete and no kids to watch. In Alec’s opinion, there was nothing better than doing nothing with Magnus.

The whole time, Alec had been able to tell Magnus was waiting to tell him something. As they wandered through the markets, Magnus kept giving him little sideways glances, and looking as if he was about to speak before changing his mind. Once it would have worried Alec, but not now. He knew Magnus would tell him when he was ready.

Now, as afternoon flowed into evening, they were hiking up a rocky hill overlooking the town. The path wound upwards through rugged scrubland, glowing gold in the light of the setting sun. Magnus was a few metres ahead of Alec, and he kept looking back at him with a little smile. Alec could tell he was building up to something, but he didn’t say anything, content with the gentle silence between them.

Finally they reached the top of the hill. They were on a flat, rocky plain overlooking the valley and the town below. The light spilled down the hillsides and flowed across the buildings like molten gold.

Magnus turned and looked over at Alec. His face was washed in golden light, making him seem to glow from within. Alec’s heart stuttered briefly in his chest at the sight of him.

“Okay.” Alec said. “Why did you bring me here? I know there’s some kind of reason.”

For the second time that day, Magnus looked hesitant, even a little apprehensive. He stepped closer to Alec, taking his hand and clasping it within both of his. Alec put his other hand over Magnus’. He could tell his husband was working up to some kind of confession.

“Why I brought you here.” Magnus murmured. He had his eyes fixed on their joined hands, like he was half-scared to meet Alec’s eyes. He took a deep breath. “Do you know what this town is called?”

“No.” Alec murmured. He rubbed his thumb over Magnus’s knuckles, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“It’s called Moquega.” Magnus said softly.

“Oh.” Alec said. The name sounded familiar. He thought he might have read it in the notebook of stories Magnus had given him years ago, when they’d got back together after their breakup. “Have you been here before?”

“Once.” Magnus said. He looked up at Alec suddenly, and his expression was more open, more vulnerable than Alec had hardly ever seen it. “Moquegua means “quiet place” in Quechua.” he said haltingly. “When I first came here, I— I didn’t feel comfortable or safe, because I felt— I felt like there was no quiet place in the world for me, and there never would be.”

He dropped his gaze again, gripping Alec’s hand tighter “And I felt like that for a long time. Like I always had to keep moving, and never rest anywhere. But then when I met you— you made me feel anchored. Peaceful.”

He looked up again, and Alec saw that there were tears brimming in his eyes. “I wanted to bring you here to tell you. I’ve never told you before and I wanted to tell you. You’re my quiet place, Alec.”

Alec’s heart broke open, sending warm light flooding through his veins. He wrapped his arms around Magnus, holding him so close he could feel his heartbeat. Magnus put his head down on Alec’s shoulder, shaking in his arms.

“Thank you for telling me.” Alec. He blinked back tears of his own, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotions, gratitude and joy and love. “You’re so— you’re so wonderful. You’re everything. I love you, Magnus.”

Magnus gave a soft, teary laugh and pulled away from Alec to look at him. “I love you too.” he whispered, and then they were kissing. Alec cupped the back of Magnus’s neck, closing his eyes, feeling his entire body sing. They held each other close on the mountaintop, in the wash of golden light.

[nico-di-genova]

Today i offer this unfinished snippet of a fic, because my brain has decided to give up on me. 

Before Quorra, Sam was never much of a morning person.

  He was more the drive around aimlessly until 3am and then crash until noon sort. The type to pull himself groggily out of bed when the sun was already starting its descent, and afternoon shadows were creeping their way up the walls of his home. Sam had always felt closer to the stars than the sun. There was familiarity in the spattering of those silver dots across the black velvet sky.

Quorra, she was built for the sunlight. The way it caught in the bright blue of her eyes, haloed around the sharp cut of her hair, gave her skin a golden glow that had been noticeably absent in the hollowness of the grid. She thrived in it. And so Sam found, that by association, he had been made into the sort who woke up to watch the sunrise too.

The three of them – he, Quorra, and a hyperactive Marvin – would make their way to the park close by Sam’s house, lay out an old Tron blanket of Sam’s, and settle in to wait for those first rays of golden-pink to light up the horizon. Three months they’d been doing this, at least once a week, enough that Sam was now familiar with the feel of crisp dew dampening his clothes. He had memorized the sticky feeling of early morning humidity against his skin and the earthy scent of the grass they lay out on. He knew the warmth of Quorra beside him, and the heavy heat of Marv’s breath against his cheek when the dog tired himself out from running circles around the park and came to pant directly in Sam’s face.

It was all starting to feel like home – comforting and safe in a way that he hadn’t had since he was a kid. It felt like skipping stones with his dad, fixing up the newest vintage car with his grandpa, bedtime stories with his grandma, or the fading memory of his mother’s arms around him. Sam clung to these mornings and feared losing them all at the same time. Because if there’s one thing he’d been taught in his life, it’s that nothing lasts forever.

“What are you thinking?” Quorra asks one of these mornings, when Sam’s found himself staring up at the hazy purple sky with unseeing eyes. He feels her shift beside him, her elbow bumping against his jacket clad arm casually. Sam blinks, breathes, and then shrugs, “Nothing.”

He was thinking that he could feel the coolness of fall creeping into the air, the change of a season. How it was a stranger in this familiar routine.

“Sam,” Quorra says, and Sam can hear the doubt in her voice. Beside Alan (and maybe Marv), she may be the one person who knows him best. Their bond came on fast, and Sam still finds himself frightened by how quickly he had let her into his life. This strange girl pulled directly from the virtual world his father had built.

“It’s cold,” Sam says, and then shrugs again.

They’ve been here long enough that the dew has soaked through the blanket they’re lying on and started working its way through the thin fabric of Sam’s jacket. He knows his shirt will be sticking to his back later in the way he hates. Quorra stares at him for a minute, another question forming on her lip, before she decides against it and turns to look back at the approaching sunrise. Sam has found that she’s not unlike a sunflower, something that naturally turns itself toward the light, who needs it to survive. How Quorra had ever thrived on the grid, Sam wasn’t sure. It was here she belonged. Maybe even more than Sam, who couldn’t quite seem to get his footing in this world.

Taking back ENCOM had been the easy part, it was learning how to actually run the company that he was struggling with. His business experience was limited to the few times he’d come to the office with his dad – back when he was six and had to be entertained with a coloring book his dad’s secretary kept at the office for him. Then there had been his two semesters at Caltech, where Sam’s classes had only consisted of entry level coding courses and meaningless electives. Sam had dropped out after a year, finding he lacked the ability to stay seated and focused in a class that was teaching things he’d taught himself at thirteen. Now, he’d taken back one of the largest computer tech companies in the world and was leading it with little more than hopes and dreams.

To Sam, it seemed simple. All their tech should be widely accessible, free, something meant for the masses. To the board that had a hand in approving his decisions, free meant bankruptcy. They didn’t like Sam very much and approved of his choices even less. Which, Sam supposed, made him more like his father than he’d originally thought – a successful legacy.  

[queerworldtravelers]

Cefalù, Sicily

38°02'18" N, 14°01'22" E

A few staycations from our home base in Palermo! Enjoy!

It’s been lovely to be docked somewhere long enough to get to know a place. Being in Sicily for this long has given us the possibility to connect with neighbors, our local Bangladeshi mini-market, and find the best places to eat an arancini. Food is a great joy in Italy and the last month we have even gone so far to take a 7:30am espresso with a brioche in the piazza. We spend our afternoons taking long luxurious walks and sitting on the steps of the nearby church to watch the Sicilian weddings pour through the streets. We don’t know why but for some reason, June seems to be an optimal time to have a wedding. We decided that in 10 or 15 years we will renew our vows and have a proper Sicilian shebang complete with the rented out convertibles and the very custom fit tuxedos and lace dresses. Stay tuned for your invite.

The last month has looked a little bit different for us as we challenged ourselves to begin waking up with the sun at 5am, to take the rare quiet moments in our neighborhood. We have been fiercely journaling, working out, and learning. In these moments we have cultivated a deeper sense of togetherness and expansion. 

On a recent trip to Cefalù, we rented a lovely B&B overlooking the sea and decided to wake up at 5am to enjoy the emptiness of the terrasse and the view of the Tyhrennian, pink and golden with the morning. We ventured out into the streets after an espresso and found the most exquisitely tranquil streets. We let our wild selves lead the way and found ourselves walking along a stone pathway that skirted the cliffs and the apartments above. The summer sun here is no joke and by 7am we could already feel the promise of a hot day. 

We followed crabs and our joy and found ourselves sitting at the café in the piazza in front of the Duomo di Cefalù. It was built by King Roger; a gift to the inhabitants of Cefalù for helping him through a fierce storm. He promised to build an epic church in the place where his feet touched the ground. And epic it is. We took a moment to make an offering and lit a candle as we made our prayers to the ancestors as the crisp morning light filtered through the stained glass windows warming our faces. 

We were eager to make our way to the Lavatoio Medievale after siesta hours. The steps leading down to the cool running water felt like stepping into an ancient oasis. It’s as if you were to close your eyes you could hear the rumblings of Sicilian women washing their clothes and making loud boisterous conversation. The energy in the place was palpable and it certainly felt like there were still people there doing their laundry as they always had.  An inscription at the entrance reads: “Here flows Cefalino, healthier than any other river, purer than silver, colder than snow.” It wasn’t long ago that this beautiful wash house was used, giving us a hint of ancient Sicilian life.

Our mini Italian staycation wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t eat great food and drink some local red wine. Our hosts suggested we try a typical dish of Cefalù called Taianu. The name nods to the island’s Arabic past and comes from the word “taio” referring to earthenware or terra cotta pots. The dish is served in a giant earthen bowl and filled with pasta, slow cooked pulled beef in a tomato sauce, pulled fried eggplant, fresh pecorino, and lots of basil. We ate our meals in a cobblestone alleyway with lights strung up casting a romantic glow on our sunkissed and red wine cheeks. 

Time in Cefalù must include a visit to the Museo Mandralisca. A totally wild collection of neglected paintings, strangely taxidermied animals, and Antonello da Messina‘s Portrait of a Man that was rumored to once serve as a cupboard door.

Since waking up at 5am and taking in the sights of Sicily has proved to be a cool and relaxing way to spend the morning, we planned a trip up the mountain to the Duomo di Monreale. It was our first bus trip in Sicily! We went down to the local tobacco shop and did as our dear friend Gaetano suggested, to ask for a “biglietto del autobus.” We found ourselves riding an empty bus through the usually bustling streets of Palermo and crawling our way up through olive groves and winding mountain roads. When we walked into the piazza we were confronted with loud roaring motorcycles. It turns out the village was hosting a sort of motorbike race that day and everywhere we walked there was an older gentleman in a thick leather outfit squeaking his way past us to the event. We found a seat at the café and watched the buzzing morning energy.

Once the Duomo di Monreale opened, we made our way to the entrance fending off zombie-like tourists wearing headphones and being led by a tour guide. There were hundreds of people there just as the Duomo opened. We were totally shocked and grateful we were there early. We skipped paying the heavy entrance fee and instead decided to take the free entrance to have a look around. Once inside, we were awed by the incredible mastery of the designs and tile work. To see this church in real life is a dream. It’s really quite impossible to imagine the magnificence of such a place. We found ourselves at the back of the church where a woman was selling tickets to the rooftop. We paid the four euros and made our way up to the top of the church with stunning aerial views of the grounds and the immaculate gardens. There were the sweetest open air domed hallways that led you deeper into the hive of the church. We stood overlooking the city for some moments of gratitude and made our way back out. Since it was loud and hot we decided we would try and catch the next bus back home in time for the city to start waking up. We got to our stop just as the streets were thick with tourists and weekend locals. The bus ride made us feel a bit nauseous as there was a lot of stopping and going and masses of people and cars to watch out for. We decided to treat ourselves to an arancine on the way to our apartment and enjoy a Sicilian ginger beer to equalize ourselves. The heat was already taking the wind out of us and it was only 11am! 

The next weekend, we were on a mission to find the massive mural, The Triumph of Death, which is housed at the Palazzo Abatellis. It depicts a skeleton riding a skeletal horse parading over scores of other dead bodies. It nods to the pandemic plague, Black Death of 1347-1351 which is estimated to have possibly killed 50% of Sicily’s population, owing to the fact that it was a major entry port for disease in the Mediterranean. Once we found the painting we spied a balcony from which you could view the painting in its enormity. We were looking for the route up to the balcony and began ascending some stairs, where a woman was posing for an Instagram photo at the top. We were happy to wait for her to have her moment when she told us she needed the view of the whole staircase and that we should leave since there was nothing to see in the room that she was blocking. The audacity! The narcissism! We stood there anyways waiting condescendingly as she finished up her photo shoot and went inside. There were tablets with ancient Arabic script organized on the floor, beautiful carvings in stone hinting at Sicily’s deep Arabic roots. We felt sad that someone felt compelled to tell us these artifacts were uninteresting and also that they weren’t displayed with more honor upon the walls. The visit had us digesting what it means to honor history and gave us a deep look into prevailing dominant culture beliefs. We did eventually find the Triumph of Death. We sat on the only bench arm in arm listening to the boisterous conversations that filled the room and took in the sight of death riding on his magisterial horse.

We wonder what another month in Sicily will reveal. We are quieting ourselves to hear the inner workings of her heart and listening to how she wants us to join her ancient dance.

[vamikatravelsolution]

The Perfect Weekend in Jaipur: Places to Visit in 2 Days

Jaipur, the capital city of Rajasthan, is a vibrant blend of culture, history, and architectural splendor. Known as the Pink City, Jaipur offers an unforgettable experience to its visitors. Whether you're an architecture enthusiast, a history buff, or a food lover, Jaipur has something for everyone. With just two days to explore, careful planning is essential to make the most of your weekend in this magnificent city. This guide will help you discover the best places to visit and how to get around with the best transport options car rental, bus rental services in Jaipur, and local transport.

Day 1: Exploring the Heart of Jaipur

Morning: Amer Fort

Start your day with a visit to the iconic Amer Fort, located about 11 kilometers from the city center. This majestic fort, perched on a hill, is a perfect blend of Hindu and Mughal architecture. The Sheesh Mahal (Mirror Palace) inside the fort is a must-see, with its intricate mirror work and detailed carvings.

Mid-Morning: Jaigarh Fort and Nahargarh Fort

A short drive from Amer Fort will take you to Jaigarh Fort, which houses the world's largest cannon on wheels, Jaivana. The fort offers panoramic views of the Aravalli ranges and the Amber Fort below. Next, head to Nahargarh Fort, which provides a stunning view of the entire Jaipur city. It's a great place for photography enthusiasts.

For this part of the trip, an Innova Crysta hire in Jaipur would be an excellent choice. The Innova Crysta's comfortable seating and smooth ride make it perfect for the winding roads leading to these hilltop forts.

Afternoon: City Palace

After exploring the forts, head back to the city to visit the City Palace. This royal residence of the Maharaja of Jaipur is a grand complex of courtyards, gardens, and buildings. The museum within the palace showcases a vast collection of royal costumes, artifacts, and manuscripts.

Late Afternoon: Jantar Mantar

Next, walk over to Jantar Mantar, an astronomical observatory and a UNESCO World Heritage site. Built by Maharaja Jai Singh II, this site features the world's largest stone sundial and various other astronomical instruments that are still in working condition.

Evening: Hawa Mahal

As the sun begins to set, make your way to the Hawa Mahal, or the Palace of Winds. This five-story palace is famed for its unique honeycomb structure with 953 small windows, designed to allow the royal ladies to observe street festivals while remaining unseen. The pink and red sandstone structure glows beautifully under the evening light.

Night: Dinner and Shopping at Johari Bazaar

End your day with some shopping at Johari Bazaar, known for its exquisite jewelry, textiles, and traditional Rajasthani attire. For dinner, savor some authentic Rajasthani cuisine at one of the local restaurants. Dal Baati Churma, Laal Maas, and Ghewar are must-try dishes.

Day 2: Dive Deeper into Jaipur’s Heritage and Culture

Morning: Albert Hall Museum

Begin your second day with a visit to the Albert Hall Museum, located in the Ram Niwas Garden. This museum, designed in an Indo-Saracenic style, houses an impressive collection of artifacts, including paintings, ivory, carpets, stone, and metal sculptures.

To get around comfortably and conveniently, consider bus rental services in Jaipur if you're traveling with a group. It’s a cost-effective way to explore the city together.

Mid-Morning: Birla Mandir

Next, visit the Birla Mandir, also known as the Laxmi Narayan Temple. This stunning white marble temple is dedicated to Lord Vishnu and Goddess Laxmi. The serene environment and intricate carvings make it a peaceful place for reflection and prayer.

Afternoon: Jaipur Zoo and Central Park

For a more relaxed afternoon, head to the Jaipur Zoo, located near the Albert Hall Museum. It’s home to a variety of animals and is a delight for families with children. After the zoo, take a leisurely stroll in Central Park, the largest park in Jaipur, featuring lush gardens, walking trails, and a musical fountain.

Late Afternoon: Patrika Gate

Visit Patrika Gate, one of Jaipur’s newest landmarks, located at the Jawahar Circle Garden. The gate is a vibrant, colorful structure adorned with intricate paintings and murals that depict the rich culture and history of Rajasthan. It’s a popular spot for photography and offers a glimpse into the artistic heritage of the region.

Evening: Chokhi Dhani

For an immersive cultural experience, spend your evening at Chokhi Dhani, an ethnic village resort located a little outside the city. This resort offers a glimpse into Rajasthani village life with traditional dance performances, puppet shows, camel rides, and a lavish Rajasthani dinner.

Night: Back to the City

After a delightful evening at Chokhi Dhani, return to your hotel in Jaipur. If you have some energy left, explore the vibrant nightlife of Jaipur. There are several rooftop bars and cafes where you can enjoy a drink while soaking in the night views of the Pink City.

Tips for Getting Around Jaipur

Car Rentals

For those who prefer the convenience and comfort of traveling by car, several rental options are available. Opting for a Fortuner car rental in Jaipur provides a powerful and spacious vehicle, perfect for exploring the city's forts and rugged terrains. If you prefer a more compact and stylish ride, Honda City car hire in Jaipur is a great choice, offering ease of navigation through the city's narrow streets.

Bus Rental Services

For larger groups, bus rental services in Jaipur offer a cost-effective and efficient way to explore the city. These services come with professional drivers who are familiar with the city's routes, ensuring a hassle-free travel experience.

Local Transport

Jaipur also has a reliable network of local transport options, including auto-rickshaws and cycle rickshaws. These are great for short distances and navigating through crowded areas. For a more traditional experience, you can even take a camel or elephant ride at certain tourist spots.

Where to Stay in Jaipur

Jaipur offers a wide range of accommodation options to suit different budgets and preferences. Here are a few recommendations:

Luxury

Rambagh Palace: A former royal residence, this opulent hotel offers a regal experience with its luxurious rooms, exquisite dining, and impeccable service.

The Oberoi Rajvilas: This lavish resort combines traditional Rajasthani architecture with modern amenities, offering a serene retreat amidst beautiful gardens.

Mid-Range

Trident Jaipur: Located near Jal Mahal, this hotel offers comfortable rooms, excellent service, and beautiful views of the lake and Aravalli hills.

Alsisar Haveli: A heritage hotel set in a historic haveli; it offers an authentic Rajasthani experience with its elegant decor and traditional hospitality.

Budget

Hotel Pearl Palace: A popular choice among backpackers, this budget-friendly hotel offers clean rooms, friendly service, and a charming rooftop restaurant.

Zostel Jaipur: A well-known hostel offering dormitory and private rooms, it’s a great place to meet fellow travelers and explore the city on a budget.

Conclusion

A weekend in Jaipur promises a rich tapestry of experiences, from exploring grand forts and palaces to savoring delectable Rajasthani cuisine. Whether you opt for a robust ride, a sleek and comfortable drive, or group travel services, navigating this vibrant city is made easy with the right transport options. With this guide, you’re all set to make the most of your two days in the Pink City, creating memories that will last a lifetime.

[full-of-mercy]

Heat ripples from the paver stones, flash-preserving droplets (splashes, smears) of gore in the chalky dust, lending the fall of brass and bodies an almost tinny echo in the artificial canyons built here over the crevasse. Wolfwood feels it before he can see it, the change in the air, a dramatic sonic shift from the dry crack of gunfire and desperation in the blistering light of afternoon suns.

Absence becomes Presence, reverberating like bullroarers in his ears, in his bones, in the blood he loses and that his body desperately claws back under improper dosage, in the strings of reattaching muscle, in the rattle of his heart as valves slam open, slam closed, stuttering in awe.

Terror. Wonder. They share the same root in language and in truth, for all that it is easy to forget how much power lies beneath the dopey smiles, the mop of needle hair, the noodly limbs and the goofy affect. The convivial veneers are convincing and they are not.

Nothing to fear. No. He won't. He can't. Instinct is instinct, and his has always been to protect. Sure as bloodstained fingertips smear on the Punisher's corrugated trigger housing, Wolfwood seizes hold of the fresh jolt of adrenaline coursing down his spine, down his limbs.

A perfect storm. Vash. The folly of the day. All of it.

(Beautiful and terrible, beautiful, beautiful. He does not know the look on his own face, though some dark part of him suspects it must be how Legato looks at Knives. Best to crush that notion down into a hard ball of anger, compartmentalize, deal with it later, ensure there is a later).

Panic ripples across the worm-hunter gang. Slugs chatter, shatter to brick and stucco and compacted sand, and Wolfwood howls for Vash to get to cover, shooting right back at limbs, torsos, hands, struggling to keep his violence non-lethal.

Lost in the noise, perhaps.

Full-auto the building-bound riflemen rip through their ammunition until gun barrels glow, aimed up, aimed down, aimed at the cross, aimed at the unfathomable thing that has emerged from broad daylight to eclipse the suns like a hand over the eyes of God. Huge and tendrilous his shadow falls cold and vast, red, red, red, and none of them can know if the bullets they've emptied into the alleyway gap strike home.

Many of them hang in the debris field hovering in Vash's orbit, glinting with deadly promise, drawn up like a ring against the force of gravity.

Clips emptied, what choice do they have but to flee?

The ones who have not fainted scatter in horror from the dark angel in their midst, dragging their wounded with them. For all the bloodshed, there are no corpses to be seen.

It will only be a matter of time before they return with reinforcements, with more ammunition, the promise of the bounty too great to keep them away forever.

Nicholas braces against the wall, but his knee buckles before he can find his feet. Genuflect, then. He shoves his mangled pouch back into his maw, chewing the dregs of Communion from ripped stitches and broken glass while he reloads, pale and hyperventilating.

To reach this level of threat, Vash almost has to detach himself from his humanity. One can only be pushed into a corner, even a metaphorical one, for so long before fighting their way out by tooth and nail. Fang and claw. Gun and vine.

Vash, the 'human,' is now Vash, the monster—the sixty-billion double-dollar criminal, the destroyer of JuLai. However people remember the Humanoid Typhoon is how he presents. For some inspiring fear, for others hate, and for most awe.

It hadn't been something he tapped into a whole lot before Jeneora Rock. He was younger then.

Had less to lose.

Now, for Wolfwood, for the young couple, for the mayor, and now for the family that had helped him, he needs to end this chaos. No one needs to die today. Hopefully people haven't died yet—it's too hard to tell.

Metal boot soles scrape along terracotta roofing again as he sprints along the edges of buildings, hot on Wolfwood's trail. Like a predator, he hunches, leaping across the alleyways with ease, clenching his jaw, clutching his gun—tight turns require the swift balance of a gloved hand breaking through tiles as he drifts around corners.

Finally—finally—he has visual of Wolfwood. Were he completely together, he'd jump down and talk things out, take a few bullets, maybe knock a couple heads.

They were way past talking now.

The priest looks worse for wear; he's tethered to his vial holster by his jaw and Vash has no idea how much ammo he has. He'd never really thought about it. The man has taken too many bullets—nevermind the fact that one bullet is too many bullets. This is far beyond that. He needs care, and he needs it fast, but first—

Sounds of breaking clay slates and heavy, hurried, bootfalls are the only warnings that the men below receive before, with a mighty leap, a demon falls to the roof ahead of them. He lands crouched, his gun arm extended; he is fully eclipsed by the mid-afternoon suns, save for the orange-yellow tint of shooting glasses and the outline of red around his body.

He stands to full and raises the gun to the sky—two shots signal that he has arrived. Flaps of Vash's signature coat flow in the gusts of city wind, and a strip of fabric—a belt—hangs around his waist and flies perpendicular to the man with the 'clink clink' of a buckle. Oh yes, The Devil is here, and his single oil-black wing unfurls into twisting tendrils inlaid with glowing crystalline blue. Gravity shifts around the wing, and particles of debris and dust get captured in its orbit.

It is unnatural. It is alien. It is diabolic.

Vash's silhouette is not what one would describe as 'human.' He is hunched, too long in limb and spine, with impossible posture. Whether it is a trick of the light or reality—well, that is for the spectator to witness if they stay, or for them to leave to their imagination if they run.

One outcome may leave them more alive than the other.

This is the infamous Humanoid Typhoon.

[thedeadgameblog]

(via MEET ME IN MAINE - Sneak A Peek)

MEET ME IN MAINE – Sneak A Peek

CHAPTER 8

Were Elizabeth and Scarlett ready to buy an inn and settle in Maine? Scarlett wasn’t so sure of the answer.

Scarlett’s car bumped along the winding road, farmhouses peeking at us from behind thick clusters of trees and bushes, the afternoon sun warming the inside of the vehicle with its hazy glow.

“Are you sure you know the way?” I asked. “I thought the inn was in Blue Harbor.”

“It is.” Scarlett squinted at me. “Not everyone lives near the main harbor.”

Ten minutes later, she said, “We’re here.”

A red-bricked building appeared between two thick groves of maple trees. A lush green lawn and white picket fence fronted the house. Four wide steps led to the wrap-around porch, dotted with white wicker chairs and tables. A chubby, middle-aged woman stood on the top step between two white pillars supporting the steep overhang.

“That’s Lucy Green.” Scarlett parked on the graveled driveway to the right of the house.

Lucy descended the steps, wiping her hands on the yellow frilled apron tied around her waist. “I’m happy you could meet with me today, considering the recent excitement.” Her short, brown curls fluttered in the cool breeze as she crossed the blue paving stones to the driveway.

“We were at the ice cream parlor when the guy ran inside bleeding.” Scarlett halted in front of her. “The customers ran from the place screaming and yelling.”

“How awful.” Lucy wrung her hands. “I hope you’re still interested in my inn.”

I drew alongside Scarlett. “We’re rethinking our move to Blue Harbor.” I ignored Scarlett’s sidelong glare. If Lucy believed we were reconsidering, she might lower the price. I grew up in New York City and couldn’t help my big city frame of mind.

Lucy pursed her lips. “Chief Lively will clean the riffraff from Blue Harbor, he’s done it before, and our town will be peaceful again.” She motioned for us to follow her into the house. The warm glow from the Victorian lamps, sitting on small end tables, lit the spacious room dotted with comfortable-looking couches and chairs. We followed her through an open archway to the right. Leather couches and chairs faced a red-bricked fireplace. Across the room, a set of glass doors overlooked a side garden bursting with red and yellow rose bushes. When she swung open the doors, a rose-scented breeze drifted toward us.

“Lovely,” I said.

She gave a sweet smile before shutting the glass doors. We trailed her from the den and the front room to the dining room, where glasses and silverware sparkled on the five tables set with white linen. The doorway on the back wall led us to an industrial-sized kitchen with a white marble island dead-center, surrounded by yellow stools. The view from the picture window took my breath away. Rose bushes lined the pebbled path through the green landscape to a lake filled with floating Canada geese.

“Nice,” Scarlett said.

“Thank you.” Lucy hovered behind us. “Are you ready to see the guest rooms?”

“Sure,” Scarlett replied.

A narrow door in the kitchen, wedged between the double wall ovens and built-in refrigerator, led back to the front room. We climbed the carpeted stairs between the curving wood banisters as Lucy regaled us with tales of the house’s vibrant history. On the second floor, doors stood open on either side of the hallway, revealing canopied beds and flat-screen TVs. At the end of the hall, we stepped into the owner’s apartment. The two bedrooms, eat-in kitchen, and sitting room offered impressive views of the lawn and sparkling blue lake.

“Iced tea and pastries in the sunroom?” Lucy asked as we descended the staircase.

“Sounds good. I’m thirsty,” Scarlett replied.

Lucy led us through the den to the bookshelves spanning the left wall, where she tilted a group of books forward. The bookcase shifted, and a hidden door creaked open.

“Neat,” Scarlett said as the door of bookshelves shut behind us.

I asked, “Does the house have hidden passageways?”

“There might be.” Shirley’s round face wrinkled into an eager grin. “This is an old house. A hundred years old next year.”

The sun shone through the picture window on the far wall, throwing bright squares of light across the mint-green couches and chairs. A pitcher of iced tea and a tray of pastries waited on the glass coffee table. We took seats as Lucy poured the tea into tall glasses.

“Are you still interested in purchasing the inn?” Lucy asked, handing a glass to Scarlett.

“We are.” Scarlett glanced at me. “But I’m confused.”

Lucy’s chocolate brown eyes widened.

Scarlett continued, “You have tables set in the dining room, but I didn’t see any preparations in the kitchen. Where are your guests and staff?”

“The guests aren’t arriving until Friday.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled. “And the staff have left for the day.”

I asked, “How large is your staff?”

“I have a maid, chef, and waitress.”

“Do they work every day?” Scarlett asked.

“The cook and waitress work when we have guests, and the maid cleans twice a week, even if we don’t have guests. This past year, we began offering dinner twice weekly, and the chef and waitress have increased their hours.”

“Once you sell the inn, will they be willing to continue working here?” I asked.

“They love the bed-and-breakfast. I have a contract ready to be signed.” Lucy huffed to her feet. “Relax and finish your tea and pastries.” She grinned before hurrying from the room.

“We have decisions to make.” Scarlett bit into a red velvet cupcake.

“I’m not ready to make them today.”

“Me neither.”

Lucy returned with a stack of papers. For the next hour, we discussed the price and conditions of the contract. We departed with a promise to call her in the next few days. Scarlett needed to show the paperwork to her lawyer, who will now be our lawyer. Even though the price was within our budget, we needed time to decide whether Blue Harbor was right for us.

[arvandus]

Prompt 22 with Shiggy? Congrats on 500 followers, you deserve many more to be honest!!

Super super old request, so not even sure if this anon follows me anymore, but here it is. It's been a wild time lately, but I finally felt inspired to write this one and wanted to run with it. Thank you for your support, anon! I hope you like it!

Warnings: soft shiggy, fluff, reader is struggling emotionally in the beginning.

Word count: 2338

22. “Take my hand. Just trust me.”

It was one of those days. One of those days where it felt like the world was against you, where you felt you were hanging by a single, frayed thread with a black abyss below you, threatening to swallow you up.

You didn’t want to feel this. You felt fragile. Angry. Sad. You wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh. You weren’t sure what you wanted; emotions swirled in you like a tempest, crashing against you like the wind and rain against a rickety house. It turned your mind to mush and made your chest tight, every nerve in your body tensed like a coil.

But despite the maelstrom roiling within your veins, your outward demeanor was one of calm serenity, your face still as stone with a half-smile plastered to your face. It was a well-practiced façade, perfected over many years to camouflage your internal struggle from curious eyes.

Which was why you found yourself completely stunned when Shigaraki of all people, took notice.

He didn’t say anything outright... not in front of the others. Instead, he walked by where you sat on the old, beat up couch, pausing just long enough to speak in a low tone meant for your ears only.

“Come with me.”

You froze, staring up at him dumbly with your phone in your hand. He didn’t repeat himself, instead waiting with his red eyes staring down at you. His expression was stoic, his chapped lips closed in silence. But his eyes... his eyes held a light in them that seemed to seek you out in the darkness like a candle. It was strong, radiating heat that began to melt the stone of emotion lodged in your throat and unwind the knot in your stomach like skilled, invisible hands.

A long moment passed, and you realized he was still waiting, not allowing you the opportunity of feigning ignorance and refusing his request. You clenched your jaw to keep yourself from worrying your lip between your teeth and stood.

Once he knew he had your compliance, he broke his gaze and led you out of the door towards the old stairwell.

Neither of you spoke as you ascended. Up and up you went, winding your way past the second floor, the third floor, until you finally reached the roof access. The golden glow of afternoon sun exploded into the dimly lit space when Shigaraki pushed the door open. It bathed him in an angelic glow, nearly blinding you as it burned the imprint of his silhouette onto the back of your eyes. It was an ironic contrast to his violent nature; Shigaraki was more demon than angel, with his red eyes and destructive hands. But in this moment, the line of good and evil blurred as he held the door open for you. It was these little moments, these little acts of kindness that stacked like bricks to offer a foundation of stability in your otherwise chaotic world, a creation of safety built by a creature of destruction.

The sun was on its steady descent to the horizon, long shadows beginning to stretch across the rooftops as the world moved below. The top of the roof had an old billboard display, it’s signage long since torn away by the harsh hands of weather and time. The stairs to grant access to its platform were just within reach, and Shigaraki climbed it easily with a strength far greater than his clothed body implied. It was as if gravity were nothing to him, his partially clothed fingers gripping the bars with ease until he was high enough for his feet to find purchase on the rungs below.

You hesitated, staring at the metal rails skeptically. Unlike Shigaraki, you didn’t have the body strength to haul yourself up after him.

“Um...” you started.

He paused and looked down at you from his position, and it took the briefest of moments for him to understand the cause of your hesitation. He descended slightly, one foot on the bottom-most rung as he reached out a free hand to you.

“Here.” He offered.

You stared at his hand, at the leather covering his fingers. They were the only barrier between you and death, but that wasn’t why you hesitated.

You heart pounded in your chest. “I...”

“Take my hand. Just trust me.” Shigaraki said. And again, he waited. He waited with a patience that could only be achieved by understanding, a silent recognition of what your hesitation meant.

It wasn’t just about his quirk, or the touch of his hand. It was about trust. And if anyone understood how difficult it was to trust, it was Shigaraki.

Slowly you raised your hand to his. It wasn’t until your own fingers wrapped around his wrist that he closed his hand around yours. You could feel the warmth of his touch against your wrist where your pulse fluttered wildly. It was like the forging of two links, a chain of faith and surrender connecting the two of you.

With a single pull, he lifted you easily, moving to the side of the ladder to give you room to join him. His strength left you awestruck and breathless as your hands and feet found purchase against the cold metal bars. They felt flimsy beneath your tight grip as you clung to them fearfully, but the metal was far more sturdy than it looked.

Shigaraki framed you against the ladder with his arms on either side of you, hands positioned just below yours on the edges. The heat of his body was warm against your back as he waited for you to begin your ascent. You’d never been so close to him before, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to lean further into the hard warmth of his body or flee.

But fleeing was impossible, and leaning into his warmth... well, that wasn’t exactly wise either. Still, you felt more secure with him at your back, and it made your ascent easier.

Slowly, carefully, you made your way up. As soon as you reached the platform, you sat down, your back firm against the billboard. The rooftop looked farther down that you’d thought it would, the street below even more so. Your body was rigid with fear as you struggled to ignore the vertigo that threatened to take over.

Not a moment later, you felt the warm comfort of Shigaraki sitting next to you, his arm pressed firmly against yours.

“You won’t fall.” He stated. The words weren’t just meant as empty reassurance. They were a promise, and they wrapped around you as securely as if he were holding you firmly in his arms.

You tore your eyes away from the street down below filled with passing cars and walking people to look at him. His ruby eyes met yours, and there was something strangely soft beneath the sharp-edged jewels. You’d never seen that before; especially when those eyes looked at you.

Heat warmed your body, and you averted your eyes.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked.

“You looked like you could use it.” He replied. “I come here sometimes. When things start to feel like they’re too much.”

Silence fell for a moment, and you stared down at his hand that sat centimeters from your own. A strong urge to wrap your fingers in his surged deep in your chest, and you fought against it with every fiber of your being.

His voice cut through your internal struggle.

“Look up, or you’re going to miss it.”

“Miss what?” you replied, even as your eyes tore themselves painfully away from the long, calloused digits.

“The sunset.” He replied.

And what a sunset it was. Below, the streets were now blanketed in dusk, the sun too low to reach the asphalt. But here, up on the rooftops, the last vestiges of the day lingered. Clouds chased the setting sun, in a frantic race to bathe themselves in colors of neon pink and hot orange. The sky began to usher in the early signs of twilight, the baby blue of daytime maturing into a dusky blue-grey. The brilliant colors and shining orange of the sun reflected off the windows of the cityscape, a sea of rainbow glass contrasted against the growing shadows. All around you, the day danced hand-in-hand with the evening like star-crossed lovers always destined to kiss only in passing.

It washed away the suffocation you'd been trapped under, cleansing your soul even if only for this moment.

This was a gift. Shigaraki had given you a gift.

Why?

Because he cared. It was the easiest, simplest explanation, yet the hardest one to believe. Sure, some deep, secret part of you had dreamed, fantasized even. But you'd never even bothered to hope, let alone believe...

Shigaraki's voice cut through your epiphany, calm as a lake. “Don’t look at the city.”

“What?” you broke your gaze from the beauty before you to look at him. His eyes didn’t meet yours this time, instead trained far away in the distance.

“Don’t look at the city.” He repeated. “Look beyond it.”

He pointed, and you followed his finger beyond the city’s edge to the mountain ridge silhouetted in deep grey-purple as the sun began to dip behind it. In front of the mountains, low hills blanketed in a pale evening mist rolled down like gentle waves to meet the city’s edge where humanity began. There, the fluidity of nature surrendered to the straight edges of rooftops and streets, freeways and train tracks.

“Do you see it?” he asked. You nodded quietly, and he continued. “Out there... that’s where real freedom is. No rules. No limits. No good or evil, no heroes or villains. Everything just existing as it was meant to. A mouse will be a mouse and a bear will be a bear. The strongest survive until they become the weak. Then their time comes one way or another, making way for whatever comes next, and life goes on. Life and destruction, coexisting as it always has.”

“Sounds dangerous,” you teased through a half-smile.

Shigaraki’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Sounds exciting.” he replied. “At least there, everything is as it seems. There's no false gods or fake morals. No lies, no betrayal.”

Something in his tone made you act on instinct, and you took his hand in yours, winding your fingers with his own.

He looked at you then, his expression guarded, his eyes questioning. But he didn’t pull his hand away, either.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Holding your hand.” You replied.

“Why?”

A soft smile curved your lips. “You looked like you could use it.”

He stared at you a moment before he let out a soft, dry chuckle.

A long silence filled the space, pregnant with unspoken confessions wrapped up as forbidden secrets. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, not with your fingers locked together, filling the space where words could not. The sun finally dipped below the mountains, giving way to the city lights as neon signs and streetlights illuminated the evening.

Finally, Shigaraki broke the silence, his voice soft.

“I suppose I do.” He confessed.

A moment passed, and he let out a wry chuckle again.

“I brought you here to help you feel better.” He commented.

His words left an empty space for what he really meant – he hadn’t asked for your comfort. Yet here you were, giving it to him.

You smiled. “Trust me, I do feel better. Thank you for bringing here and sharing this with me.”

He stared at you for a moment before averting his eyes.

More companionable silence followed as you watched the night life come alive. Vehicles passed to the rhythm of the stoplights. People began walking the streets in search of bars. In the distance, spotlights danced back and forth across the sky where a concert was being held. A cold breeze brushed past both of you, causing goosebumps to tighten across your skin.

Perhaps you should have gone inside. It was nighttime now, the sunset long gone. The chill only worsened with each passing minute, the sun’s warmth becoming but a memory only to be replaced by cold starlight.

But you didn’t try to leave, and neither did he. There was something missing, something incomplete. An unasked question, an unspoken answer. To leave now would be to break something; something that didn’t even have a name yet. Something fragile and new.

Your hand squeezed his gently and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Tomura...” you whispered. “I promise... I will never lie or betray you.”

Your words were a confession poorly disguised as an oath, and they left your lips with unexpected ease, light in melody but heavy in meaning. The weight of them landed on Tomura’s heart, compressing the air from his lungs until it left him nearly breathless.

There it was.

He wasn’t sure if it would ever come; he wasn’t sure if his silence could will the words he wanted so desperately to hear into existence. But you said them, offering them freely as a gift, and now he didn’t know what to do with them.

You froze against him, your heart in your throat as you waited with bated breath for his reaction.

When he finally did break the silence, it was to say your name. You tilted your head up quickly to meet his eyes, your response rushing out faster and more eagerly than you intended. “Yes?”

His lips captured yours, his partially gloved hand cupping your jaw. The kiss was soft, far softer than you’d ever expected from such a man, even with the texture of his chapped lips against your smooth ones. You leaned into it easily, asserting your words with your actions.

The kiss felt infinite and instant at the same time. When it ended, you found yourself breathless and wanting more.

Tomura pulled away slightly, and your eyes fluttered open to stare into his ruby orbs. His hand was still on your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek in a gentle caress.

“Thank you.” He rasped.

[alicee1]

Finally back

Revived! Wilbur x Reader

Warnings: talk of death, grieving, character death (Wilbur), reunion

Word count: 1.7K

Synopsis: After Wilbur got revived by Dream he first rushes off to find you, right in the place where you had spent the night before L’manburg got blown up together with you. Angst followed by fluff/comfort

Request:

what if revived wilbur returning to a (he/him or they/them) reader and the reader who was with wilbur the night before l'manberg went boom being like super over emotional and stuff because they hadnt seen their lover in a while and just good ole comfort coming out of the reunion :0 (please the wilbur revival has had me craving wilbur content </3)

A/n: Not gonna lie, this was really hard to write at first cause of the pure angst, but i figured out a way! I really hope you enjoy it and it was really fun to write actually. Thank you for requesting!

Rules, Masterlist

"I'll come back to you."

Maybe you had been a fool to believe his words. Both you and him knew the chance was small that he would come back unscathed yet in that moment, those promising words that left his mouth were all that mattered.

The night before the bombing of L'manburg you had spent together with Wilbur. It had been calm and comfortable, spending the night in each other's arms and reminiscencing past memories. Neither of you had spoken a word of what would happen the next day.

He had built a small cabin in the woods where he stayed with you, his little escape from the outside world and all the problems that came with it.

For a while you had seen Wilbur start to slip, his sanity slowly seeping away under the pressure and responsibilities he carried.

He didn't speak to you often about L'manburg and Pogtopia, wanting to keep you seperated from his work and worries.

You had been his escape.

No matter what had happened outside the walls of your small comfortable cabin, it was as if a switch was flicked as soon as he stepped inside.

Even if it was just for a moment, he could leave all his worries and problems behind and seek comfort in your arms.

You were his cliff against the stormy sea that were his thoughts and problems, an unrelenting barrier he could escape to.

But as the day crept nearer he had explained to you what his plan was, sitting down with you as he explained what could happen.

You had known where he was when you awoke to an empty bed that morning. His warmth lingered in the blankets and his scent in the air. Leaving behind his promise to return to you from the night before.

His words were believable, you truly believed he would return to you. For the past days he had made up his mind, through cracks you thought you could see glimpses of the Wilbur you had once known.

Nothing could have prepared you for the news that Phil brought with him.

It felt as if you were torn apart piece by piece before getting out back together, yet his death left a gaping hole behind.

You had etched his name into the large builder that laid in your back garden, without a body to bury it was the most you could do as memorial.

Desperately you had clung onto the traces that he had left behind in your cabin. The pack of cigarettes left on the table, his spare beanie that hung discarded on a chair. A small pile of crumpled up papers discarded as he attempted to write letters to his father.

He never send the majority of them. After everything had gone south and he had retreated to the woods and Pogtopia it just seemed like he couldnt keep up the lies anymore.

You never touched anything he held left behind, afraid it would get rid of his last traces in the cabin. The objects were cleaned often but other than that remained untouched.

It was a few months until a see through apparition had found its way to the small cabin. It was one of the first times you had left the comforting space after Wilbur's death only to be faced with someone, something, that looked so much like him.

It had made you curl up under the protective blankets of your bed as tears streamed down your face as you grieved.

Although it had taken a long time, you learned to move on. Despite that his last traces in the cabin stayed untouched, but you healed. Slowly, step by step, but it happened.

You returned to the way you lived before. Besides the crater in your heart that you weren't sure would ever heal, you picked up your activities one by one.

You started gathering wood again, hunting for meat and gardening in your back garden where you had started a small vegetable farm beside the memorial builder.

Each time you passed it you traced your hand over the stone, lingering for a few seconds as you remembered him before moving on with what you were doing. Although you would always make sure there was a small bouquet of fresh, hand picked, wild flower laid on the stone.

The apparition didn't appear again, making you believe you had imagined the entire ordeal in the first place.

The fireplace was lit again when you were at the cabin, the windows opened to let in fresh air. Due to the secluded nature of the woods you could easily leave the windows and doors open as you gathered for materials.

Wilbur hurried away from the crater where L'manburg once stood. He left Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo, who he had just met, behind there. Plans and ideas shot through his mind although he needed to figure something out first.

He reached the cabin in the woods, he didn't even have to think to remember the way, his body leading him down the path automatically despite it having been 13 years.

The small clearing was still exactly the same as he remembered, the cabin stood peacefully in the middle of it.

Wilbur could see a new vegetable garden beside it, surrounded my fences with lanterns attached to light it up in the dark.

The windows and doors stood open, making his entrance effortless as he entered.

The place still looked exactly the same, although he could see the small changes that had occured over time. But in general, it looked as if time had stopped flowing inside.

The pack of cigarettes laid unmoving on the bedside table that stood on his side of the bed. His spare beanie hung from the side of the clothing chair that stood in the same corner it had been in 13 years ago. The fireplace that always spread warmth and a soft golden glow when he returned to you was reduced to a smouldering pile of ashes, indicating you hadn't been gone for too long.

A small hand drawn map hung from the wall that hadn't been there before.

The only thing missing was you.

Today you had chosen to go fishing, something you had enjoyed doing before but a hobby you had left neglected for a long time.

The ripples in the water were calming as you breathed out, instantly you knew why you had always enjoyed it. There was something peaceful in watching the sun's reflexion in the small ripples the water created as the red and white striped ball floated gently along the stream.

You stayed by the river for most of the day, only returning at the end of the afternoon, satisfied with the catch of today.

As you returned home, you were caught of guard by the steady smoke that gently rose from the chimney. You could see it from a little distance away, making you question if you had checked that the fire had died before you left.

The sack you had stored the fish in hung from your hand as you gently opened the door with the other, the setting of the sun had allowed the fire to cast it's golden glow through the cabin.

That wasn't however what caught your attention. Instead the cloaked figure in the middle of the room did.

A dark cloak you could recognize between any other, paired with a beanie similar to the one you saw every day as it hung from, what had once been your shared, clothing chair. Underneath messy brown hair could be seen.

It was an appearance you could recognize in a heartbeat as tears gathered in your eyes, the sack slipping from your grasp as Wilbur turned around at the sound of the door opening.

He didn't say anything, just opened his arms invitingly as you stumbled forward, crashing into him and burying your head in his shoulder.

His hold on you was tight, he breathed in deeply through his nose, inhaling your scent as his arms squeezed harder around your form.

He had missed you so much. In those 13 years spent at the station, all he wanted was to see you one last time, to apologize for leaving you behind.

There had not been a single moment where he hadn’ t longed for your touch, for your presence, in comfort.

All that time he had thought he truly wanted to die, that this world wasn't for him. All that time you had been his deciding factor without even knowing.

But now that he had experienced it, was there and seen what it was like, he was sure of the truth, his truth.

Ha had a new lease on life and this time, he wouldn't throw it away. He had learned.

He melted into your touch as you leaned back, cupping his cheek and wiping away the stray tears he hadn't even realized that flew down his cheeks.

In your eyes he could still see the same love for him as he had seen that night. You still looked exactly like you then.

He pulled you closer, inhaling your scent as he realized he was holding you, the real, physical you, in his arms once more. You smelt like water, grass and the forest. It was a scent he would burn into his mind of he could.

You pulled him towards the bed gently, forgetting what you had been doing before entering the house and tackled him onto the bed in your hold.

His voice was rough as he spoke, pulling you closer against him as he mumbled against your skin. It may have taken him 13 years to do it, but he did it.

"I promised you I'd come back to you."

[chihomichannel]

of candy wrappers and unprecedented endings

| pairing: choso x reader | genre: angst & fluff | warnings: mention of death; sad things blended with happy things | word count: 2330 words | a/n: hi! this is clem! this is the 3rd and final part of “bittersweet lollipops” so read the first two parts before this but it can also be read as is. this wasn’t my first plan for the 3rd part and i had actually written a lot when i realized that i don’t want it to be the 3rd part lol. so i rewritten this today and here it is! hope you guys like it!

◄ previous |

icon used

Time has always been the limit for humans. We were born and raised, thrown into the world and built our lives only for everything you’ve worked hard for to be left behind once death came right by your door. And for sorcerers like you, death has always been just a step behind, ready to take you once it was your time. But in your case, you miraculously lived long enough to know you would die with no regrets.

Feeling the hand clung onto yours, your eyes woke from its slumber. Your eyes were met with the bright sunshine that illuminated the whole room, the white of the ceiling shining brighter than ever. Your head turned to your side to see Choso sitting asleep by your bed, his hand on top of yours while the other held your family scrapbook. The page was open, showing a picture of your family at its early stages. It was you and Choso both holding onto your newborn with your friends by your sides. You remembered it was your first born’s first birthday and you smiled at the vivid memory that crossed your mind.

You thought back to that day when everyone was present, celebrating and just pure happiness. You remembered Megumi tackling Yuuji when he was about to feed your baby he didn’t know your daughter could not eat. You remembered Panda with your baby lying on its stomach and Inumaki shoving toys to your daughter to amuse it. You remember Gojo arriving late with a bag full of sweets to which Choso took eagerly. You remembered Nobara continuously flaunting her outfit. You remembered Maki and Nanami just being there. And you remembered looking at everyone, just taking in that moment and storing it inside your treasured memories. You remembered the atmosphere, the calm and the chaos in the house. The hot rays of the sun shielded by the window pane. You remembered that moment and longed to return to that day.

Blinking, you were snapped back to reality. You took note that the atmosphere was the same as that day. You smiled, eyes tired even though you only just woke up. You glanced at Choso’s hands that clung onto yours, it was tight but he held you as if you were fragile glass. You knew he’s worried and so you moved your hand and intertwined it with his. Choso stirred awake, licking his dried lips as he leaned up from his position “Hey” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He looked tired, the look in his eyes told you they’ve lived for so long. They’ve seen so much yet his face was still the same. His body looked the same, everything looked the same. His youthful face hid the hundreds of years he’s lived.

He smiled- oh his smile. His smile is something you never got over. When you first knew Choso, you would have never guessed that he could be so expressive. With his indifferent mien, even at the start of your relationship, you would always be so surprised to see another expression on his face. You loved it especially when he has this confused, wondering face. You always found it so cute. You found everything he does cute. It scared you just how much you’re in love him. But you could never imagine nor wish for a better life because the life you have with Choso by your side is a life you would never bargain anything for. You are content and you are in love. You didn’t even realize it but Choso became your life. The little world and family you’ve built with him, it’s yours and his. No life was better than this.

“Morning” Choso scooted his seat closer to your bed, he had his elbows on the soft mattress, taking your hand to his lips. “It’s afternoon, silly” You weakly told him, softly chuckling. You felt him smile in your hands and you gazed at him adoringly “I see you’ve been looking at the scrapbook again”

“Yeah” Choso pulled away from your hands and flipped the scrapbook to the next page “I guess I fell asleep while doing so” He mused. He stopped and you looked at the page to see a picture of you and him decades ago. It was a selfie when you two eloped that one fateful night. The two of you never planned for a wedding nor did you think you would ever get married. It was never a thought in your mind but during that night, Choso looked so beautiful. Even with his mouthful of tacos you grabbed on the way to Panda’s birthday, something about the night with the streetlights and the swarm of people highlighted Choso in your eyes. And at the bus stop, just as you were about to get on it, you pulled Choso into a halt and waited until the crowd got on the bus before you spoke “Will you marry me?”

You both skipped on Panda’s birthday and got married. It was a decisive decision but no doubt the best you’ve ever made. A year later after that, your daughter was born and you swore, Choso had never glowed brighter. Your heart felt soft whenever you see your daughter and husband bonding. And the sight of your daughter cuddled up against Choso made you feel so thankful that these beautiful people are part of your life. Because of them, life was so much brighter.

You and Choso bore four more children after that. To say that life is noisy is an understandment but the noise made you happy anyway (albeit stressed). You stopped at baby number 5, with your eldest being 15 at the time. As expected, your daughter became a sorcerer, proving to be much stronger than either of you with a cursed technique she invented on her own. Your second didn’t follow onto the jujutsu society and made a life of his own outside the dangers of your reality. Your third inherited Choso’s blood manipulation and was almost bought by the Kamo clan but of course, you and Choso shielded your child away from the mess that is clan families. Your fourth also became a jujutsu sorcerer and your youngest inherited your cursed technique. All in all, your children now had lives of their own with all of them being fully fledged adults.

With a sigh, you yawned, reaching out for the scrapbook and putting it on your lap. You flipped to the next page and a grin etched on your face. You giggled, motioning to Choso the scrapbook. It was you and Choso all those years ago before you were married. It was that day out when Choso kissed you on the ferris wheel. It was when you two were sitting on the sea wall when he secretly snapped a picture of you looking the other way. A glint flashed through Choso’s eyes, his lips mirroring your grin. Choso traced the design by the photo, it was a bunch of lollipop wrappers you two had been eating when you were designing this specific page. He remembered you chastising him for almost emptying the packet of lollipops. Chuckling, he turned to look at you to see you looking at him so lovingly “I love you” you told him and Choso felt his chest tighten. It was a wonder how you still had so much effect on him when you had literally spend your lifetime together “And I love you”

Choso examined the wrinkles in your eyes when you smiled. Your once smooth skin was now wrinkled out of old age. Your once vibrant hair is now a dull white. Both your eyes now have a cataract that clouded your sight. And your lips remain chapped no matter how many times you apply a lip balm. But even with all these things you’ve obtained as you aged, you still looked so darn beautiful. It was no secret that his never changing youth made you insecure. You wished he could age up with you but realized that was selfish and so you brushed off these thoughts. What you didn’t know is that Choso also wished the same. He wished he could grow old with you and get wrinkly together.

It was cruel how he couldn’t age with you. If you thought about it, he’s actually more than a century older than you yet here you are, minutes away from letting go. Choso clutched your hands, his eyes shaking as you breathed frailly. He breathed out your name, tears brimming in his eyes. He let out a whimper when you called his name, hiding in the cold of your hands “Choso” You repeated, feeling a pang on your chest. You leaned forward to embrace him, trapping him in your arms resulting in Choso to lean on your shoulder, letting out a quiet cry.

You cooed, kissing his temple before hiding your face in his hair, his locks drying the tears that fell on your cheeks. “Don’t go” He cried, his voice muffled “Not you too” His voice cracked causing your arms to tighten around him “Choso, Choso” With that, Choso looked you in the eyes.

“Please never be alone-” You paused, composing yourself. Choso held your cheeks as you continued “-find someone-” “I could never love someone else other than you” Choso said committedly. You gave him a look before you continued “-please, please don’t blame yourself” You held his cheeks, giving him a soft smile as you plead “And please don’t be sad”

You broke, Choso catching your tears with his mouth. Planting kisses on your face, Choso savored you in. The both of you could feel it. It was the worst feeling ever. But thinking back to your life, it was never short of happiness. Choso was the pill that gave you the energy to live your fullest. He was the reason you found a purpose in life and became a mother of five. He was the reason you ever felt true happiness. And thinking back to all those memories, you can confidently say that you left this world with no regrets.

 ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱ ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪  ๋࣭

A snowflake fell on Choso’s nose causing it to twitch at the contact. It was cold and Choso stood in the midst of the crowd, unmoving as stone. He sighed, a cloud forming in front of his mouth. Yuuji had called him to meet him in the plaza in front of the huge clock that stood tall in the middle of the park. Choso scanned his surroundings and took note of the large crowd that flocked together at night. It was the night before Christmas eve and Choso was alone. His children all had their own families to tend to. The original plan was to celebrate at his home but plans tend to change and Choso ended up alone. If not for Yuuji, he would probably be asleep by now.

“Choso!” Hearing someone call out his name, Choso turned to see his brother and his friend, Megumi, heading his way. Yuuji’s pink hair is now white, his smile now has wrinkles on them. It was the same with Megumi and Choso remembered he couldn’t age. It made him sigh, wanting nothing but age together with the people he cares about. It bothered him so much, especially with his eldest child looking much older than him. It was unfair, Choso wailed to the gods.

Choso let them pull him wherever, going along with the flow. But even with the boisterous laughs of his brother and the chatter that filled his ears, he felt alone. He was surrounded by people yet he felt so cold. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Choso going along wherever his companions went.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Yuuji. He was worried about his brother which is why he called him in the first place. His legs hurt from old age but if it means his brother would feel better, he would go out in the cold to walk with him. Megumi already went home and Yuuji is walking Choso home. He noted the faraway look Choso held. Yuuji felt sad at the sight. He remembered how Choso shined when you were still alive. But the Choso walking beside him now was nothing but the shell left of his body. His eyes held no soul, that is until Choso’s eyes landed on the ferris wheel.

It was the same ferris wheel as back then. Like before, it flickered in different lights, switching its color as it rotated. Choso held a cry, feeling a lump in his throat. You. Oh, you. He is so in love with you still. He saw that yellow pod, though unsure if it was the one, his heart ached at the memory of you. His heart always aches every second of the day. You, he thought of you. He felt the linger of your touch on his skin, your breath as you laughed against him. He felt your kisses and the love you felt for him. The clutch of your fingers as you held onto him. He felt you.

He breathed in the cold air, taking his eyes off the ferris wheel into the night sky. The jet black sky was painted with the white of the snowflakes that fell. One dropped on his cheek and rolled down the same time a tear fell down from his hollow eyes. A breath left his throat, a smoke coming out of his mouth. He will find you, he is determined to find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter what millennia he meets you again. He will be there and you would be in his arms again. He will tell you the stories he’s lived and live another lifetime with you. No matter how many lifetimes, what matters is he’s with you.

Another set of tears run down his cheeks. He misses you but he will live on. He will live on.

He will live on.

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[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 19

Description:

Notes: WC: 4.5k

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They had yet to tell you the master's name.

You weren't allowed to stand next to Ahkmen in line, either. They wanted you lined up by size, leaving you at the smaller end, and Ahk at the taller. After scanning the new recruits––of which there were only six new people––the estate's stewardess assigned you to gardening, and Ahk to patrol.

"Okay," you said with a nod despite no one else in line saying anything in response to their assignment. "I also do clean good."

The stewardess cocked a single brow.

"You can do that as well then. Share shifts with Zakiti," she said, pointing to a young girl digging into the loose dirt of the garden.

You bowed your head deeply before the six of you were set loose on the property, your slots established. Ahkmen followed you into the sun for a moment before someone caught him, bringing him back to the small hut he'd just been in, and where the tools were kept. He was handed a guard's outfit––long, white robes, unflattering, and reaching all the way to his ankles and wrists. An instant distaste grew on Ahk.

"I have to wear this?" Ahk asked the man, but fortunately he was speaking Egyptian, and the stranger could not understand him.

The job did, to your great comfort, afford you food that was given out in plentiful rations, and despite the dull taste, Ahk found himself enjoying beer and bread in the beating afternoon sun, though he wasn't allowed much due to time constraints. He'd been working throughout the whole day, circling the whole of the property in search of any trespassers. Lean muscles were now strained beneath the weight of his body and of the strange clothes, though certainly no more than his backpack was, and he often found himself rubbing his aching shoulders. He couldn't see his skin there properly, but he was half convinced he was genuinely bruised.

What was hardest about the job didn't end up being the heat, the strain on his muscles, or the overstimulation of long skirts and sleeves––it was the absence of you that he noticed above anything else. No one to listen to the strange comments during the day, a slot that had, for a while, been filled by Piye, and then more recently by you.

You always had something more fun to say. Sometimes way out of range from his own thought process, and sometimes reading his mind exactly.

And he wasn't there to hear what you had to say, either, in those random moments when deep thoughts blurted out in rough translations.

Later in the afternoon––bordering on evening––you were called back to the servant's quarters to be dismissed. The stewardess gave the six of you a rough look at your future schedules, revealing your hours to be lax and concentrated to only three or four days in the ten day week. You and Ahk side-eyed each other, ready to jump out of line at any moment with excitement as you bit back a grin.

The moment she said 'dismissed' you flocked to one another, automatically heading towards your quarters without word.

"I have been with thoughts, all day," you began, moving your hands animatedly. "We need to go to the beer house, like," you pointed over your shoulder, "you know?"

"The one from yesterday?" He asked in mild confusion.

"Yes!"

"Well I haven't got anything else to do," he said, looking to you with a lop-sided grin that you eagerly returned.

Even in the increasingly late hours of the day the market was aflame with life, filled with open carts and tables now half-empty after a long day of business. Ahkmen never had a job before––at least, not one that didn't have to do with politics or, very rarely, singing. Neither of those were any bit like the job he now had, standing on his feet for hours on end, watchful eyes patrolling a property that didn't and never would belong to him.

That ache continued in his chest, a feeling of tiredness that attempted to lag him down as he followed your excited steps. Unlike him, you were accustomed to physical labor, and retained much of your energy despite the hours of cleaning.

Orange and yellow tarps still hung above the darkened market, now blocking nothing more than the stars that shone a little dimmer than the two of you were used to. The small, red flags fluttered high above you in the gentle breeze coming off the Euphrates, twinned by the still fresh scents of baking bread and cooking beer. You needed only to follow the scent and the crowds that grew larger the further you got down the wide, stone street, coalescing into a large city center built by shops, bakeries, breweries, and glassmakers surrounding a pyre of white stone.

Winged creatures on four feet and bearing a man's head were carved into the large pillar, mounted by a disc resembling the light of the sun. Other such decorations trailed all the way down to the base, where lax soldiers lay among the ascending steps, their spears and swords at their side, and their mouths occupied by a stew whose scent tantalized the both of you.

"Did you eat today?" Ahkmen asked, unable to stop staring at the clay bowls steaming with the soup.

"I had a bread, in the - the kitchen," you said quietly.

"Hungry?"

"Yes, yes, we will eat?" You asked as you turned to him.

"I'd like to, considering I didn't really eat anything today," he said with a frown.

"What?? They did not let you eat?"

"More of I didn't have the chance," he said as he scratched the back of his neck, scanning the city square.

"I say we do get beer," you said, speaking slowly so as to fully think through your plan, "then we go to the house, and take their food. It is their job to feed you, yes? We work for them, they give food."

"Ah, Yogi," he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug, "I knew there was a reason I followed you to the end of the earth."

"We are not at the end of the earth now, not yet," you said with a chuckle.

"I will follow you there," he said in a sudden, sincere softness.

You looked up at him and said, "I know," though you chuckled and gave him a funny look.

Thick, warm, and sweet––the beer of Babylon was more similar to porridge than it was to the almost juice-like qualities of Egypt, and by extension your, brewing. You both held one of the large mugs given to you, sitting on the raised half-wall between the public center and the roofless brewery establishment. Below you, women and men churned the alcoholic mixture, and across from you wandered older shoppers and off-guard soldiers.

Both of you raised your cups at the same time, taking a long, slurping gulp as you looked each other directly in the eye. Laughs bubbled in the beer, forcing you to lower the cup and wipe your chin on your sleeve as you giggled. He chuckled as he lowered his mug in a more graceful manner than you had.

"Hey, weren't you here yesterday?" A woman asked in Akkadian. It caught your attention, but to Ahk, it was just part of the conversations he couldn't understand, so he didn't notice until you responded to her.

"Yes I was here," you said grinning, offering a small wave to what Ahkmen now saw to be one of the brewers, her skin glowing in the firelights beneath the churners.

Her skirt was long, the frail edge of it dragging along the ground over neat, red fabric shoes. Despite the modest skirt, she had no sleeves, and the white linen veiled her muscled body, smooth dips and veins built from the nature of her work. Long, curly black hair was pinned in a bun, with neat strands hanging from the pins like vines from a tree. Even with her dark skin he could see a blush on her flushed cheeks.

"Ah," she huffed, wiping her brow, "I thought you looked a little odd."

"Odd?" You questioned with a laugh.

"Well your friend is dressed very... um, different," she said as she gestured to Ahk, who was back in his Egyptian skirt. "You from Egypt, sir?"

"Oh, he does not speak Akkadian," you said.

At this point, Ahk knew you were talking about him, since the lady gestured to him and you brushed him off. The two of you continued for a moment more, the stranger's gaze switching between you and him as incomprehensible words flooded from her mouth before she finally said something he understood.

"You, uh, you speak Sumerian?" She said, and Ahk perked up.

"Yes, I do," he said, glancing between you two. "Yogi doesn't, though. How do you know Sumerian? I thought it was a... a dead language."

"I could ask you for the same," she chuckled, "but my brother is a priest. I live with him, he shows me much of what he does."

"Ah, alright," he said with a nod. "I learned from school in Egypt, trained in the temples to be a priest."

How easily the lie came to him now. Why wouldn't it? No one was around to know any different.

She nodded with him, but before she could reply, you were interrupting and her focus was back on you. You said something followed by your name, and with her reply you muttered to Ahk her name––Tiamat.

Ahkmen managed to finish his beer while you two were still speaking in tongues. Not too great a task for a man of his stomach, but the entire time he was sipping away he could think of nothing more than the feeling of alienation. The languages of the three of you were all mixed up, meaning he couldn't talk to her without excluding you, and you couldn't talk to her without ignoring him, a predicament with ended in the latter's solution.

In the meantime, you were hitting it off rather well with Tiamat; you got to tell her that you'd experimented with your own types of beer, and she was interested––at least mildly so––in your foreign recipes. It wasn't long until she noticed Ahk's silent eyes staring at you, and suggested something you translated to Ahk.

"There is a... a house of books and scrolls near to here," you said. "If you are tired to being here."

A black hole swelled in the pit of his stomach, instilling a sick feeling where his beer once was. He glanced between you.

It would be the first time he was willingly parted from you in months.

"Sure," he said slowly, repeating the word in Sumerian to Tiamat.

She gave him the directions and he left in a fluster, confused and somewhat disappointed in himself. He was a little confused as to the actual directions to the library, but the large building stuck out sorely amongst the middle and lower class homes, tiled in dark blue and having much of a stature of a temple rather than a library. No one came and went from the door, but the scent of searing meat was suddenly overpowered by burning incense. The mark of an inhabited and frequently prayed in temple.

Arches led to extensive gardens, held alight by the glowing moon shining above. There were few clouds out tonight, allowing a better view of the sky––a view reflected in the patterns of the gardens. Riverwater flowed through the terrace as the Milky Way split the sky, the stars marked by flowering trees that bloomed in deep red and a pure, clean white. Beyond the garden stood the temple itself, once more the center of his attention, and once more rising beyond the walls that encircled it.

Stairs led up into the heavens and towards the first door, a strong, metal gate left unprotected.

He slowly entered, passing through the open doors and into a dark threshold. Ripples and veins of wood ran beneath his fingertips, trailing across the large doors, their bolts hanging open and unlocked. His mouth went dry as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Despite the grand stature and preparations for the temple, the first room there was very little––containing not much more than a strange candle sat in front of a small idol representing a bloodied man. Red paint, or perhaps actual blood, was smeared across his face, leading down in claw marks to the offerings at his feet. Ahk's jaw gritted tight as he attempted to swallow through a tight throat.

Two doors flanked the wall behind the statuette. Light flooded suddenly in the pitch black room, only to disappear, the subtle roar of torchlight moving with it. In that single moment, within which the light appeared, Ahkmen's mouth fell open as writings were revealed upon the walls, carved in every available surface, their depths sharpened by harsh light.

Like Egypt, the comings and goings of rituals for the Gods overpowered any prayers citizens might have, leaving only the small entrance room for people to pray at. From there Ahk could safely assume that he would not be allowed in the inner temples, especially since he was a foreigner. Whatever scrolls or tablets Tiamat knew about were inaccessible to him, leaving him alone and directionless in the Babylonian temple, separated from everything comfortably familiar.

He knelt, though he wasn't sure why, and looked the statue straight on. At the stone base was script, cuneiform pressed into clay and announcing the God's name.

"Utu Shamash," he mumbled, reading the words aloud. The Sun God of Babylonian myth.

It made sense, considering the offerings of gold beads and wine in golden chalices––Utu was known as a lover of gold, as it was the lifeblood of the sun. And even though Utu Shamash was the God of the sun, his equal was the presence of Ma'at––the Goddess of truth and justice––instead of Ra, a more widely known God of Egypt.

He took advantage of the rarity of such quiet moments, and delved back into the studies he left behind in Osiris' temple, namely the study of cuneiform writing. The temple must've been an older one––which would explain the somewhat smaller size––as the words in the walls were a script he could recognize, the familiar Sumerian of thousands of years ago. Whoever took power in Mesopotamia could never outrule the hidden language, and thus the words persisted even into modern day. Singing and glowing off the stone.

You suspend from the heavens the circle of the lands

And everything that Ea, King of the counsellors, had created is entrusted to you.

Whatever has breath you shepherd without exception,

You are their keeper in upper and lower regions.

Regularly and without cease you traverse the heavens,

Every day you pass over the broad earth. . . .

Shepherd of that beneath, keeper of that above,

You, Shamash, direct, you are the light of everything.

His gaze fell from the blurry words to the small statue. At some point he had fallen to his knees in front of the altar, his chin resting on the surface holding up the offerings of the people. Staring into its' eyes brought recollection to him, and he remembered the wooden totem he had worked on throughout the Shamiyah desert, how avidly he hid it in hopes of surprising you. He shoved it in his bag somewhere around Rapiqum for the last time, and since then it was hidden beneath his belongings.

There was little else he could think to do in the small praying room, so he left on quiet footsteps, retreating away from manmade majesty and back into the natural flora scattered along the path back to main streets. Chirping crickets digressed into quiet conversation, leather sandals walking across brick stone streets, and the ever-present sound of crackling fires.

He returned to the small circle in which he'd left you, as he only remembered the path back to the estate from that single spot. When he crossed the plaza, he spotted the open-roofed brewer, and made his way across to inform you on his future whereabouts.

Peering over the ledge, he found you still enraptured in your conversation with the brewer. She appeared to be showing you the mixing process required for the porridge-type beer. Ahk jogged down the stairs and over to you.

"Aganu!" You said brightly, a very sudden smile overtaking your earlier seriousness. "How is the books?"

"Couldn't, uh, get inside. It's alright. They had writings on the walls, um – I'm headed back to the estate," he set a hand on your shoulder, "so shall I meet you there?"

"Yes, yes, I will come back close to now," you said with a nod.

"Alright," he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before he bid a hasty good-bye, waving himself out of the brewery. Your giggle followed him.

Things got quieter and less crowded the closer he got to the estate––whose owner he still didn't know––and by the time he stood before the servant's entrance, most of the lights in houses had gone out. The small, hostel-like accommodations for the servants still had a burning rushlight within, dimly illuminating the filled and empty bunks.

He squinted slightly to see through the wooden gate, his brow furrowing. There were very few beds left unoccupied.

With a long sigh he unlatched the gate in the way the stewardess taught him, quietly closing it behind him when he padded through with careful steps. His gaze was drawn to the small patio outside the hut––where you and him were assigned to your respective jobs––and there he spotted the bags the two of you left behind. He knelt and dug into his pack, drawing out his knife and the wooden totem that had been chipped into a much smaller size.

A whiff of the air from inside the bunk revealed to him that they weren't burning a rushlight; they were burning incense, drifting out in gentle smoke that pooled beneath the patio roof. He looked up, chuckling as he ran his hand through the thick clouds.

He took a seat on the dusty earth, his raised knees supporting his elbows that allowed for the proper movement of carving. The knife in his hand had dulled over time, matching to fit the refining scrapes Ahk was now using, smoothing out the harsher edges of the image within. Every now and then he glanced upwards, and each time he found the stars still veiled past the light of the city. He sighed, looked to the gate in hopes of seeing you, and returned to his wood carving after two minutes of silence.

Snoring hummed quietly from inside the servant's quarters, followed by rustling sheets and a smack of skin against skin. Ahk's eyes widened as he heard someone curse in Akkadian. Another slap and then silence.

A little while later, clinking metal and swinging hinges had his head shooting up to see you. A grin split across his face and he stood, abandoning his wood and knife on the ground in favor of jogging over to you.

"Aganu," you said in a giggle, gladly returning his hug when he scooped you up into his arms.

He picked you up easily, spinning you around in slow circles across the garden as your laughter followed in twirls. He chuckled as he set you down, his hands remaining on your waist, and his heart thumping like thunder.

"How was brewing?" He asked.

"So good," you giggled. "I did miss it for more than I think."

"Understandable. You do know a lot about it, after all," he said with a shrug.

"A little. We should eat now," you said, walking past him and leading him to follow you without word or gesture.

The main house of the estate wasn't an especially large house, but it was tall. Three different floors rose out of the ground like pikes, the edges rimmed with decorated shards of cutting stone, and the stairs guarded by figures of Lamassu, though they were much smaller than some of the statues he'd seen in other parts of Babylon.

Of course, that wasn't the wisest entry point. On the back side of the house, opposite of the street-facing side, a doorway led in to the kitchens illuminated by the windows built into the thick, stone walls.

Large domed brick furnaces were built into the home, but the storage cases were all made of wood and completely moveable. None of that mattered, however, because all of the food itself was kept in a storeroom below the ground, a fact you found out after speaking with Zakiti, your coworker. Long accustomed to the art of sneaking, the two of you easily snuck down the stairs and into the underground storage. basement.

A chill set over your skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Every tiny scrape of your shoes against the dirty floor had tiny specks of dirt grinding against each other, producing an unpleasant sound that nearly woke the landowners.

You picked a variety of things, too scared of taking multiples of one object and getting caught by the missing evidence. Once everything was chosen, you and Ahk hid the food in the folds of your clothes, and ran back across the estate to the servant's house.

He barely caught his breath before you were climbing up the stone walls of the bunk, using the wooden pegs to left yourself up to the roof. Ahkmen chuckled, but something else came to mind, and he rushed off to grab something else before he joined you in the midnight stillness. In the end, however, he required your help in lifting everything up, and that left nothing to surprise you with but the totem he could carry in his hand while he climbed.

He huffed as he landed beside you. While waiting for him you'd set out the blanket he fetched, the length of it laying flat on the mud roof baked in the sun. You already had your lute in hand, small fingers tapping thoughtlessly over the strings as he revealed what he'd hidden from you for a good while now; an object of his vigilant attention.

Your mouth fell open when you saw it, drawing a breath between your lips that caught in your throat.

It wasn't of anyone distinctive. Technically. The proportions gave away far more than he was comfortable with, but you'd already seen it now, and there was no taking that back. For weeks he'd been carving the image of two people embracing, one much taller than the other, who pulled the smaller's head into its' chest, an abstract hand petting the absent hair. The only features actually shown on the two were their eyes––closed, and quietly so, with no strain or note of fear.

He let you stare until he grew uncomfortable with your silence, which ended up happening rather quickly as he boiled in his own blushing.

"What do you think of it?" He asked in a voice that nearly cracked.

"I... it is beautiful," you murmured, your hands going lax around the instrument.

You reached forward as he handed it to you, and you held it with such a tender, careful touch that Ahk wished for a moment he was the statue instead. It was a very long moment that stretched into near painful yearning.

"This is what you made in the Shamiyah?" You said, tearing your eyes away from the figures to meet his gaze.

"Yes, well.. I... I had a lot of time," he partway mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his gift to you. There were edges and areas he could've added better detail.

"And I had a lot of time," you said with a chuckle. "But I did not make any thing. It is beautiful, Aganu."

Burning desire to hear his name. His true name. Not once had you uttered it in any way not befitting a stranger.

"Thank you," he choked out after forcing down the words you're beautiful.

How pathetically cliche, how his cheeks burned even brighter yet, his imagination just barely reigned in by his common sense. He couldn't just kiss you––you depended on him for safety to get to a new home after your last became intolerable, and breeching that trust wasn't something he was so readily prepared to do.

So instead he looked at you, ignoring how his gaze always fell to your lips, ignoring how he leant into you without ever having to feel your touch. Pathetic, he thought, and drew himself back, restraining his rampant thoughts. It all faded as you plucked at the strings, the hum of it filling up the space between you with warmth. Stars that crested your face fell to the earth in the form of fireflies that floated around you.

But you wouldn't sing. You looked to him, waiting for him to start, and giggling when he remained in his strange trance.

"You are the singing, yes?" You said quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping servants below the rooftop.

"Oh," he said, his back straightening. "Um, alright."

He recalled many of the poems and songs he'd heard at festivals, as well as the more popular ones sung in the house of life. His eyes flickered up to the red dot on your forehead above your brow.

"My love is one and only, without peer, lovely above all Egypt's lovely girls," he began to sing, keeping as quiet as you kept your playing. "On the horizon of my seeing, see her rising, glistening Goddess of the sunrise star; bright in the forehead of a lucky year. So there she stands, epitome of shining, shedding light, her eyebrows gleaming darkly, marking eyes which dance and wander."

He let out a long sigh as he lay down, stretching his arms above his head before he released them, one falling on his stomach, and the other extended to you. You chuckled at his sleepy mannerisms, continuing to pluck thoughtlessly.

"Tired?" You asked.

"Yes," he mumbled, his eyes falling blissfully shut.

The wooden lute clattered against the mud roof before fabric shifted and you were lying next to him, balanced on your side to face him. He turned to you and opened his eyes. You were much closer than he thought.

Neither of you said a word; silence in the hazy stare between you. Ahk only noticed his brow was knotted when it began to ache, at which point he also realized he'd raised his hand, and the back of his fingers were tracing down your cheek. No going back now––you still stared at him head-on, blinking slowly as he drew in a shaky breath.

His fingers drew the rest of the way down to your jaw, melting him at the soft warmth of your skin.

You're going to drive me mad.

[midnighter13]

the world in mutable delight

Y'all I'm so full of feelings. So many of them. Anyway I've been shouting about Caleb using his Transmuter's Stone on Molly to anyone who will listen for actual years so now, please have more soft pre-widomauk feelings about it.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31672169

The process of recovery, Caleb knows, can be a strange one. Of course, there is hardly anyone stranger than the singular Mollymauk Tealeaf, to begin with. Between the circumstances of his deaths, his lives, and all the magic that brought him back to them, it is hardly a surprise that he needs some time to gather up all the patchwork pieces of himself again. Caleb has no doubt that he will reclaim everything he wishes to, in time; after all, he has never known anyone better at creating beauty from shattered glass. The massive stained-glass tribute within his tower is as close as Caleb could come to capturing the artistry with which Molly created his style and his life and his whole self, and seeing him in vivid, vibrant life again has reminded Caleb that even his best effort could never possibly do him justice.

It is best that way, though. Mollymauk Tealeaf should never be captured in something so still as glass, so static as paint. A whirling dervish of color and laughter and terrible ideas and sheer wonder needs a living canvas to flourish, and thanks to a miracle, he has that chance again.

 One day soon perhaps, Caleb would like to ask Molly about the decor of the tower. He is still fond of his best effort, the beauty that Molly’s memory lends to his library, but it needn’t be the same forever. It would be equally wonderful to listen to Mollymauk create something new, to see if Caleb can create with magic what Molly’s endless font of color and bullshit can imagine.

… Of course, that would require Caleb to overcome the way his mind goes blank every time he thinks about approaching Molly. There are so many things he wants to say, needs to say where Molly can hear him this time, but he doesn’t seem to have the language to express the maelstrom of emotions trapped inside his chest. There is so much happiness and relief and affection and amusement and delight and and and— 

And it is all stopped at the back of his throat by the sharp point of the memory that springs up every time, the fact that the manifestation of all of Caleb’s magic, all of his drive and talent and hope and hunger, failed when Molly needed him. Again. Nine months ago, on Glory Run Road, Caleb’s magic was not enough to keep him alive. And two days ago, in the crumbling city in the Astral Sea, Caleb’s magic was not enough to bring him back.

So. There are a few things he must grapple with himself, before he can indulge in everything he wants to say to Molly.

It has been fairly easy to hang back, so far. He has managed to distance himself enough from the celebrations to keep from spilling his heart across the ground at Mollymauk’s feet. Simply looking at him, vibrant and energetic again, is enough to sustain him—simply hearing his voice, the handful of words he speaks with endless inflections, is a feast when he has been starving. So Caleb stands a handful of feet away at all times, and watches the rest of his family hug and touch and reconnect until his eyes go dry.

The first night of their return to the Material Plane would have been no good, anyway. With how tired they all are, how nearly broken and still very bruised each and every body among them is, it is not the time to show Molly around the whole tower. There will be time for that later, always time for that later, to his greatest elation—later, he will take Molly by the hand and show him everything that he built, every piece of his heart that he conjures to house his friends, his family. He will show him that no matter the time that passed, he kept Molly safe in his mind and gave him a place here, always waiting for him to come home. 

But that will have to wait until Caleb’s hands no longer shake with the phantom weight of his Transmuter’s Stone; and besides, he would have to wait anyway until Molly and Yasha willingly part from each other, and those two certainly have shown no signs of budging from each other’s sides, not through the exhausted pile the (whole, finally whole) Mighty Nein slept in that first night, nor at meals with the welcoming Clay family the next day, nor the hours full of odd conversation and new acquainting and re-familiarizing that followed. There has been plenty to occupy Molly upon his return, more than enough to let Caleb sit outside of arm’s reach and drink in everyone else’s stories, and pretend that his heart has not leapt every time Molly’s bright, lively eyes have turned to him and lingered in return.

Now, basking in the afternoon sun on the second bright day since their family saved the world and was made whole, Caleb knows that he should be taking more action to recover his arcane stores. But each time he tells himself that he will get up and look for a suitable stone, his throat becomes tight again. He makes excuses to Essek, to Veth, when they ask: they are safe here in the Grove so he does not need the protection it grants him; they are among a family that seems very partial to glowing crystals as light sources, so he is in no rush to regain the darkvision he lost with the Eyes; why bother to make himself quicker to move, when they are all enjoying a well-earned rest? Neither of them question him further on it, though there is deep understanding in Essek’s eyes and a shrewd worry in Veth’s. They let him lie back and look up at the endlessly-shifting canopy of green, and try to reorganize his thoughts in peace.

Someone, however, does not abide by that peace. Only a half-hour into his meditation, and having made very little progress in unsnarling his tangled heart, Caleb hears the soft sound of bare feet on moss approach, and stop beside him. When he turns his head, there, of course, is Mollymauk.

“Magician,” Molly says firmly, and plunks himself down on the ground beside Caleb’s head. He settles in, wiggling his toes in the moss. One foot has nails freshly painted in bright teall, the other in charming pink. Both colors, of course, suit him perfectly. Then he says, “Mister Caleb,” with a widening grin, and Caleb’s breath catches once more in his throat.

“Hallo, Mister Mollymauk,” he says in return, the smallest greeting that settles sweetly on his tongue. He pushes himself upright, and turns to face Molly in kind. “Your words are returning to you, it seems.”

“Some,” Molly says, and the word that is not empty is accompanied by a decisive little nod. It takes effort, it seems, but Mollymauk has always been an obstinate individual. Regaining all his words may be like trying to pick up pieces of confetti one at a time, but if Mollymauk wants them back he will have the time to do so now. And hopefully, his friends can continue to help.

“That is very good to hear,” Caleb replies, and he cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face at Molly’s pleased expression.

“Magician,” Molly repeats, and holds out a closed fist between them. Caleb hesitates, unsure if this is a greeting or a request—then Molly shakes his hand a little, impatiently, and Caleb obligingly holds out his own open palm beneath it. Mollymauk’s tail swishes in broad strokes behind him, and he opens his hand to drop something into Caleb’s palm.

A blue-grey stone the size of a hen’s egg hits his palm with a soft sound. There is no ring around this one like his first, but when it catches the light it sparkles with countless tiny deposits of mica, glittering like stars. Caleb blinks at it, then up at Mollymauk. “Ah… thank you?”

“Magician,” Molly insists; then, after a pause, “lucky,” accompanied by that little flicker of his fingers that he used many times before, whenever he mentioned how little he understood about magic or asked Caleb if he could cast a spell. And perhaps it is not elegant, no kind of official communication that even a Comprehend Language could parse, but Caleb understands him perfectly, and his throat stings as though he might cry.

“Oh,” he says, and stares down at the stone in his hand. “Th-thank you, Molly. How did you know…?”

“Joy—” Molly clears his throat, a quick little cough and a wrinkle of his nose that spells frustration with his voice. “Jester,” he says carefully, clearly, “told me. What—hmm. Happened. Empty—”

He takes a deep breath, seems to gather his thoughts. He reaches out and closes Caleb’s fingers around the rock in his palm. “Empty,” he says again, softer now. Then he says, “Caleb,” and brings his hand up and presses his lips to Caleb’s fingers.

Caleb’s heart is nearly tripping with how quickly it hums. His ears are hot, and he knows that the afternoon sun cannot be to blame in the pleasant shade of the Grove. “Molly,” he says, helplessly. “Molly, I—I’m sor—”

Molly’s tail smacks gently into his knee. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Caleb, somewhere between playful and warning. Caleb swallows hard. He takes in the sight of Mollymauk’s face before him, and memorizes the new weight of the stone in his hand.

“Ja, okay,” he manages. “I can use this, Molly. Thank you.”

“Ja, ja,” Molly says, grinning wide and cheeky once again, and the laugh that bursts from Caleb feels like lightness, like relief, like forgiveness.

Molly is still smiling at him, his tail tapping softly against the moss. He releases Caleb’s hand from his grasp, the stone safely inside. Then he puts one hand up and crooks his finger at Caleb, in a universal gesture of come here.

Obligingly, Caleb leans forward, narrowing the space between them and trying very hard not to blush all the way to the roots of his hair. Molly puts his hand on the side of Caleb’s face—warm, his touch is so warm and firm and real again. It’s almost enough to distract him, enough that it takes him by surprise when Molly leans forward and kisses him firmly on the forehead. Then he lingers there, and Caleb lets his eyes close just for the moment as he memorizes the feeling of being here, with Mollymauk Tealeaf, safe and happy once more.

When Molly sits back, he folds his hands in his lap, contentment written so plainly across his face that he hardly needs the words to say it. Caleb thinks of five things he could say, a dozen, a hundred possibilities like fragments of fate. But Molly only has so many words to give, and it is better, for right now, that Caleb can speak his language in return.

He holds up his free hand and crooks his finger at Mollymauk in the same gesture of come here. Molly’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his tail patters rapidly against his shin—but he leans forward, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips, just enough to show the dimples in his cheeks and the light dancing in his eyes. Caleb puts his hand to Molly’s cheek, and gives in to the temptation to run his thumb gently along the vibrant peacock feather there. Molly’s smile grows wide, showing teeth and crinkling the corners of his eyes, as Caleb leans forward and presses his lips gently to Molly’s forehead. He holds him there for a long moment, savoring the warmth of his skin and the once-again inescapable whiff of sandalwood and incense.

Words are few and far between, right now, but words are not the only thing they need. For now there is touch, and there is warmth, and there is magic, and there is Molly. And for anything else, there will be time for that later. 

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan. 

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?”

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that��� surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely.  In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?”  Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole.  The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes.  For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?” 

“Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder. 

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style  of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”  

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

[the-lady-writes-what]

20. Tenya Iida 

Theme: Vampire, Southern Gothic

Kinks: Outdoor sex, biting (duh), slight blood kink, mild spanking,  mild punishment play, brat calling

All underaged characters are aged up. Tenya is 18+. Don’t come for me unless I send for you.

(The original Master List will change slightly from story to story. I keep adding stuff that I did not put on the original list)

Masterlist

You closed the ornate French doors behind you and stepped out into the night. The evening was sticky with the high humidity, but it was better than the sweltering heat inside. You fanned yourself with a silk fan and wandered into the garden. Cicadas hummed wildly in the trees while crickets chirped in the grass. In the air hung gardenia, wisteria, and homegrown lemongrass. So much better than the cloying, choking smell of cheap perfume, and even cheaper cigar smoke. You were dragged here almost against your will. The only things you liked about the party were the cocktails and the lovely new cocktail dress you got to show off. It was a silk and chiffon dress that wrapped around your body like a second skin. Best of all, it was in your favorite color. 

Here in the deep south of Louisiana, the silk and chiffon were welcomed in the heat. The evening had cooled a great deal since the afternoon when you arrived at this southern palace. If it had been hosted at an actual plantation home, you would have chosen to wear your new favorite dress to a different venue. 

Thankfully, the house was less than fifty years old and was owned by your boss, who liked a certain amount of Americana, odd for someone who was Japanese. But who were you to judge Mr. Toshinori? 

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to walk into the night all by yourself. If quirks weren't bad enough, add vampires into the mix, and you have a world turned upside down. Before you ask, vampires were never real until someone had the misfortune of having a literal vampire-quirk. It spread by accent when that civilian had gone too long without sating themselves on living blood, they infected another. As it came to be known throughout the world in news and social media, the vampire quirk was passed through bites and the exchange of blood. The victim still kept their original quirks, but now they had to have blood to live, they can't step out into the sun unless the victims wanted serious burns, and they grew pale or gray like death, depending on skin tone.

But the party was too stifling.

Half the guests were strangers to you, friends of Mr. Toshinori. The other half of the guest list included people who just made you feel terrible. They weren't bad people, but they reminded you of a time when you had someone special. Tenya has been missing for two years since the vampire quirk first infected Japan. Though a lot of work had been done to quell the problem, many were still missing. One day he was there, fighting crime and protecting you and the city. The next, he was gone. Vanished. His family and agency didn't know where he'd gone, much to your horror. Two years later, there were more questions than answers.

The fresh air was necessary for you not to lose your mind or get plastered in front of Mr. Toshinori's friends. Tonight felt similar to summer evenings in Japan, so it wasn't out of place. You stepped further away from the house and squinted into the yard. A full moon pierced in between the branches and shed some light. You found a path that led out into an unfenced part of the yard. You weren't sure if Americans were fond of wide open backyards, or if the fancy house was built so far from the nearest neighbors, a fence seemed silly. You glanced over your shoulder, then continued. You didn't mind the grass tickling your legs, but it was the bugs treating you like an all-you-can-eat buffet. You found a pebbled path and took it to avoid all the bugs. Your heels weren't very high at all, so walking down the trail wasn't a significant feat. You circled the property, always making sure that you could still make out parts of the house.

The night grew longer. Sooner rather than later, someone was going to miss you at the party. Your quirk wasn't strong against most people, let alone someone infected with a vampire quirk. You think about going back but only think. The night air is so clear and breathable. You didn't even mind the bug bites and humidity. You made another circle around the house's property before your legs started to hurt. Behind a gardenia bush stood a stone bench perfect for you to rest. You sank down with a sigh. The smell of gardenias was almost too much before a new smell wafted towards you. It was a smooth, masculine cologne. You smelled it before and knew it well.

You sprang to your feet to follow the scent. It led you back around the house where no one in the windows could see you scurry through the bushes. The lights of the house slowly began to disappear the further you traveled. A finely manicured garden gave way to the wilderness. Moonlight and starlight guided you deeper still with frogs croaking around a small moss-covered pond. Moonbeams split between the branches of a weeping willow to outline the shadowed figure sitting at the base of the tree. You stopped in your tracks. Your heart started pounding.

The figure rose to their feet and turned towards you. A summer breeze brushed the leaves out of the way to reveal their full form.

"Y/N?"

Tenya's voice froze the blood in your veins. Tears welled in your eyes at the first intonement of his voice, and you took a cautious step towards him. Your legs shook to the point that you weren't able to stand any longer. Your heel snagged on an upraised root and sent you tumbled over. Tenya's superior speed let him catch you before you landed on the loamy ground.

"Are you alright?" Iida asked.

You balked. Your jaw dropped to the ground.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? What happened? Where have you been?" You had a thousand more questions. Instead, you chose to grab hold of his shirt and bury your face inside his chest.

His arms hesitantly wrapped around you. You breathed in his scent deeply. You missed this smell. Almost as much as you missed the man himself.

"I've missed you so much," you sighed.

"I…I missed you too," said Tenya.

You didn't bother to dry your eyes as you lifted your head to look up at him. Tenya's eyes glowed red in the dark. Gasping, you pulled away slightly. Tenya ground his teeth and turned his eyes away from you. You felt his arms slip away from you even though you still clutched his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I couldn't stop him. I wasn't trying to apprehend a criminal, but he bit me. I couldn't face my family or you after knowing what I became."

"Then, why are you here?"

"I made arrangements with Toshinori. I only wanted to see you one more time. I wanted to see how you were if you were eating right. If you moved on." Your heart sank. You reached up with both hands and held his face and turned it slowly over to yours.

"Move on? You hoped I moved on?" Your voice cracked at the insult. "All I wanted was to know what happened to you, Tenya. I love you, I don't care what you've turned into! You gave yourself up in the pursuit of justice. You're my hero, Tenya. How could I move on from you?"

You didn't give him a chance to make a rebuttal. You kissed him hard on the lips, licking and biting where you could. You both stumbled to the ground, Tenya being too distracted to stop the fall. You straddled his hips and held his head between your hands. Your tears watered his cheeks as you kissed his lips and each cheek, his eyes, chin, forehead, and both of his ears. You kissed him all over until his face was cherry red.

"Y-Y/N! Calm down, I understand! You, you love me. But there's something you need to know."

You stopped for a moment. More so to catch your breath than because he told you to. You wanted to kiss him all night. His eyes glowed red in the dark. Tenya leaned forward and braced his hands against the moist earth. As he sat up, you felt his hardened member poke between your cheeks. Tenya parted his lips. Two slivery fangs protruded from pinkish gums.

"I've been infected by the vampire quirk, which makes things like this…awkward. You have no idea how many nights I thought about you. Wondering if you would still want me after finding out I was infected. I wanted to go to you and," Tenya swallowed hard. "Do unspeakable things to you."

His face grew redder. The tips of his ears turned bright pink. You stifled yourself to keep from laughing. No matter how adorable you thought his face looked, that didn't make the situation any less severe. You needed to focus on what he was about to say.

"I found myself going to your apartment and thought about how your neck would feel against my new fangs as I thrust inside you. I wondered what you would sound like as I…fucked you and sucked your blood. I was afraid that you would think of me as nothing but a monster."

You reached behind your back, where Tenya's cock stood at attention. You wrapped your hand around him and pumped him through his clothes. This made the man beneath you buck his hips.

"Does this look like I think you're a monster?" You asked slyly.

Tenya grunted as you pumped him harder. You shifted forward a little, so you could unzip his pants pull it out. You couldn't tell whether it was the vampire quirk that made him so big and hard all of a sudden, or your administrative kisses were enough to make him rock hard.

In a flash, you were pinned to the willow tree, shielded from all view except for Tenya's. The wind was knocked out of you that you didn't get the chance to recover. The sounds of tearing fabric reached your ears before you realized that it was Tenya, your sweet Tenya, who was doing the clothes-ripping. Your silk panties were reduced to shreds by the time he was done with them. The seams of your dress were also ripped in his furor to get you to spread open for him. Tenya gave no warning before plunging right in. You moaned at how full you felt, how the veins of his cock rubbed you the right way. You tossed your head back as Tenya slammed his hips into yours. His teeth left indents in your shoulders and the tops of your dress, where it slipped from your shoulders. Tenya's speed and rough treatment made the willow tree shiver along with you.

"You're devious, you know," Tenya growled. "Fucking a vampire in the middle of the woods. You should be punished for having such a lewd mind."

Tenya held your legs wide open and pulled them taut behind his back. Your ankles instinctively crossed each other at the small of his back, and your heels dug into his flesh. Not that Tenya seemed to mind or notice. Tenya held you tight against him until there was no more space between you. In your lust-filled haze, you could no longer tell where you ended and where Tenya began. He pounded your cunt with the ferocity of a starving man at a buffet. You giggled how earlier you thought yourself an all-you-can-eat buffet for mosquitoes, and here you were being served up to someone who likely hadn't had sex for two years.

One of Tenya's broad hands came down against your thigh, turning it bright red with his handprint.

"Laughing…at a time like this, YN?" Tenya grunted with a deep thrust that kissed your cervix. "You should pay attention when you're getting punished."

If this was punishment, then you were going to be a very bad girl for your boyfriend.

"Mhmm, Tenya. Do it again. Fuck me harder, spank me more!"

Tenya slowed only to give you a stern look. His hips never stopped moving, and his cock was still heavily buried in you. He glowered at your sheepish smile.

"Is that how you want to play, little brat?"

You challenged him to a fight you could not win. Still buried deep within your inner walls, Tenya laid you out on the grass, hair and torn chiffon rumbled on the ground. He held your legs up to your chest and demanded that you hold them there. Your shoulders pressed into the dirt, but you didn't mind. Tenya resumed his seat in your warm walls and started stretching you out anew. This new angle was superb for reaching deep inside your cunt and hitting your cervix over and over again. Tenya clawed your body like it was his own toy to play with. Having never before seen this side of Tenya before, you moaned at the rough treatment. Your juices spread all over your lower belly, thighs, and the Tenya's pelvis. Stars danced in front of your eyes as you felt your whole body tighten. Your back arched taught like a bow. Your hands clutched the ground for support as you felt yourself falling. Tenya snapped his hips with enough strength to break your bones. Heavy ropes of cum warmed your walls and lower belly as it spread. You were utterly boneless despite Tenya slowly pumping more into you.

His head leaned down and pressed his lips against your throat. You felt the pinpricks of his fangs jut against your flesh, teasing and threatening at the same time. Slowly, you nodded your head.

Tenya waited for no more. He sank his teeth into as he started his pumping again. His thrusts were slower but harder. Each bone-shattering snap of his hips dragged you back up to that wonderful precipice you'd just fallen over. You moved your hips against him and wrapped your arms behind his neck. Tenya was careful not to take too much or too quickly. He suckled your blood with a strange gentleness that contrasted the harsh thrusting inside your womb. That only changed when he climaxed again, fangs and cock still fully sheathed inside you. You milked him while his mouth laved up the crimson rivulets.

You reached up to cling to his shoulders as Tenya carefully pulled away to avoid hurting you further. The ache in your legs was proof that you had never experienced the like before. However, it was a delicious pain. You vaguely remember Tenya rearranging your clothes and his before picking you up off the ground. You fell asleep in his arms, listening to the hum of cicadas.

[artificialqueens]

Just Like a Folk Song (Our Love Will Be Passed On), 1/3 (Trixya) - Pinkgrapefruit

A/N -

hi! I’m really excited for this!!! I started it back in the summer of 2020 and it’s been a labour of love for sure. I was initially dead set on waiting for it to reach its end before I posted but I want someone who isn’t me and ortega to enjoy it. I’m so, so proud of it and I really hope you enjoy it so please let me know and maybe I’ll actually finish this one.

Thank you to Jaz, Ortega and Frey who have endlessly supported me, egged me on and corrected the minutia of my grammar. This one is for you xoxo

[chapter 1. pirate wives]

*

part one. joy

please picture me in the trees i hit my peak at seven feet in the swing over the creek i was too scared to jump in

There is a girl in the trees. She is blonde and messy, and her knees have scratches that Trixie’s mama would never allow. She clambers through the branches in her wellies, light as a feather until she’s straddling the edge of a thick branch, white teeth glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Trixie is immediately jealous. She’s missing her two front teeth and although her mama straightens her dresses and tells her she’s very pretty - she’s not entirely convinced. The girl jumps down from the tree and hits the debris-littered floor with a soft thud. Her shoes are caked in mud and she runs a dirty hand through her hair in a way that makes Trixie’s skin crawl.

The day is warm, and Trixie’s mama had told her to spend it by the river near their flat. It’s overlooked by a wood, and the last man who pretended to be her daddy built a tire swing, so her and her brother could play down here when the sun makes it unbearable to be indoors.

The girl tilts her head and Trixie mirrors her, unsure. Her eyes are a crystalline green, the same colour as the lazy river, and she blushes as Trixie stares. The girl waves exuberantly.

“I’m Katya!” She introduces, pushing her hand forward for Trixie to shake. She sees her mama greet people like this, but it seems very strange. She cautiously moves her hand to meet it and they shake rather forcefully.

“Katya?” She repeats, almost a question, half-formed on her tongue.

“Yup! K-A-T-” she pauses, eyebrows scrunched as she tries to remember the next letter. The sun filters through the leaves, speckling her face with dots of light. “Y-A! Katya!”

Trixie giggles, cheeks flushing. She grips her pink corduroy dungaree dress, letting the soft fabric soothe her nerves. “My name is Beatrice,” she says, voice tight like a rope pulled taut. She is being polite. She is a good girl. Katya purses her lips, shuffling from one foot to another. “You can call me Trixie, though?”

Katya smiles, nods slightly. “I would like that, Trixie.”

She reaches out for Trixie to take her hand, and Trixie is slightly less hesitant this time. Katya’s smock blows in the slight breeze as she tugs Trixie forward, and the girl in the pink follows willingly.

but i, i was high in the sky with pennsylvania under me are there still beautiful things?

She ends up pulling her towards the tyre-swing and she holds Trixie’s cardigan as she wrestles up onto the tyre. Katya can only manage to push her for a few minutes before she wants her own turn, and Trixie makes her pull the swing as far back as she can, so there’s no chance she’ll end up in the river.

“How old are you?” Trixie asks as she holds the tyre patiently for Katya, who struggles in her wellies, despite being adept at climbing trees in them.

“I’m seven,” she announces proudly as she sits atop the tyre. She grips the rope tightly, so her fingers turn white and her brown smock is tucked under her thighs for grip. “My mama told me I look very old for my age.”

Trixie wouldn’t necessarily disagree. Katya looks bigger and certainly stronger than her. She is louder - more physical - and her hair is pretty. Trixie considers it all for a second.

“Okay,” she replies, pushing the swing gently, so its reflection ripples across the river. “I’m seven too.”

She pushes Katya gently for a few more minutes before Katya pipes up again. She’s more relaxed, fingers only barely hanging onto the rope.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Trixie?” The question makes Trixie squirm almost as much as the fact that Katya is now trying to hang upside-down above the river.

She gulps her anxiety down. “No,” she tells her, “I don’t really want one.”

Katya looks at her from upside down and smiles brightly. “boys are gross, Trixie,” she tells her sternly as if she’s had experience. She is steady in her convictions, and Trixie finds this admirable - she’s not sure if she has convictions.

Katya’s smock comes loose from under her thighs and Trixie looks away in shock as it exposes her almost naked body. Katya just giggles, her stomach expanding with laughter as she tries to grip with her legs and pull herself back up, so she is no longer exposed.

She twists her body slightly and manages to jump off the swing and onto the ground, watching as Trixie winces.

Katya puts her arms in the air. “I’m fine, look,” she tells her reassuringly. Curving her fingertips slightly she smiles. “RAWR!”

She chases Trixie through the horse fields until they end up on a street full of little stone cottages with flower boxes under the windows. Trixie stops when her mary janes hit the concrete and looks quizzically at Katya who’s stopped at a green door. She beckons for her to follow, and Trixie does.

sweet tea in the summer cross your heart, won’t tell no other and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you

Katya’s sister Anna is sitting in the living room with a jug full of sweet tea and ice that makes Trixie drool just thinking about it. She smiles, offering them plastic cups full of the sugary liquid that Trixie happily gulps down after hours in the woods. She goes to slip her shoes off by the door, but Katya waves her hand. “Keep ‘em on.”

Trixie shrugs and follows the messy blonde up a flight of wooden stairs into a little red room. It has a bed pushed up to the wall and a set of gymnastic rings that come down from the ceiling. Katya places her cup down on the nearest flat surface as Trixie cradles hers in her hands, and launches herself at the rings.

Trixie is astounded that Katya can push herself off the ground, arms locked straight. She jumps down and grabs the shorts off the bed, pulling them on (somewhat awkwardly) over her wellies. Trixie watches in wonderment, fixed in place on the carpet, so she doesn’t spread dirt as Katya swings around, flipping and tumbling, aided by the rings.

When she finally stops, they sit crossed-legged on the floor, sipping sweet tea.

“Will you be my best friend?” Trixie asks Katya sweetly - her tongue coated in tea and her body energised from the most fun she’s ever had. She picks at the lace on the top of her socks while Katya considers her offer.

“I can do that,” she tells her, voice earnest and honest.

“Deal. I think best friends braid each other’s hair.”

“That sounds good.”

your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to saturn passed down like folk songs the love lasts so long

“You can move now!” Katya announces after a painfully long time. Trixie gently pats the neat rows of hair on her head - it’s tender, and she scrunches her face up in response. She finds herself jealous - Katya is much better at braiding than she is, but she promised to teach her on the hand-me-down styling mannequin she got from her sister Anna.

“You’re better than me,” she effuses, hand splayed on the soft fabric of Katya’s smock.

“Yeah, well you have freckles,” Katya retorts, and Trixie nods because she makes a good point. “You can’t have everything, Beatrice.”

Trixie chews on her lips. She feels freer in Katya’s bedroom, there are no ghosts in the cupboards or angry ladies drying the washing in the sun. “Can you call me Trixie?” She asks. “I liked that better.”

Katya jumps up, pulling Trixie up with her. The sun makes her red walls glow, and they reflect onto her blonde hair.

“Okay, Trixie, do you wanna go on an adventure?”

Trixie nods and they barrel out of the bedroom and down the stairs, which creak pleasantly with every thundering step. Katya tugs her round the bend at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Trixie almost slams into the wall, but eventually they find Katya’s mama, Seraphine, in the kitchen making a salad.

“We’re going on an adventure!” Trixie exclaims, and Seraphine chuckles at them, ruffling Katya’s hair until the blonde scowls.

“Okay girls, stay safe,” she tells them, and they nod earnestly. “Are you staying for dinner?” She asks Trixie, and Trixie shakes her head sadly.

“My mama told me to be home for six.”

Seraphine smiles warmly and moves, so they can exit through the back door. Katya’s house backs onto a horse field and it makes Trixie feel like a butterfly - all warm and free in the sun and she never really wants to go home.

Katya sticks her arms out like she could fly if only she had the lift, and they run around playing aeroplanes for a little while. Trixie’s scuffed mary janes let her socks get wet from the dew in the grass and it makes her feel like she is a part of nature.

Katya takes off her wellies and the ground squishes under her toes.

and i’ve been meaning to tell you i think your house is haunted your dad is always mad and that must be why

Katya walks Trixie home to the grey flats on the edge of the town. They tower high above the little cottages - a relic of a revolution long gone - and cast hazy shadows in the late afternoon sun. In the shadows, Katya’s hair looks dull and Trixie’s dress looks clean, and it makes the hairs on Trixie’s legs stand up as a breeze whistles under her skirt.

“You live here?” Katya asks and she doesn’t mean it to sound mean, but the words still crackle in Trixie’s ears like dying embers. She bristles, standing up tall and proud like she’s always been taught to.

“Yes, I do,” she tells Katya almost haughtily - trying to channel her mama. Her hands firm around the squish of her hips and she purses her lips.

Katya frowns. “I’m sorry,” she voices, chewing the inside of her cheek, fingers clinging together behind her. “It looks like ghosts live here.”

This makes Trixie laugh, it’s soft and ladylike because she’s a lady, which in turn makes Katya laugh - loud and raucous.

“Good-bye, Kat-y-a,” says Trixie, her mouth rounding over the syllables. “Katya.”

“Good-bye, my best friend Trixie,” replies Katya with a wave and a nod before she skips back up the path towards the streetlamps. She steps inside the building and heads up the stairs, knocking three times on the door.

“Why are your shoes scuffed, Beatrice?” Is her first greeting and she turns her toes in an attempt to hide them from her mama.

“The forest, Mama,” Trixie responds, calm and quiet. Her brother is watching from the couch and he sticks his tongue out at her with a kind smile. “I met a girl named Katya.”

Her mama scowls, face tight and eyes sharp. “You let a girl named Katya touch your hair?” She asks, almost mocking as she picks up a braid and lets it fall back onto Trixie’s back. She sighs. “Go get ready for dinner and wash your hands.”

“Yes, Mama,” Trixie tells her dutifully before running off to her bedroom. She places the bobbles Katya used in her hair in her jewellery box.

and i think you should come live with me and we can be pirates then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet

They play pirates, skipping rocks on the river like cannonballs. Katya is Blackbeard with her macaroni necklace and her stolen clip-on earrings. She smiles sweetly and tells Trixie that she is Grace O'Malley, because she is pretty and male pirates were not pretty. Also because then they could have the best pirate wedding anyone has ever seen and this makes Trixie laugh so hard she accidentally throws her best skipping stone. Katya decides that she’s won, but she will share her treasure and they lay on the grass on the bank of the river.

Seraphine has been reading Katya a book on pirates, so the young girl parrots the information back to Trixie, who revels in the knowledge. She begs her brother Josh to read her that pirates books she’s borrowed from the library and the next day she comes back to the river and tells Katya that they are both women pirates.

“I am Grace O'Malley and you are Mary Reed,” she announces authoritatively. Katya frowns, head tilted so her blonde hair glows white in the sun.

“Can we still have the best pirate wedding though?” She asks, and Trixie squeezes her hand before jumping up.

“Of course!” She tells her like it is obvious. “We will just be pirate wives.”

Katya nods, because this makes perfect sense. “We will be pirate wives,” she consolidates. She pulls a stick out of the belt of her smock and holds it aloft. “TO BATTLE, PIRATE WIFE!” She screams so the horses in the next field are adequately prepared before running down the grassy bank, so her wellies get wet on the rocky shore of the river.

“To battle!” Trixie squeals, running after her with enthusiasm. She stops when the stones start because she doesn’t want to get her socks wet this time, but she watches as Katya jumps in the water.

'Best friend pirate wife,’ she turns over in her head. It sounds good.

and just like a folk song our love will be passed on

part two. discomfort

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

There’s only one middle school in the village. Its bricks are a rust-brown and rough like they’ve just been dug out of the ground. It used to be a factory town, so everything is covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust anyway, but this building manages to look particularly rugged. Trixie assumes the planters were at one point neat and trimmed, although they don’t seem to be anymore - wiry stems making their way up the walls. It’s not unwelcoming, Trixie just doesn’t really want to be there.

She pushes that down though, pulling her white long-socks back up past her knees and adjusting the way her backpack falls on her shoulders. She spots Katya loitering under the carefully positioned 'no loitering’ sign and smiles - picking up her pace so her mary-janes slip a little on the gravel-covered yard. Katya’s wrists are covered in the friendship bracelets they spent the summer weaving with Seraphine’s embroidery threads. She wears Trixie’s too - her mama threw the first one out with her brother’s holey socks.

They share a homeroom, and Katya makes sure they get two seats next to each other, the plastic chairs sweating in the late August heat. Trixie’s thighs stick to them against her will and she finds herself gently prying her thighs away from the seat every so often as Katya laughs in her loose jeans.

Katya has always been the one who preferred practical fashion. Her brown smocks have turned into tank tops and jeans, and she’s only eleven, but Trixie thinks she dresses a bit like the boys from Grease. They’re older. Maybe, by then, Trixie will look like a Pink Lady. That’s what she wants, anyway.

They write notes on each other’s pencil cases while Mr Thompson gives them a rather hasty personal health lesson. Trixie worries at one point that she’s missing important information about periods or nail varnish, but Katya tells her that Anna can just explain it all to them, so they go back to doodling hearts in the margins of their brand new notepads.

At one point, Trixie chances a look around the room, the walls are sparse and the paint peels, but there’s one poster that makes her tummy feel weird and she almost points it out to Katya, but the other girl is too busy making a paper plane.

The poster tells her homosexuality is a sin.

She wonders if pirate wives are exempt.

i’ll get you out on the floor shimmering beautiful and when i break it’s in a million pieces hush

In Biology, Katya is seated next to a boy named Maxwell. He’s Jewish and sweet enough, and they talk about his babushka’s chak-chak. Katya remembers the sweet, doughy treat from her times visiting her baba back in Russia, and she almost asks why his name doesn’t sound like hers, because he sounds awfully American even though he can pronounce her last name.

Most of the teachers can’t. It’s the third day and they’ve already resorted to Zamo. She’s too used to it to be hurt.

Mrs Dodds comes in through the teacher’s door and drops a textbook on the desk to get everyone’s attention. She’s a mousy sort of woman - light hair cut to a bob that stops at the nape of her neck. Her blazer is tweed and also oversized, and it reminds Katya of the jacket her dad wears to job interviews.

Dodds starts scratching her name onto the board in white chalk and the sound sends shivers down the class’s spines.

“Can anyone explain to me where humans came from?” She asks the room, and the eleven-year-olds cower from the cadence of her voice.

A brave girl called Monique waves her hand, but Dodd’s picks on a boy called Jaremi instead and he quivers under her gaze. “Sex?” He suggests, tone light like he’s walking on eggshells and all of the preteens burst into giggles. The poor boy turns the same shade as summer poppies, and Katya feels terrible. Unfortunately, her face must betray this because a crooked finger is pointed in her direction. She shifts awkwardly.

“Evolution,” she musters with enough confidence that it doesn’t sound like a question, and while the class looks vaguely impressed with her, Mrs Dodds does not. She scoffs.

“A fallacy,” she claims, stalking back to the chalkboard with her sleeves crumpled by her elbows.

The chalk scraped on the board, spelling out a word: God. Katya gulps. She’s pretty sure god didn’t make humans. They came from fish - at least that’s what her encyclopedia told her.

“God created humans,” she announces to them all, smiling faintly, “and it’s people like you, sinner,” she points at Katya again, “who make him regret it.”

when no one is around, my dear you’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you Hush

They square dance in gym class and even though there aren’t enough boys, the girls aren’t allowed to dance with each other, so Trixie ends up sat on the bench while Katya and Max twirl in circles - blatantly flaunting the teacher’s instruction. Her long black skirt is patterned with white skulls and flares prettily around her ankles, exposing her red Doc Martens.

Katya leads, stepping backwards while Max steps on her toes - his shorter stature making for quite the picture (one that makes Trixie snort into her elbow).

She is not jealous. Jealousy is too strong, what she feels is subtle - like pulling on her ribs, shifting them under her skin until her heart hurts. Her heart does hurt. Maybe she’s not used to Katya having other people, so what - they said they would stick together and they will. She is confident.

When the dance ends, Katya bows - waving her arm so it circles under her and allowing her messy hair to fall over her face before flicking it back dramatically. She smiles at Trixie, and Trixie smiles back for the split second before she is assigned to the tall, lanky boy at the back of the gym. His hands are clammy and damp and strangely cold, and Trixie tries to hold them as lightly as she can, confident that Katya’s would be softer, warmer.

The boy smells strange, his hair falls over his eyes, and he stutters when he talks to her, making a poor effort of leading her and standing on her feet more than she stands on his. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, too busy screaming at the blonde girl who refuses to dance with the boy who has eczema.

They dance in circles rather than squares and Trixie’s mind is running in triangles rather than circles.

i know they said the end is near but i’m still on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you

Trixie finds herself giggling with the girls Katya called plastic in her English lesson. She doesn’t share it with Katya and she didn’t want to sit alone, so she positioned herself at the back with Gigi, Pearl, and Courtney, who don’t seem to have an appreciation for Keats, but then again neither does Trixie, unless Katya is reading it to her in the hammock behind the cottage.

Gigi is dating a hippie boy from the next town over. She refers to him as Crystal, and the other girls go along with it, so Trixie doesn’t ask. Pearl wants to smoke weed with the high school boys that hang around the skate park, but she’s promised her brother that she won’t until she’s fourteen. Courtney is from Australia. They seem interesting.

Trixie doesn’t understand why they’re plastic.

But Katya drags her by the arm out of school one day ranting about how they’d called her names like 'dyke’ for not having a boyfriend.

“Boys are dumb,” she’d told them proudly, “I don’t want one.”

“Boys are dumb,” Trixie agrees solemnly, sat on a wall near her flat as Katya paces. She kicks a stone into the road and watches it skitter to a halt before sitting next to Trixie with a huff. “Sometimes girls are dumb too,” Trixie reminds gently, and Katya puts her head on her shoulder.

“You’re not dumb,” Katya tells her, “I don’t understand why they have to be.” She sounds so dejected that Trixie wants to bundle her up in blankets and make hot cocoa until she’s smiling again.

“Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re going to love it,” Trixie quips, and it does make Katya chuckle at her best friend’s antics.

“You did not just quote friends at me,” she jokes, pressing a finger into the softness of Trixie’s side. Trixie jumps off the wall in shock as Katya cackles to herself and sticks her tongue out.

“I hate you,” she tells her, smiling widely.

“I hate you too.”

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i can change everything about me to fit in

They walk the final stretch to Trixie’s flat, hands swinging between them. Katya’s hand is clammy, but it is warm, and it grounds Trixie’s thoughts from where they are spinning. She knows people can be horrid, her brother once told her that 50% of the town is assholes and 50% is assholes you can deal with, but knowing and realising are two different things, and maybe she just hadn’t realised.

She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s more careful from then on. She giggles with boys and she doesn’t really hold Katya’s hand outside of the woods and the fields, where they are free to be whatever they want. And maybe she wants to hold Katya’s hand. Maybe.

There is a boy called Ben who hangs around the library. He seems sweet and small and kind, and she sits at his table while she tries to work out algebra. He plays baseball, but he mostly paints and makes jokes, so everyone seems to like him and Trixie admires that.

She appreciates the non-judgemental silence as she struggles over Pythagoras one evening. Katya is at art club, and Trixie doesn’t feel like having to do the work in the flat where the heating is broken, so she bundles herself up in the library and watches Ben eat a chocolate muffin over the top of his book. He smiles warmly at her and offers a chunk, which she takes gladly - savouring the way it seems to melt in her mouth.

"That’s good,” she mutters appreciatively, mouth full and all too aware of the watchful eye of the librarian.

“I made them!” Ben responds, his cheeks flushing with excitement.

“And they’re not going to poison me?” Trixie asks as he offers her a full one from a Tupperware in his bag. He sticks his tongue out, shaking his head, before ducking down as the librarian looks their way.

you are not like the regulars the masquerade revellers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

“I think Ben has a crush on me,” Trixie postures, approaching it slowly like one approaches a kitten stuck on a road. Katya, in many ways, is comparable to a scared kitten - whether it be her anxious quiver or the mess of her hair - soft, but tangled in a knot on her head.

Katya’s eyebrow quirks, though her mouth stays set. “I thought we said boys are dumb?” She tells Trixie firmly, feet planted in the damp October soil.

Trixie shifts her toes on the crunching leaves and the noise ripples through the forest.

“They are,” she agrees, quietly, “I don’t want one.” She feels like she’s having to defend herself and she doesn’t really know why. Her cheeks prickle red with heat.

Katya scowls, and Trixie’s quivers on instinct before pulling her shoulder back and standing up straight. The clouds rolling overhead seem greyer, but maybe that’s just a trick of the light.

“You can’t control who I’m friends with, Kat,” she advocates, the telltale signs of anger slipping into her tone as the pitch heightens with every word. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her palms so she can feel a little sense of security, and Katya’s face softens.

“I know,” Katya sighs. She falls down onto a log, brushing some of the bark off the edges. She shifts as it scrapes her legs through her trousers, but eventually settles, looking mournful. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Trixie holds her hands in her own, feeling the clammy warmth.

“I promise you won’t.”

hush

part three. comfort

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Trixie is fourteen, holding hands with Ben as they eat ice creams from the parlour down the street. Ben dots some of his onto her nose, and she flushes pink and flustered as he wipes it off with the pad of his thumb. He’s grown taller, face chiselling ever so slightly, although his cheeks remain doughy and soft. She has to refrain from imprinting her fingertips into the pale flesh just to watch it bounce back. She’s grown into herself, breasts growing until her mama had to take her to the department store, an hour away, to buy training bras in sizes larger than the local shops have in stock.

She blushes and goes back to her ice cream, the strawberry sauce dripping into her knuckles so she has to run her tongue along them, leaving only the faint hint of pink food-colouring trailing across her hand.

He presses his lips to her cheek, tongue skimming the tip of her soft serve on the way, and grins like a Cheshire cat. She relents, placing her lips on his for a peck, and his lips taste like chocolate sauce. It’s sweet.

It took her a few years to finally accept his constant asking her out, but they spent ninth grade canoodling in the library, hand swinging between them and lips pressed to each other’s cheeks. It’s nice.

The girls she changes with for gym class tell her she must be in love, but she’s always thought that love would feel more like fireworks rather than popping candy. It’s pleasant. She doesn’t know if she should want more.

but i knew you dancin’ in your levi’s drunk under a streetlight, i

Ben wanted more. He dumps her for Kelly Mantle, a drama student famed for giving Brian McCook a blowjob behind the smoker shelter.

She cries into Katya’s paint-splattered denim jacket, the blonde’s fingers worming their way around the fullness of her hips until Katya’s holding her.

Trixie sobs in hiccups, and Katya’s sorrow rolls in waves. She’s held the girl so many times in their friendship, but they swore it would never be over a boy. And now Trixie is clinging to her like a liferaft in the ocean and Katya cannot help but pull her ashore.

Katya guides her over to the blanket she’d thrown on the warm grass, and they collapse onto its cushioning. Katya holds her until all her sobs muffle into croaks, and then there is silence.

They eventually roll onto their backs, Katya’s arm resting under the nape of Trixie’s neck, and although she’s losing feeling in her fingers - she wouldn’t move it for the world. The sun is warm, bright and even across their exposed stomachs in crop tops that Anna gave them when her chest grew too large. Katya’s hangs limply, but Trixie’s is stretching to her body and moves gently with each breath. Katya could watch the hypnotic movements until the sunset.

The river at the bottom of the verge babbles softly. There’s a heron in it, tall and proud and searching eagerly for fish. Its beak hooks into the water and it pulls out a flapping anchovy - or so Katya tells her, fingertips painting the words into the skyline.

Sometimes Trixie feels like the heron, but most days, she supposes, she is the anchovy. She is only fourteen, but life is harder than she thought it would be. Heartbreak hurts more. Making daisy chains with a lifelong friend soothes the pain a little.

i knew you hand under my sweatshirt baby, kiss it better, i

The rips in Katya’s Levi’s let the grass brush her calves. She longs to pull Trixie up, drag her around on the grass till they’re dancing, but the sun is starting to burn orange on the horizon line and Trixie’s mam has never been one for letting her off curfew.

She tugs the blonde up, sleepy and satiated - brushes a thumb along the redness of her under-eyes. Trixie adorns her with a flower crown and in the headiness of the sunset, Katya blushes.

The sky goes from naphthol red to quinacridone. Trixie swings their hands together as they take the long road home. Their path is shaded by the trees, and a breeze causes goosebumps to appear all up her arms, so she tugs her sweatshirt on, and Katya carefully pulls her hair out of the back for her. She whispers something, but it is lost to the whistling of the leaves.

Sometimes Katya wishes they could go back to playing pirates. They could be pirate wives and gallivant about the woods, waving their sticks up high and pretending that they could always go home to each other. It would be easier, she muses, easier than enduring school with girls who call her a dyke and a lesbo and tell her not to look at them in gym class, when, really, she gets ready facing the corner. Pirate wives would be fanciful, but lovely nonetheless.

The softness of their footsteps stops as they reach the path to Trixie’s. It’s gravely and it crunches underfoot, but the streetlights cast shadows that make Katya yearn to dance with Trixie once more.

She gives in this time, pulling the younger girl into her arms so they can mock-waltz, imagining the streetlamps as spotlights and maybe their friendship as something more.

Katya’s hand slips onto the fullness of Trixie’s hip again, her skin hot under her cold palm.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya whispers, lips brushing the flyaways from Trixie’s ponytail. She cannot see the blonde blush, but she squirms a little in Katya’s arms and it makes her smirk.

“And you’re mine.”

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favorite

They kiss under that streetlight.

It may be the first, but it’s the sweetest and the quickest and the kindest too - lips brushing like a promise. Trixie can’t say what she’s promising, but she’s pretty sure she’d promise her life away just to taste cola off Katya’s tongue again.

a friend to all is a friend to none chase two girls, lose the one when you are young, they assume you know nothing

part four. deception

make sure nobody sees you leave hood over your head, keep your eyes down tell your friends you're out for a run you’ll be flushed when you return

Katya pads quietly along the line - her socks not quite keeping out the 3am chill. She’ll have to wait until she’s out of the door to put her worn converse back on - the squeak of the soles bound to wake the whole flat up. She resists the urge to skid - knowing she’ll hit the front door with a thud that Trixie will struggle to pretend is the wind. It’s a calm night.

She’s left Trixie in bed - the duvet twisted around her recumbent form like a snake. She wishes, for a second, to turn around and snuggle back into the warmth of Trixie’s side. To sling a leg back over the plush of her thigh and rest her head on Trixie’s chest.

Cuddling, she decides, is god’s divine creation. And so is Trixie.

She manages to avoid the creaking floor panel in front of Mama Mattel’s bedroom door, hugging the wall opposite just to make it out unscathed.

She locks the door with the key Trixie gifted to her over summer - pressed at a locksmith two towns over. Mr Lackerty in the village centre would have asked too many questions. Trixie paid for it with her allowance, stealing change from her Mama to take the bus there and back. She’d gifted it to her in a little shoebox stuffed with pulled-apart tissue. Katya has cried.

Slipping on her shoes in the hall outside, she sighs in both relief and sadness. She leaves quickly.

take the road less travelled by tell yourself you can always stop what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots

Trixie shifts on the wooden desks - hoping her skirt won’t be covered in chalk and graphite when she gets up. She’s watching Katya, dark eyes trained on crystalline green, and Katya smiles up at her before focusing back on her canvas. Her tongue pokes out when she does something she deems good, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration.

The art room is empty except for the two of them and by the silence of the corridor outside, lunch isn’t over just yet. They’re safe.

It’s like their own little sanctuary, Katya with her paints and Trixie with her Katya. She gently brushes the girl’s fringe back whenever it looks in danger of getting messy - there’s already a streak of pink across the bridge of her nose, but Trixie doubts she’s noticed.

She starts humming to herself, an old song that she’s heard through the walls of the flat, and Katya looks up at her.

“You should sing more Trix,” she tells her, ever so earnest.

“You think?” Trixie tucks her hair behind her ears, eyes twinkling at the compliment.

“I do,” she muses, turning back to the painting so she can put a final stroke in place before she tugs on the edge of Trixie’s skirt.

Trixie brushes a hand at her, hoping there won’t be painted fingerprints on the corduroy before coming to stand behind Katya. She wraps her hands around her waist and balances her chin on Katya’s shoulder before finally allowing her eyes to fall on the canvas.

It’s the river. Their river.

And they’re on the banks.

Together.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares

Trixie turns sixteen in February. Her birthday is celebrated by the world even if they don’t realise it, pink hearts adorning every establishment in town. She spends the day with Courtney, as Pearl is smoking weed with her boyfriend from city college. He’s a forty-minute bus ride away on a good day, but Pearl says the sex is good, and Trixie just blushes softly because she shouldn’t know what Pearl is talking about, but she does.

She’s okay with it, though, spending the day without Pearl. She and Courtney get smoothies from the 'healthy’ diner that Courtney’s been going on about and talk about boys, and Trixie makes up most of her opinions, but that’s okay.

She decides that she’ll be attracted to Mathew because he’s tall and he’s got the same cheekbones, as Katya so she can just talk about that. Courtney’s raving about this guy called Danny that she wants to be friends with (make out with), apparently he’s in a band and he sings, and that makes Courtney positively ravenous for him.

They part ways after Courtney gives her the charm bracelet she and Pearl bought. It’s silver and has a little heart charm on it, but Courtney tells her not to worry, they can buy more.

It jingles, but it’s not as comfortable as the woven friendship bracelets she and Katya made when they were eleven.

Katya meets her by the river and they walk through the woods hand in hand till they reach the clearing where she’s laid out a picnic blanket.

They lay on it together, looking up at the sky and holding hands through their gloves.

“We met here,” Katya ponders, as she allows herself to get lost in the smell of cherries on Trixie’s breath.

“Huh,” Trixie replies, placing a gentle kiss on Katya’s nose, “I guess we did.” A blush spreads across her cheekbones and she feels the heat in her chest as she remembers the past few years.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya tells her, a whisper in the wind.

“And you’re mine.”

it’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times

They go through a rough patch. They’re only seventeen, it’s their god-given right to, and they’re hiding a secret that’s burning them both, slowly, but surely.

Katya spends more time with Danny and his band, and Trixie spends more time with Courtney and Pearl and Gigi and her boyfriend, who transferred at the end of last year. He’s got a mullet, and it’s confusing, but apparently it’s in fashion, so Trixie doesn’t try to argue.

They drift apart a little bit. It’s the kind of drifting where Trixie stares at Katya across the corridor - watches a boy with eyeliner compliment her rings in front of their lockers. Katya stares at Trixie too - watches her when Courtney and Pearl aren’t around to call her a dyke, and maybe she’s still hurt that Trixie chooses to be their friend.

She wonders what would happen if they knew where Trixie’s proclivities lie.

She slips a note into her locker, telling Trixie to meet her in the art room, 6th period on Thursday. It’s bound to be empty, the rest of the school busy with summer term exams and home study. She tells herself that she’ll wait till then. She can wait.

Trixie looks nervous when they meet, she’s pulling at one of her nails - the glossy pink peeling off.

“You wanted to see me?” She asks, voice low and cautious, and it breaks a little part of Katya that she doesn’t even realise is shattering.

“I’ve missed you,” Katya responds, honest and raw. She’s twisting her fingers together too, subconsciously mirroring Trixie, or whatever Danny was trying to tell her about psychology. Trixie nods slowly.

“I’ve missed you too,” she agrees, gulping air like she’s drowning. The tension is sucking all the air out of the room, but she’s only just noticed it’s ugly form. She manages a smile, and it’s softer than she thought she could muster.

“I love you, you know?”

Katya frowns, and it makes Trixie back into the table she’s been stood in front of.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya says, and suddenly the silence feels like it’s been shattered.

“Wh-” Trixie stutters, feeling like the air has been sucker-punched out of her lungs leaving her winded.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya repeats plainly, her eyes suddenly emptier than Trixie’s ever seen them. She’s gripping the table behind her so hard that her knuckles have gone white - gathering all her resolve because she’s sure she’ll crumble if she lets go for a second.

“Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“You don’t.”

“Just because you’ve decided you can’t accept it.” Trixie’s indignant now, she wants to scream and shout and yell, but most of all - she just wants to understand.

“You don’t love me,” Katya says again. “You say you do, but you can’t. This hasn’t meant anything to me.” It’s a lie. She watches Trixie crumble and then pick herself back up again all in the space of a few seconds.

“You know what, you can go fuck yourself.” She throws it out there and watches it detonate - the harshest words she’s ever said to Katya.

She turns to leave, inhaling deeply to try and keep the tears in her eyes instead of streaming down her face where they want to be.

“Dyke,” she mutters as the door slams.

She leaves, and Katya finally falls apart.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else

[1derspark]

Ok last one I promise,,, Sun!Joe and Moon!Nicky honeymoon in Malta post events in TCOD 👀👀👀

Kellin I love u, you have sprung Hala from my mind. I’ve already gifted this to you on ao3 but I'm doing it AGAIN cause you deserve it. Here is a post-TCOD ficlet, piled on with much fluff. The smut can come later...possibly...

Here is the link for anyone who wants to read on ao3! 

Hala’s morning chores in the house consisted of thus. She was woken up by her older brother, Bilal, who often thumped her on the forehead to bring her out of sleep. Hala did not enjoy waking up at dawn, but he needed her to help feed their chickens now that he took frequent trips with their father on their boat in the harbor.

He could not do everything himself he would say to her, as she blinked and yawned while the sky blushed pink above them. She was old enough now to take care of his chores.

“Why are they your chores then?” was her usual response. He’d swipe for her head but Hala was fast, and Bilal didn’t really mean it, she’d giggle as he chased her through the coop-yard in the morning, chicken seed falling between her fingers while they played.

Afterward, she’d go into the kitchens where her mother would hand her some warm bread made before dawn. If Hala was lucky there would be honey to go with it, worth the lingering grubbiness on her fingers she would retain for the rest of the day.

With her bread scarfed down, her mother would lead Hala out of the house to the small cart in front of the orchard. Their mule was hitched to it, the back laden with crates of oranges and limes and lemons and grapefruit, that the workers had picked from the orchard yesterday. Hala could see the now bare trees behind her.

With Hala settled, and Bilal sprawled out in the cart with a blade of grass poking out between his teeth, their mother would urge the mule along for the ride down the hill into the city where they’d sell their wares.

The market square for the island of Malta was lively even before it officially opened, flush with scurrying merchants and cooking fires. The smell of flower oil, cured meat, alcohol from the open seated bars all battling for dominance in the air.

Her father has their fruit stall prepared long before his wife and children arrived, greeting them with open-arms and tired eyes but a smile and often a spare orange, one that had fallen from their display now too bruised to sell, for Hala to snack on for lunch.

He’d kiss his wife, hug his daughter, and lead Bilal down to the shipyard where they were to meet the ships coming in to export their crop.

Her mother said it was time that Bilal learned the trade if he was to take over for her father when he was older.

When Hala asked what she would be doing when she was Bilal’s age, her mother said she could choose herself. Bilal did well in his numbers, he had a memory for those kinds of things like their father did.

Hala was more interested in the groves. The carts of fruit piled board to board with oranges bright as suns, limes green like the water in the sea caves. Her favorite days were weekends because then they headed out to the orchards themselves to check on the crop. She could spend days in the tangled roots of the trees, her hands black from the soil, the farm dogs nipping at her heels, jaws snapping for chunks of fruit.

Hala would like to do that maybe.

But at nine years old she could not yet choose, and instead sat on a wooden stool behind their fruit stall double counting the coins for her mother as the market came alive, and their customers came looking for fruit.

It was about lunchtime when the strange man came by again. Hala, who was usually content to spend her lunch break winding through the other market stalls buying a toy or sweet treat, kept herself planted in her seat as the man came by.

“Good afternoon, Nicky,” her mother said to the strange man, hauling over a small basket of dark blood oranges, their skins a bright burnt orange.

“Good afternoon, Isra,” Nicky said with an incline of the head. He was paler-skinned than most of the people on the island, but their city was full of all kinds. This was not why he was strange.

Nicky came to visit them every week for his oranges, just like every other customer with a schedule for the market. Hala’s mother liked him, he was polite, and paid promptly, often staying to chat for a few minutes about new recipes he was making. He seemed fond of desserts, or his husband was, whom they had yet to see in person.

Hala followed after him once a few weeks ago, after he’d left his coin pouch sitting on the market counter and her mother had told her to return it to him before he disappeared.

Nicky was grateful to take it and gave her a spare copper coin for her trouble, but that was after she’d found him in an alleyway with a cat.

Light had been shining from his fingertips and reflecting on the wall for the cat to bat at.

He didn’t seem bothered by her seeing it, maybe if she’d said something, but she was too busy being slack-jawed, the coin pouch extended out from her body in an awkward offering.

He’d left soon after, and Hala returned to the stall trying to figure out if the man who bought their oranges was some kind of witch.

Hala had heard of such strange creatures before. On the island, they had their own thoughts on gods and monsters, but Hala’s family thought little of them only in that they hoped the trees were healthy and the rains good and whatever was out there that might help in such things was happy.

Bilal had a storybook he liked to read some nights to her, one from the mainlands. He’d read it for fun, as Bilal liked reading just as much as he liked doing his numbers, but he’d also read them to scare her sometimes.

Tucked into his side Bilal would tell her the tales of the sea and earth goddesses, how the mountains shook when they were angry, the seas swallowing ships and spitting them out as wooden skeletons on a deserted beach.

He told her stories of how the sun and the moon gods warred in the forests, leaving ice and fire in their footsteps when they were angry. How they could walk among us as men, but there would be things about them that were not.

A flick of the light on a wall, a hand extended that was too warm to the touch, the sound of the sea in your ears when the beach was far away.

Nicky, their buyer of oranges, played light-games with the alleycats on the wall. Hala tried to forget it, but after his next few visits, she would follow him and watch… for whatever he was doing.

Luckily Nicky came by late enough into her lunch hour that her mother didn’t mind Hala wandering off after the man into the thick crowd. He was easy to spot if Hala kept her eye on him, with his long nose and his even longer sword that he kept hanging down at his side. It was of a more foreign design, people on the island preferred shorter one-handed weapons. Hala did not think she could lift it with two.

But if Hala wandered from following the tall brown-haired head of Nicky, tempted instead by the smell of roasted nuts or a pretty turquoise necklace she might like for her birthday, Nicky would be gone. She’d spend what was left of her lunch hour searching for him, only to return to the stall stomping, grumpy, and empty-handed of more evidence.

Hala strengthened her resolve. She demanded Bilal read her more of his god-books at night, and though he seemed confused by her demands he did not protest.

She settled in beside her brother to absorb as much information as possible. She would catch Nicky tomorrow.

~

It happened entirely by accident. Hala was lucky she didn’t kill herself, but the tenacity of a nine-year-old could not be forestalled, and especially not Hala’s.

It was approaching summertime on the island, and the weather was picking up in its heat, though it was damp and humid most days. It was hard not to feel like she was covered constantly in water, but that did not stop her mission.

Nicky came by one morning for his fruit, looking rather composed compared to everyone else in the market who was sweating and stained in the heat. There wasn’t a wet spot on him, he was practically glowing, happy as can be.

He conversed with her mother for a while as he usually did, before heading off. Hala followed soon after.

The other day Hala had found a small stairway to the rooftops on the edge of the baker’s store just opposite their stall in the market. She could see best from up there, and on the hot days, the rooftop caught the best breeze. She eyed this staired entrance-way now with a wide smile, an idea forming.

She made her way up to the rooftops before anyone could see her or scold her and ran to the side when she bent over to look for a mop of brown hair and a pale face in the crowd. She was fast, and lucky because Nicky had not gone far.

He had stopped at the jeweler’s where he held a pendant in his hand, some kind of smooth golden stone with silver metal warped around it in the shape of the sun. He haggled with the jeweler for a moment before handing over a few coins, pocketing the pendant and moving north out of the thickest part of the crowd.

Hala followed him over the rooftops.

It wasn’t easy but it was more efficient than trying to squeeze her way through the squished group of people packed in wall to wall buying and selling their goods. Hala was not very tall and people tended to shove and push her out of the way to get where they were going.

Hala could feel a creeping burn in her lungs as she jumped and darted from rooftop to rooftop, not knowing how long she could keep it up, following Nicky from above, and eventually the rooftops would run out. There would be some gaps she could not breach, and with the direction that Nicky was going, north out of the city to the neighborhood built into the sea cliffs, there would be no more buildings for her soon.

She didn’t have to worry about that problem because her next jump timed perfectly to where Nicky had slipped into an alleyway to cross one of the busier streets. She paid more attention to what Nicky was doing than where her feet were going and she fell.

But she did not hit the ground.

She landed in Nicky’s arms, and he was actually glowing.

Having caught her or not he looked just as surprised to see her there as she was to not be splattered across the alleyway. And when he realized that she could see his skin, which was, she realized, not just white but a medley of so many light colors coming in sparkles of rainbow that looked like a gemstone in the sunlight, he dropped her clumsily to the ground and backed up to give her space.

“You’re a witch,” was the first thing Hala said to him, dripping with a child-like tone of accusation.

“Ah, not quite. That is not the word I would use,” Nicky said apologetically. He’d dimmed himself down, looking almost normal again. A few alley cats had come out of hiding and were rubbing themselves along his legs looking for more light. Nicky must frequent this alleyway often to play with them.

“What word would you use then?”

Nicky hummed, an uncomfortable sound in his throat. He was not used to being asked these questions, which Hala thought was funny. She thought he was pretty obvious in his… otherness.

“I do not like being called a god,” he finally said, “but at home that is what people refer to me as.”

Hala considered this. She believed him. And Bilal’s books confirmed it. Her brother would not read her books full of lies. He was smarter than that. And she’d hit him if he did.

Nicky eyed the end of the alleyway like a salvation. Hala felt a little bad. Nicky was always nice to her, and her mother too. They had to deal with lots of rude customers, so it was always nice to have one who paid in full and spoke in full, welcoming sentences. Hala did not want to scare him away from their stall, her mother would wonder about it, and they would lose money.

Besides, Nicky did sometimes bring them the things he made with their fruit, and she’d dreamt for days about the last orange tart.

“I’m not going to call you that,” she said to him, “but I did see you, with the cats. That was weird.”

Nicky shrugged, sheepish. “They follow me around, and I have no food to offer them. The game seemed like a good alternative.”

“Can you do other things?”

Nicky nodded. He seemed less tense now he stepped closer to her.

“May I pull out my sword to show you?”

Hala nodded, more than intrigued. He unsheathed his sword, one-handed, but soon gripped it in two. It was as magnificent as she imagined. Clean, smooth, shining steel almost black in the shadows of the alley, but when he held it out in a fighter’s stance it started to glow with his body.

The sword became living light.

Hala jumped on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands at the display. Nicky moved through a few more battle stances at her request before putting the sword back.

“Thank you, Hala,” Nicky said. “It has been a while since I have shown someone this and they have appreciated it as you do.”

“You’re very good,” Hala said. She knew when to give a compliment, and Nicky might be strange or a god or whatever but he was better than Bilal when he practiced his swordplay, which wasn’t saying much. “Is that all you can do? Put your light in a sword? I thought you might do more.”

Nicky smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “The other things I think we might save for another day. I cannot show you all my tricks. But look at the sky and the weather some days, you might recognize them.”

Nicky bowed for her, chivalrous, and left the cats scurrying after him. Hala returned to the fruit stall satisfied, but curious for more.

~

It had not rained for three weeks and the island was drying up. The fruit trees could go a week without water, but with the soil bone dry and the sun above them burning and blistering, their livelihood was withering away. Hala spent most of her time in the shade of her room with the dogs panting open-mouthed at her feet.

Bilal was grumpier than usual. It was too hot outside to play with his friends, their mother wanted him still. She would not have her children succumb to heatstroke, and would not have them dragging red dry dirt into the house even more so.

Hala still went to market with her mother most days. They were selling whatever fruit had not shriveled up yet, but their baskets were filling less and less. Most days when they cut open an orange the insides were shriveled and wrinkled, when eaten there was little sweetness. None of that firm plumpness that her father’s oranges were known for.

Nicky came to them on Wednesday like he always did, only he looked different, tired. His eyes looked dim, his face more sickly than his normal lovely paleness.

Still, he greeted her mother with his usual small smile, if a bit more reserved. “Hello, Isra.”

“Ah, Nicky—” Her mother seemed surprised to see him, her face drawn tight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you. I don’t have your oranges today, the harvest has been—well, with the rains gone—”

“They’re all dried up,” Hala interrupted, unable to keep the pout of her face. In her hands was one of the few oranges they’d brought to market. It was smaller than usual, and had lost that ripe, pungent scent.

She looked up at Nicky, and could not hide the tears in her eyes. She remembered what he said before about the sky and the weather. Was this his fault? Her lower lip trembled. “The rains haven’t come and all the fruit is dried up. Can’t you fix it, Nicky?”

“Hala!” her mother hissed, before turning back to Nicky. “I’m sorry Nicky, I don’t know what she's talking about. I have some other options for you if you’d like, not as many as usual but—”

“No, no, please,” Nicky said, raising his hand to cut her off. “Save them. I am sorry to hear of your troubles. And about the rain. I would help if I could.” He looked upwards to the sky where the sunburned as it had been for the last few weeks. He wasn’t squinting at it, which Hala thought only more strange.

“My husband is sick,” Nicky said, apropos of nothing. “We have only been here a couple months but he has not adjusted well to the weather. The oranges cheer him up. They are his favorite fruit. I must thank you Isra, and you too Hala for bringing them to me every week.”

Her mother looked taken back by Nicky’s compliment. “It is of no consequence. I am happy to have a loyal visitor like yourself. I only wish I had something to offer you today.”

Nicky hummed, eyeing the orange in Hala’s hand. She stared at him for a long while, but he would not look away, the tease of a smile at the corner of his lips, his tired face brightened somewhat.

Hala sighed and thrust the orange out to him. “Take it,” she grumbled. What one of their dry dusty oranges would do for him she didn’t know, but he seemed intrigued by it. It wasn’t like the thing tasted good anyway.

“Thank you, Hala. I think this is a special one,” he said, mysteriously.

Her mother looked confused by the exchange, but Nicky left before she could question him. They were left alone with the dry heat again. Hala reached for one of the hand-held fans some of the merchants had been using and fanned herself. It didn’t help much.

~

That night Hala woke from her bed to the sound of a thunderclap rolling across the hills.

She ran out of bed, forgoing even her slippers, and with the dogs behind her as she emerged into the orchard in the dead of night with the moon clouded by heavy, thick clouds.

Bilal was already out there with her father who was standing at the beginning of the tree rows.

“Father?” Bilal asked. He was huddled behind him, while their father eyed the sky.

“The rain is coming,” was all that he said. And the sky rumbled in answer. Hala held out her hand and a raindrop fell on it. Then another. One more. A hundred more. A million. She was drenched to the bone and she could not hear her joyful squealing over the rain. She twirled in the mud with her arms outstretched for as long as her father let her.

Bilal took her hands and together they danced in the puddles.

~

The next morning it was still raining and it took longer for them to get to town with the streets muddied and atrophied with holes pounded in by the storm. But Isra was no idle woman and she would bring her daughter and son to market every day no matter the weather.

Nicky was waiting outside the stall for them with a man Hala did not recognize.

He was handsome, some of the girls in the neighborhood might giggle over his warm eyes, his kind face, his white teeth. Why they obsessed she could not say, but he was not a bad face to look at.

He was blowing his nose into a handkerchief as they pulled up. And when he greeted her mother by name, his voice sounded congested.

“You must be Hala,” the man said to her. He handed the handkerchief to Nicky who pocketed it without a word.

“Are you Nicky’s husband?” she asked.

“I am. My name is Joe,” he said beaming, like just the act of saying it brightened him. He did look rather shiny. Nicky was blushing at his side, their fingers were tangled together now.

“He brought me the orange you gave him yesterday. I have to thank you for it. I’ve been feeling under the weather, and the orange made me feel better.”

Hala could not resist this man’s warmth. He radiated kindness, even in the shadow of the rain. She could imagine what he would be on a sunny day, though she would not mind forgoing that for a long while.

“He said they were your favorite,” Hala mumbled, scuffing her shoes in the mud. “They’re very good, even when they’re dry.” Which was a lie but Joe didn’t seem to notice or care.

“I would expect nothing less, your orchards do you credit,” Nicky said to both her and her mother. Isra was smiling at their exchange, seemingly happier with a satisfied customer and a basket full of new, bursting fruit.

“I’m going to run them when I’m older,” Hala said, puffed up, her back straight and her head high.

Nicky nodded and his face turned mock-serious though his voice remained playful, “And I will be coming for fruit from you then as well Hala. I expect their quality to stand.”

Hala wrinkled her nose. “They’ll be better.”

Joe laughed, loud and boisterous, before breaking off into a cough. Nicky put a hand on his back, rubbing soft circles until he stopped, his face written in concern.

“It seems I am not healed yet,” Joe said chuckling, his hand over his mouth. He raised his eyes to the sky, where the clouds covered them still, the downpour from last night turned to a drizzle.

“But the worst is behind us, yes?” he said.

“Yes, I think so.” Nicky wasn’t looking at him, but smiling at her.

Isra handed Nicky his basket of oranges, happily settled back into the routine. Hala planted herself on her stool as well and set about peeling her lunch open.

Stuffing slices of oranges into her mouth she watched Nicky and Joe walk back through the market streets, and the occasional burst of white light along the building walls that no one else seemed to see.