#and since the keepers said they’d see what they could do I’m going to image that something big is going to happen with the fractions

[tamtaco]

OWEN YOU MADMAN WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUVE KNOWN THE KEEPERS FROM BEFORE AND THEY’VE HELP YOU TEAR DOWN KINGDOMS??? WHAT DOES DYLAN MEAN BY FOR OLD TIMES SAKE?? HUH???? TR!OWEN GIVE US ANSWERS NOW YOU CANT JUST SHOW US THAT YOUVE KNOWN THE KEEPERS ALL THIS TIME, BEEN FRIENDSWITH THEM AND THAT THEY ALSO WANT TO SEE CHAOS UNFOLD?? HE IS LITTERLY THE HARBINGER OF CHAOS WITH THE KEEPERS OF THE REALM ON HIS SIDE SINCE THEY LOVE A GOOD SHOW.

[sarah-bae-maas]

Gwyn wants to explore, and Azriel needs a friend - a Gwynriel fic - Part 1

In honour of this blog turning five years old, I thought I would treat you all to a two part/chapter Gwynriel fic that has been wandering around in my brain throughout countless days of lockdown and tortuous university classes. 

I’m already well underway with part 2 of this fic, but I do have some assignments coming up, so expect it within the fortnight! 

So please do enjoy this nearly 15k words worth of Gwynriel goodness <3

Masterlist Ao3

_____________

She was staring at him.

Again.

Azriel had always paid special attention to Gwyn – not that he would tell her that, of course. It was a secret held deep in his shadows that she was his favourite Valkyrie, the one he thought the most brave and resilient. It would not be an unpopular opinion if he did share it, the other women looked at her with great admiration, and Nesta often sung her praises when the female wasn’t there to refute her words. But Azriel knew the presumptions people might make if they knew he thought it, and the last thing he wanted was for a misunderstanding to make Gwyn uncomfortable.

Gwyn was holding a bag for Emerie to kick, her stance strong enough that she didn’t flinch at all with each pummel. Her focus should have been on Emerie’s form, but rather her teal eyes were glued to him. Every time Azriel looked over at her, she quickly shifted her gaze to her friend, but his shadows constantly reminded him that Gwyn was once again paying her attention to him.

Cassian called the end of the session. Azriel was grateful, he was finding it harder and harder to train the women effectively when he knew Gwyn was right there.

He practically fled the scene, his cheeks brushed with red, barely nodding to the women who said their thanks to him as he passed. It’s not that he didn’t like her attention, but it made his stomach feel heavy, his hands shake, and he didn’t like how out of control he felt whenever she looked at him like that.

He settled in the dining room. Standing, he braced his hands on the table, a bead of sweat dripping off his forehead and tarnishing the wood. Nesta wouldn’t like if he got his sweat all over the table, even though her and Cassian had coated it in far more scandalous bodily fluids. He should do something productive, like work or eat or pester Rhys and Feyre to have Nyx for the afternoon, but instead he chose to close his eyes and picture the person who’d been haunting him.

He and Gwyn were friends. She was over nearly every night to eat with Nesta, their dinners a sort of lively Azriel hadn’t experienced since he’d lived in Illyria with Rhys and Cas. It was joyful to live in a space filled with such light, but also overwhelming. Azriel found that as much as he loved the time with the rag-tag team they’d made for themselves, his social timer still clicked in his mind as a constant reminder that sometimes dealing with people, even the ones you loved, could be utterly exhausting.

Not with Gwyn though, his shadows lamented, setting him straight. No, Azriel never felt tired with her.

“Az?”

As though his thoughts alone had summoned her, Gwyn’s voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned, his lips parting slightly at the sight of her.

She was still in her training gear – a shirt and pants lovingly stitched by Emerie with embroidered flowers decorating the seams – her neat braid falling around her face, framing her pearlescent skin in fire.

“Gwyneth. Do you need something?”

Her eyes were wide, her hands clasped in front of her as she wrung her fingers. It made Azriel tilt his head in confusion, not understanding why she was so nervous. They spoke every day, she mouthed off at him often, and her shift in confidence had him surprised.

“I have a proposition for you, but you must promise to not tell a soul.”

Azriel raised a brow, leaning back into the table. He spread his hands before him. “I’m listening.”

Gwyn swallowed, her cheeks turning the same shade of red as her hair.

“Imsturbalt,” she squeaked.

“What?”

“I masturbate a lot!” She smacked her hands over her mouth, as if betrayed at the words they spilled.

Azriel’s jaw went slack, his eyes near bugging from his skull. “Okay… that’s good? Self-exploration!” He half-heartedly waved a celebratory fist in the air, not sure what to say to her statement.

She groaned louder than a stabbing victim. “I was thinking that, I didn’t intend to say it aloud.” She rubbed her hands over her face, peeking at him through her fingers. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Your secrets are safer with me than they are anyone else.” Azriel smiled, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in her body. “So, your proposition?”

She tensed her jaw, moving her arms behind and looking at the ground as she spoke. “I guess my previous statement that will never be mentioned again to anyone if you like having the functional use of your organsperhaps wasn’t entirely irrelevant to what I’m going to ask you. But I beg, please let me finish before you say anything, and also don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Silence.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She grinned at him, her eyes finally meeting his again. “As you know, better than anyone really, I have a difficult past.”

Azriel wished he could burn the images of finding her on that table from his mind. He’d had to actively teach himself not to envision her crying and screaming for her sister when she’d first became a permanent fixture in House of Wind. He’s seen many horrific things in his time, was no stranger to the worst humanity had to offer, but it was different when it was someone so vulnerable, so selfless, so important to him. It might have made him a bad person that he didn’t equate people’s trauma accordingly, but how could he possibly care for a stranger as much as he cared for Gwyn?

“What happened to me made me fear my body. Fear the sexuality I see women like Nesta and Mor own. They’re so powerful, and the things that have happened to them… They’re not broken. They’re not less. They’re not afraid.” She paused, sighing deeply. “I would never look upon anyone in the library as lesser than because of the things that have happened to them. It wasn’t until I met Nesta and Emerie that I realised I didn’t give myself the same grace. I want to own the parts of me that were stolen. I want to feel like my body belongs to me. I didn’t even know where to begin, but then the House gave me this book, some fluffy romance novel, and the girl in it was just like me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just felt so seen. Like the Mother herself had handed this smut piece into my lap to make me feel better.”

Gwyn moved to one of the lounge chairs that Cassian had haphazardly shoved into a corner one night when Nesta didn’t feel like moving from the dining room. Gwyn was effortlessly graceful as she sat and curled her legs up, her head resting on her fist.

“That’s where the masturbating comes in.” Her eyes avoided his again, focusing on patterns her fingers drew in the velvet material of the chair. “The girl in the book did it. She’d never had an orgasm either. So, I did too.” She laughed quietly. “It made me feel good. Not just the physical pleasure part, but the part where it was just me, empowering myself at a pace I was comfortable with.”

Azriel wished he could say something, but one, he knew to be silent and let her have this moment, and two, he didn’t know how to tell someone he was proud of them for touching themselves without it sounding weird. He was proud though, extremely so, at how strong she felt from acting on her wants. Her resilience had always astounded him.

“In the book, the girl meets this man.” Her voice lowered, barely more than a whisper. “He treats her so kindly, in a way that I’ve seen Cassian treat Nesta a million times, in a way I yearn to be treated. I’ve given myself a clean slate. This body, my body, has only been touched by me. I am whole. I was never broken, just healing. And I’m at a stage where I want more. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Azriel wished her could say yes, please the eager note in her voice that hoped he was on the same page as her, but even his shadows were silent to her desires.

She glanced at him just long enough to see him shake his head. She tipped her head back. “When Nesta first started sleeping with Cassian, I was so curious. What were they doing? What was he doing to make her look so satisfied? But when I tried to picture it, my stomach would churn. And then time passed. I grew stronger. I became a Valkyrie. And like many others before me and many more in the centuries to come, I walked in on Cassian and Nesta fucking.”

Azriel inhaled sharply. To hear the vulgarity fucking from a mouth so pure sent a bolt through him, and he chided himself for his inappropriate thoughts during such a serious conversation.

“They don’t know I saw, not that I think they would have minded. I would bet good money that if I asked for a demonstration on pleasurable acts Cassian and Nesta would be more than happy to comply. Where I might have once felt sick from seeing them, instead I felt-”

She cut herself off, looking for the right words.

“I felt burning desire. I’ve never been so envious of someone in my life. I didn’t want to have sex with Cassian, but by the Cauldron I wanted to feel the way that Nesta did. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t know you were such a good secret keeper. Or such a good friend.”

Azriel couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “Gwyn, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to have sex with me.”

***

Azriel stared at his ceiling, his shadows dancing and rolling around him.

I want you to have sex with me.

He tested the words on his own lips. They tasted sweet. They also brought an uncomfortable amount of pressure to his cock. He refused to touch it though and kept both his hands firmly behind his head.

He’d told Gwyn he needed to think about it, and she understood. She said she didn’t expect an answer from him straight away.

Azriel had a lot to consider.

He was practically titillated that when Gwyn had decided she wanted to explore herself with a male, it was him who she thought of. She expressed that it was because she knew he’d care for her, that he’d respect her and because of how much she trusted him. There were not words to express how hearing such things felt to him. It made him want to do this for her, because his soul be damned he knew he would do right by her. Make her feel good, feel special, feel appreciated.

It would be amiss though not to acknowledge that if he did do this, let her warm his bed while he tasted her, it could ruin not just the friendship they had established but also the dynamic of the house. She had assured him that if his answer was no, they would continue their lives as if the conversation never happened.

Which brought a darker thought to his mind.

If not Azriel, then who? She would surely approach someone else. Someone not deserving of her, who might not treat her how she deserved to be treated. That was not to say Azriel thought that in all his bastardly ways he was what Gwyn should have – no, she deserved more than he could ever give – but at least he knew that she would be safe with him.

The thought of another male’s hands on her made him see red.

That was answer enough.

***

Nesta and Cassian were gone for the weekend, caring for Nyx while Feyre and Rhys had a romantic getaway for the weekend. Azriel secretly thought Nesta was using this as a trial to see if her and Cassian were ready for a baby.

It was the perfect opportunity to have Gwyn join him.

The day after she’d approached him, he’d slipped her a note after training to say that he was all in, and to meet him the next night. He tried not to watch her face as she read the note but couldn’t help it. She went bright pink, but she seemed exhilarated.

And now she was standing in his room.

They nervously looked at each other. Azriel wanted to give her the chance to speak first other than their obligatory greetings, but she was tongue-tied.

“I was thinking we should take this in steps,” Azriel said, sitting on the edge of his bed, watching her refrain from pacing back and forth.

“That seems logical. What sort of steps?”

“I was thinking tonight we take sex off the table.”

“What?” Her face fell, hurt evident in her expression.

“Just for tonight. Gwyn, have you had your first kiss?”

She shook her head no.

“Then maybe we do that. And anything beyond only what you want. I need you to know that you’re in control here. Whatever we do or don’t do is completely your decision.”

She nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “That sounds reasonable. Like you’re my little puppet.” Her hands mimed using a marionette, and Azriel found it easy to reciprocate her smile.

She moved to his side, planting herself on the bed next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the how good she smelled, how carefully her hair had been arranged and how she’d worn her nicest dress. She had wanted to look good for him, and the thought made his heart squeeze.

He reached out and held the hands she clasped in her lap. It made her look at him, her teal eyes flashing in the room only lit by his fireplace.

“You’re a very good friend, Azriel.”

“Do you want me to kiss you, Gwyn?”

She nodded, turning her body to face him.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then her lips, before he settled on cradling her face. She leant her head into his hand, so trusting as she looked at him. His hand was so big that the fingers that lay on her neck could feel her hammering pulse.

She leant in the same time he did.

At first it was just a peck. Their lips brushing against each other’s so gently it made Azriel ache. He pressed his lips to her again, and again, getting her used to the feeling of his lips on hers. She enthusiastically reciprocated, her slender fingers running up his chest before meeting behind his head, tangling themselves in his hair. He smiled against her mouth, pleased at such a reaction when the real kissing had yet to even start.

His grazed his tongue along her lip, and she eagerly opened her mouth, letting his tongue slip inside her. The noise she made at the contact buzzed straight through him, and he was pleasantly surprised when Gwyn, in all her eagerness, took control of him.

She kissed him as though she had done it her whole life, like her mouth belonged on his, and the feel of her delicate tongue made him deepen their kiss, angling her head so they could better feel one another. She was practically leaning back, and if this had been a meaningless one night stand she’d have been on her back by now with Azriel’s mouth between her thighs.

She broke away from him, his mouth instinctively following hers as it wanted more, making her gleam in pride.

“I want to change positions,” she said, her hands still wired into his hair.

“Anything you want,” he replied breathlessly.

Azriel didn’t know what to expect, but it was not her getting up and crawling into his lap. She straddled his thighs, and there was no way she wouldn’t be able to feel his erection pressing against her. He did with his hands what any male would do in this situation, and her giggle was enough to know that she’d wanted him to do that.

“Your hands are on my ass,” she laughed.

“Is that okay?”

“Very much so.” She took a deep breath. “Take your shirt off. Please.”

He obliged.

“And you should – you should take off my dress too.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have a slip on underneath.”

His hands shook slightly as they ran up her sides and to her back, undoing each button on her dress. To give her a more authentic experience, he decided to lean in as he did, kissing a new spot on her neck with each button that came undone.

She raised her arms so that he could slip the dress over her head, and he averted his eyes when her slip rode up with it. He didn’t look back until she had adjusted herself. When he did, he nearly fainted.

She was divine in her beauty. He always saw lovely she was, anyone with eyes would. Her body was lean and tight. Her uniform may have hidden it, but she had the power of any warrior in her body. Azriel wondered if she purposefully hid her strength so that it was a secret part of her arsenal. Smart female.

He ran his hands up her spread legs before planting them back on her ass. Unable to resist, he squeezed his hands, making her groan.

“Your hands feel so good,” she gasped. “Do everyone’s hands feel like that, or is it just you?”

He snickered. “Anyone who is worth their weight knows how to make a female feel good.” He bumped her shoulder with his nose. “What would you like me to do now? Do you want to keep kissing?”

“Fuck yes I want to keep kissing.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest as she playfully nipped at his bottom lip. “But maybe we could do other things. Even better things.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Gwyn reached behind her and grabbed one of the hands resting on her behind. For the first time since they’d started, she looked nervous. Her legs were shaking, and Azriel was unsure if it was anxiety or anticipation for whatever she had planned.

She guided his hand under his slip until he was cupping her sex.

“You aren’t.” He swallowed hard. “You aren’t wearing underwear.”

She shook her head playfully. “I didn’t think I would need to.”

She pressed his hand into her, and he moaned at the wetness he found. She was so slick for him already, and all they had done was kiss. He did an exploratory brush through her folds, and as at the tip of his finger grazed over her clit, she arched into him, holding on tight to his shoulders.

He started teasing her, obsessed with the little noises she was making at the back of her throat as he did, but he soon realised something.

Usually, when Azriel was with a female, they got progressively more… turned on. Their bodies would react to his touch, and his fingers would be coated in their juices before he even attempted to enter them with either his fingers or his cock.

Gwyn was not.

It seemed the more he touched her, the more it was like her body didn’t want this. For all intents and purposes, she was… drying up?

His hand went still, and he could feel her body instinctively relaxing as his hand left her pussy.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, clinging to him.

“You don’t enjoy this.” He made her look him in the eye, and his throat tightened at how she looked. There were tears lining her eyes and a deep furrow on her forehead.

“I do, I promise I do. I’m just nervous. If we – if we just overcome this one thing-”

“No, Gwyn.”

“Please Azriel,” she said desperately, trying to guide his hand back between her thighs.

As gently as he could, he lifted her from his lap and placed her beside him on the bed. Her breath shuddered, and he couldn’t bear the shattered look on her face.

She didn’t say a word, just stood up and tried to locate her dress. Azriel didn’t even know where he had thrown it, but he stood and stopped her from looking anyway.

“Gwyn…” He grasped her hands in his, towering over her as they faced each other. “I want to do this for you, please believe me when I say that. But maybe we just need to take a few more steps first. Do something else before that.”

“What else is there?” She was dejected, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m doing Az. And I swear on the Cauldron I want this. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I’m just so nervous, and I get in my head about everything I do-”

“Hey hey hey, stop that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the ropable tension in her body started to ease out. She slumped against him, his arms wrapping around her in an embrace. “This is fine. Great, even.”

“You are such a liar.” She sighed, but at least she returned his embrace, tucking herself into him so they were as close as possible.

He tried to think of ways to salvage the night for her, to give her at least a little bit of what she wanted.

An idea sprang to mind.

“Gwyn?”

“Mmm?”

“Get on the bed. Lie down.”

She looked up at him hopefully. She didn’t need to be told twice. She practically flung herself at the bed, laying down on her back and resting her arms above her head. She grinned at him, and he didn’t miss the way she clenched her thighs together than spread them apart like a silent invitation.

Azriel couldn’t help but brighten at her enthusiasm. He undid the buttons on his pants and kicked them down so he was naked before her.

“I thought we weren’t having sex!” She jolted to her side, holding herself up on her arms and staring at his penis, her eyes practically bulging out of her head at the sight of it.

There were many things Azriel did not like about himself. But he had a damn fine cock.

He laughed at the look on her face and shook his head. “We’re not having sex. I’m not even going to touch you.”

She deflated. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

He followed her to the bed, climbing over her without touching her and planting himself next to her so they were lying side to side. He turned his head to her, and she looked at him curiously.

“We’re not just going to lie here naked, are we? It’s a bit cold for that.”

It was a little chilly. Her nipples were hard under her slip, which had ridden up to her stomach.

“No, but we can get under the blanket if you want.”

Her gaze raked up and down his body. “I’m happy above the blanket.”

They laid in a comfortable silence for a moment, happily taking in each other’s bodies. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen, and he was glad to see that their kissing antics had left her dishevelled. He liked that look on her.

“Are you actually not going to touch me?”

“I’m not. I think you should touch yourself.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll touch myself, too. It’ll be a way for us to be more comfortable with each other. For you to be in control of your pleasure.”

“Will you watch me?” she murmured.

“If that’s okay. You can watch me, too.”

She considered his words, and Azriel wondered if this was in fact not the good idea he’d thought he’d had. She pursed her lips, and he knew her answer when she grabbed the hem of her slip and pulled it off, leaving her naked before him.

They stared into each other’s eyes as her hand brushed over her exposed breasts, and Azriel had to hold himself back from taking them in his mouth, from pinching her perked nipples with his teeth. Maybe later, that could come; he thought she would quite like it.

Her right hand kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipple while her left dipped down between her legs. Two fingers ran over her core, and he studied the way she massaged herself so that he could do it to her in the future. At the sight, he tentatively grasped his cock, wanting to make sure that she was truly okay with him touching himself at the vision of her with her fingers dipping inside her, moistening herself before focusing on her clit.

Her eyes flickered to his stroking hand, and her response nearly made him finish then and there like a teenager exploring themselves for the first time. She’d seen him, and lifted her leg so that it was draped over one of his, giving her a better angle on her clit and twining them together.

“I’m used to being quiet,” she shuddered. “So that no one hears me.”

“Be as loud as you want. Scream for me.”

Her hand quickened, and his sack tightened as he matched her speed with his own hand, gripping himself tightly. He moaned so loudly that he was once again thankful that Cassian and Nesta weren’t in the house. Even the magic of the walls mightn’t contain the pleasure pulsing through him as he watched her.

Her legs started to shake, and the little noises she’d made before were no more. Her voice was loud as she no longer held herself back from feeling even ounce of her impending orgasm.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, her hips starting to gyrate against her hand.

“You. All I can think of is you,” Azriel moaned. He pumped himself quicker, his grip becoming harder.

“What about you,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you thinking about what you saw Cassian do to Nesta?”

Her toes curled at his words. “I’m thinking of what I saw them doing, but it’s you and me.”

“What are we doing, Gwyneth?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her tongue licked her lips before she bit down on them. “We’re in the library. You have me bent over one of the desks, and you’re taking me from behind. One of your arms is around me, and you’re flicking my clit as I scream your name. You’re so deep in me, Azriel, I can feel every inch of you as I clench around you. Cauldron, you feel so good. The best thing I’ve ever felt, Az.”

His breath hitched, and he felt himself on the brink of coming. What finally did him in was her teeth biting down on his shoulder as she screamed his name, her orgasm making her whole body shake as it overcame over.

When they had both come down from their highs, they laid trying to catch their breath, both their bodies covered in sweat.

“That was amazing,” she sighed, turning to face him.

He grabbed a corner of the unused blanket beneath them to wipe himself off, then turned to face her, an arm going around her waist and his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead and cheek.

He wanted to look at her body, finally relaxed and languid, but his shadows had another idea. They bathed over her like silk, dancing over her curves and crevices, making her laugh.

“I quite like them,” she said, her eyes starting to drift closed.

“Are you tired?”

“Mhmm.” She snuggled into him further, stealing his warmth. His cock responded to her touch, but it was too soon yet to do anything meaningful.

“Move up for a sec.”

“Is that you trying to hint that I should go?” Her voice was joking, but the look on her face said that she’d go if he wanted her too.

“Absolutely not, you’re staying here with me. I’m just grabbing the blanket.”

She moved away just long enough for him to pull the blankets over them and pull her to his chest again.

She made a content noise and closed her eyes to sleep, and Az thought to himself that he didn’t care if this one day ended their friendship, because it might very well be the best time of his life anyway.

***

The next two weeks were filled with them sneaking away and feverishly touching themselves in all sorts of ways. Once, Gwyn sat in his lap naked while they stroked themselves, kissing each other the entire time. Another time, she pleasured herself by grinding against his thigh and he palmed himself – they hadn’t even bothered to take their clothes off. A late-night training session had led to her using a particularly shaped massage tool on herself in very a scandalous way while he watched, near feral at the sight of her pumping into herself. He did not return that item to the training ring, instead he kept it in his bedside drawer for future use.

It wasn’t until sixteen days and countless orgasms into their agreement that Azriel was finally able to touch her.

It had been a busy night. Rhys, Feyre, Nyx, Mor and Emerie were over for dinner, and it had been the most fun Az had had in a group since last solstice. At the table, he’d had Feyre on one side and Gwyn on the other, and her little secret touches to his thigh made him feel warm all over.

It wasn’t necessarily an arousing touch, just an affectionate one. When the group had started to disperse to drink, Nesta the sober adult taking care of Nyx, Az noticed Gwyn sneak away. He promptly followed her, making sure everyone was distracted as he did so no one noticed what they were doing.

Within a few minutes he was between her thighs tasting her. She had mentioned the night before that she wanted his tongue on her, and by the Cauldron was he happy to oblige. She was sitting on the edge of desk in the library that she’d described to him all those weeks ago, and whilst on his knees before her, he jerked himself off as she crumbled beneath his mouth.

Thankfully, by the time they returned, people were far too tipsy to question where they’d been.

Except for Nesta, who looked suspiciously between the two of them. Whatever she was thinking, it was at Gwyn’s behest if she knew anything. It was her decision, always, what happened between them, and if she wanted people to know about their sneakiness, that was for her to decide.

Seven days later is when she first touched him. Until that point it had all been about her, which is what Azriel wanted. They were on his bed, his fingers deep inside her as they kissed, when her hand brushed against his cock. He moved his hips aside, and she broke their kiss off with a noise of indignation.

“Stop swatting my hands away!” She flicked his nose with her finger.

“Huh?” He was still dazed on the sound of his hand gliding through her dripping wet core.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” Her voice was curt.

“I just want this to be about you. I don’t want you to think that I’m only with you for my own sexual gratification. The only thing that matters to me is your happiness, my soul purpose is you. You’re my priority.” He kissed her neck. “My desires are your desires.” Another kiss. “I can’t focus if you’re anything less than panting and satisfied.”

She pursed her lips, a familiar expression at this point. It turned into a joyful smile, and she smacked a kiss to his lips. “That was actually very sweet. After I get you off, I’m going to sit on your face.”

What was even better than the heavy petting and intense make out sessions was the talking. Sometimes for hours they would just tangle themselves together and divulge their life stories. Azriel knew all about her sister and mother – Gwyn confessing that she felt guilt when her twin wasn’t on the forefront of her mind, but sometimes she pushed her away because the memory of her was overwhelmingly devastating. Az wiped her tears away, desperate to see her smile again. But he also knew of all the good times she’d had growing up, and it made him feel alight inside to know how loved she was. Az told her mostly of Rhys and Cassian and the family they had made for themselves, about how it was so hard to be away from his mother, but he wouldn’t have survived another day in his father’s presence. Gwyn cried for him sometimes, and Azriel had never known such empathy from another.

When they were alone in the House, Nesta and Cassian off on one of their sexcations, Gwyn would spend her evenings and nights with him just as a friend, doing housework and menial tasks that she didn’t have to while humming various tunes. Az would tell her to stop working, but she would just grin and say she liked feeling like part of a home too much to not pretend that she lived there too. So he would just hum with her, his shadows dancing and swaying the way they always inevitably did around her. Then they would fall into bed together (or any surface really) until they were spent and exhausted.

Azriel had never known happiness like this.

***

Azriel was buzzing with excitement. He’d left Gwyn wrapped up in his bed, the sun not yet risen, and made sure to leave her some breakfast on his nightstand and the fire burning to keep her warm without his body next to hers. Usually he would wake her up early with his head between her thighs so she could go back to the library, but she had already told the acolytes she roomed with that she would be staying with Nesta, so no need to sneak around when no one was expecting her.

Before they’d gone to sleep the night before, Gwyn said something to him that left him smiling even now as he made his way to Rhys.

I want to have sex, Az. I’m sure. I know I’m safe with you.

Az didn’t know why Rhys needed him, but if it involved leaving Velaris, he would barter for a few more days so that he might be with Gwyn before he left. An odd feeling entered his chest at the thought. He couldn’t name the feeling; he just knew he didn’t want to leave Gwyn alone.

He landed on the doorstep of Feyre and Rhys’ home. Before he had the chance to let himself in, Feyre opened the door, a grave look on her face.

“Quick. Before they start yelling.” Feyre pinched her nose, the other hand holding Nyx on her hip.

Azriel pushed past her, and it wasn’t hard to find the source of Feyre’s frustration.

“Once again you fucking asshole, you need to back off. How dare you-”

“Nes, calm down-”

“Tell me to calm down again Cassian and I’m out of here. As I was saying, how fucking dare you accuse her of such things, Rhysand, High Lord of Shitting me up the Wall.”

“Nesta, for fuck’s sake you’re getting defensive for no reason!”

“No reason?!” she spat, Cassian holding her back before she lunged at Rhys.

“Too late,” Feyre muttered at him as she walked into the office, sitting at the desk to remain neutral in Nesta and Rhysand’s pissing match. Azriel would love to know what had riled them up so much that they were nearly screaming at each other, but any guidance from his brothers was not there.

“You have to admit that it’s suspicious, Nesta!”

Rhys threw his arm at Azriel as he approached, looking triumphant. “Azriel will agree with me.”

“He will not.”

“May I ask what I might need to agree to, or will it remain a mystery as to why you’re yelling so early in the morning?” Az crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for them to stop acting like children.

“Rhys accused Gwyn of being a spy,” Nesta growled.

“You’re twisting my words! I said I’d had reports of her acting strange, of her behaviour being completely different, and I suggested that it was worth looking into. We have to consider the safety of Velaris, and Gwyn would be the perfect plant.”

Azriel was sure Rhys was going to say more, but he was interrupted by Azriel’s uncontrollable fit of laughter. His laughs shook his whole body, and he felt tears in his eyes from how hard his fit was hitting him. He had to bend over to try and catch his breath, clutching at his chest as though his lungs might leap out of it.

“What’s so funny,” Rhys deadpanned.

Azriel shook his head and walked to Nesta, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you serious, Rhys? Gwyn? Gwyenth Berdara?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Both Clotho and Merrill have approached me. Clotho, because she was worried, and Merrill, because she thought that Gwyn was being insubordinate. Clotho has had multiple girls come to her in fear for Gwyn, saying she’s been disappearing at night and coming back early in the morning. They she’s tired, unfocused, and that she’s exceeding every expectation they had for her in training and acting like a different person in the library. This has all been reported over the last month.” Rhys picked Nyx out of Feyre’s arms to calm himself before continuing. “Gwyn knows incredibly sensitive information about us. She helped us with the Trove, she treats the House of Wind like she bloody lives there. She’s awfully comfortable for a person who previous to knowing us refused to leave the library.”

Any humour Azriel felt had been leeched from his body. Nesta’s verbal beating of Rhys had been justified and then some.

“With all due respect, you can go fuck yourself,” he bit at his brother.

Feyre made a noise in the back of her throat and took Nyx back from Rhys before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Too much swearing for such little ears! she said into their minds as she was leaving.

“What the fuck, Az?” Rhys looked startled.

“I knew he’d side with me,” Nesta said smugly.

“She’s ‘awfully comfortable?’ Yeah, she is, because she found a fucking family. Nesta is like a sister to her, and she’s over at the House a lot not because she’s entitled, but because we want her there. You might not make that much of an effort with Nesta’s friends because of your own personal shit, but Cassian and I consider her a close friend. Accusing her of anything unbecoming, to me, is as bad as if you’d dragged me in here to tell me Cassian was working against us. You sound ludicrous. Also, need I remind you, it’s not your fucking House anymore. Who we have over is none of your damned business.”

Rhys scoffed. “It’s not your House either.”

“Sorry, High Lord Rhysand, I’ll manage my expectations.” Az clenched his jaw at Rhys’ words. He was right. Azriel didn’t technically have any property, neither had Cassian until Rhys had given Nesta the House as a mating gift. Azriel didn’t technically have a home beyond the sky, nothing worth giving to or sharing with another person. Even now, Gwyn was waiting for him in a bedroom that technically wasn’t is. He wouldn’t dare leave though, not when he knew it was one of only two places that Gwyn felt safe in.

“Why are you getting so defensive? You know what I’m saying is reasonable.”

“It would be if we didn’t know her. She is… there are not words to describe her.”

“Yes, there is,” Nesta piqued. “She is competitive. She is feisty. She’s a Valkyrie. She is the kindest soul in Velaris. She is so brave, and strong, and the most selflessly loving person I’ve met in my entire life. If you weren’t so thick headed, you would see that she’s like Feyre in a lot of ways.” Nesta paused. She left Azriel’s side to stand in front of Rhys, her shoulders back and her head high. “If you accuse her of something it would break her heart. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“I would never hurt her, Nesta.” Rhys rubbed a hand over his face. “If you’re so convinced that nothing is going on, can you explain her strange behaviour.”

Nesta turned away from Rhys, so that he couldn’t see her face. When Nesta looked over at Azriel, she didn’t need to say a single word for him to know that she knew the exact reason Gwyn was acting different.

It was because of him.

“I don’t need to explain it because I trust her. I’m also with her nearly every minute of every day. Do you not think I would not notice if she was conniving against us? Or are you truly that foolish?”

“I agree with Nesta,” Cassian said. “She’s either with us training the Valkyries, or she’s working with Nesta in the library. Who cares if she’s a little distracted, we all are sometimes.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Rhys directed his question at Azriel, almost as if he couldn’t trust Cassian and Nesta to be impartial because of how close they were to Gwyn. Huh. If only he knew.

“I have never been surer of anything.”

***

“Azriel, wait.”

Azriel was stalking through the front gardens. He would walk until his head was clear, then he would go home – go to the House of Wind – and spend the morning with Gwyn. Nesta had other plans.

“What is it?”

“Gwyn-”

“-will be safe. I won’t let Rhys near her.”

“I’m not worried about that. What is going on between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not blind. All the things Rhys described? Sure, might be espionage, but it might also just be someone falling in love.”

“We’re not together.” Love? What a preposterous thought. Gwyn had been very clear from the beginning in what she wanted from him. She needed someone to fulfil her physical needs, and Azriel was happy to do so. All the other stuff, the talking and friendship, was just icing.

“Then what are you doing? Setting yourselves up to get hurt?”

“This is a conversation you should have with her.”

“She trusts you so much, Az. Please, don’t do anything that would hurt her. She’s come so far since we met.”

“Nesta, I promise you I couldn’t dream of hurting her. The thought alone makes me feel visceral pain. What we do, what we are, is just her making decisions and doing what she wants. How did you even know there was something going on?”

Nesta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I guessed she had a flirtation with someone. I knew it was you from the way she started saying your name.”

Azriel felt his eyes burn, but he did not know why. “The way she says my name?”

“I’ve heard the way she says it a million times. From Cassian and I. From Rhys and Feyre. I can’t describe it beyond that.”

Azriel shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted where he stood. “Have you told Cas?”

“I don’t need to, he knows.”

“So you guys have talked about it?”

“No. I haven’t told him that I know. But I know he knows. And he also knows I know.”

“So he knows you know even though you haven’t told him you know and you know he knows even though he hasn’t said he knows?”

“Exactly,” she laughed. Her smile was more genuine now. It was a look she’d only had since her mating ceremony. It sung contentment, something she, like him, struggled to have.

She came to him and linked their arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Her friendship was invaluable to him, as much as it was a surprise when it first started to form.

“I have one other thing to say, and then I’ll let you go home to Gwyn.”

“Yes, Nesta?”

“The House of Wind is as much as your home as it is mine. You can stay there forever if you want. It is your home, Azriel, and I wouldn’t dream of it being anything else.”

***

Gwyn was awake when Azriel returned home. She was humming a song to herself in bed, wrapped in his blankets like it was a cocoon. She had the breakfast he made for her in her lap, and when he entered the room, she pulled the blanket aside and opened her arms for him to fall into to.

Maybe he still looked stormy after his talk with Rhys, or maybe she just wanted to hold him. Either way, he fell happily into her embrace.

***

Gwyn had set a date. She did not intend to be so clinical about it, she just wanted to give herself a chance to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and she needed a few days to do so.

The month she’d had with Azriel had been… Cauldron, she did not know how to exactly describe it. When she had approached him, she honestly did not think that he would say yes to such a ridiculous idea. But he had, and he’d given her nothing short of the best month of her life. Her cheeks ached from how much she was smiling, and even if she was tired when she worked, she wouldn’t give up her restless nights for anything.

It would also be remiss for her to not acknowledge that perhaps what she had with him was more than an arranged bargain, but any time the thoughts propped up she promptly put them to the side.

She had not gone to see Az last night, needing the time to do extra work so that she could be missed for a day. Or two. Maybe even three.

Gwyn didn’t know how long this marathon might last, but if it were anything like Nesta and Cassian’s, it could be a while.

She had also warned Clotho and the females she shared her room with that she would be staying at the House of Wind for a few days. When asked why, she just said she was doing something with Emerie without going into any detail.

So, tonight it was. She was ready.

She was so fucking ready.

The moment dinner was served in the library she made a run for it, having to physically restrain herself from skipping out of the library. She was so excited, her body literally vibrating with energy, that she didn’t even see Nesta before their bodies slammed together.

They went to a ground in a tangled fumble, and Nesta was too busy laughing to listen to Gwyn’s repeated apologies. The brisk evening air greeted them, the stars starting to peek through the violet dusk as they laid on the path that took them from the library to the training area to the House.

“Well, you made looking for you much easier,” Nesta said, brushing off her dress as she stood. She offered Gwyn a hand, which she gladly took. Nesta started walking towards the House, their hands not dropping as they swung them between them like children.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Emerie is here with Mor and Feyre. I wanted you to join us for dinner.”

“I have dinner with you every night.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know that you’re not just welcome but also invited.”

Gwyn smiled at Nesta, love for her friend filling her heart.

They approached the House, Nesta’s face falling as they walked in and saw Rhys standing in the middle of the room, confused looks on the faces of Mor and Emerie as everyone just looked uncomfortable.

Nesta’s hands squeezed Gwyn’s, and for just a second it felt like Nesta was about to pull Gwyn right back to the library.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” Mor said slowly. “We go out in Velaris all the time, why can’t we tonight?”

“You’re more than welcome to, I would just rather stay here,” Azriel replied.

Gwyn knew the look on his face. It was the same look he’d had a few days ago when he’d returned from Mother knows where after Rhys summoned him. Gwyn assumed Azriel had just had to do one of the many hard tasks expected of a spymaster, but perhaps there was something else if his face was a mirror of that again now.

“What’s going on?” asked Nesta.

They all turned to look at them like they were surprised to see them. Not even Azriel had noticed their entrance, although Gwyn self-admitted that Azriel tended to be surprised by her sudden appearances quite often. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought maybe his shadows didn’t bother warning him when she was near. It’s not like she was a danger to the guy.

“Rhys came and said we should try the new restaurant on the Rainbow! The one near Feyre’s studio? I’ve heard really nice things about it, and the family that opened it are really beautiful.” Mor beamed at them all, trying to disperse the odd tension. “And then maybe we could go dancing.”  

The idea sounded wonderful, and Gwyn wistfully wished she could join them. In reality, just the thought of going into the city set her heard racing. The only time she had ever left the library or the House, other than to go to Emerie’s house which landed them in the Bloodrite, was to officiate Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. Although the memory was one of her most treasured ones, it was not something she thought she would be able to do again. Not yet.

“I’ve heard great things about that place,” Nesta replied, her stomach audibly grumbling at just hearing about the exquisite food it might receive.

“You are all more than welcome to go.” Azriel swept a hand out between them. “But I don’t want to.”

His gaze flickered to Gwyn, and suddenly the eyes of everyone were on her.

A blanket of understanding washed over the room. Most eyes were understanding, Mor’s held the pity that Gwyn hated, and Rhys looked indifferent, if not satisfied.

Azriel’s resistance became evident. It wasn’t just that it was the night, their night, but he didn’t want her to be left alone whilst everyone else galivanted through the city having the time of their lives when they knew she wouldn’t be able to join them.

“I don’t want to go either. It’s been a long week and I’m tired,” said Nesta.

Gwyn narrowed her eyes at her lying sister but couldn’t hold it in her heart to be angry. In face, she had to stop it from swelling with how loving their words felt. They didn’t want her to be alone. They wanted to stay with her.

“You know,” spoke Emerie softly, “I can’t imagine anywhere making food as well as the House.”

Mor’s eyes shot to Emerie, and Gwyn wondered if she was imagining the slight betrayed look in them.

“Guy’s, c’mon. Rhys and I made a reservation, they’re expecting us! It would be rude not to go,” Mor pleaded.

Azriel opened his mouth to snap back, but Gwyn interrupted. “She’s right. You should go enjoy yourselves.”

“But Gwyn-”

“It’s okay, Nesta. Please, I really think you should all go.” She made a point to look at Azriel. “It sounds like it would be a lot of fun.”

“It’s not fair to arrange activities that we can’t all participate in.” Azriel’s voice had softened as he looked at her, and if she didn’t have better self-control she would stride over and plant a kiss on his pouting lips.

“How could Mor have known that Gwyn would be here? It’s not her fault,” Rhys interjected.

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard-”

“Stop, just stop.” Gwyn clutched her hands in front of her and stepped away from Nesta. She needed them to see her as an adult, as someone who was strong and to be taken seriously. “It’s fine. Really, truly. I have a lot to do anyway.” She turned to Feyre and waved her fingers at Nyx. “If you would like, I can take care of him so you can enjoy some grown-up time.”

For a second Feyre looked hopeful, but then she schooled her face into neutrality. Rhys stepped between the two, and Feyre had to put an arm on his shoulder.

As if to stop him stepping any further.

Gywn blinked, feeling like she should blanch away but not sure as to why.

“That won’t be necessary,” Rhys said. She’d heard him use that voice before. It was his political voice. His I-have-an-agenda voice. Now it was her turn to look confused.

“No worries,” Gwyn whispered.

She looked away from the High Lord’s searing gaze and back to her friends. She hoped her face didn’t speak of her sadness.

“Please go. I would feel awful if any of you stayed on my part. If anything, by going and having a great time you’d be doing me a favour, because I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You could always just come with us,” Mor said, tucking her hair behind her ears in a way that was comically similar to how the ‘popular’ girls in her smutty books would behave.

Gwyn bit her lip, thinking about it. Of course, logically, she would be safe. They would all be there, Azriel would be there, but she genuinely felt like she might vomit at the thought. A bead of sweat dripped down her back, and she despised how her eyes stung with tears. She breathed the way her and Nesta had learnt from Valkyrie texts and pulled herself back to reality. Sometimes the logic of actions did not dictate how you would feel, or react, to a situation. Gwyn reminded herself once more to be kinder to herself.

“Thank you for the offer, Mor, but I am happy here.” Gwyn smiled brightly at them all, and they seemed to relax – all but Az and her sisters.

She shooed them out of the House, hoping that one day she would be able to join them.

***

It was odd. Gwyn had spent much time over the last few years alone, but it had never affected her. And although the House was quite good company – it had dinner and dessert ready for her with a box of tissues and chocolates even before Cassian had finally flown off with the resistant Nesta – it wasn’t the same as spending time with someone who could talk back to you.

She only just made it through her meal when she crawled into Azriel’s bed, hoping the scent of him would make her feel better.

It didn’t, but the sight of his room did. There were unlit candles lining the room, and flowers adorning every surface. The cheeky male had even installed a mirror on the ceiling above the bed, and she blushed profusely at the implications.

He had tried to make it romantic, and she adored him for it.

She had no idea when he would be back, and she scolded herself for wishing it would be sooner rather than later. She wanted him to be out and about with his family, even if it made her burn with envy that everyone would be able to enjoy him but her.

She rolled over, stuffing her face into his pillow and groaning. She should take off her day clothes and resign herself to pyjamas. Maybe she should sleep in a different bedroom so as to not torture herself with what this night could have been.

Her night with Az. The night with Az.

“That’s it. I am so over this,” she said aloud before springing up. She stomped out of the room and towards Nesta’s, flinging her closet open to inspect her clothes.

It was just a restaurant. It was safe. She would be fine. Besides, how could she overcome her fears if not to face them? She had gone to Emerie’s and survived. She had gone to Nesta’s mating ceremony and survived. She had won the bloody Bloodrite!

As she looked through the dresses, she quickly realised they wouldn’t fit. They would hang loose at her hips and chest, where Nesta was beautifully endowed and she was not.

“Not to worry, I’ll just take a coat then.” Taking the first one she saw, light but soft enough that warmth wouldn’t be an issue, Gwyn shoved her shoes on approached the door that led to the ten thousand steps that would take her to Velaris. She didn’t know where to go from there, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she would be able to find her friends with enough willpower. And since meeting Nesta and Emerie, since being empowered by the strongest females she knew and since empowering herself, she knew she had that willpower in abundance.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

***

She didn’t know at what point the House had left her, its omnipresence not connected to the stairs, but she was doing just fine even if she felt its absence. She counted in her head to keep track of where she was.

One thousand. Feeling good. Coat in arms.

Two thousand. Out of breath but in a good way.

Three thousand. Fucking shit.

Four thousand. Maybe she should turn around.

Five thousand.

Six thousand. How has Nesta done this multiple times?

Seven thousand. She had this! This was easier than Ramiel!

Eight thousand. If she died here no one would find her.

Nine thousand.

Ten. Fucking. Thousand.

Gwyn realised that there was no way she’d be able to eat with them. They would be having dessert if they hadn’t already moved on. She just needed to find them.

As Gwyn took the last step, her toes touched the streets of Velaris for the very first time.

It was so beautiful she thought she might cry. There was colour everywhere, the laughter of adults and children alike, and she could smell delicious food as the many restaurant’s wide-open doors let the scents pour into the streets. The faelights lining the streets reminded her of the stars she often gazed at with Azriel, the thought of him like a caress to her mind.

Azriel loved Velaris, would die for this city if he had to. How could she been afraid of something he loved so much?

She took one step. Then one more. She was sure to anyone that glanced her way she must have looked like a lunatic, her eyes wide in wonder as she moved at a snail’s pace, Nesta’s coat bundled in her arms because after all those steps she didn’t need it.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, equal parts fear and excitement, as she walked through the city. She got a few odd looks, but she could see it was out of curiosity for a newcomer in a city that had been locked down for centuries, and not for violence. She wasn’t leered at or bothered. In fact, the only time someone even talked to her was when a toddler sprinted from his mother’s side, his legs too quick for his body to keep up, and he fell into her.

The mother apologised profusely but Gwyn didn’t care at all. How could she be mad at the pudgy little baby?

It was easy to find her way to a district clearly dedicated to all things food. If possible, she slowed down even more. She peeked inside every restaurant looking for the four sets of wings that would set her friends apart from everyone else.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching but was probably closer to forty minutes, she saw them.

Azriel and Rhys were standing outside the restaurant Mor must’ve been talking about. Light and music drifted from its open windows, the streets still full of roaming people. Gwyn knew they wouldn’t be able to see her yet, and she wondered how she should approach them.

Azriel… did not look happy, and the tense set of Rhys’ shoulders and back let her know that his face likely looked the same, even if he was facing away from her.

Before she could think of a strategy, Azriel looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

Gwyn could not describe the feeling that filled her as they drunk in one another. Still standing twenty steps from him, his gaze made her feel like she was wrapped in his arms.

She raised one hand in a wave, and it was like Rhys didn’t exist at all.

Azriel shoved him to the side, Rhys making an indignant sound as he did. He ran to her, and she dropped Nesta’s coat so she could wrap her arms around him as they crashed together. People in the streets backed off at Azriel’s display, and in that moment she couldn’t have cared less about where she was, as long as she was with him.

His wings wrapped around her, creating a shield between them and the outside world.

“Gwyn.”

“Hey Az,” she whispered, her arms around his neck and his face tucked to her shoulder.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He straightened and brushed the hair from her face. It had stuck to her skin from how much she had sweat while taking the stairs, but she didn’t care how she looked. She knew he certainly never would.

He looked ready to fight an invisible threat, and it made her throb in unspeakable places.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just – I. Um.” She hadn’t rehearsed what she would say to him, but it’s not like she could blurt out Hey! Just wanted to near you at all times and rub my body against yours!

“Did something happen? What do you need me to do?”

She shook her head. “No, no, Az, really, I’m fine. I just regretted not coming out with you all.”

He must have been able to see the honesty on her face and smile, because he relaxed, his wings folding back.

The look on his face was adorable as the realisation dawned on him that she was here for him.

“Did I miss everything? Are you all done?”

He didn’t answer, but he did look behind him. Rhys was standing there with his mouth open, his face laced with something Gwyn couldn’t put a name to. Before she could greet him, Rhys stormed back into the restaurant.

Azriel turned back to her, and he didn’t hesitate when he lifted her chin and kissed her.

She gasped but reciprocated zealously. She pushed her body into his, and his arms went around her as he lifted her off her feet, cradling him to her as he kissed her like she was the wind that let him embrace the skies. He tasted like air, like gold, like this was his final breath and he was he was sharing it with just her.

***

Azriel sat with Gwyn while the rest of their friends danced. She hid it well, but he could tell that she was nervous being in this new environment.

She had been so good, so brave when she went into the restaurant and greeted Azriel’s family. Nesta and Emerie jumped up when they saw her, and Nesta held her tightly while Emerie rushed to get another chair. Nesta was trying to be subtle, but Azriel saw the happy tears she shed as she held Gwyn. Emerie then insisted that Gwyn sit and eat her strawberry and mango cheesecake with her, which earned an inexplicable scowl from Mor. Interesting.

Once Gwyn was satisfied and protesting the consumption of more food, they all walked together to one of the classier bars Nesta used to frequent so they could go dancing. Everyone was light as a feather, except Rhys, but life was hard as a fucking asshole, so Az wasn’t surprised he was feeling surly.

And now here they were. Azriel and Gwyn seated with the others dancing to their hearts content. Mor was spinning around with a giggling Nyx, Feyre and Rhys were swaying but it was obvious they were speaking to each other through their daemati bond, and Emerie and Nesta were terrorising Cassian in a three-way dance.

“How are you feeling?” Azriel asked, his shadows silent to her moods. If it had been anyone else, he would have known she was coming to the restaurant before she’d even left the House. But his shadows didn’t like to spy on her and revelled in him being surprised by her.

“I feel good.” Her gaze was focused on the dance floor, and Azriel glanced over to see what was so entrancing.

Nesta and Cassian were finally dancing alone, Emerie now with Nyx and Mor. The way Cassian and Nesta were grinding on each other was nothing short of pornographic as they moved into the shadows of the dance floor. Nesta’s back was to Cassian, his hands clasped on her hips as his lips were on her neck as she pushed her ass back against him.

Azriel snorted. They’d be fucking in an alley within the next fifteen minutes.

“Do you want to dance like that, Gwyneth?”

She turned to him, a lovely flush spreading from her face to her chest. “No,” she said unconvincingly. She slid her chair closer to his, the bar stool so high she had to hop onto it to sit. It was frightfully cute, and Azriel had to restrain from kissing her again.

He couldn’t help it in the street. The sight of her – rumpled, breathless, her face alight with joy – was too much for him.

She was beginning to be too much for him.

The longer he was with her, the more of her he was allowed to have, the more he feared he could never go back to just a simple friendship. This female would either be his salvation or his ruination, either of which he would happily accept if it meant he could savour every minute he had left with her.

Under the table, she linked their hands, and Azriel thought he might very well die from the touch.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to enjoy our plans.” He rubbed his thumb against her finger.

She smiled his way, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “It’s okay.” She looked down, biting her lip. “I went to your room. I saw what you had done.”

He swallowed hard. “Did you like it?”

She removed her hand from his and placed it on his thigh. “I loved it.”

He shifted in his seat, glad that the tablecloth was long enough so that anyone around, if they looked, would only see their ankles. “You’re playing with fire right now,” he chucked under his breath as she continued to stroke his thigh.

“I especially liked the mirror on the ceiling. May I ask, what purpose does it serve?” Her smile may have been all innocent, but the way her hand was moving was anything but.

She leant against him so they were touching shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“It was for your pleasure.”

“Is that right?”

He brushed his lips to her ear, grateful that the dim lights of the bar kept them in the shadows and that the dancing bodies kept their scents hidden. And over the live music, no one would hear them. “Mhm. It was so that, no matter what position I put you in, you could watch me.”

She tipped her head back, humming in acknowledgement. Her hand, already in dangerous territory, swept down his increasingly hard length.

He grunted, laying both his hands on the table and fisting the cloth.

“Is this okay?” she asked, breathless.

He nodded, taking a swig of his drink to distract him.

She brushed her hand down again, bolder this time, and he squirmed in his chair.

“I would take it out, but I fear it would be seen over the table. So inside it stays,” she sighed. “It must be hard being so large.” She put her lips to his ear, mimicking what he had done to her. “I do love it though. The size, the taste, I think about it constantly.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he choked out. “But at least I’d die happy.”

Her hand slipped inside his pants, and he couldn’t help but thrust up into her hand. He tilted his head back in pleasure as she worked him, getting the angles just right as she pumped him. He was unbelievably aroused by the public act, barely able to believe that she’d do something so audacious. But Cauldron have mercy, he would do anything if it meant she was touching him. She could ask to ride him right now in the middle of this bar and he would blissfully indulge.

“I’m going to finish soon,” he warned her.

“I can’t wait for you to finish in me.”

Her words were his undoing, and he felt the edge of the table splinter under his grip as he contained his moan of pleasure.

He stared at her as she pulled her hand from him, offering him a serviette to clean himself like she hadn’t just given him a mind-blowing orgasm where anyone could have seen.

“Az?” she asked after a few, content minutes of silence.

“Yes, Gwyneth?”

“Do you think we could go dance?”

***

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she had been this relentlessly happy. Azriel flew her and Emerie back to the House of Wind, the latter looking forlorn as they finally left the bar in the small hours of the morning.

Rhys and Feyre had left much earlier, Nyx too small to stay up that late, and if Gwyn was being honest she was surprised they lasted as long as they did. Feyre seemed fine, but Rhys was in a shocking mood. Every time she asked Azriel about it, he just muttered about Rhys being a jerk without elaborating. She could tell that whatever it was, it was sensitive, so she didn’t push him.

Her and Nesta put a very intoxicated Emerie to bed, stripping her and putting her into some pyjamas before tucking her in nice and tight with some herbs on her nightstand that would help her head in the morning. Azriel and Cassian had already gone to their respective bedrooms, and Gwyn contemplated how she was going to sneak into Azriel’s room when Nesta stopped her.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.”

Nesta led her to the library, and they plopped themselves onto one of the plush couches. Gwyn faced her as she sat, tucking her feet under Nesta’s thighs to keep them warm.

Two hot chocolates appeared to them on a table, a dish of marshmallows to the side. They whispered their thanks to the House, claiming the warm drinks. Gwyn pressed hers up against her face, liking the warmth on her skin.

“What do you want to talk about?” Gwyn asked, taking a sip.

“Azriel. You. You and Azriel.” Nesta patted her shin, and Gwyn put her drink down. This wasn’t a hot chocolate kind of conversation.

“I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Do you love him, Gwyn? Because if you did, or even if you don’t, you don’t have to sneak around Cassian and I and pretend nothing is happening. You can live here, forever if you want. All four of us in the House.”

“Nesta-”

“Imagine if we both had our families and babies here. It’s a big place, we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. And maybe Emerie could come too and she could fall in love too and we’d all be so happy. Okay, I’m rambling and that was weird. What I’m trying to say is – is that you can Azriel are so obviously together and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out why you’re keeping it a secret from us, not that I care that you have secrets you’re an adult and you don’t have to tell me everything, and I’m so fucking happy for you, Gwyn, and I want you to know that you can be publicly happy, if you want.”  

“Nesta…”

“I just love this. You and him. I’ve never seen Azriel so happy and you just smile all the time. And, oh, it reminds me of Cassian. In the way that I can see ourselves reflected in you two, and I wonder if maybe if I hadn’t been so,” she gestured at her head, “you know, then I could have just been this happy from the start of us, with him, like you two. So I need you to know that if you want that, if you want him, I am so incredibly supportive and I will do anything you want if it means you get your happily ever after. Okay, I’m done.”

“Nesta.”

“And I also would just love to know how this all began. Like the secret little smiles and observations that I’ve had for as long as I’ve known you just changed one day. And I know you guys used to train alone sometimes and I know you were always here with him, and me and Cas but I can’t pinpoint when your friendship turned into this.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I really am done now.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyn pinched her cheek lovingly, and Nesta swatted it away.

“Yes.”

Gwyn took a second to think about her words, and as nice and idyllic as they sounded, Gwyn wasn’t sure they were the truth.

“Nesta, we aren’t together.”

“What?”

“We have a…” Gwyn struggled to find the words. “Deal? Agreement?”

“A sexy agreement?”

Gwyn laughed. “No. Well, yes actually.” She launched into the story of how her and Azriel had started their bargain, detailing how Azriel had agreed to help her overcome her fear, and how much they practised towards her ultimate goal of sex. Gwyn also expressed how their closeness was something she treasured, as spending so much time together naturally led to a deepening in their friendship. Her face stained pink as she told her of some of the things they had done, but how, after over a month together, that hadn’t actually sealed the deal.

Nesta was silent the entire story, letting Gwyn speak her truth. She was contemplative over Gwyn’s words, not saying anything until she was done speaking.

“Before I say anything, I want to let you know how incredibly proud of you I am, and how much I support wanting to explore yourself and your sexuality. No matter what I say, I need you to know that.”

Well, that wasn’t a good start.

“I understand, Nesta.”

“Gwyn, do you love him?”

Gwyn took a deep breath. It was a topic she often pushed from her mind, unable or not wanting to broach the subject. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a yes or no, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shrugged her shoulders. “What if it’s a ‘I’m not sure because I so thoroughly blurred the lines between what was real and what I asked him to do to help me?’ What if it’s a ‘I don’t know if I could say it to him but if he said it to me, I would say it back in an instant?’”

“Do you know how he feels about you? Has he said anything?”

Gwyn shook her head. “I know we’re friends. I know he cares about me. I know he would do anything I asked of him. I know he must love me, in some way, but I don’t know if it’s love-love or platonic love.”

“And he’s never given any sort of indication of his intentions?”

Gwyn pondered how thoughtful he was, how detail oriented he was to her pleasure and how he was the best part of her day. And as she thought about it, about him, who was so caring and lovable and agreeable, and she realised that a lot of what he did for her – the comfort, the talking, the support – he would do for anyone.

“I’ve never asked.” Her breath shuddered, and Nesta put a hand to her cheek.

“Maybe you should.”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way as I do? What if I’m just an obligation?”

“Oh, my love.” Nesta repositioned them so that Gwyn was lying down, her head in Nesta’s lap, as Nesta lovingly stroked her hair. It reminded Gwyn so much of what Catrin used to do that she couldn’t help the tears that started to shed.

“It’s better to know what you are to him. If it’s any consolation, I think he cares about you a great deal. Maybe even loves you. It’s hard to tell when he’s naturally so cold.”

He wasn’t cold, she wanted to say, he was the warmest person she knew. Instead, she cried, and she let Nesta comfort her like she always did.

***

A few days passed, and although Gwyn never left the House, her sexual relations with Az didn’t progress. Rather, they stopped altogether. He didn’t mind at all, he was just glad for her company. They talked and trained, and Azriel was surprised that somehow he could be even more impressed of her than before.

She also started doing what he called her ‘casual kisses.’

They would be doing something monotonous, like sorting weapons for training the next day, and she could kiss him as she walked by him. Or they would be sitting in bed reading, and she would lean over and brush her lips to his temple.

It became a game, who could casually kiss the other first if the opportunity arose, and it was the best game Az had ever played.

He felt himself looking forward to the nights even if the only touching they did was cuddling until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Azriel wondered if this is what home felt like.

It was late, and Gwyn decided that she needed to return to the library before people started to question where she was. Az didn’t have the heart to tell her they already were.

“I had the most interesting conversation with Nesta the other day,” she said as they reached the door that would take her away.

“What about?”

Gwyn fiddled with her fingers, trepidation oozing from her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry starting to maw at him.

“I’m fine.” She turned to face him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her on her hairline. He loved the height different between them, it made him feel bigger than he was. “Nesta asked me about us. She has suspected for a while.”

He schooled his face into neutrality. As far as Gwyn knew, this was new information to him.

He hadn’t told her a word of what had happened between them and Rhys, and it would stay that way. All it would do was hurt her, and Azriel was serious when he said no harm would ever come her way from him. She did not need to know that Rhys was acting like a tool.

In more ways than one. Azriel didn’t need to read minds to know that Rhys was highly suspicious of them both. And more so, as much as it pained him to admit, how much Rhys disapproved. He wasn’t sure why, and he couldn’t bear to ask, but he had a good idea. Rhys, as much as he loved Az, must know that he would never be good enough for Gwyn. The idea had plagued him for days, and the only thing that drove away the dark thoughts were the casual kisses Gwyn would bestow upon him.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked her, snapping back to their conversation.

She shrugged. “At first I was worried, but now I’m actually kind of relieved.”

“Why were you worried?”

“You know, it’s weird. I had it in my head that if people knew I was on this mission to achieve some ultimate, empowering orgasm that they might judge me. But Nesta never would, and I felt like an idiot as soon as she looked at me and told me she knew we were,” she gestured between them, “touching.”

Az snickered. “Touching is one way to sum it up.”

“She asked me something I couldn’t answer.”

“What was that?”

“She asked me what we are.” She brushed her hands over his chest absentmindedly. “What I am to you.”

He clasped her hands and held them to his heart, trying to make her look at him when she was purposefully focusing on the floor.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. That I don’t know what I am to you.”

“Gwyn…”

“I need to say something, and I beg you not to interrupt until I’m done.” She sniffled, and he hated the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away, facing him with steel. “I genuinely approached you with nothing but friendship in mind. I had a plan, to sleep with you once and then go back to how we always were before – me, as your overly competitive but absolute best student, and you as, as this God of a man that I could not believe even walked the same existence as me, let alone be someone I considered a friend. You were my ribbon Az. The thing I wanted to be as good as. And then you said yes to me. I didn’t expect you to. I half-thought you would laugh because you thought I was joking. But you didn’t, and you said yes, and I have made the grave mistake of developing feelings I swore to myself I wouldn’t.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“I had every intention of having sex with you until Nesta asked me what I was to you. And then I realised that if all I was to you was a proposition to uphold, I couldn’t do it. I can’t be with you just once. I can’t be just friends if we take that last step. So, Az, I’m asking you, and please don’t feel obligated to say anything you don’t feel, but what am I to you?”

He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like his ribs were being ripped apart and then shoved back together until his lungs were caged too tightly. He knew what he wanted to say, that of course she was more than that, she was everything, but then he thought of her spirit being crushed by his inadequacies, and how she could do so much better now that she was ready to. She was pure, she was light, and she deserved more than his darkness.

He had been quiet too long.

Watching her was like watching a porcelain doll shatter after being dropped. Her face crumbled, and she pulled her hands away from him as she tried to contain herself.

“You’re my best friend.” He finally said, his own tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t lose you.” Which he would, if she stayed with him and realised how truly broken he was.

A sob fractured her chest, and Az hated the way her voice sounded when she spoke. “You’re my best friend, too.”

And then they were kissing. It tasted like salt from their tears and was more passionate and heart-wrenching than any of the kisses they’d had before. They were drowning, their only hope at salvation one another as they clung to each other with all the strength they had.

Azriel didn’t want to let her go. He knew once he did that it would be over. His month of bliss, of final contentment, would be over. Part of him wished Nesta had never opened her mouth, or that he’d been able to tell the truth, but all of him wished that he was someone else, or that he was more like his brothers, so that he was good enough for her.

When they finally stopped kissing, it was not so she could leave. They still clung to each other, breathing in each other’s scents, well into the night.

When she whispered goodbye, part of his soul left with her as she walked away.

He lied to her by staying silent. He should have told her the truth, that what he was feeling went deeper than affection, maybe even deeper than love. But this lie protected her, and he would take it to his grave.

[yumeyooa]

bippity-boppity bloom: act one | todoroki shoto

—everyone knows the story of cinderella, saved by a prince and a glass slipper. but what if the true hero wasn’t the prince, but rather the fairy god mother? todoroki shoto has been suffering under the hands of his wicked family his whole life, yet everything changes when he meets you: a fairy forced to take care of him as punishment. will the odds be in your favor? or will everything go down from here on out?

➢  pairing: todoroki shoto x female! reader

➢ genre: fluff | angst | fairy tale au | supernatural au | strangers to lovers au | cinderella au | cinderella! todoroki | fairy god mother! reader | rated 17 | sfw

➢ word count: 15.2k+

➢  warning: she/her pronouns for reader | beatings | domestic abuse | insults | bruises | injuries | bullying | mentions of blood and broken bones | mentions of murder and death | the todoroki family is really evil | i also changed up the birth order for the family | please please don’t read if these bother you; it gets really dark :(

➢ love letter: henlo!! i am late but this is for @milktyama​ ‘s once upon an alternative universe collab!! originally this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i eventually realized that it would be better if this was split into two! although most of the romance comes in the second part T_T i hope you like it and let me know what you think!! 

➢ taglist (send an ask to be tagged): @loveinhaikyuu​ @mirakeul​ @strcwberrieswine​ @kunaigirlx44​ @maxzinn @faewraithsworld​ 

navigation | anime masterlist | act two

Magic was a curious thing. 

Since the dawn of time, people have used magic to describe the unknown, to give meaning to the things they could not explain. That quarter you lost suddenly showing up at your feet? Magic. An electric jolt shooting through your veins after coming into contact with another? Magic. Flowers blooming amidst the cold winter? Magic. 

No matter where you went or what you did, magic was everywhere. It hid itself from the world, waiting in silence for those who would come to know the beauty of it. Those who would cherish it with all their heart and soul and would never abuse it for their own selfish gain. 

To the rest of the world, magic was something they could only wish to find.

But the true secret of magic remained hidden in the arms of those who could wield it. 

“Don’t tell me you’re pranking someone again?” An exasperated sigh calls from behind you, and you turn around, startled to find a young man with deep violet hair haphazardly framing his face. He was staring at you with an unimpressed look as if he had gone through this exact situation plenty of times in the past, and from the way you sheepishly smile back at him, he probably had. 

“Me? Pranking Someone? Why I would never!” You exclaim, faking innocence as the man gives you a knowing look, causing a groan to fall from your lips as you heave a sigh, throwing a playful glare back his way. 

“Oh, come on, Hitoshi!” You whine, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance. ���What harm can one prank do? It’s not even that bad!”

“Must I remind you what happened that one time you decided to prank Elder Aizawa?” You freeze in your place, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “He nearly convinced the council of elders to have you banished to the human realm! Do you not understand how grave that could have been?”

You remain silent, sulking. As much as you hated to admit it, your best friend had a point. To fairies, being banished was like a death sentence. Without any support from the all-powerful tree of life, a fairy would wither away and die just like that. It was scary to even think about it, and you were lucky that Hitoshi had somehow managed to save you from that terrible predicament. 

From the very beginning, you had always been considered a peculiarity amongst the other fairies. Whereas they were graceful and elegant, you were clumsy and awkward. Where they excelled in soft chatter and gentle smiles, you reveled in chaos and the undignified. 

You were an outcast amongst the fairies, but you honestly couldn’t blame them. 

Fairies were the keepers of magic, after all. They were expected to uphold a particular image befitting of being wielders of the most sacred entity provided by the tree of life. Fairies were supposed to be noble and delicate. They were supposed to hold their heads up high as protectors of the supernatural. That very image, however, didn’t suit you at all. 

You never understood it. Why did they take pride in being so uptight? It was boring. There was no freedom in upholding the elegance of their kind through every single thing they did. They seemed so bare as if being a fairy sucked all the life out of them. Which was ironic, considering they were supposed to be protectors of the tree of life. 

“—(Y/N)? Are you even listening to me? Hello?” You snap out of your trance, looking at your friend who was staring at you with a nonchalant look on his face. Hitoshi has always been a rather unique character, even to you. He didn’t explicitly fit into the stereotypical image of a fairy, yet he was never ostracized for it. It was as if he was an exception— an anomaly from the harsh judgment of the fairy realm. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask, trying to come off as if you were paying attention when in all actuality, you weren’t. Hitoshi sighs, rolling his eyes playfully as he ruffles your head, messing up your hair in the process, causing a grunt of protest to fall from your lips. He sits beside you on the ledge you were perched atop on, staring down at the crowd of fairies below. 

The two of you were apprentices to the council of elders, helping them ensure that there was order amongst the fairies. Order was essential for the protectors of the tree of life because, without it, chaos would ensue, and the world, no, the entire universe, would fall apart. The council of elders was the supreme government of the fairy world, and to be an apprentice to even one of them, was a great honor and responsibility. 

You just hated all the expectations that came with it. 

“What kind of prank were you supposed to play this time?” Hitoshi asks, humming as he stares up at the sky above you. You stare at the wand in your hand, puffing your cheeks in disappointment at the realization that you wouldn’t be able to pull the prank off anymore. 

“Nothing much,” you mutter. “Just wanted to test out some new spells I learned the other day, and I figured why not test it out on some… unsuspecting figures.”

“(Y/N),” Hitoshi says, voice stern as if he were a mother reprimanding his child. You huff, pout forming on your lips. “You know that if any of the other elders were to find out, they’d have your apprenticeship stripped away. What would you do then?”

You stay silent, the truth in Hitoshi’s words stinging painfully, more than it should. He was right. Shunned away from your family since your coming of age, the council of elders was the only one who had accepted you, albeit reluctantly. No fairy wanted to be associated with an outcast after all. It would only tarnish that pure image they had crafted into perfection, and as prideful beings, they couldn’t have that. 

If it wasn’t for Elder Yagi, the most influential fairy in the realm, then you would have been left for dead. Elder Yagi was the definition of the perfect fairy. He wasn’t just delicate and graceful on the surface; he was kind and compassionate within. Although many disagreed with his views on accepting those who didn’t fit into society’s expectations, they could never truly go against him. Because that would be like going against the very essence of fairies, after all. 

So they kept their malice and disdain a secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and if you weren’t careful, then their next victim would be you. 

“The elders are calling for you,” Hitoshi says out of the blue, causing your blood to run cold. You stare at him with a shocked expression on your face, and you couldn’t deny the fear that was beginning to bubble within. “Elder Aizawa sent me to look for you. Said they requested your presence immediately.”

There’s a solemn look on Hitoshi’s face, and you can tell beyond the surface that he’s worried. Being called upon by the council of elders meant only one of two things to a fairy: it was either they were to be punished, or they were to be rewarded. And you had done nothing of the sort to deserve a just reward. 

You chuckle, looking down at your lap, not knowing what to say. You didn’t understand why what you did was so wrong. Why were they trying to punish you when all you wanted was to bring life into this otherwise dull place? No matter how hard they tried to hide it, some fairy children enjoyed your pranks, and the thought of bringing smiles to their faces was what kept you going. 

You just didn’t expect to get severely punished for it, though. 

“Thanks for telling me, Hitoshi,” you say, standing up, a fake smile plastered on your face in an attempt to seem as if his recent news didn’t bother you as much as it did. “Guess I better get going then, wouldn’t want Elder Aizawa to scold me for being late again.”

Hitoshi remains silent, staring up at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a sigh, standing up and ruffling your hair once more. “Stop putting up a brave face, idiot. It doesn’t suit you.” You want to protest but can’t find the courage to do so, remaining silent as the smile falls from your face. “Come on, I’ll accompany you there.”

Shocked, you look up at him, features clearly showing your surprise. “What?” He asks, scoffing. “You really think I wouldn’t accompany you to your death? You know that I’d kill to see it happen in front of my very eyes.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten up the mood because the nerves running through you are too much to handle. But even so, you’re grateful for it. Despite not being outright honest about it, Hitoshi still cared. He had cared for you ever since you called out one of the other fairies for calling him a disgrace the moment you first met. He had stuck with you through thick and thin and had been the only fairy to believe in you, aside from Elder Yagi. 

And you couldn’t be any more grateful for it. 

“Weirdo,” you call, a genuine smile forming on your lips, Hitoshi reflecting his own, albeit his was a lot less noticeable. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down the nerves that were thrumming deep beneath your skin, and nod to Hitoshi, the two of you teleporting just outside the auditorium of the council of elders. 

You had always hated the auditorium. It was a dark and scary place, dimly lit, with all of the elders present atop a high porch, staring down at you like you were some inferior being to them. Whenever you were in the dark room, assisting the elders in their work, you always felt the paranoia creep up against you, begging you to just run and leave the room, even when there was no immediate danger present. 

That was the effect the council of elders had always possessed since the beginning— intimidation. And you hated them for it. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging waves of nervousness that were thrashing wildly deep inside you. You’re shaking. You can see it in the way your hands shiver as you reach out to place a knock on the wooden doors, hesitating. 

“You’ll be fine,” Hitoshi whispers, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, yeah?” 

It’s comforting. Hitoshi isn’t one for words and prefers to show his care through subtle actions, but you know he means well. Taking another deep breath, you give your best friend a weak smile, knocking on the doors, heart heavy.

Like magic, they open, and a deep “come in” calls out to you, causing you to gulp as you nod one final time to Hitoshi before entering the auditorium, with a hopeful heart dangling on the edge of light and darkness. 

The Council of Elders truly had a knack for intimidation, you think to yourself as you stare up at the seven fairies that governed the world you had come to know. They sat atop their seats (which looked more like thrones, in your opinion), staring down at you with glares on their faces. 

While you had expected their hostility towards you, as you didn’t exactly have the best reputation amongst their apprentices, you were surprised that even Elder Yagi, your mentor, and father figure, was looking at you with a disappointed gaze. What was going on? What had you done wrong?

It’s then, amidst your confusion, that your eyes land on another figure present in the room. The very presence of this figure makes your blood boil in anger, and you try to suppress it with deep breaths, closing your eyes to calm yourself before meeting eyes with the said figure. 

Neito. Oh, how you despised the man. Neito was one of your fellow apprentices who served the Council of Elders, specifically Elder Sekijiro, who was in charge of the vanguard— the elite force of fairies that specialized in defense, ensuring that there was peace and order in the world. 

While it was an honorable position, Neito was not an honorable man in the slightest. Ever since you had met him, he had been mean and downright evil, taunting you every chance he got. He was the very reason you had gotten into trouble, multiple times, with the council. He was your mortal enemy, your archnemesis, the man you wished would fall into a puddle of shit and never come back the same. 

If he was there in the room, then it only meant one thing. He had ratted you out or had made up some ridiculous story to use against you. 

Typical. 

Oh, how you wished you could wipe that ridiculous smirk off his face. 

“(Y/N),” a voice booms and your eyes turn up to meet Grand Elder Nezu, the elder amongst all elders, the wisest and most potent fairy ever known (much to the disbelief of everyone else, as compared to Elder Yagi, Elder Nezu looked weak. But, you supposed, you shouldn’t judge someone based on appearance alone). 

“I bow towards the Council of Elders,” you greet, bowing in respect. Your heart thrummed nervously within you, not sure what to think of this summon. What were they going to reprimand you for this time?

“Are you aware of the reason you’ve been summoned here today?” Grand Elder Nezu asks, looking at you with calculating eyes. You gulp, not knowing how to proceed, but figured that in a situation like this, honesty was the best policy. “Unfortunately, no, Grand Elder,” you reply, eyes cast down in respect. “I have an idea, but even so, I am still clueless to the true reason as to why I’ve been summoned.”

“Ha!” Neito exclaims, scoffing. “Look at how shameless she is, Grand Elder. Pretending to not know when she knows exactly what she’s done?” 

“I beg your pardon?” You ask, feeling yourself get annoyed the more Neito stood there all high and mighty as if he were some chosen one. “I speak the truth, elders. I truly have no idea why I’ve been summoned….”

“Lies!” Neito accuses, pointing a finger at you. “How can you be so shameless after attacking me?”

You pause, blinking slowly as you try to process the ridiculous claim Neito had just presented. You? Attacking him? As much as you despised the guy, you knew that attacking another fairy was absolutely forbidden for an apprentice of the council of elders. You weren’t stupid. 

“Attacking you?” You ask in disbelief. “When have I ever attacked you, Neito?” 

You watch with cautious eyes as Neito smirks at you, eyes taunting as if you had played right into his trap. He grabs the hem of his dress shirt before pulling it up to reveal a massive bruise on his torso. 

“You did this,” he accuses, and you can tell he’s faking it, although judging by the harsh glare you’re receiving from Elder Sekijiro, his act is actually believable. Were the elders really that vulnerable? “You attacked me because you were jealous of my achievements!”

You gape at him, not believing your eyes at the pure monstrosity that was the situation you were facing him. What kind of story was this? There was no way that the council of elders actually believed him, right? Their view of you wasn’t that bad, right?

“(Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu calls, eyes stern. “Is this true?” 

“Of course not, Grand Elder!” You exclaim in protest. “What reason do I have to be jealous of Neito?”

“Don’t listen to her lies, Grand Elder!” Neito says. With the way he was acting, you swear he could get an award for being the worst and best actor of all time, and you yourself weren’t sure how that was possible. “In fact, the question we should be asking is what reason does she have to not be jealous of me? She’s an outcast. She’s been shunned by society for so long. Everyone knows she hates my guts— although I do not understand why as I’ve been nothing but nice to her— so why would she not want to sabotage me when she sees me excel?”

Scratch that best actor award, you think to yourself. The darn idiot deserved an award for being an expert manipulator. If you didn’t know better, if you weren’t sure of your truth, you would have been swayed by his words, second-guessing yourself and questioning whether or not you did attack him. But unluckily for Neito, you were one stubborn fairy, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You? Nice to me?” you say, seething, much to the shock of everyone in the room. “Grand Elder, what Neito is saying is absolutely preposterous! Yes, it is true that I hate his guts, but that’s because ever since I’ve been an apprentice, he’s made my life a living hell! And besides, this apprenticeship is all I have. If I do anything to jeopardize it, I would have nowhere to go; I’d basically be dead. Why would I risk it because of one person? And Neito, for that matter!”

You honestly didn’t mean to let your emotions slip like that. But you couldn’t help it. It infuriated you that the council would be willing to believe Neito. Neito who had everything, who had a choice to leave or not, who had a family to return to. Neito who didn’t understand how much pain you were going through, how much torment plagued your heart. He didn’t and would never understand. That’s what privilege does to a person. 

“Grand Elder—” Neito begins, and you swear if he spits any more lies, you would genuinely launch at him and smack him in the face. But before you could make a move, the Grand Elder raises his hand, causing silence to settle in the room. 

“—Enough.” Grand Elder Nezu’s voice booms throughout the empty room, causing the two of you to halt in your banter, bowing in shame and obedience. “The council has heard both sides and are appalled by the disgrace exuded by both fairies, especially you young Neito.” 

You can see the way Neito clenches his fist, glaring at the ground below him, and you can almost imagine the way he thinks the floor is your head, glaring daggers at it for causing him to be criticized by the grand elder of all fairies. But that was the least of your concerns, as you can feel their disappointed glances lying on you as well. 

“For your misconduct, both of you will receive punishment. However, young (Y/N), because of your alleged behavior and misdeeds, we will have to take extra precautions to ensure that this does not happen again.” You can feel your heart beating rapidly within your chest. What kind of punishment was he going to give? You hoped you weren’t going to get banished because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having to see the people you cherished ever again. 

But whatever the council says, goes, and no fairy, no matter how powerful they were in society, could deny their final verdict. 

“For your punishment, young Neito, you will be serving under Elder Aizawa until the Purification Ceremony next fall.” From where you stood, you could see Neito jolt up in fear, eyes pleading with the Grand Elder silently, as if he were begging them to give him any other punishment instead. 

Elder Aizawa was the dean of the academy all fairies were expected to graduate from. And, as a dean should, he was incredibly strict and was known for ruling over his apprentices with an iron fist. Amongst all the elders of the council, he was the one most hoped to avoid serving under, and if you were sent to serve under him, then it meant that you had done something extremely bad. 

Although, sometimes you could hardly believe those rumors, considering Hitoshi himself served under Elder Aizawa. But perhaps that was because the said elder treated Hitoshi like he was his own son, much like Elder Yagi did to you. 

As much as Neito wanted to protest, to exclaim how preposterous it was for a fairy from the noble family of Monoma to not serve through the vanguard, he couldn’t. The elders’ eyes pierced through him, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking once he felt the menacing glare of Elder Sekijiro on him. Even his own master thought he deserved to be punished. What a shame. 

With his head bowed low, Neito grits his teeth, bowing towards the council. “I humbly accept this punishment bestowed upon me by the Council of Elders and pledge to fulfill it until I am deemed worthy once more.” His words contain malice, and you can tell he was trying to control himself from lashing out and making the situation even worse. It was a blow to his pride, after all, that he would get punished after trying to bring someone ‘beneath’ him down. 

Just as he’s about to take his leave, he stops beside you, and it almost feels as if he’s glaring at your soul, cursing it for the things you’ve done to him, although reality has proved that you’ve done nothing wrong. “Just you wait,” he whispers, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ll get you back someday,” and then he leaves, closing the wooden doors shut behind him. 

The silence that envelopes the auditorium is uncanny, you think to yourself. Maybe it was because you were still getting the chills from the words Neito had whispered into your ear. Or perhaps it was because of the unreadable yet at the same time uncomfortable stares the council was throwing your way. Either way, the silence made you want to drown. To hide in the comforts of your room and stay there until the coast was clear. 

“Young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu begins, and you gulp, hoping for the best yet expecting the worst. “As for your punishment, you will be reassigned to another group of apprentice fairies under my guidance— the god fairies.”

What?

...God Fairies?

Grand Elder Nezu smiles softly at the look on your face before clearing his throat and continuing, trusting that you would be able to keep up with him. In his eyes, you were a rather intelligent fairy after all. Strange, but brilliant nonetheless. 

“The God Fairies are a special elite force of apprentices under my supervision. It’s composed of fairies deemed problematic by the standards of our society and utilizes their uniqueness to serve our realm for the better good.”

You wanted to scoff. Rather than an elite force, it sounded like a group of slaves forced to listen to the Grand Elder, with an even more severe punishment dangling above their heads. A suiting sentence disguised as an honor. 

“I know what you’re thinking, young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu says with a knowing look. “However, this elite force is infinitely more important than any other group in the fairy realm, as they help sustain our influence over the humans.”

Confused, you look up to him, a million questions dancing within your eyes. Influence over humans? What exactly did he mean by that? Back at the academy, the older fairies had always taught you that humans and fairies never, under any circumstance, interacted with each other. It was forbidden. Interacting with humans was too dangerous as they were greedy and vile beings who would only seize magic for their own selfish gain should they even catch one whiff of it. 

Magic was not meant to fall into human hands. That was just the way the world worked. So why was the Grand Elder telling you otherwise?

“The God Fairies help ensure that the humans’ belief in magic remains strong,” Grand Elder Nezu continues, even though you were still trying to comprehend what he had said prior. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Being the Grand Elder had numerous responsibilities involved, and those responsibilities waited for no one, not even him. 

“You see, young (Y/N), as the years have passed, we, the council, have come across an alarming discovery,” you look up to the council tentatively, choosing to merely listen as trying to process their words in real time was proving to be complicated. “The tree of life that we have grown to cherish for over a millennium has weakened.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips, and rightfully so. The tree of life was the lifeline of the fairies. It was literally their world, giving life to everything they had ever come to know. The tree of life was what made fairies, fairies, providing them with their gorgeous translucent wings and copious amount of magic to have every other supernatural being out there jealous. 

If it were to weaken and somehow die, then that would mean the end of the fairies. And that was a thought even more terrifying than the prospect of banishment. 

“Fear not, young (Y/N),” This time, Elder Yagi decides to speak up, sensing the inherent panic and fear in your eyes. Elder Yagi always had a knack for reading your emotions, much like Hitoshi. Sometimes you wondered if that chalked up to you wearing your heart on your sleeve for everyone else to easily trample over, but that hadn’t been the case the more you got to know Elder Yagi and Hitoshi. 

They both took your heart within their arms and cherished it like it was their own, even if the way they showed that care differed and was sometimes unnoticeable. Elder Yagi’s words, masked by his usual patriotic smile, were his way of comforting you when the going got rough. And for that, you would forever be thankful.

“We’ve discovered a new way to harness the magic we fairies so desperately need,” Elder Yagi continues, his smile never leaving. “And that solution lies in the humans.”

The moment the word human leaves Elder Yagi’s mouth, Elder Aizawa sneers in disgust, rolling his eyes, and from the opposite side of him, you can see Elder Sekijiro do the same. It wasn’t something new. After all, with the divide and disdain of the fairies towards fellow fae who wouldn’t live up to their noble standards, their disgust was only further amplified with the knowledge that other inferior beings, such as humans, existed. Even with their inferiority, they were beginning to push the fairies to the brink of a calamity with how much they were destroying the order of nature. 

So you understood that there was an even greater prejudice towards humans, and you could feel nothing but sympathy and agony, knowing precisely what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such animosity. 

“The humans,” Elder Yagi continues, not paying much mind to the disheartened expressions on his fellow elders’ (with the exception of the Grand Elder) faces. “Surprisingly, have an innate source of magic within them, much different from our own.”

Confused, you look up at the kind elder, allowing yourself to show a little emotion with the way he looks down kindly at you as if he were a father talking towards his child. Elder Yagi had always guided you when you felt lost amidst the noble fairies that served under the council and was more than happy to help you with whatever you needed. 

Yet, currently, Elder Yagi was the main source of your confusion. 

“When a human begins to believe in the supernatural, their innate magic ability awakens and pours out of them like waves, and when they sustain that belief? That innate magic becomes stronger.” It’s a revolutionary discovery, in your eyes. Humans had always been thought of as useless. But more than that, the council had constantly reminded the fairies to stray away from them, as no one knows what hidden malice the humans could have, despite the disbelief of your fellow fae. 

“This is why we have formed the God Fairies, to ensure that the humans’ magic will be sustained and harnessed for our survival.” Elder Yagi looks at you, and you feel yourself flinch at the serious glance on his face, something that you knew wasn’t usual for the strong fairy. “Do you understand, young (Y/N)?”

The only thing you have the courage to do at the moment is nod, not trusting the thoughts that were lit ablaze in your mind, chaotic and unhinged. You knew that if you were to speak, your words would have most likely enraged the council as you currently had no control over them. 

“Good.” Grand Elder Nezu says after a few moments of silence. “In line with this, we will be assigning you, young (Y/N), to a human. Your punishment, or in this case, mission is to ensure that you’ve collected enough magic to sustain a family of fairies the same size as Young Neito’s.”

Your eyes widen, and you divert your attention towards Elder Yagi, begging him to say that the Grand Elder’s words were not true. But when you see Elder Aizawa sport a sinister grin from the corner of your eye, you feel your heart sink. As much as you hated Neito, he was a powerful fairy who came from a highly influential family within the realm. It was the reason why he was in the vanguard. After all, his family’s influence has been his threshold throughout the days you knew each other. 

And for a family as prominent in magical combat as his, they needed copious amounts of magic. An amount that you were sure couldn’t be collected by one fairy. In fact, the powerful fairies of the realm often sourced their innate magic directly from the elders themselves, a privilege that not many were able to enjoy. 

This was a punishment, after all. Great. Just Great.

“I understand, Grand Elder,” you say after finally composing yourself. You can feel the dread gradually sink in, and your mind races with worry at the thought of having to go through the daunting task. “I will do as you desire. For the glory of the fae.”

You can sense the satisfied yet cunning smiles of the council, pleased with your decision, and you heave a sigh, unsure of what the future could have in store. 

You could only hope that you wouldn’t be screwed over in the process. 

The human realm was fascinating, to say the least. 

When you first stepped foot on the lush forest of the realm, just on the outskirts of a bustling city, you couldn’t help but feel amazed. No amount of preparation from the elders or your friends could truly prepare you for this moment. 

For the past few weeks, Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had been preparing you extensively for this mission. They briefed you on the does and don’ts of a fairy entering the human realm, bragged about other god fairies who had succeeded in securing a sustainable amount of magic for the fairies, and just boasted. 

There was no comfort nor reassurance from either elder, which you had expected from Elder Yagi, but as you had come to find out, it seemed as if your father figure was still disappointed in you, causing your heart to sink. Did he really believe that you deserved to be punished?

You couldn’t even get this heavy feeling out of your chest. The worst part is that you couldn’t consult your best friend, Hitoshi, at all about this matter. Hitoshi had no knowledge of the god fairies as he had been a devout apprentice under Elder Aizawa’s care. He had no reason to know about it, he was already doing great, and that thought made your stomach churn. 

You desperately wanted to confide in him, to spill your fears and anxieties for him to hear. No matter how insufferable Hitoshi was, he was a great listener and a great friend. 

Gosh, you haven’t even spent one second in the Human Realm, and you were already feeling sick to your core. 

At least the view made it better. 

The council of elders had decided to assign you to a human living in the Musutafu Empire, nestled in the far east of the mortal realm. The Empire was drastically different from your own simple abode back in the fairy realm. Whereas yours was deeply rooted in nature, theirs was thriving on industrial roots. 

You couldn’t explain it, but the way they structured their buildings and houses was beautiful. It was a whole different style from what you were used to back home, with high walls and rowdy streets. The people were smiling, clad in clothing that was tight yet loose at the same time, with a ribbon wrapped securely around their waists. Far different from the flowy garments that you had back in the fairy realm. 

As you made your way to the capital, marveling at all the new sights that were capturing your eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what the human assigned to you was like. Would he be stuck up like all the fairies you had come to know? Or would he be kind, much like Elder Yagi and Hitoshi were? The curiosity burned deep inside you, and you found yourself brimming with excitement at the thought of meeting him. 

Your mission was fairly simple if you could take away the fact that you had to harvest an impossible amount of magic. You were to watch over a selected human, who the council deemed had the potential to unlock their innate magic and help them when they most needed it. 

Almost as if you were someone who granted wishes, was what Grand Elder Nezu said. Granting wishes was the most effective way to strengthen the human’s belief in magic, allowing their own to flow out for the taking. Of course, there were other ways, such as haunting the humans or causing supernatural disasters that didn’t make sense. But such methods were unbecoming of fairies, and you couldn’t help but groan at the thought. 

Haunting seemed fun, after all. Almost as if you were constantly playing a prank on an unassuming human. You would have killed for that to be your punishment instead. 

But no. You were stuck with granting wishes, albeit not as often, as showing too much magic mind taint the human with greed and desire. Something that no fairy wanted. 

Checking on the special compass that the elders had given you prior to your journey, you make your way towards your assigned human, gaping in awe at the view of the capital down below you. Of course, with the magic you held, they wouldn’t be able to see you as you had concealed yourself prior, but you wished they could. It would have been fun to see their shell-shocked expressions. Maybe that was a more efficient way of harnessing their magic?

Or, rather than being an efficient method, it was most likely going to be a one-way ticket to banishment from the fairy realm, aka an express ride towards death, something you wanted to avoid at all costs. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spot the house of the human the elders had assigned to you. It was big, much larger than your own humble cottage back in the fairy realm, yet, even so, it didn’t compare to the ginormous estates that lay north of the house, almost as if it belonged perfectly in the middle. 

You gasped at the tranquility of the mansion, almost as if you had once again been transported into another world. It was almost as if in this home, time stopped, and peace overflowed. You perched yourself atop a sturdy branch, looking around and admiring the view.

But peace doesn’t last for long because all of a sudden, a slam rings through the air, and you watch curiously as a large man, who oddly enough looks similar to Elder Sekijiro, although that was probably a figment of your imagination, there was no way the frightening elder would actually be in the human realm, stumbles into view.

The large man looked pissed, you noticed, as he dragged something behind him, and it’s only till the large man threw whatever he was carrying harshly unto the tree you were perched on did you realize that what the man had dragged wasn’t just a thing, but rather it was a person. 

You gasp, heart breaking at the sight of the young boy. From where you sat above him, you could tell that he was covered with bruises all over, with a ghastly scar covering one of his eyes. The poor boy looked so weak and frail that you wanted nothing more than to steal the boy away and tend to him until he could stand on his own two feet one more. It was cruel. Was this the doing of that man?

You look up, and it’s only then that you notice a few more children looking at the scene below you with different expressions on their faces. There were about three of them; two boys and one girl. The tallest and assumably the eldest had an unbothered look on his face as if he couldn’t care less about the poor boy who had just been thrown into a three. The second boy, with snow-white hair, sported a sadistic grin as if he were enjoying seeing the young boy in pain. And the girl? The girl, who looked so sweet and innocent, held eyes of pure disgust as she clutched her teddy bear tighter to her chest, almost as if she were glaring at the young boy. 

Was this the kid’s family?

“Shoto!” The large man, whom you had deduced to be the father, screamed. You flinch at the loudness of his voice, intimidation flowing out of him in waves, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You look down, heart hurting at the sight of the young boy cowering in fear, but he still kept a brave face. Well, as much as he could do in that situation. 

“You dare disobey your brother?” He continues, tone raising more and more as his fists clench. “How many times have I told you to listen to your siblings? They’re much older, stronger, and smarter than a little piece of shit like you. Heck, even Fuyumi, who’s a girl, is much more dignified than your pathetic ass!”

The more words fell from the man’s mouth, the more you wished to hex him with forbidden magic. Although doing so would only make your punishment worse. The elders were strict about black magic, after all. Anyone who even showed a little bit of interest was considered a threat and was sent to conduct punishments almost immediately. It was cruel, but you were on wit’s end because nowhere had you seen a vile man like him. 

“It’s true, father!” The second sibling says, the sinister grin on his lips only growing. “I had asked Shoto nicely to help with my chores because I wanted to get more practice in for the royal knights’ examination, but he had the audacity to retaliate with the excuse that he already had chores to do.” The kid scoffs, rolling his eyes in the process. “He barely does anything in this house, yet he’s a burden to those of us who actually are? Father, he deserves punishment!”

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as if you were getting deja vu from this situation. The look on that kid’s face painfully reminded you of Neito, and you couldn’t help the gut feeling that made you believe that what the kid was saying was far from the truth.

“Shameful!” The father says, raising a hand to slap the young child to the side, and you gasp in horror wanting nothing more to interfere, yet the Grand Elder’s words ring harshly in your ear. There needs to be a balance. He had said. It would plunge the realms into total chaos if more than one human discovered the reality of magic simultaneously, especially those with foul intentions. 

You couldn’t reveal yourself, not yet, at least. Yet, at the same time, you wanted to curse the elders back home, for they had assigned to you a child who was literally experiencing hell on earth and only gave you limited movement to help. 

You watch, feeling the tears threaten to fall as the damn bastard of a father lands another punch towards his son, to the point where he begins to cough blood. Your eyes widen in horror as you hear the other children’s cheers. Why were they like this? Weren’t they family? Why were they treating one of their own like he wasn’t? He didn’t deserve this. He was only but a child!

When the father was finally finished with his rain of terror, you couldn’t help but release the breath you were holding in. Finally, it was over. But as if he couldn’t get any worse, the father towers over him, blue eyes boring into his kids. “If I see any of these bruises and wounds healed,” he whispers just enough for only Shoto to hear, but with your heightened senses, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Then you will get a beating far worse than this one. Do you understand?”

The kid nods weakly, not having the strength to communicate properly, causing the father to glare at him harder. “You are a disgrace to the Todoroki name, Shoto. Never forget that.”

And just like that, he leaves, the children following closely behind with mocking looks on their faces. The second sibling even goes so far as to spit on his youngest brother, causing you to clench your fists in anger, wanting to teach that kid a lesson. What kind of twisted personality did he have? Why was he treating his family like this? You just couldn’t understand. 

When they finally leave, leaving the young kid on the rough ground, wallowing in his misery and pain, you find it in yourself to come down and take action. What action, you may ask? You weren’t quite sure yourself, but every fiber in your being was begging you to do something to help the poor child. 

You kneel beside the beaten-up boy, weaving your hand through his dirtied hair. The boy looked like he hadn’t even been given an ounce of care throughout his life. How could this be? Wasn’t a family supposed to love each other? But you knew yourself that not all families were like that, only the lucky ones. 

The world, no matter what realm you were in, was cruel and cold to those who didn’t fit in, to those that made them feel sick. Within your heart, you knew exactly what the young child was feeling, although only to a certain extent as it could never compare to the feeling of getting beaten up by the people you were supposed to love on a day-to-day basis. 

But you too had been abandoned, you too had been ridiculed, and you knew how much that pain could carry through the rest of one’s life. The pain never truly goes away. It would only get buried, waiting for the moment it could come back to life. And if that pain was prolonged? Then that would only make things worse. 

So you decided, with a firm grip on your heart, that until you had to leave, you would be there for this child. More than punishment, more than a duty you had to fulfill, you would be there for him until the very end. 

That was a promise. 

Todoroki Shoto had never known love. 

For as long as he could remember, ever since the day he was born, his family had hated him. For what reason? He couldn’t quite comprehend, but now that he was a bit older, he understood to some extent. 

His birth had caused his mother to die. 

It was something that his family reminded him of every day. Whenever his brother, Natsuo, forced him to do his share of chores, he would always add in a snarky remark saying how it was the least he could do since he took his mother away from him. It hurt, but he couldn’t argue. It was the truth, after all. Him being born into the world had caused their own mother to leave it. It was only natural for his family to hate him. 

From what he had heard, his mother was a very kind woman. With the same snow-white hair that covered half of his head, Todoroki Rei was known to be an angel. She was kind, always selflessly showing her love, and in turn, everyone loved her for it. She was the life of the party, even though she was frail, and never failed to make everyone around her smile. She was what one would consider the embodiment of good.

And Shoto had taken her away from them. 

Everyone in the Todoroki household hated him, even the servants. How dare a useless child like him take away their mistress? How dare he live on as if nothing was wrong when he was the very reason that the light of the Todoroki household dimmed out. He was a despicable child in the eyes of everyone else, one that never deserved love. 

So they fed him moldy bread and spoiled milk, rotten fruits, and water that was clearly full of filth. They wanted him to die, to pay for taking their mistress away from them. And no one in his family ever stood up for him. 

His eldest brother Touya never even spoke to him. It was as if he was actively trying to ignore the kid. Whenever Shoto went up to talk to his brother, he would simply pass him by as if Shoto didn’t even exist. Yet whenever Shoto would catch peeks of the family eating a nice supper over the dinner table, his brother was actively engaging in conversation, causing an arrow to go through his heart at the realization that Touya truly did intend to ignore him. 

His second brother, Natsuo, was no better. The only difference was that he actively tried to make Shoto’s life a living hell more than it already was. Natsuo took all his anger and grief out on the young child with snarky remarks and condescending tones. There was even a slap on the cheek every now and then, to which he would complain that it was Shoto who assaulted him, even though it was far from the truth. And everyone would believe him. Because who would believe the words of a child whose birth meant the death of another?

Then there was Fuyumi, his only sister. She sported that same gentle nature as his mother, according to the house servants, yet to Shoto, she was a wicked and cruel child. She was petty, treating Shoto as if he were a slave. When her favorite tea was too hot for her liking, she spilled the scalding hot drink all over him, soon after berating and slapping him for letting the said liquid fall onto her plush carpet. It made no sense, but Shoto could never complain. Fuyumi was the darling of the family, after all. 

But his father? He was the worst of them all. 

Todoroki Enji was a curious man, to say the least. As one of the leading figures of the oldest families of the Musutafu Empire, his very presence brought tremendous waves of awe among the masses. The Todoroki family was one of the most revered families in the whole empire, and everyone had always looked up to them, seeing them as the perfect family. 

But Todoroki Enji had taken that image of perfection into heart, and it showed through the things he did behind closed doors. Rei’s death hit him the hardest, not because he was heartbroken that his other half died, but rather it was because that image of perfection had been broken into pieces, and he loathed it. He hated the pitiful gazes of the masses, as they stared at him as if he wasn’t the perfect being they needed him to be. It enraged him to no end. And the only outlet of this burning rage was the cause of all this brokenness, his own son. 

Everything Shoto did angered him. Even taking a breath angered him. Every action, look, and word that came from the young child infuriated the head of the house, and he couldn’t help but take it out on him. Treating Shoto like he wasn’t a child but rather an enemy on the battlefield. Every day he would ruthlessly beat Shoto up until he felt satisfied, leaving Shoto battered and bruised with no chance of recovery. It was terrible, something anyone with a heart would hate, yet all those who resided in the Todoroki Mansion thrived on his misery. 

So yeah, all his life, Todoroki Shoto had never known love. 

But when he feels a hand gently caress his face, brushing his dirtied hair off of his face and running a thumb over his bruising cheek, he wonders if maybe this was it. Whoever was touching him had such a gentle and soft touch, a touch that he’s never felt before in his life. It was warm, far different from the cold caresses of his family. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the comfort of this warmth. But what if this was just a figment of his imagination?

He opens his eyes slowly, bearing through the pain and heaviness that came with it, and his gaze meets yours, and he’s blown away. 

Your eyes look at him with sincere kindness, one that Shoto has never seen before in his life. He’s only been alive for a few years or so, and he can tell that this was what was right. Not his family, not the servants treating him with extreme hostility. No, you, a stranger he had never seen in his entire life, was already treating him way better than the whole world would ever treat him. And it had only been a few seconds since his eyes met yours. 

“W-who…” he stutters, blinking wearily as if he wanted to get a closer look, but you shush him with gentle whispers, continuing to weave your hands through his dual-colored hair that looked stunning under the sunlight, even if it was smeared to no end. 

“Shh, don’t speak, child,” you say, motherly instincts that you were unaware of surfacing. “You are injured. Speaking will only make it worse.”

Shoto nods, staying silent as you continue to run your fingers through his hair. Suddenly a surge of warmth rushes through his body, and he watches amazed as the pain from his father’s beating slowly goes away, even if the bruises didn’t disappear. 

“There, that should do the trick!” You say, smiling brightly and voice cheery in an attempt to console the young child. Shoto slowly sits up from where he laid on the hard ground, looking at his hands in awe. How did you do that? How did you make all the pain disappear?

“I apologize,” you say, looking sheepishly at Shoto once you noticed he was staring at his arms in awe. “Your father mentioned that he would hurt you even more if your injuries are healed, so I’m only able to make the physical pain go away, but the wounds remain. I hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, Shoto thinks to himself as he looks at you in awe. Shoto had never felt this alive before. It was as if his energy was restored and multiplied as if the numbness that had accumulated from the years of beating had vanished without a trace. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, not having the courage to spill his heart out in fear that you would take his feelings and crush them in the blink of an eye. If Shoto were to be honest, if anyone else aside from the people he had come to know were to berate him more than he already was on a daily basis, then he would truly crumble. 

“But… who are you?” He asks, finally coming to his senses. “Why are you here? It’s dangerous. If father finds out, then you—”

“—Do not worry child, I will be fine.” You’re doing better than expected despite the rapid beating of your heart from how nervous you were. You really hated this motherly image you were exuding, wanting nothing more than to be as carefree as you usually were, but first impressions were important, and you had to time things just right. 

You smile, looking at Shoto with the kindest gaze you could muster, patting him gently on the head in the process. 

“I’m your fairy godmother, after all.”

“F-fairy g-godmother?” Shoto asks, clearly confused. You giggle at his perplexed expression, amused. It was fascinating how the child still seemed to be as innocent despite the harsh realities he had been through. He was a strong human, you supposed. And quite an adorable one too. 

“Yes, child,” you say once more, standing up and bringing Shoto up with you, although he stumbles, legs weak from being on the ground for too long, but you’re quick to catch him, giggling once more at the flustered expression on his face. 

“I’m your fairy godmother,” you repeat, lines poised and precise like you had been trained to from the Grand Elder. “And as your fairy godmother, I’ll be here to make sure that your pain will be more bearable until you can fly free on your own.”

“Fly?” The young child asks excitedly, eyes beaming. “Will I be able to fly someday?”

“Not in the literal sense, child.” You giggle, the tiny human bringing the weight of the world off your shoulders. It was refreshing to interact with him. Perhaps this was why parents decide to have children. They were oh so loveable when they were young. You could only hope that the pureness of his heart wouldn’t be tainted even further by the harsh reality of his family’s disdain. 

“But you’ll understand what I mean very soon,” you say, kneeling down towards his level. “And until then, I’ll be your wings, alright?” 

It’s clear that Shoto doesn’t understand a word you’re saying, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need to understand at the moment. He just needs to believe. And from the pure amazement and wonder in his eyes, it looks as if he’s already on a one-way track towards it.

“Now, child, before I send you off, you must remember something very important.” You say, tone a bit sterner as Shoto gulps, nodding his head and turning his full attention towards you. His concerned and slightly worried look on his face makes you want to break your facade and laugh along with him. But this truly was an important matter, and if you didn’t drill it into his brain, then your mission would have been all for naught. 

“Under no circumstance, must you tell of my existence to another soul, do you understand?” There’s uncertainty in the child’s gaze as if he doesn’t truly understand the weight of your words, but he nods nonetheless, agreeing. “Not your father,” you continue, hoping to make your point a bit clearer. “Nor your siblings, nor any stranger that you come across. You can’t reveal my existence to anyone, understand? This is a secret between you and me. Can you keep it?”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as Shoto lets the words sink in. He truly doesn’t understand why he can’t tell anyone else about you. It didn’t make sense to him. Weren’t you supposed to make his pain more bearable? Then why couldn’t you do that in the form of mending his relationship with his family? It saddened Shoto because in the few moments you had spent together, in those few minutes he got to know you, Shoto already considered you a friend. His first friend, in fact. 

Why couldn’t he show you off? 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that you, too, would get punished by his father if he were to reveal your existence. His father was a terrifying man. If he wanted something, then he would get it, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. His father held himself in high regard. And anyone who didn’t fit his standards was considered worthless and useless. If he were to find out that you were associated with him, the failure of the family, then who knows what his father would do to you?

He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow that. You were the first person to show him kindness, and he couldn’t just let you slip away. That would break him to the point of no return. 

“Sure,” Shoto mumbles shyly, a bashful smile forming on his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have guessed that this child was frequently beaten up by his family, much less hated by them. He seemed like a great kid, who needed a friend to stand by him, and although Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had strictly advised you against being too attached to your assigned human, you couldn’t help it. 

Who were you to ignore such a loveable child? 

You smile, the sternness gradually leaving your face, and raise your hand towards him, pinky pointing out. “Promise?” Shoto looks at you before his eyes dart to your outstretched finger, bewildered and unsure. 

“This is a pinky promise,” you say, realizing that he didn’t understand what you were trying to do. “When we link our pinkies together like this,” you continue, intertwining your pinky with his and locking them together. “Then that means our promise is sealed in stone and can never ever be broken.” 

You give Shoto a small smile, your other hand reaching out to pat his head gently, while Shoto looks at your intertwined pinkies in awe and admiration. 

In his haze, you finally stand up, your heightened senses hearing angered footsteps approaching, and you look worriedly at Shoto, hesitant to leave.

“I have to go now,” you say, heartbreaking at the way his expression falls from his face, replaced with a disappointed one.

“But don’t worry, I’ll be back.” You’re quick to reassure him, waving your hands frantically as you give off a sheepish smile. “I’ll be back when you need me the most,” you clarify, panic rushing in as the hurried footsteps become louder.

“Promise?” Shoto asks, stretching out his own pinky to you, reflecting what you had just taught him. This catches you by surprise, but you’re quick to smile, intertwining your pinkies once more.

“I promise,” you genuinely whisper, watching with mirth in your heart as Shoto looks up at you with a warm smile of his own, eyes looking at you tenderly as if he were sending you off.

And just like that, you vanish, much to Shoto’s shock, as the sliding door behind him slams open, and a servant comes out storming towards him angrily. But honestly, Shoto couldn’t care less.

Even as the servant berated him and dragged him harshly back into the mansion, Shoto couldn’t help but feel all warm and giddy inside. He had made his first friend.

And that was more than anything he could ever ask for.

Ever since your first meeting with Shoto, you had begun to grow closer towards the abused child, feeling a connection start to grow.

Of course, you didn’t show yourself to him as often as you wanted to, as you had your own limitations. Because as the council had told you before your departure, they were watching. And that was a frightening thought to ever take for granted. 

It was too risky to put your personal desires over your duty at the forefront, so you had to work your way around the rules laid down by the Grand Elder. You had to be sharp, had to show your support and friendship in other more mundane ways so Shoto would continue to believe.

You were still a fairy on a mission, after all.

Harnessing magic wasn’t a one-time thing. If it were, then the council would have easily done it by now. The truth of the matter was that cultivating the magic out of humans required time, effort, and care— a feat that was far too tedious for the council to partake in, which was why it was up to the God fairies to carry it out.

As the relationship between a god fairy and their assigned human continued to grow, so would the amount of magic present within the human. Once it got to its breaking point, then the god fairy would immediately harness it, marking the end of their relationship and causing the human to never believe in magic again. 

It was a cruel process but one you couldn’t avoid as it meant your life or death. But the more time you spend with Shoto, the more your resolve seems to break, and you begin to question whether or not you could actually pull through with what you were meant to do. 

The door slides open, snapping you away from your train of thought, and in walks Shoto, a new bruise forming over his right eye. 

Even if you couldn’t show yourself on a daily basis, you still made your presence known to Shoto through small acts of magic, ones that wouldn’t be considered overboard by the Grand Elder. You would have followed Shoto everywhere he went, watching his every move and ensuring that he was safe, but in a way, it made you uncomfortable.

And you couldn’t stand seeing the way his family and servants treated him. It was too cruel. You were sure that if you spent any second longer seeing his siblings ridicule him or his father punch him, then you would lose control. And everything that you had worked desperately for would have gone to waste,  which was why you distanced yourself from the young child whenever he was around others. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it. It was for the best; you tried to convince yourself. You were doing the right thing. 

But that didn’t mean you didn’t help him at all. As Shoto quickly makes his way to his worn-out futon, wincing in pain at all the bruises his father had given him from the day’s beating, you couldn’t help but fuss over him, immediately reaching out to take the pain away in your invisible state, external wounds remaining. 

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out weakly, feeling the pain leave him gradually as warmth replaces it. His eyes feel lighter, and he finally works the courage to open them fully, only to be met with his dark room. You were still invisible. You hadn’t shown yourself just yet. “Are you there?”

You wanted to respond. You desperately do. But the weight of your duty weighs heavy on your shoulders, and you hesitate, unsure whether or not you would reach out to him. You two were close, that was for sure. Throughout the few months of your ‘friendship’ with Shoto (if you could call it that), you had come to know just how precious the child truly was. Even after all the hardships and suffering that overcame him, he was still bright and innocent, something you never entirely understood, but you supposed that was what made Shoto… Shoto. 

 “Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out again, this time a little more desperate. His eyes dart around, trying to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen. All he wanted was to see you again. Sure, you had in some way, shape, and form always made your presence known through your kind acts, but it didn’t feel complete. It was as if Shoto was talking to a ghost, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to speak to his friend, the one person who made him see the light in what seemed like a never-ending darkness. 

“Please,” he whispers like a prayer, hoping that you would show yourself. “Are you there?”

You couldn’t take it. This was torture to you. You knew you would get reprimanded either way, but as a fairy tasked with the responsibility of taking care of this child, you had to do it. He was practically crying out at this point. What kind of soul wouldn’t help him?

“I am here, Shoto,” you say, finally revealing yourself, and you feel yourself wince at the tears of relief that slip past the young child’s eyes. “I am here.”

Almost immediately, Shoto lunges at you, wrapping you in the tightest embrace he could muster. Was this real? He thought to himself. Were you actually here? This wasn’t a dream, right? What if you left him for good? He didn’t think his heart could handle that. 

“You’re here!” He whispers, nuzzling into your stomach, giggling. “You’re actually here!” How could a child be so precious? You wonder to yourself. He was so innocent and pure. Why was his family hurting him like he wasn’t? From the time you had come to know Shoto, you could tell that he was a kind soul. He didn’t deserve any of the pain inflicted by his family. He deserved nothing but love and happiness. You just wished you had the authority to give it to him. 

But alas, even with your freedom came chains that sought to bind you to the harsh realities of the world. 

“Yes, I am, Shoto,” you giggle, running your hand soothingly through his hair, knowing how much comfort it brought the young child. “What is it that you need?”

“Nothing really,” Shoto replies after a while, merely basking in your warmth for as long as he could. “I just wanted to see you again.”

If Shoto were, to be honest, he was afraid that you were merely a product of his own imagination. His family often mocked him for it, calling him delusional in every way they could. Delusional for thinking he was loved; Delusional for thinking he deserved to be loved, and more so delusional for thinking that he could actually receive love from his family. 

He was raised to believe that in one way or another, he was delusional, so somewhere deep down inside him, he thought that maybe you were a product of his delusions too. 

But here you were, smiling down at him with such tenderness and care that Shoto knew you were anything but a delusion. He smiles brightly, the pain from earlier slowly melting away in your presence, and he drags you with his little hands towards his small, worn-out mattress, encouraging you to sit. 

You follow him, eyes frowning at the state of his mattress. This was no way to treat a human being. Even back in the fairy realm, although it was clear that many were not fond of you, they still gave you common courtesy and respect as any other living being should. What Shoto’s family was doing to him was horrible, and you wish you could bring him out of it. 

“Could you tell me a story?” Shoto asks out of the blue, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “A story?” You repeat, unsure if you heard him correctly. Shoto nods, moving to lift a part of his mattress off the ground to reveal a hidden pile of storybooks that you never knew existed.

“My father doesn’t let me read,” he whispers, fingers darting over the dusty covers. “Says I’m not worthy of it.” Your hands clenched into fists beside you as you tried not to let your anger show, but Shoto could feel it slowly dripping off you in waves. “It’s fine, though,” he says, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t as affected by it as he truly was. “I’m used to it….”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as you look at the solemn gaze on Shoto’s face as he continues to run his fingers through the cover of the worn book longingly. With a sigh, you gently take Shoto into your arms, catching the young boy by surprise. 

“You don’t have to hide in front of me, you know?” You say, seemingly scolding the child, but your tone was light, a small smile making its way to your face. “Friends don’t hide things from each other.”

From where he sat in your lap, Shoto looks at you with a bewildered gaze on his face, as if he were mesmerized. You simply smile at him, taking the book gently from his arms and opening it to the first page. 

“I’ll help you learn how to read,” you say, finally clearing up your actions. “Isn’t that what you truly want?” 

Shoto doesn’t say anything, but you can tell from the tears that are about to fall from his eyes that this was indeed his genuine desire. It pained you. Reading was something many took for granted, but as you see the absolute joy on Shoto’s face as he brought his attention back to the book in excitement, you realize that this was a gift. 

You had the power to help this child beyond magic. And that was something you would use to your advantage, no matter the consequence. 

You just wished that you would have done a better job at keeping it lowkey. Because as you guide Shoto in reading the story he had picked for the night, You don’t notice the gap between his door and the wall, a result of Shoto not closing the door properly from his weakened state and as a result, a young girl was standing on the opposite side of the door, eyes widened in horror and disgust at the sight she was seeing. 

This wasn’t going to go well. 

The next few days, Shoto honestly felt like he was in bliss. 

No matter how horribly his family and servants treated him, nothing could shake the happiness he felt within his heart. Perhaps it was amplified by the fact his father had left the mansion for a few days to attend to his duties in the royal palace. Although he still had to face harsh treatments from his siblings and the other servants, at least the beatings became scarce. 

His family was much too cowardly to carry out the same severe beatings his father gave. Which meant that he could enjoy his time with you even more than he should. 

He had just finished his chores, ones that the servants were supposed to do, but in their vanity, they forced him to do it, going beyond their status as mere servants and dropping all their responsibilities as a child, sporting faux innocence whenever Shoto had tried to bring it up to his family.

But when he did, his father only got angry, beating him for lying about such matters, insinuating how he was insulting him because it was Enji who handpicked those servants, meaning an insult to them was an insult to his father.

So Shoto learned to take everything in a stride. To just do whatever the servants wanted him to do otherwise, he would get an even more severe beating from his father, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. 

But that fear was a thing of the past, as at the moment, Shoto was happily skipping towards his room, excitedly thinking of what story his fairy godmother would teach him about today.

Truly, like her title, Shoto’s fairy godmother was a blessing sent from the heavens. She was kind, patient, and never berated Shoto for any mistake he made. She would never do that to him, she told him one day when he had asked. It was just too cruel. 

So this was what kindness really felt like, Shoto realized once the words slipped from her mouth. Growing up, Shoto was taught that his family’s actions were one of kindness, with insults such as ‘you should be grateful father was kind enough to keep you in this house when you should have been thrown out into the street already.’ being thrown at him left and right. 

He had always hated kindness because of that. His family’s kindness made him feel sick, made him want to curl up into a hole and die, yet his fairy godmother had shown him the light. His fairy godmother had shown him that kindness wasn’t supposed to make you feel horrible. It was supposed to make you happy. It was supposed to fill your heart with love and affection that you wanted to give back tenfold. 

What his family was doing to him wasn’t kindness at all.

Even more so when he stopped in front of his room, confused to hear a commotion inside. His gut feeling told him to run away, to hide, and never show himself again. But he couldn’t. His room was his safe haven, the only place where he could truly escape from his harsh reality, and if something ever happened to it, then Shoto wouldn’t know what to do.

He hastily opens the door only to feel his blood run cold. There standing in his room were his father, Enji, and his sister, Fuyumi. The moment they heard the door open, his sister turned to him, fake tears in her eyes, ones that Shoto knew everyone believed. Because in their eyes, Shoto’s sister was innocent, even though he knew that she was a devil in disguise.

“There he is, father!” Fuyumi exclaimed, pointing towards him accusingly. “The thief!”

Thief? Shoto wondered to himself. Why was he a thief? As far as he knew, he hadn’t stolen anything from anyone, much less his sister. Why would she accuse him of being a thief?

But he didn’t get the chance to ponder on it deeply, with his father turning towards him with deep rage lacing his eyes. Why was his father here in the first place? Wasn’t he supposed to stay in the palace for a few more days?

“You imbecile!” His father rages, stomping towards him. Shoto whimpers trying to back away, but his father was bigger and stronger than he could ever be and caught up to him quickly, holding him by the collar of his rags and throwing him across the room harshly. 

The impact causes immense pain to course through Shoto’s body, and he’s sure he could feel a rib or two of his break from the pressure. There was liquid running down his face, was that blood? Perhaps. He was in too much pain to process what was happening. 

“First, you kill your mother,” His father says, slowly making his way towards him, intimidation falling off him in waves. “Second, you act like an entitled brat to everyone in this house,” his words make Shoto flinch, knowing in his heart that none of his words were true. “And third,” Shoto’s father says as he finally stands in front of him, eyes glaring into his with severe malice. “You dare steal something extremely valuable from your sister? Have you no shame?”

With the little strength he could muster, Shoto looks up at his father, eyes weak and hazy. “Steal?” He whispers. “I didn’t steal anything….”

“Lies!” He hears his sister exclaim, sobbing hysterically. If Shoto didn’t know that his sister had two sides, he would have believed that she was genuinely upset. But that wasn’t the case. She was making things up. And this time, her act might actually cost his life. 

“You stole the storybooks I got from mother!” She accuses, holding her teddy bear tighter to her chest, hateful eyes glaring into his.

Storybooks? Shoto asks to himself, eyes darting around only to find the pile of storybooks on the ground— the same ones you read to him every night. A fire burns inside him, something that Shoto had never felt before. The audacity his sister had.

“Y-you,” he stutters, coughing from the pain. “You threw them away! I don’t steal them. I found them in the garbage!”

“That’s not true!” His sister fights back, and Shoto can see the way her eyes dart around in shock, not expecting him to actually speak up. “Why would I throw away something I received from mother?” 

Shoto was about to retort, but suddenly, a harsh sound rang through the room, and Shoto feels an excruciatingly painful sting on his cheek. His father had slapped him hard.

“How dare you,” he says, voice low, concealing the pure unadulterated rage that was about to burst forth. “How dare you take our kindness for granted, you son of a bitch.” 

“We clothed you. We gave you shelter and food, and this is how you repay us?” He spats, hands clenched into fists. “After everything you’ve done to our family, you continue to disgrace our family name? What a despicable child you are.” 

Pushing Shoto down to the floor, Enji raises his hand, ready to land a punch. “Shameful.” He lands a blow. “Disgusting.” He lands another. “Thief.” This time his father hits his broken ribs, causing Shoto to cry out in even more pain. “Murderer.”

Tears fall from Shoto’s eyes as the pain continues to flow through him, bursting through every punch. Was he really a murderer? Was he really that bad of a child? If so, why did they make him stay? Why couldn’t they put him out of his misery?

He wished his fairy godmother was here. She would probably make things better than they were now. She would make all the pain go away and then pat his head like she always did as she read him another story. He had never been as happy as he was whenever she read to him. But who knew that happiness came at an awful price?

Fairy Godmother, Shoto prayed in his mind as his father continued to beat him, letting out all his anger onto his body. Where are you? He was sure he looked like a mess, probably not even human anymore. But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted his fairy godmother by his side.

She said she would be there when he needed it most, didn’t she?

Suddenly the pain stops, and all Shoto feels is numb. He opens his eyes to the best ability, only to see his father stop midair with someone’s hand holding into his arm. He turns to the side, wincing in pain, yet it’s worth it because he finally sees the person he’s been waiting for.

His fairy godmother had finally appeared.

“Who are you?” His father shouts, screaming at the fairy. Her face is hardened, eyes glaring back at him with such hatred that it could honestly mirror his father’s. 

“None of your business,” she spats before forcefully throwing his father to the other side of the room, landing with a harsh thud.

She walks towards him, a menacing aura surrounding her, but just before she could approach Shoto’s father, his sister immediately runs to defend him, glaring with genuine tears in her eyes.

“Who are you?” She screams, shaking. “Why are you attacking father? Father has done nothing wrong! You should be attacking that… thing! He’s the bad one here.”

Her desperate cries leave a bitter hole in Shoto’s heart as he feels nothing but despair. He had always hoped that beneath all the harsh words of his family members, underneath all their cruel punishments and glaring eyes, they would still have room in their hearts to care for him, even just a little bit.

But no, they didn’t even see him as human. And that hurt way more than being called a murderer. 

“First of all,” you say, voice ice-cold, causing shivers to run down everyone’s spine. “Shoto isn’t a thing. He’s a human being. He’s your brother. What kind of person are you for not even acknowledging that?” 

“He killed my mother!” Shoto’s sister screams in protest, holding her ground. But her words only cause your gaze to harden as you grab her in the shoulders, and she shakes under your terrifying stare. 

“Listen here, young lady,” your voice booms through the room. “Shoto didn’t kill anyone. Your mother’s death was not his fault. Just because you can’t accept the fact that your mother is not on this earth anymore doesn’t mean you can treat your brother like he’s the scum of the earth.”

His sister falls silent after that, not knowing what else to say. She sniffles, and as gently as you can, you push her to the side. She was still a child, after all. No matter how vain she was, she was only a year or two older than Shoto. And you were not one to inflict pain on children or anyone for that matter. 

But this had gone too far. And you couldn’t find it within yourself to stand on the sidelines any longer. 

“And you,” if possible, your voice becomes even more ominous as you approach Enji, who sat on the ground, groaning. In his weakened state, he glares at you, having the audacity to continue spewing nonsense from his mouth. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” He threatens before you can continue to speak. “I am Todoroki Enji, the right-hand man of the Emperor of the Musutafu Empire! If his majesty were to find out of your crime, then he would—”

“—Punish you to the depths of hell.” You say, cutting him off. “I’m not a fool, Todoroki Enji. I know that the only reason you sheltered Shoto was so the Emperor wouldn’t find out your crimes. Otherwise, you would have thrown him onto the streets.”

Enji can feel his blood run cold, the truth hitting him like harsh waves the more they fall from your lips. 

“The Emperor is a kind and just man, and if he were to ever find out that you were treating your child this way, then he wouldn’t hesitate to sentence you to death. You know that more than anyone.”

Silence befalls the room as everyone soaks your words in. Shoto doesn’t understand. What were you trying to say?

“You know better than to punish Shoto for killing his mother. He didn’t do anything wrong. Todoroki Rei was already weak and frail after giving birth to the little young miss over there, yet you still insisted that she bear you a child, and when she refused, you threatened her.”

A gasp falls from his sister’s lips as the gravity of your words swirls up into a tornado in Shoto’s mind. Was this true? Was he truly not to blame for all of this?

“Lies,” Enji mutters under his breath, low enough for only you to hear. You stay silent, allowing the man to form his thoughts, yet that proves to be fatal as after a beat of silence passes, the man glares at you, taking a broken piece of the wall and swinging it your way. 

“Fairy Godmo—” Shoto calls, distressed and scared, but it proved to be for naught as in the blink of an eye, the heavy debris vanished, and you stood there, wand in hand, glaring once more at his father. 

“What?!” His father exclaims, finally taking his stand. “How were you able to do that? That should have killed you!”

You smile, grin sinister and dark, far from the gentle warmth it usually portrayed. Shoto was scared. His brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. But what he did know was that he didn’t like any of this one bit. 

“Magic,” is all you say, lifting your wand to cast another spell. “Magic is what made me do this to you. And magic is how I’ll make sure that you suffer the same hell Shoto has gone through.”

Horror fills Enji’s eyes as you step closer. But just as you’re about to release your spell, the door opens, revealing Shoto’s second brother, Natsuo, whose eyes widened at the sight in front of him. On instinct, he grabs the wooden sword he had brought with him from his training and lunges at you just as your magic bursts forth, tackling you to the ground. 

And a scream fills the air. 

Everyone looks, startled at the sight. When the chaos finally comes clear, to the family’s dread and your glee, your spell had managed to affect Enji, but not in the way that you had hoped. 

Instead of the core of his body, you had hit his eyes instead, a nasty scar forming over it, burning the flesh, and causing the man to tremble in pain. 

Well, at least he would know what Shoto felt when he got his scar. 

You stand up, dusting the dirt off your clothes as you make your way towards Shoto, ignoring his shell-shocked brother, who was staring at his father writhing in pain. You probably look like a mess at this point, totally different from how you usually appeared, but that was the least of your concerns. 

You had to ensure Shoto was alright. He had gone through so much after all. 

You couldn’t stand it. How could you stand watch when Shoto’s father was basically killing the poor child? Shoto who was pure and innocent. Shoto, whose only desire in life, was to read. He didn’t care for freedom or revenge. He just wanted to live normally. 

You couldn’t find it within yourself to let his family trample over those dreams any longer. 

You finally approach him, getting ready to kneel beside him and take him in your embrace so you could take the pain away. How much pain must he have gone through? You wonder. His body was battered and bruised, looking as if he was merely a shell of the child he once was. It was too cruel, and you could only hope that you’re magic would take even a bit of that pain away.

Because the child deserved to smile. 

But just as you’re about to reach out towards him, a bright light shines through the room, and from that light comes a figure, one that causes your whole being to momentarily freeze in shock and fear. 

Elder Yagi stood there in all his glory, robes and wings perfectly accentuating his features, truly presenting himself as the most powerful fairy in all the realm. His eyes were placed into a frown, and he stared directly at you, disappointment evident within him. 

You had screwed up, and now you were going to pay the price. 

“Young (Y/N),” His voice booms, loud and proud like how a fairy should be. “For breaking the Fairy Code by revealing the existence of magic to humans other than your godchild and for using said magic to unlawfully harm the human race, you are hereby sentenced to banishment from the fairy realm effective immediately.”

You stare at the elder you had come to know as a father, pleading with desperate eyes for him not to do this to you, but he pays no mind, waving his wand, causing binds to form and wrap around your body. 

“No, please!” You scream in vain, begging. “At least let me heal Shoto. Let me do something for him!”

“You’ve already done enough!” Elder Yagi screams. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so angry, and it scares you. Where was the kind fairy you had come to know? Why was he acting like this? “The Council will take over.”

And light flashes once more through the broken room, and just like that, you’re gone, leaving Shoto behind. 

Shoto blinks blearily, everything passing by in a blur. What had happened? What was happening? He wished he had the strength to get up and take a stand for himself, but he was quite literally beaten to a pulp. He can’t feel the strength in his arms anymore, and just that very thought scares him. 

The only thing that comforts him is the soothing lullaby of darkness, trancing him into a sleepy state, and before he knows it, Shoto passes out. 

Not knowing that from this point onwards, his life would change forever. 

The light shines through the curtains, and Shoto wakes up, blinking. 

He stretches his tired limbs and sits up, yawning. Why did he feel so tired? He’s never felt this weary before. 

He gets out of bed, heading towards his bathroom, looking at the mirror. When he does, however, he’s suddenly flashed with a vision of him, beaten into a pulp and unable to stand up, and he gasps, but that vision slowly fades away, and Shoto’s regular reflection comes back. 

What was that? Why did he look so… dead?

Surely that was a figment of his own imagination, right? Surely that was his mind playing tricks on him, right? Sure, his family did beat him from time to time, but they would never treat him that badly, right?

Shoto shivers, desperately shaking his thoughts away, as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to snag some food while the servants aren’t looking. 

On his way, however, he bumps into his father, who glares at him. Shoto looks to the ground in shame, not knowing why this particular meeting made him more frightened than usual. He should be used to his father’s beatings by now, but why did he feel so scared?

“You,” his father says, and Shoto halts at the menacing tone in his voice. “Look at me.” Shoto does as he asks, and looks up to his father, eyes widening at the sight of a ghastly scar mirroring his own on his father’s face.

Did he always have that scar? 

His father stares at him as if he were examining him. For what reason, Shoto wasn’t quite sure, But it made him extremely uncomfortable, and he could only hope that his father would let him go soon. 

“You should be grateful I’m in a good mood today, brat,” is all his father says, glaring harshly at Shoto. He doesn’t say anything more than that, choosing to leave towards the direction of the dining room, leaving Shoto behind in the hallway. 

That was it? He asked himself. He wasn’t going to punch him? That was weird. But he paid it no mind. As his father said, it was his lucky day. 

Yet as Shoto continued to head towards the kitchen, there was an itching feeling scratching the back of his head, telling Shoto that there was something wrong. That something was missing. It felt like there was a missing piece to the puzzle, which confused Shoto because, as far as he knew, everything was completely normal. 

But he couldn’t ignore that thought. It nagged him throughout the day, telling him that this wasn’t right. 

The problem was, Shoto had no idea what exactly was wrong. 

© yumeyooa 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform aside from a03 and tumblr or by any means is NOT permitted and will be dealt with accordingly.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 2. Arson

"But are we really sure it was arson?" Ron asked, loud enough to grate on Harry's nerves.

He loved Ron, he really did, but it was 3:00 in the morning, and perhaps he'd hoped for a little bit of sensitivity due to the fact that a person's business had been burnt to the ground.

Harry sighed, "What else would it have been?"

"Maybe the git left one of his cauldrons lit," Ron said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Maybe he burned it himself for-"

"Weasley, I am independently wealthy, I did not burn my own apothecary down for the insurance money."

Harry winced and turned to face the shop owner. "Malfoy," he said inclining his head and ignoring the way his stomach fluttered as he took in the image of the other man in his silk pajamas.

At the glimpse of a collarbone peaking out, he renewed his efforts, emphatically not thinking about the way his skin had tasted as Harry had nibbled said collarbones. He definitely didn't allow himself to remember the way the other man's gorgeously toned, naked body had arched into him, flush spreading down his neck.

"Potter," he responded, and Harry absolutely didn't let himself remember the way his name had sounded in Malfoy's mouth when he'd come.

"No need to have a glaring contest, gentlemen," the scene processor said, snapping Harry out of the thoughts he certainly had not been having.

He cleared his throat and even though he hadn't been glaring, he let the misconception stand. Better for everyone to imagine he still hated Malfoy than for them to know what he had been thinking about.

Well, what he could have been thinking about, since he definitely was not thinking about the bloody phenomenal sex he'd had on one drunken night with Malfoy. That would be unprofessional.

(More under the cut)

"Right," Harry said, nodding to Malfoy, "Can you walk us through what happened?"

Malfoy squared his shoulders, "I was asleep-"

"You sleep in your shop?" Ron asked.

"There's a flat above the shop," Harry supplied.

Ron's brow furrowed, "How-"

Because I've been there, Harry thought. "It was in the floor plan," Harry said, handing Ron the stack of parchments they'd been given before leaving the Ministry. "Sorry, continue," he encouraged Malfoy.

Ron gaped at him, probably because he'd said 'sorry' to Malfoy, but Harry was too tired to be arsed to care.

"I was asleep in my flat," he repeated, "when my cat woke me up. He was scratching at the door and I went to let him out of the bedroom and smelled smoke the moment I opened the door. I couldn't even make it down the stairs," he said, and his voice trembled slightly, a tiny quiver of his hand.

Harry wanted to whisk him away, to wrap him up in a blanket and hide him where nothing would ever be able to hurt him again. Fire had been particularly cruel, anyone who knew anything about Draco Malfoy would have known he'd almost died in a fire once. Outrage filled his veins and Harry wanted to find whoever had done this and cause them to regret their actions.

He knew he wasn't entitled to feelings like these. There was no reason that he should feel protective of the other man but he just couldn't seem to help himself.

Before he could say anything, Ron spoke up, "We're going to need to take your wand."

"What?" Harry and Malfoy both said simultaneously.

"To make sure that you haven't cast any spells that would have caused this," he added.

"Weasley, the Ministry has a trace on my wand. Has for the past three years and will have for the next two until I am off probation. You don't need my wand, you have the entire record," Malfoy replied, with more patience than Harry would have imagined possible.

"Is this the only wand you have?" Ron asked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Yes but do you honestly think I would tell you if it wasn't?"

"Listen here, ferret-" Ron started.

"Could you excuse us for a second?" he asked Malfoy before walking Ron a few paces away. "Ron, let's remember that he's the victim here. This was a hate crime and we all know it. This was someone burning down his shop because of a perceived wrong-"

"Not just perceived, Harry," Ron corrected, shooting another glare at Malfoy. "Actual wrong."

"Fine," Harry conceded, "But I didn't bloody well die so that people could go on fighting a battle that's been won. He didn't do this and what is happening to him is wrong."

Ron scuffed his foot.

"Look, just," he huffed out a breath, "Let me handle him, okay? You start looking for evidence. I'll get Malfoy's statement. Then we'll get to work hunting down criminals."

"Yeah," Ron replied, giving him a thump on the arm. "When you're right, you're right, mate."

"Thanks," Harry replied. "I'll catch up with you in a minute once I get his statement."

Ron headed off toward the building and Harry turned and made his way back to Malfoy. He was just standing there, holding his fluffy black and white cat and staring at the charred remains of his life.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked softly.

"Yes, fine," Malfoy replied automatically, facing Harry and squaring his shoulders once more. "I was checked by the mediwizard who came with the fire crew."

"No," Harry said, taking a step closer and tilting his head until Malfoy met his eyes, "I mean are you alright?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and looked down at the cat in his arms, "I have to be, don't I?"

His heart ached for him, for how impossible it must be to be living his life, "Draco, I'll find them," he promised. "Whoever did this-"

"It doesn't matter!" Draco hissed at him. "Don't you see?" he asked, eyes shining wetly. "None of it matters. This," he said, gesturing to everything around them, "is never going to change." He held his cat closer to him. "You should have let them throw me in Azkaban."

"Draco-"

"Better yet, you should have left me to die in the Fiendfyre."

Harry stepped closer to him and threw up a wandless notice-me-not charm, "Draco, please."

"Stop calling me that!" the other man begged, tears welled up in his eyes.

"Listen to me," Harry said, voice low and calm, "everything is going to be okay. I will find the person who did this-"

"But it's just going to keep happening," he said. "Because they're right. Because Weasley is right, I have done horrible things and no one will ever forgive me for them-"

"I forgive you," Harry said.

Draco shook his head and a tear spilled down his cheek.

"I forgave you a long time ago," Harry said softly, wiping away the tear with his thumb. "You're a good person, Draco Malfoy. You were a little shit when you were younger but you never wanted to actually hurt anyone, you never wanted to do any of those things."

"But I did them," he said. "What I wanted doesn't matter if I did those things anyway."

"It matters to me," Harry replied. "Let me help you."

"How?"

He took a deep breath, "Do you have any suspicions about who did this? Has anyone come around bothering you?"

Silently, he handed Harry a list, a dirty scrap of parchment that he'd scribbled names onto.

"When I tell you that you're free to go, where will you go?" Harry asked next.

"I..." he trailed off and Harry realized he couldn't even come up with a lie.

"Harry Potter lives at Number 12 Grimmauld Place," he said before he could think of anything else.

Malfoy's brow furrowed.

"It's unplottable," Harry said, "I'm my own secret keeper for the house."

"Potter, I'm not just going to whore myself out to y-"

"No," he interrupted quickly. "Godric, no. I didn't mean-" he broke off, shaking his head. "No," he repeated. "I have six guest bedrooms." He thought for a moment, "Well, five, technically. One of them had a hippogriff living in it so I avoid having people in that one, but still."

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you do this for me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Draco opened his mouth and Harry continued over him, "It was rhetorical," he protested.

"Why? No one could possibly be that good."

He rolled his eyes, "I'm not. I just know what I died for and it wasn't this," he replied, gesturing at the smoldering wreckage. "You deserve a fair shot. Let me help. Please."

"Just a place to crash for the night," Draco said.

"Yes," Harry affirmed quickly. "Or a week, a month," forever he added internally. "I've got more than enough room. You won't even have to see me if you don't want to."

"And if I do?" he asked, voice almost shy.

"Then I'll be home in about an hour and I always eat breakfast at 7:30." He gave him a tentative smile, "And I would like to see you, too."

Day 1: Abilities | Day 3: Agility

[forthehpfanboys]

I’m Sorry

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You hate Ron, Ron hates you. Pretty simple. It only becomes complicated when the bloke says something about your cologne in Potions class.

Warnings: Swearing, insults, fighting.

Notes: Requested! Probably my favorite so far? I don't own the gif, I just couldn't find it in the suggestions-

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

The rule of thumb that everyone in Gryffindor gets along is far from true when it comes to you and Ronald Bilius Weasley. You guys clashed harder than the titanic and that iceberg. Honestly, no one remembered how it started, but they could remember the insults thrown back and forth. You didn’t exactly hide your hatred for the red-head and he was the same.

The two of you would fight deep into the night, effectively keeping up the whole tower with your insults and burns ringing in the empty common room. When fellow Gryffindors saw you two starting to get in a heated argument, most fled to avoid the damage. Sometimes it came to blows, leading to Fred and George or Hermione and Harry splitting you two apart, but it was mostly the older twins. 

You two don’t even remember why you hate each other, at this point, you just do. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you caught yourself staring at him from across the library or when you’d shove into him in the hallway. His smile was softer than freshly fallen snow and his eyes could rival the ocean with their beauty. You had absolutely no clue he was battling the same feelings. 

Ron wished you would smile sweetly at him instead of sneering insults that made him want to hex you into next Tuesday. He wanted to hold your hand instead of get hit by it, but he figured this was best. He did start this. He was the one that turned cold toward you on the train one random year to avoid his feelings for you.

Today was one of the tenser days where you and Ron were inches from ending each other's blood lines. Everyone in the tower could already feel it and you weren’t even in the same room yet. You’d woken up a little bit later than usual all because of your Scream Off™ with the short Weasley the night before. You walked down the stairs of the boys dormitory, your hand running through your messy hair. Insults from the night before rang in your head like a bell.

“What did I do to deserve being trapped with the human embodiment of ginger ale?”

“Since when do you know things? I thought your brain was filled with cobwebs and moth balls?”

“We both know your face looks prettier after my fist has kissed it.”

It made your stomach twist with guilt, but the guilt melted into pure hatred when a cocky voice rang through the common room. You wanted to knock his lights out before your foot even hit the last step of the staircase.

“Finally awake, eh, (L/n)? Only took forever, lazy arse.” Ron was snickering on the main couch right in front of the fireplace. The atmosphere in the common room immediately shifted. You rolled your eyes as you walked up to the couch, standing right behind him.

“Shut it, Weasley.” You grabbed his hair, forcing his head back to look at your glare. “I hope you fall off a broom during Quidditch today.” Your voice was laced with a false sweetness. Your glare shifted to a dark smirk before jerking his head forward. After letting go of his hair, you walked past him, flipping him off. “Good morning Granger. Have a good game, Potter!” You smiled and waved goodbye after they said good morning and a quick thanks. 

You got along perfectly with 2/3 of the Golden Trio. They were always polite to you, even if you would throw hands at their best friend. They didn’t play favorites though, which was nice. If one of you started the fight, they’d make it known when they broke it up.

“Oi! Don’t be a basta-!” Ron stood up quickly, going to run after you as you left, but was stopped by Harry’s hand pulling him back down onto the couch. “Ronald! Not today, please!” Hermione spoke up, rubbing her temples. “We already have to deal with Slughorn. I’d rather not also have to deal with your pathetic excuse for flirting.” She sighed out. Poor girl already had a headache and it wasn’t even 10 oclock.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, his face heating up some. He cringed at the mere thought of finding you romantically attractive… Ok, he would admit you did have a nice ass, but not out loud. 

“I’m not flirting. I hate his guts, Mione.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I’m serious! How could anyone find that twat even remotely attractive or adorable? He’s the bloody worst!”

Harry and Hermione shared a look before turning back to Ron. Harry and Hermione both knew better than that, this was a classic Enimies-To-Lovers scenario, at least that’s what they hoped, if not.. This was going to be a long, long, long year.

“No one said anything about him being adorable OR attractive, Ron.” 

“Sod off, Harry, I know it was implied. You both know what I mean anyway.” Ron stood up, heading for the portrait hole.

“Where are you going?” Hermione groaned out. Her headache just got worse. “To get payback for the hairs that git ripped out.” 

-

Ron walked down the hallways of the castle. He was so determined to find you he skipped breakfast, leading the remaining additions of the Golden Trio to come hunt him down. With some help from the older Weasley Twins, they managed to catch up with him pretty easily. Getting him to go to class, however, was a lot harder. Ron looked between his friends, then his brothers standing behind them for reinforcement. The keeper wasn’t moving an inch, not without seeing you first.

“No.”

“Ronald-”

“No, don’t Ronald me!”

“Ron! Come on! We have to go to potions in less than 5 minutes!”

“No! I’m just going to end up sitting next to that git and his stupid attitude the entire class! It’s going to be worse torture than seeing Snape everyday.” Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, my fist has a date with his lips and I’m not going anywhere until that date happens!”

“He was at breakfast, you missed him. You can fight him after potions. Can we go to class now?” Harry tried to reason with the hot-headed idiot, but alas, nothing is ever that easy. He groaned when Ron shook his head no, causing the twins to step into the picture. If anyone could get him to go somewhere, it was them.

“Wow, Hermione, you're right.” Fred started, turning to his twin.

“He’s got it bad and he doesn’t even know it yet.” George finished, while Fred shook his head in dismay and muttered a quick ‘shame’.

“I do not, nor will I ever, like him. Ok? Get that into your thick skulls!” 

“No one believes you, Ickle Ronniekins! In fact, most of Gryffindor Tower has a bet that you two will end up shagging in some broom closet in less than a week!” George stated while he rested his arm on his brother's shoulder.

“What?!” Ron’s face was turning pink again. “No! Ew!” Ron faked a few gags. “No! That would never happen!” 

“Hey, if you don’t want him, can I have him? I’d love to see how he’d look on his kne-” 

“OK! I’LL GO TO CLASS IF YOU SHUT UP-” Ron didn’t hesitate to cover his ears or turn briskly on his heels. The red-head hurried in the direction he came from, his two classmates following after him who both called out a thank you to the mischief masters. “Godric, why’d you ask them for help? Now I have that gross image in my head.” 

“We both knew it’d be the only way to get you to Potions. Now hurry up! I’d rather not be late!” Hermione grabbed her friends wrists and dragged them down the intermixing hallways until they stood right outside the classroom, only then did she let go. Harry handed Ron his potions textbook while Hermione patted down her hair and walked in, trying to act like she didn’t just sprint across the school. 

The two boys looked at each other, one rolling his eyes while the other snickered before walking in after her. The snickering red-head paused when he walked in, getting hit with a strong smell of mixed berries and fruit, almost like shampoo. He actually didn’t hate it, in fact, it made his heart beat a little faster. It was familiar. The idea had Ron lagging behind his friends. 

Once he joined the crowd in the back of the classroom and stood beside his friend at the edge of the crowd, did he notice the scent almost shift. It was your cologne. It made him gag with how powerful it was. Godric, did you pour an entire bottle of cologne on you? It was literally making him feel sick. He was going to lose every marble he had if someone didn’t open a window for him. 

When Slughorn began talking about today's lesson, it went in one of Ron’s ears only to travel out the other side. Your cologne was close to killing him and everyone was acting like it didn’t exist.

“Do you see (L/n)?” Ron whispered to Harry. 

“He’s across the classroom, Ron, why?” Harry whispered back. The two continued to whisper over Slughorn. They’d end up asking Hermione for help anyway. “Worried about him?” Harry grinned until his friend jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

“No, just wondering so I can rag him on his shit cologne.” Ron made eye contact with you across the classroom. He stuck his tongue out when you discretely gave him the bird. “I’m so gonna beat his ass.”

“What? Ron, what cologne?”

“You can’t smell it?” 

Harry was about to answer when he got interrupted by Slughorn abruptly asking everyone to take their seats and start the project. Neither of them noticed that pack of girls staring longingly at the bubbling cauldrons in front of them while they took their seats next to each other. 

See, the thing that sucked the most about this is Slughorn was determined to make you and Ron basically best friends, so he stuck you at the Golden Trio’s table for the whole year, which led to more trouble than good. Luckily, he paired you up with Harry and Ron with Hermione so you didn’t ruin each other's faces or potions. However, today, the bickering began before you sat down. 

“How’s your head feeling, Weasley?” You smirked, walking over with your brown side bag.

“How’s your shin feeling, (L/n)?” Before you could question what he meant, he kicked your leg before sitting down. You let out a grunt and sat down in your own seat before rubbing your now sore and most likely bruised leg. 

“I can’t wait for this class to end so I can rip out more of your stupid ginger hair, Ginger Ale.” You pulled out your textbook and flipping to the page. 

“Don’t bloody call me that, besides, why not just use that horrid cologne as pepper spray. With how much you wore today, it’s already doing the job for you.” Ron scowled at you from across the table, but his demeanor shifted ever so slightly when you dropped your quill and looked at him with wide eyes. He blinked a few times before looking around the room then behind him. “What?”

“Red, I.. You smell my cologne?” Your voice was filled to the brim with turmoil.

“So what if I do?” Ron’s face scrunched up with confusion. 

“Have you heard of a potion called Amortentia?” You spoke up, covering your rapidly heating up face. 

“A-amor- What?”

“Look, Red. Long story short, it’s a love potion. It’s strong enough to change love to obsession. It emits a smell that’s different for everyone and mimics the smell of your crush.” You looked at him between your fingers, seeing his confusion still so clear on his face.

“Ok.” Ron snorted. “What does that have to do with your shitty cheap cologne?” 

“Weasley, mate, I know the cogs in your brain are super rusty, but just try to use ‘em ok?” You slammed your hands against the table as you spoke. “I’m not wearing my cologne today. I ran out last night. Slughorn had an open cauldron filled with Amortentia in class today.” 

“S.. So what your saying is-” Ron’s brain was trying to process everything you’d said. He was still refusing to believe he loved, liked or tolerated you.

“You fancy me, you idiot.” You spoke up, louder than you intended.

Ron stared at you with wide eyes. His pale cheeks turned red, out of anger or embarrassment he wasn’t sure. He looked between Hermione and Harry before looking back at you.

“What? No I don’t. That’s ridiculous, borderline mental!”

“Then why did you smell my cologne?” You questioned, leaning over the table some. Ron went back to glaring at you, his arms crossing over the table.

“Probably because you're lying about having none.”

“Ok, say I was lying, Harry would smell it, yeah?”

“Yeah and I don’t smell anything besides the potions brewing.” Harry shrugged while Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Harry! Don’t encourage him!” Ron slammed his book shut, drawing more attention to the bickering table.

“I’m not encouraging anyone. Just being honest.”

“No, you know what? This is a load of bollocks! I do not like you, (L/n). In fact, I loathe you!” Ron stood up quickly, his stool tumbling to the ground with a bang. “I feel anything, literally anything except affection for you!” 

You watched Ron storm out of the classroom and looked down at the table. You ignored the students and Slughorn staring at your table and, instead, focused on your bruised knuckles. Were you supposed to tell Ron you smelled his own stupid cologne, broom polish from Quidditch, chocolate frogs and hits of firework ash? 

Before you knew it, you were running out of the classroom, ignoring the calls of your name. You spotted a glance of him rounding the corner and sprinted after it. 

“Ron!” You called out, rounding the same corner. He turned around, his eyes narrowed. This was the first time he heard you say his first name and he wasn’t going to let his shock show through.

“What? Here to make fun of me? Well, go on. You’ll end up doing it anyway tonight. Don’t hold back now.” Ron’s hands balled up into fists. 

“I’m not going to make fun of yo-”

“Yeah, and my hair isn’t red. Don’t bloody lie to me!”

“I’m being serio-”

“No, you aren’t!”

“Ok, you know what?” You stepped forward, grabbing a bunch of his shirt and slamming his back into a wall. He raised his fist to throw a punch, but your free hand caught his wrist. Before he could do anything else, your lips slammed against his. 

He froze against the wall, his skull filling with emptiness at the feeling of your soft lips against his chapped ones. He couldn't stop the questions tumbling through his lips when you separated. He managed to stop when you pressed your forehead against his.  The red-head didn’t have to strain his ears to hear your whisper in the empty hallway but shuddered when your hand threaded through his hair, gently massaging where you pulled earlier.

“I’m sorry..” You pulled back a tiny bit to look into his blue eyes, only now noticing the green flecks twinkling like stars in the night sky. “Does it still hurt?” Your voice was so soft it made his heart ache. He would’ve shaken his head, but didn’t want you to pull your hand away.

“No, it never really hurt.” Ron confessed, his shaky hands awkwardly landing on your waist.

“But you said-”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean..” Ron chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dropping to your sneakers.

“Yeah, so did I.” You whispered awkwardly, just staring at the red-head against the wall. It was a good few minutes before you spoke up again. “Broom polish, earth and chocolate frogs..”

“What?” 

“The um- the love potion.. That’s what I.. That’s what I got from it.” 

“I’m co-”

“Ron, please. I smelled your cologne, the stupid sweets and your broom polish. Idiot.” You chuckled a little.

“Well excuse me, I haven't gotten my brain cogs oiled yet.” Ron smiled a little, desperate to hear more of your laugh. He mentally fist pumped the air when you did, in fact, laugh louder. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Red.” 

“Soooo..” Ron dragged out the o as he tapped his fingers along your waist. He gave you a lopsided grin as he continued. ”Should we go on a date or kiss more?” 

“Why not both?” You leaned in again, stopping just before his lips.

“I like both.. We could go swimming in the Black Lake?” The pale boy grinned wider as his fingers tugged your shirt free from your trousers.

“Ron, it’s like 10 degrees outside- you just wanna see me shirtless!” You pecked his lips, chuckling when he faked a gasp, his hands now resting under your shirt..

“That is entirely not true, (L/n)! Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Not here, Weasley. I might’ve left it in the classroom, ya know, with my books since I had to chase your ass out here.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” It was Ron’s turn to kiss you.

“We have a lot to make to each other already. Let's just start at the basics.”

[brasskier]

Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.

Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it. 

He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself. 

"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.

Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.

"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?" 

"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.

"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different. 

"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet. 

"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.

"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection. 

"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?" 

"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it. 

"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.

Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.

Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.

"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?

"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to." 

"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?" 

"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this. 

"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."

"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.

"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind.  "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself. 

"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.

"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?

"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily. 

"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together. 

"You know I didn't…" 

"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.

"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before. 

"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."

"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.

"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.

"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.

"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.

"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face. 

"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up. 

"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve. 

"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat. 

"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen. 

"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.  

When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.

"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt. 

"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.

"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach." 

"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night. 

"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning. 

"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain. 

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Magical Loopholes

Chapter 63:  The Savior’s Test

One by one, the family exchanged glances at each other, doubtful and hopeful glances all at once before Emma gave the final nod and David left the shop, he assumed to fetch the dog. It was only once he'd gone that he turned to his fearless defender, realizing that their lunch had been interrupted yet again.

"Belle…I'm sorry that we-"

"It's fine," she assured him with a hand on his arm, smiling gently. "I'll stay."

Stay. Stay to watch. Stay to see him help. Stay to defend him. He couldn't help the smile that broke out over his face. He was beginning to enjoy having someone on his side a bit too much. If the others weren't there, he would have kissed her, but Emma chose that moment to clear her throat as if reminding him that they were, in fact, still present. He sighed in irritation of all they'd interrupted.

"In the back," he snapped before he led Belle back ahead of them. The sooner this was over, the better.

Fortunately, David returned quickly, leading the spotted dog into the back room on a leash. He smiled as he crouched down and urged the beast over to him. "Hey boy, good boy!" he cooed, using every trick to befriend the animal that Mr. Oak had taught him in his youth. The dog responded with a couple of happy licks as he stopped perfectly in front of him.

"I ah…didn't know you were such a dog person!" Belle said with a chuckled beside him.

"Well…a long time ago, in another life, I got to know a sheepdog or two." Yet another part of his life she had no knowledge of yet, a part he wanted to tell her about, a part he could be telling her about now over lunch if it weren't for this mess.

"That's fascinating," Emma drawled sarcastically. "But unless you can speak dog, how is Pongo gonna tell us anything?"

"With magic, of course," he commented. "It won't allow us to communicate, but it will allow us to extract his memories."

"Extract?!" David stressed his heart rate hitching.

"You don't have to worry. He won't feel a thing," he assured them. He wouldn't do this if it hurt the beast. Aside from the fact that Belle would never forgive him, he wasn't that much of a monster.

"Why should we trust you?" Emma argued. "You could just as easily use magic to fool us."

"Because I'm not going to be the one using magic…you are." He smiled as they have finally arrived at the best part of his plan, the part most informative and important to him.

"Me?" the girl questioned. "How?"

"You have it within you, told me so yourself," he pointed out before glancing to Mary Margaret. "You witnessed it, didn't you?"

That was a calculated guess. Emma hadn't said that Mary Margaret had seen it, but he assumed that by now, if she hadn't seen it herself, she'd at least heard about it. The look of nervousness and lack of denial from the Queen confirmed his suspicion.

"Emma, you don't have to do this," Mary Margaret pointed out as if her daughter was about to drink poison instead of performing a moderately difficult spell.

"If it tells us something about Archie's death, then so be it," she responded.

Excellent.

He carefully removed a box from his cabinet and searched inside to collect a memory keeper he'd once gotten from Clopin. Powerful things in their world somehow Mr. Gold knew it had transcended worlds somehow to arrive in this one as a "dream catcher" to another group of people.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked of Emma.

"A dream catcher," she responded appropriately, sounding almost as nervous as her mother.

"Well, it's capable of catching so much more," he explained.

He gave the artifact a bit of magic, just something to spark it to life after so long, and then summoned Pongo's gaze up to him and dragged the catcher down the dog's head, neck, and along his spine. It glowed as he did it, burning brighter and brighter before he finally pulled it off the animal, and he judged for himself the weight of what he'd collected. What he saw inside of it was interesting, very interesting indeed.

"What is that?" Belle asked beside him.

"Memories," he answered, standing up and shifting a bit so that she could see for herself there was no harm to the beast or in what he'd done. "Now, Miss Swan…you show us what happened?"

"How?" she asked as he presented it to her, and she reached out to take it. "It's just a jumble."

Was it now? A "jumble"…not nothing. That was very informative indeed. But with a bit more teaching, perhaps…

"Will it," he pressed. "Will it, and we shall all see."

Emma swallowed. Her heart sped up as she took a breath and looked into the catcher; her eyes flickered with concentration, her brows knit together as her muscles strained. There was a spark in the air, something made of magic, something powerful and strong that made the side of his mouth twitch into a smile-

"I can't," she responded.

He held in his laugh though it was hard given how predictable that had been. She'd felt it too. She had to have felt it inside herself. Now she just needed to learn not to run from it.

He took a step closer and nodded at her. "Yes, you can."

Again, she swallowed hard before giving a small nod, as if she understood what he hadn't said, as if it was all clear to her. And then she glanced back at the catcher, closed her eyes tight, and again it began. The race of her heartbeat, the furrowing of her brow, the strain in her muscles…and then the spark. Only this time, it was as if she'd grabbed hold of it, as if she'd recognized what it might have been last time and was clinging to it…her magic. It tasted delightful, even if it was some of the strongest Light Magic he'd ever been faced with. Intoxicating, delectable, extraordinary…and so very, very dangerous if it ever went up against his own. If it ever clashed.

A storm raged around the Savior, a cloud of black on the streets of Storybrooke as streetlights were destroyed, and she held the dagger in her hands. The Darkness found her.

"Emma, you're doing it!" David's voice tugged him out of his vision, the first he'd had in far too long. But one he couldn't dwell on at the moment, not at a time like this even if it if did feel like the Seer was trying to tell him something. Because there, in the keeper, were memories. Clear images of the night before, a traumatic event he'd plucked from the dog's mind for her to see.

Archie answering the door, "Regina!" He let her into the room, and the pair began to talk, words that the canine mind could not come to terms with. And then Regina reached forward, put her hand around the grasshopper's neck, and-

"Oh!" Mary Margaret threw herself into David's arms at the same time he felt Belle shudder and stir behind him. She didn't squeal or cry as Mary Margaret did, but he could still feel her heartbeat, tuned to it as he was, smell the fear pouring off her. He'd been honored that she'd wanted to stay during this, but he hadn't thought to consider the effects of potentially watching the woman who had threatened her life for decades kill another human being in front of her eyes.

"You were right all along!" Emma breathed as he managed to wrap his hand gently around Belle's.

"I'm sorry, Emma," David breathed as he comforted Mary Margaret, though what he was sorry for he wasn't positive about. Frankly, as Belle teetered on the edge of breakdown herself, he didn't really care. Nor did he care why Regina had suddenly decided to murder the bug when she'd been so against killing the biological mother of her child, her real threat, days ago. He just wanted the shop back again so he could calm Belle down.

"And now if you are quite satisfied that I am not the murderer you're seeking-"

"We'll go," Emma finished for him quickly. "We have to find her! We have to catch Regina and make sure Henry is okay so she can't hurt him!"

And that was that. In the blink of an eye, David had whispered something encouraging to Mary Margaret that forced her to pull herself together so they could go with the dog. He watched them go, saw them to the front door, and then magically locked it the second the bell finished ringing before turning back to Belle.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he whispered. She wasn't crying, not yet at least, but the hand he moved over her arm confirmed that she was trembling. Obviously, and understandably, shaken from what she'd seen. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

And then she gave in. She launched herself into his arms with a desperation that made him hold her just as tightly as she was holding onto him. How could he not, after the way she'd defended him in front of them, stayed by his side, endured those memories…she deserved every last ounce of comfort he had to give. So, he hushed her and cooed her. He rubbed her back the same way he did when they were in bed, hoping it might ease her as it did her nightmares. He made sure only to tell her true things, that she was okay, that she was safe. He reminded her that Regina had yet to come after her since she was free and promised her that if the bitch knew what was good for her, she wouldn't dare try now, for if she did, it would be her last day on this earth.

Finally, she peeled her head up off his shoulder, and he could see the tears that had gathered in her eyes. "I knew you hadn't done it."

The words were like a punch to the gut, shocking. They were unbelievable simply because he could see that she believed them. Every last one of them. She'd known he hadn't done it…from the beginning, she'd known. His defender, ally, lover, and True Love…so many new experiences, new thoughts, and emotions swirled inside of him every time they were together. And sometimes it was so overwhelming the best he could do was pull her closer and let her hold him as he held her.

[rjhpandapaws]

A Hand in the Matter

Ch5: I May Not Know You Well But...

//Warning(s): implied obsessive-compulsive behavior, graphic-ish description of a depressive espisode, and poor self image.

Gavin wasn't the best with people, he never had been. Social cues were hard and he tended to miss them anyway. So, he couldn't exactly be blamed for the amount of time it took him to realize Richard wasn't his usual self. They'd known each other a few weeks and hung out pretty consistently, be it to study or just kick back at Gavin's apartment. In the past few days, the silence that accompanied Richard seemed heavier. The joke of tall, dark and brooding now seemed less a joke and more of a new normal. Gavin was at a loss.

Richard wasn't exactly the most expressive person. His smiles were little more than a slight curl at the corner of his lips that Gavin quickly learned to look for. It was rare for them to show in his eyes. Gavin had seen that smile once, three weeks ago at the cafe when he had signed his order for the first time. Since then Richard had been more withdrawn. Gavin had believed it to be the usual of Richard playing his cards close to his chest, until today. Today Richard had cancelled their study session, and the ones after.

Gavin: we still meeting at the cafe today?

Gavin: asking because I'm running a little late

Gavin: you're gonna need to grab the table

Tall Phcker from Psych: i think you should find another tutor

Tall Phcker from Psych: its nothing personal Gavin.

Gavin stared at his phone in shock, in the hall outside his apartment, grocery bags on his arm and probably looking like an idiot, but he didn't understand why this was happening. They were friends right? That couldn't have just been in his head.

Gavin: was it something I did?

Richard had said it wasn't personal, and Gavin wanted to believe him, but this had come out of no where. Gavin shook his head to clear it, he had things to do today. He could manage studying on his own, probably. He opened the door to his apartment, calling a greeting to his cat before heading to the kitchen. He set the bags on the counter and began to unpack them and put the contents away. He tucked the plastic bags under the sink.

Gavin checked his phone, but he had no new messages, no explanation for the sudden cut off. He sighed and grabbed his backpack and flopped onto his old beat up couch. He put the backpack beside him on the couch, taking up the spot where he would normally find Richard. Pushing that thought back down where it belonged, Gavin fished out his textbook and flipped to the chapter they were covering that week.

Richard had suggested reading the chapter over first, giving it time to sink in, and then going over it again to take notes. So Gavin settled in to read, playing music quietly through the smart speaker on the end table. He made progress, for a while, but at some point it devolved into him just staring absently at a diagram, none of it registering. He was drawn into his own thoughts, trying to pick apart where he had gone wrong. Trying to figure out what he had done that had caused Richard to pull away from him.

Richard at least seemed to enjoy talking with him, or, at least listening to Gavin talk. He would respond with dry jokes of his own from time to time. Whenever Gavin started something it turned out he couldn't handle Richard usually came to his aid, pulling him from fights, or playing peace keeper, and on occasion simply being damage control. Outwardly at least, Richard hadn't seemed to mind, but Gavin was beginning to worry that maybe he did. Richard was calm and quiet, a constant to Gavin's rowdy and combative, and he had probably decided that Gavin was too exhausting to keep around. He was violently startled out of his thoughts by his phone vibrating loudly against the end table. He had messages from a number that wasn't in his contact list, which was odd.

3132483175: is this Gavin?

3132483175: my name is Connor. Richard is my younger brother.

3132483175: I would like to talk with you

3132483175: if you have the time that is

Gavin read the texts, and then read them again to make sure he had read them correctly. He added Connor to his contact list before replying.

Gavin: hey

Gavin: is Richard alright?

My Name is Connor: I was going to ask you that actually

My Name is Connor: he has been acting very distant the past few days and I can't figure out why

Gavin: you and me both

Gavin: he sent me a couple texts earlier one saying I should find another psych tutor and the other saying that it wasn't anything personal

My Name is Connor: hmm

My Name is Connor: my break is almost over. Mind swinging by Hand Brewed Hope so we can talk?

My Name is Connor: I'm off at 3

Gavin: alright. See you then

Gavin stared at his phone for a long moment. Then scrolled to the top of the short conversation to read through it again to make sure that it had actually happened. Richard hadn't pulled away from just him. He was happy for a moment, but that was soon eaten alive by guilt. Connor was clearly worried. Enough so to reach out to a stranger to see if they knew anything. Reassured that it (probably) wasn't his fault, anxiety gave way to worry.

What was it that was hurting Richard so badly that he would withdraw from Connor? He'd spoken of him in such high regards before, that they had seemed close. Richard had been at least opening his messages, even if it was just to clear the notifications. It wouldn't hurt to send another.

Gavin: text Connor please, he's worried about you

He sent it before he could worry if he had stepped out of line. Even if he had, it was from a good place. If he didn't ever come to talk to Gavin again, he at least wanted Richard to have Connor to lean on. He didn't like the thought of Richard being alone, even the most composed needed someone to lean on when things got difficult.

As it turned out, time flies when you're worried. He didnt get much more studying done and by the time it was creeping up on three o'clock, Gavin was grabbing his jacket and keys for the second time that day. Has he headed down the hall to the lobby he shot Connor a text.

Gavin: headed your way coffee boy

He eyes his motorcycle in the parking lot for a moment, but decided walking to the cafe would give him more time to gather his thoughts. He wasn't sure why Connor wanted to talk. Mutual worry seemed to be part of it, but it also felt like Connor was trying to do damage control.

In a way, Gavin was doing the same thing. Trying to gage what was wrong and see what he could do to fix it. He just couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe with Connor's help they could get it figured out and try and get a handle on it.

It was after three by the time he arrived at the cafe. He scanned the place for Connor and found him at the corner table where he and Richard sat to study. Connor met his eyes and waved him over. There were two cups on the table, when he sat down Connor slid the bigger one over to him.

"Thanks." Gavin said trying to relax some in the chair, "So you wanted to talk to me?"

Connor was still in his work uniform and his expression was friendly, but the worry was still showing through, "Yeah. If thats okay. You're a friend of his and he thought he might have told you what was wrong, but since he didnt I thought we could compare notes on what's been going on."

Gavin took a drink for the sole purpose of stalling the conversation, at least the drink was his usual. "That makes sense. I didn't notice until a few days ago, but looking back on it, it started just after the day I first signed my drink order. He seemed really happy that day, but after that he started pulling away from me."

Connor nodded keeping his eyes on Gavin, but it felt like he was looking through him rather than at him, "He really seems to like you. I've never seen him go out of his way to interact with someone before."

Gavin took a moment to let that sink in. Richard didn't seem the type to have a lot of friends but Gavin had thought he was one of a few.

"Seemed to." Gavin found himself saying, "He decided today that apparently he's better off if we don't talk."

"He didn't say that!" Connor snapped with enough venom that a few other patrons looked over at them, "According to your own messages he said you should find a new tutor, not that he disliked you." Both Connor's voice and expression were sharp as he defended his brother, "Anyway, its like you said. After that day he started to pull away. With me at least it started with him not returning my texts, then yesterday he asked me to stop calling him, and I haven't heard from him since. He's at least reading the messages, but that doesn't make me feel much better."

"Because he doesn't like having the notifications hanging around." Gavin said with a nod. Richard was odd with organization and clutter. Gavin had actively started keeping his apartment clean after Richard's first visit resulted in him having a panic attack, "It's not exactly reassuring."

"No." Connor sighed, "its not." He drank from his own cup and then sat forward, "the only thing that has changed in his life recently is you." Connor held up a hand silencing Gavin's building argument, "I'm not blaming you. It was a positive change, he was coming out of his shell. But I can't help to wonder if it was too much at once."

"Maybe we should go see him." Gavin suggested, "we don't know what's going on and he isn't answering our messages. He doesn't want to come to us, so instead we should go to him."

"But what if he wants to be alone? He's a very private person you know." Connor argued though it sounded weak to Gavin.

"Should he be alone though? By your own words he's almost always been alone. What if this time it's different Connor? What if he needs someone and doesn't know how to ask?" Gavin paused to breathe, "he's used to being relied on, relying on others may be new to him."

Connor just stared at him, like Gavin had said something he hadn't thought of. His brown eyes narrowed before he stood like the devil himself was on his heels. He looked down at Gavin the determination of the rest of his expression only just masking the worry lingering in his eyes, "Well? Are you coming or not."

Gavin took a moment to collect himself before standing. He grabbed his cup and followed Connor out of the cafe. The brunette took his apron off as he walked, a skill Gavin was genuinely impressed by, and folded it under his arm keeping it close. Gavin trailed behind Connor trying not to lose him in the crowd but he was cutting a fast pace. He'd never personally been to Richard's apartment but knew he at least lived close by. He often mentioned walking to the cafe. Connor turned down a side street Gavin almost missed. Connor slowed down some so Gavin assumed they were getting close.

"Have you ever been to Nines's place before?" Connor asked, not turning to face Gavin.

"Nines?" Gavin asked, unsure if it was a nickname or another person all together, "uh no why?"

"Nines is Richard's nickname, the number always seems to bring him good luck." Connor elaborated, smiling at some memory Gavin wasn't privy to, "ah, then he may not like you showing up uninvited."

"Well he should have thought about that before he decided to drop off the fucking grid." Gavin responded a little defensively, "look I'll apologize after all of this is fixed, buy him something fuzzy. The whole bit."

Connor stopped to look over at Gavin, "how do you know about his texture sensitivity? He never tells anyone about that."

"If it makes you feel better, I just found out about it from you." Gavin remarked, "I just figured he liked fuzzy shit because I have a cat at my place and he takes her hostage evertime he comes over."

Guilt settled into Connor's features and he began walking with purpose again, "oh. Please don't tell him I told you."

"Don't worry, I wont."

The silence settled over them again, but it was less suffocating this time, the urgency still remained but they were no longer being smothered by it. Connor lead him into a parking lot, not the main one from the look of it and headed for the building marked A3. Gavin followed, only slightly less sure of himself than before. There had to be a reason Richard hadn't opened his apartment to Gavin, and now that Connor had mentioned it; he wondered if showing up was breaking some unspoken rule. Gavin's worry won out over his guilt. As the saying went, it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Richard lived on the fifth floor at the end of the building opposite the elevator because of course he did. Gavin was winded by the time they reached their stop, and mad because Connor wasn't. The bastard continued down the hall like they hadn't just climbed five fucking floors worth of stairs. They arrived at apartment 509-A and Gavin was relatively certain that Richard could hear his breathing from wherever he happened to be in his apartment. Connor took a key from his pants pocket and much to Gavin's surprise opened the door without knocking. He had figured Connor to be more polite than that, but as it was looks could be deceiving.

"Richard?" Connor called into the silent apartment as he entered, "Its Connor. I brought Gavin with me. We just want to talk alright? We're worried about you."

Connor had taken his shoes off at the door and set them aside, so Gavin copied the action. He knew they wouldn't receive a verbal response, but the lack of movement worried him. He let Connor take point because he knew the apartment better, and Gavin figured seeing his brother might keep Richard from freaking out too much.

The living room and kitchen areas were both empty. The items and furniture in them in such specific places that they looked sterile and unlived in. Not even a dish out of place. No wonder his first visit to Gavin's place had made him panic. Connor continued down the hall, the first two rooms were empty, one was a bathroom and the other a makeshift office. Both as clean and sterile as the rest of the apartment, it was unsettling. There was a third door at the end that was closed, this one Connor knocked on before opening.

The lights were off and the curtains closed though they weren't thick enough to block out the light. There was a lump curled up under the covers that was most likely Richard.

"I'm going to turn the light on." Connor warned gently, giving Richard time to acknowledge it, though he didn't respond, before turning on the light.

The room was a mess, not just in relation to the sterile clean of the rest of the apartment, but an actual mess. Clothes were scattered on the floor and piled on the bed, pulled from the closet and dresser from the looks of it. Not that Gavin had too much time to observe it. After the light came on Richard sat up in bed, blue eyes locked on Gavin, pain and anger fighting for control in them.

'Get Out!' He signed, 'Leave!'

Gavin flinched and took a half step back, but otherwise held his ground, he didn't understand why Richard was angry with him. It was the most emotion he'd ever seen from him. It wrapped his whole body, darkened his eyes and made him look dangerous. Being the cause of such a visceral reaction cut Gavin to his core. It shook his resolve almost to the point of shattering it. This was personal after all, the text to the contrary was Richard trying to keep the peace like he always did. Gavin should have listened.

"Can... can you at least tell me what I did wrong?" Gavin was looking everywhere but in Richard's eyes, settling on his hands as he began to sign.

'You Lie. Not My Friend. Only Want Teacher.'

Hurt flared even more violently in Gavin's chest and he shrank in on himself, "I... you're my friend Richard. I never meant for you to feel like this. I want to fix it."

'LIAR!' Gavin's eyes snapped up to Richard's when he heard a choked off sob. Tears were spilling down Richard's cheeks and it was Gavin's fault, 'Not My Friend. Now Leave.'

"Alright. If you want me to go, I will." Gavin's voice wavered, tears pressing at the back of his eyes threatening to spill over, but Connor cut him off before he could continue his apology.

"No Richard, he stays." Connor had moved to the edge of Richard's bed at some point and was holding a notebook, reading whatever was on the page, "he was the one that said we should come by. He cares about you and is worried for you."

Richard seemed to notice what Connor had in his hand and lunged for it. Connor stepped away from the bed tucking the notebook to his chest.

Richard signed something at Connor that Gavin didn't see enough of to catch or understand. Connor didn't respond right away walking toward Gavin instead.

"I am going to show him Nines, it is about him after all." Connor's tone wasn't condescending, but it still sounded like he was speaking to a child, "you have said your piece. Gavin deserves a chance to say his."

Connor handed the notebook to Gavin and he held it like it was something precious. He turned it over so he could read the page, and immediately wished he hadn't. There. In Richard's near perfect handwriting was 'he doesn't like me' written repeatedly, getting less legible as it went down the page, tear stained in some places. On the bottom most line 'Gavin hates me' was written in blocky capital letters. Gavin shook his head like that would somehow change the words. He looked back at Richard and the dam broke, his tears spilling over and down his face.

"I... I dont hate you. And I'm so, so sorry for whatever I did that made it seem that way." He sniffled disgustingly and wiped at his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve.

Richard's hands were shaking badly and Gavin couldn't read his signs, he looked at Connor desperate to understand what he was being told. Connor spoke once Richard's hands came to a stop.

"You stayed, no one ever stays. Not for me." Connor paused, sounding as though he was on the verge of tears himself, "I'm not worth the effort. Its too difficult to communicate with me. So no one stays. People don't like me. I am not worth knowing."

Gavin balked at that. Sure Richard wasn't friendly outwardly, but he showed his kindness in other ways.

"I stayed because I like you. You're smart, quick with a joke and nice to have around." He took a breath taking a few tentative steps toward the bed keeping the notebook close, "I'm not the easiest to get along with either, and people aren't quick to hang around. But you did."

'You Taught Me Your Language.' Gavin signed hoping to convey how much that act alone had meant to him.

Richard's hands went flying, signing at a speed Gavin couldn't hope to understand. He was apparently operating under the assumption that Connor would continue to act as their translator.

"You don't know me." Connor paused letting Richard sign more of his thoughts before continuing, "I am not my brothers, I am not kind. People are difficult and they cause me stress. You do not, being around you is nice. I'm not used to it, it scares me."

Gavin set the notebook on the bed and Richard was quick to grab it.

"You're right I dont know you all that well, but I still let you into my home, showed you my cat and let you eat your way through my fridge. I only tolerate that kind of behavior from my friends." He took a breath having found his footing and barreled forward. He would lose his nerve if he stopped now, "you're right. You aren't Connor and that's what I like about you."

Connor let out a sound that was something between a laugh and an offended scoff. Gavin kept talking.

"You're Richard. You leave me on read until I send you pictures of Frankie. You text me at ass o'clock in the morning because you think that if you're awake I need to be too. You come to my rescue when I get in over my head. You push me to be better, and I need that more than you know. So you're absolutely right, I may not know you well, but I wouldn't be adverse to trying."

Richard stared at him owlishly in a way that did remind him of Connor. Gavin was beginning to get uncomfortable, he wasn't good at talking about his feelings and he didn't want Richard to feel pressured by his apparent diarrhea of the mouth.

Richard picked up the notebook turning to a clean page. He shuffled things around on his nightstand until he came away with a pen. He wrote something down quickly and showed it to Gavin.

'Do you mean it?'

"Of course I mean it dipshit." Gavin cracked a watery smile, "I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them."

More writing, scratching out whatever he had put down, not liking it and then trying again. Gavin ignored the previous two attempts, and read the third.

'Thank you Gavin. It means more than you know. I am sorry I worried you but having friends is difficult and scary. I will try not to do this again but I can't promise anything.'

Gavin shook his head, "then dont promise. Ask for help. Connor is here for you, I havent met your other brother but I'm sure he is too, and so am I. You aren't alone. Not anymore."

Richard still looked unsure of himself. He looked between Gavin and Connor as though he expected one of them to take it back, when neither one did he gave a phantom of a smile. Things weren't better and it might be a long while before they were. Richard was fighting something big and he'd been fighting it for a while. The difference now, was that he wasn't fighting it alone.

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn't say so - Chapter 2/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: The trouble with trinkets is they make people jealous. Or maybe that's just Kylo.

Chapter 1 here, 2 below or on Ao3, 3

Wordcount: 2029

Kylo raised his sword and brought it down fiercely on the horrible carnivorous vines he'd been hired to clear out of the local village's moor edge. The things had already munched their way through a cow and half a sheep, and the villagers were worried a child would be next. Perhaps to his own detriment, Kylo wasn't really all that interested in the reasons why he'd been hired; he was far more interested in the coin he'd get out of the experience, and the opportunity to really let loose some destructive energy.

Of course, Kylo had been trained well in fencing, dagger fighting, stave fighting and in hand to hand combat, but for his typical work, he favoured the longsword. The weight of it felt so right in his hands, the swing of it, the sharp edge or the blunt hit, the way it gleamed red after drawing blood. For most monsters, it worked perfectly well, but even then the necessity to dodge or force down some kind of potion usually took the pleasure out of the pure heft behind it. These vines, however, were easy game. They thrashed, shot out poisonous barbs, but mostly they stayed in one place. That meant Kylo could swipe the metal through them with abandon, and still be assured he'd meet his mark.

He hacked and slashed, let a furore course through his veins and out into his surroundings, over and over and over through whatever fleshy leaf, woody stem, fibrous buds he could reach with metal and intensity. When finally he let his sword drop to trail its point through the under-brush at his side, it was carnage. He went around the area, plunging the blade as deep as it would go into each root stump until he was satisfied that nothing was living, before stalking away from the destruction.

Chest heaving, he found a flat, dry piece of ground and lay down, looking up at the clouds and basking in the feeling of action still tingling through his arms, into his fingers, out into the earth and the air around him. He felt connected – to the ground he was lying on, to the source of his own power, without being worried he was lost in the force of a potion. This was all him.

Back in the village, when they'd described to Kylo what he was out to fight, Hux had listened carefully and given a fancy academic name for the vines. Kylo stuck with the common name, shrugging and standing to head off immediately. Hux had reprimanded him and delayed him until he'd found an anti-toxin potion to order Kylo to take before engaging the things, which Kylo had ignored. Now, looking down at his legs and seeing several barbs sticking out of them, Kylo again heard Hux telling him, “They have poisonous thorns, you know,” in exactly that tone that could piss him off just as much as it could make him want to pounce on Hux and make his annoyance known by ripping a few tunic seams in the process.

Still, the mage was right, as per fucking usual.

Kylo hauled himself up to sit, drew the potion out of a pocket and downed it, picking the barbs out while he waited for it to take effect. The pricks tingled a bit, but it wasn't anything too bad, certainly not to the severity that Hux's wariness had suggested. Though it was nice that he'd given him the potion. It felt like being looked out for.

He let his mind drift to how Hux and Poe would be doing. The mage was likely offering common-sense medical advice to the villagers in the most deadpan delivery possible, or flicking through one of the books he'd brought with him in his seemingly bottomless bags. Poe had been eager to do his usual thing and perform a little in the tavern. His voice was so wonderful, Kylo found himself thinking, the sparkle in his eyes as he reached the punchline of a bawdy tune, and the way he could command a room, tell a story better than anyone else before...

Well, Kylo should be getting back.

He stood, gave the area one last cursory look for any vines he'd missed, and, seeing nothing, turned to go. He was just sheathing his sword when he stopped, eyes catching on a clump of cheerful orange and white flowers which had managed to survive his visit, just on the edge of the carnage.

“Hmm.”

When Kylo returned to the village tavern and gave Poe those same flowers, Poe's face lit up with a smile. “Well, don't I feel special.”

Kylo noticed Hux eyeing them. Shit, had he done something wrong? “They're not poisonous too, are they?” he asked.

Hux seemed to snap out of some kind of reverie. “No, they're... they're just normal flowers. Excuse me,” he stood from the table he was sat at and made for the stairs.

If Kylo didn't know better about Hux's taste in “useless gestures” like flowers, he would have thought he should have brought Hux some as well.

[break]

They stopped at the next city. Kylo wasn't sure they should stay – there were no contracts of the style he took, and, in his opinion, staying pointlessly at a place like this was a recipe for trouble – but Poe wanted to get some supplies and try out a some new material with a more cosmopolitan crowd, and Hux claimed he had someone he wanted to visit, so stay they did.

Hux disappeared off into the bustling crowds early in the morning, and, later, Poe dragged Kylo off to the market. Kylo started to suspect he was only there so that Poe could make him carry things, which would grate on him usually, but he found didn't mind all that much, since it meant he got to spend time with the bard.

Poe was a people person, a fact which Kylo had always known, but it was never so clear as when he was not trying actively to entrance people as he did when performing – somehow not putting it on made it all the more obvious this was just him. He would flash charming grins to the women and manoeuvred through the crowds with an ease Kylo was jealous of.

For his own part, Kylo always felt the need to keep his hood low, to keep out of sight, even going so far as to cast a glamour some witch had taught him years ago. It was a weak thing, but eyes slid off him like water droplets off a bird. With Poe, however, he didn't need it; the man was so magnetic as it was, there was barely anyone who would bother to stare at anyone else. (Kylo included himself in that number.)

Finally, they came to a stand selling all sorts of gold and silver jewellery, pretty trinkets, gemstones on cords. One brooch caught Poe's eye – a dragon. “This is some amazing craftsmanship,” he noted, striking up an easy conversation with the stall keeper. When the man had to tend to another customer, he turned back to Kylo. “I'd love to fly. Do you think I'd be a good dragon?”

“You'd be great,” Kylo told him honestly. He was certain Poe would command the skies, given half the chance, and push back against the hunters until the entire Continent was dragon territory once again. The mental image morphed into one of Poe in front of a victory banner, the name of a great flying lizard no more than an epithet used by the forces he'd become leader of. It was a good look in him; he may not want to be in charge of his home kingdom, but with a cause like that, and people to follow him, he could be formidable. Lost in the daydream of Poe as some kind of dragon king of the skies, Kylo pointed at the brooch. “Do you want to get that?”

Poe looked at it thoughtfully, enough that Kylo could see the conflict in his thoughts. “Nah,” he said eventually, “it's expensive and... I have stuff at home.” He began walking away, and Kylo trailed after him, thinking it was a pity – the brooch would look so wonderful on him. “Maybe I could get Hux to transfigure me or something,” Poe mused, a glint of humour in his eye as Kylo blanched.

“I'm not sure that's how it works...”

“Imagine it though. Flap flap, blagh, I'm a dragon.”

[break]

A day after they left the city, they made their first camp at the edge of a copse. Kylo was checking over his armour while Poe and Hux were sat on a log opposite him, Poe cooking a fowl on the fire and Hux watching him do it. Kylo had let himself fall into a somewhat meditative state as he worked everything over, but a glint of silver and amber across camp hooked him out of it.

Hux had withdrawn a small pouch from his pocket, and withdrawn from that again a brooch. Another second let Kylo confirm – it was the very brooch from the city market. How had he known? Then he was handing it to Poe with a smooth, “I saw this and thought of you.” Bastard.

Poe was speechless for a second. “You shouldn't have,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Well I can always-”

“No, I'll...” Poe reached to take it from Hux's hand. Kylo's jaw clenched as Poe's fingers lingered for too long. “Thanks, Hux. This is... wow.” He put it on, pinning it over his heart.

“It isn't straight.” Without waiting to be asked, Hux reached up with deft mage's fingers to fix it, smoothing out the fabric more than was necessary. “There.”

The leather armour in Kylo's grip creaked. Poe didn't hear it, but Hux shot him a look and... was that a smirk?

Then it hit Kylo; those flowers he'd given to Poe weeks ago must have made Hux jealous. It did not enter into Kylo's conception that Hux could simply like seeing Poe happy – happiness could be a part of it, certainly, but Hux was too cunning, too driven by ulterior motives for it to be that simple – or that Hux's feeling at seeing Poe like another person's gift could be any different to what Kylo himself was now feeling at seeing the same.

Well, if this was to be a game of one-upmanship, Kylo was sure he'd find a way to win. To make Poe smile like that, run a hand through his curls self-consciously as he now was – Kylo could do that just as well as Hux could. The rest of the evening, his mind was spinning with things he could give to the bard, trinkets of affection he could source the next time they crossed a place which dealt in such things.

The fire burned down and Hux retreated into his tent for the evening, Poe and Kylo settling on their bedrolls. They ended up facing each other, so Kylo, with his Witcher eyes, was not spared the view of Poe's finger fiddling with the brooch as he smiled to himself.

“He shouldn't have got it for me,” Poe mumbled again, as if sensing Kylo's train of thought, “It's probably gonna get broken.” Then, quieter, “I worry enough about whether you two will stay in one piece, I'd rather not worry about tiny things like this as well.”

Kylo thought about that for a minute. “You worry about us?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Out of all of them, Poe was the one who should be being worried about – Kylo himself was nigh on destructible, and Hux would probably survive anything out of sheer spite, even discounting his magic.

“Shut up,” Poe chuckled.

Kylo watched him smile up blankly at the canopy. And... if Poe could be happy like that without being showered with gifts, if it would please him more to worry about them less, maybe Kylo didn't need to compete with Hux. Perhaps the three of them were good enough as they were.

[illmamnim]

Re watching Danny Phantom - episode 1

Basically, I want to analyse the show with out just going from memory. So I'll watch episode by episode, pointing both things I love and hate, and occasionally, what I would do different.

Episode 2

This one will probably be the longest just because I am recalling stuff that happen later on and for the other episodes I’ll focus more on them.

So let's get to it

“Actually, dad, I wanna be an astronaut.”

Danny’s very first line, the dream he had since the very beginning. And it’s barely shown.

He does get exited about it when it shows up but it doesn’t look like he cares about it much outside of it. for a show with such themed characters it feels like Danny is far more built. 

now it could fit if all the other characters just as built, or at least the main ones, but every character seems to have an image they go by and Danny just stands out.

“Waste these looks and all this charisma hunting ghosts?! Criminal.”

Nothing to say here, I just love that line.

The whole fight behind Jack’s back

I want to make a whole post about Idiot Jack but for now I’ll just say this:  The Idiot tropes are so lovable because usually there's a kind, caring person at the end of them. Jack is shown very little to care about Danny or Jazz and will force them into ghost hunting shenanigans based on the plot’s needs.

Jazz seems to be the only one to notice  that their parents' obsession with ghosts is interfering with their everyday lives.

Other than that, It’s a good over all introduction to the Fenton family and their work.

Opening

👌👌👌

“You need guidance, and parents who can provide it.”

Jazz's notices that their parents' don’t pay attention to them- especially Danny. Earlier this scene, we see her read a book about adolescence and therapy and immediately she's the one to point out that her parents are ignoring Danny. They’re all together at breakfast and Jack and Maddie work right on the table.

Jazz is the one to notice how anxious Danny is most of the time and probably the only one to notice he's being bullied. (as he said- he's Dash's favorite)

Yes, Jazz thinks she's more grown up than she really is, which means that everyone in Danny’s life treats him like a child and her own obsession with being right can make her forget about the world.

But unlike many characters, she does get this development-  The Fenton Menace and  Secret Weapons are good examples of that.

“Why? Parents don’t listen. Even worse, they don’t understand. WHY CAN’T THEY ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM?!”

I’m going to use this to talk about lgbtq+ characters in the show. Or, more accurately the lack thereof.

I talked about it when I did some notes from memory, where I’ve mentioned that characters like Danny and Sam are so fitted to be apart of the lgbtq community that the fact that they’re not isn’t just disappointing but it feels like it’s missing.

Sam prides on being herself but she hides knowing she will always get backlash for things that don’t fit into some 1 dimensional character people expect her to be. And Danny is always afraid of being himself but when he is he feels the most free and happy.

Trans!Danny hcs didn’t just happen for no reason and if the show is ever to be rebooted I expect them to include it in, in any way.

“Your powers make you unique, and unique is good. That’s why I’m an ultra recyclo-vegetarian.”

Ok, big pet peeve of mine in the show.

They treat Sam as if she only does stuff to “be unique”. This could work perfectly if she had a development or reason- but later on all we seem to understand is that she’s just being “I’m not like other girls” and her being vegetarian or goth is nothing but her trying to either stand out or annoy her parents.

Does she actually want to do half the stuff she does? Her Sticking It To The Man attitude is admirable but whenever she talks about it it just kinda look like she would change herself to make sure she’s not ordinary.

Personally I do get it, cause it’s what I used to do, but the whole point of stating it is to show how she’s growing out of feeling like she can’t do stuff- Let her care for a stupid flour sack, let her show that she’s into ghosts and moreover I WANNA KNOW WHY

My headcanon is that that’s how she and Danny became friends in the first place and I would love to see how this gang got together.

“What if Jazz isn’t a ghost? What if we accidentally hurt her?”

Remind me why we don’t listen to Maddie more often?

Oh right, cause then they’d have to actually make the effort and have to think about how to make this show make sense.

“It’s garbage.”

Why does it look like the gang never seem to actually support one another? It doesn’t even look jokey or teasing, sometimes it just looks like they only hang out cause they have no other friends.

ghost sense

I always thought, and still think, that the blue line coming from the ghost sense is cold air turned warm and I made a post joking about Danny is always mouth breathing. And i got a comment that said “ It's probably more like a sudden cold feeling, so Danny gasps cause he's cold.“ I really liked it and I feel like they could’ve captured or explained it in the show better.

“Oh great, I’m still his favorite.”

They made that point a bunch in the show, that Dash is almost like Danny’s privet bully.

Why?

Dash bullies anyone, but Mikey and Danny seem to be a reoccurring deal (Mikey probably because he’s always doing their homework.) and they never explain it.

It just looks like main character syndrome.

“YOU CHANGED THE MENU?!”

I love how they portray more humanoid ghosts as more possible to act human and how much more scary it makes them when they suddenly break this humanity.

Lunch lady

She seems to be able to control much more than just food products (plates, books and papers, cutting the lights) and they never really explain how some ghosts can do this or that, and which powers are or aren’t universal.

(Non related but her face is adorable! Nice old evil grandma)

“repeated loitering by the girl’s locker-room.”

They really didn’t have to make Tucker a creep.

“[He threw] Four touchdown passes in the last game is thereby exempt from scorn.”

Uhh is this an american thing?? Are jocks really that much of a teacher’s pets that who ever played high school sports is able gets away with murder?

Danny’s powers’ look

They seem to always animate and portray the powers differently each time-

Sometimes when he’s intangible he’s blue, sometimes transparent, sometimes the lines change colors sometimes not.

Many animation errors seem to be about inconsistency.

“Guys, time to makeup. Now!”

He just transforms?? Right there?!

The Spike scene

Ok, we learn a lot here.

first of, why didn’t we see more of Spike in the show?! it could’ve been amazing to see Jazz with actual friends.

And if he isn’t her friend, Jazz gives advice to people? Why didn’t we see more on that? How both she and Danny want to help people and how this is her way of doing it cause she has no powers. How could’ve been her build up to becoming a hero alongside Danny!

And second, is when her parents attack her. This shows how little they listen to her, why she always feels like the only responsible person in the family and how she probably is.

I’ll probably get on that more in My Brother’s Keeper.

Danny fighting the little meat creatures is my favorite fight scene in the episode

“The Fenton Thermos! But how am I going to get it to work?“

How did he get it to work?? They never really explained it, he just kinda turned blue and it did.

side notes:

The Amount Of Sound Effects...

Personal preference but I don’t like how much they change the colors of the sky and background only when a ghost is near and then it turns back- It’s distracting.

I usually expect side jokes to not affect the plot but here they kinda mix it and I can’t know what’s a side joke and what is more meaningful 

Y’know... I never did notice how many jokes Danny makes. But now...

Danny looks so happy when ever he manages to do some ghost trick, it’s adorable

The Fentons have 5 brain cells and Jazz holds 3 of them. (Danny and Maddie split when they need it)

The camera angles are very fun and look like they could fit perfectly as a comic

The voice acting is super good

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they���ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Three: Pestilence (Ignis x Reader) Chapter Four

The companions, with their weapons at the ready, attacked the jabberwock. (Y/n) stood opposite of Prompto and kept an eye on the boys, casting spell after spell. She dodged the beast's tail when it swung in her direction and froze one of its legs. It tipped over and fell on its side, making in vulnerable.

They struck its underbelly until it recovered with a hiss and charged directly at Prompto. The boy was unable to avoid the attack and waited to feel the pain, but he felt nothing. All he heard was the sound of shattering glass. He saw the barrier protecting him and small branching cracks where the jabberwock's body slammed into it. The blonde sighed and looked past the beast toward Pestilence. "Thanks for the save, (Y/n)!"

She smiled in response and electrocuted the monster with a shockwave of lightning, deflecting its attention from the boy to her. It charged at her as she dispersed the barrier and casted an ice spell. A large ice shard protruded from the floor, impaling the beast through the stomach. Two more emerged from the floor, plunging into the jabberwock's sides and pinning it in place.

The royal retinue performed a cross-chain attack, siphoning the last of the beast's health. It released a deathly howl before the ice shards shattered and its body toppled over. The jabberwock's body vaporized, revealing the Sword of the Tall. Noctis kneeled beside the greatsword and held out his hand. The blade rose into the air with a radiant glow before disappearing into Noctis' chest. The royal arms in his possession encircled his body before shattering into radiant shards of crystal.

"Alright! We won!" Prompto cheered. "Now can we leave?"

"It's gonna be a long trek back," Gladio said.

"Not necessarily," (Y/n) spoke up. She wandered over to a strange mechanism on the floor and stepped on it. In the blink of an eye, she vanished.

"Wha-Where's she go?!" Prompto panicked.

Gladio and Ignis didn't question the strange mechanism and followed the Horseman's lead. They stepped on it and found themselves back at the entrance not too far from Pestilence.

"That was convenient," the shield commented.

"Warping mechanisms were used frequently during the ancient times to travel around. Morosely, the secret behind their manufacturing has forever been lost to the hands of time," the (e/c)-eyed girl said.

Then, Noctis and Prompto appeared next to them and were amazed at where they were transported. When they heard the blonde's stomach growl, all eyes fell on him. He blushed when he saw the grin on (Y/n)'s face.

"Sounds like we better make camp," Gladio smugly grinned.

"There's a haven nearby," Ignis informed his companions.

"Let's get moving before I collapse," Noctis sighed.

The group leave Costlemark Tower and discover it is nighttime. They learn they'd been inside the dungeon for nearly two days. When the cool breeze kissed their skin, that's when they felt the exhaustion setting in. All except for (Y/n).

At Oathe Haven, the boys set up camp. The Horseman begged them to let her help, but all of them had the same response. She sighed, watching them helplessly as they worked in tandem to set up the chairs, tent, and cooking station. Prompto started the fire while Noctis and Gladio pitched the tent. Ignis had set his sights on making dinner and immediately got to work.

Pestilence desperately wanted to occupy her mind and body, deciding to offer her help with cooking. She strolled over to Ignis with her hands behind her back. She leant forward when she reached his side. "I plan on helping in any way I can. May I?"

Ignis couldn't deny her help since he rarely received it from his friends. "I would appreciate the helping hand." He handed her a knife and she thanked him before beginning to slice the vegetables for the stew he was making. While cutting the garula sirloin, he couldn't help but glance in her direction and notice her skills with a knife. "You are quite nimble with your hands, (Y/n)."

She looked up from the potato she was slicing with a smile. "Just like you, I prepare meals back in the Inner Sanctum. My sisters and I do not need to eat, but we do still enjoy meals every now and then. Speaking of home..." She held out her hand and a small bottle manifested in her palm. "Fresh herbs that go delectably with any stew. I grew them myself. I've an herb garden back in the Inner Sanctum and I also grow coffee beans for War's sake. She's quite fond of coffee herself."

(Y/n) placed the vegetables in the pot, popped the lid off the glass vial, and sprinkled some herbs into the stew. Ignis wasn't bothered with her adding the herbs to his recipe. He actually was curious and welcomed the change.

Hearing the others complaining about their growling stomachs, the advisor rolled his eyes as he added the garula meat. When he went to stir the stew, the Horseman stopped him by nudging him away from the stove. "You should be relaxing. I will handle the rest, Ignis."

Gladio saw how (Y/n) grabbed the strategist and escorted him to his seat around the campfire. "What's this-Iggy being kicked out of the kitchen? That's the first."

"To some extent-yes," the white-haired girl responded. "I will handle the rest while he relaxes."

Once Ignis was seated, the Horseman spun on her heels and tended to dinner. The boys stared at her back as she stirred the stew. Prompto leant forward in his chair and scrolled through the numerous of pictures he'd taken throughout their trek through Costlemark Tower. When he came across one of the battle with the jabberwock, he showed it to the others. "Gotta say-this one's pretty good!"

It was a picture of (Y/n) grasping her staff right after the ice shards shattered. The crystal-like shards rained down around her, creating a beautiful image as the dim lights from the machinery around her bounced off the ice shards. The small hint of a smile on the girl's face made it even more alluring.

"That's a keeper," Gladio commented.

"Definitely!" The blonde cheered. He turned off his camera just as Pestilence handed out dinner. The boys thanked her and immediately munched down.

When they all took the first bite, they froze. Prompto swallowed and glanced up at (Y/n), who stood between his chair and Ignis'. "This is Iggy's recipe, right?"

"Yes," she nodded. "With a small twist of my own."

"And what's the small twist?" Noctis asked as he pushed the vegetables around in the broth.

"A combination of herbs I grew myself." (Y/n)'s smile fell. "Does it not taste good?"

"The taste is extraordinary, (Y/n)," Ignis reassures her when he saw her frown.

The Horseman placed a hand on her chest and sighed in relief. "Thank goodness..."

Suddenly, Pestilence's (e/c) eyes widen in horror. She immediately turns around, staring into the darkness beyond the haven. Her eyes dart back and forth in her head as she searches the shadows of the night. She walks to the edge of the haven, eyes continuing to frantically search the area.

Noctis was the first to notice her strange behavior and called out to her. "What's wrong?" Hearing the prince, the others glanced in the direction he was looking and saw the girl acting strangely. She didn't answer and before any of them could stand from their seats, she disappeared in a puff of white smoke.

The boys flew to their feet and called out for the Horseman, but none of them received a response. "W-Where'd she go?" Prompto muttered as they looked around.

"How should we know?" Noctis inquired.

Out of the blue, Ignis felt a warm sensation in his pocket. Glancing down, he could see the orb glowing through the fabric of his pants. He fished it out of his pocket, eyeing the artifact closely. Before batting an eye, (Y/n) appeared right in front of him with a heavy sigh, a small apology, and took a few steps back to give the strategist his space. "I fear I sensed the draugr nearby and took a look. It seems to have fled and I've lost its signature. I apologize for the abrupt departure."

"I'm confused," Noctis said. "Most daemons avoid you, but what about beasts and monsters from your world?"

"Beasts have far less intelligence than daemons and also do not know we work for the daemon king himself. Monsters from the Inner Sanctum, on the other hand, have grown accustomed to our scent and no longer fear my sisters and I." (Y/n) combed a few strands of hair from her face and behind her ear before clearing her throat and changing the subject. "I see that you four are done with dinner. I will wash the dishes."

The Horseman walked around and gathered the bowls and utensils from them before placing them on the table beside the stove. Ignis tried to help, but she quickly placed herself between him and dishes. She only casted a small smile over her shoulder in his direction as she began cleaning.

Reluctantly, Ignis joined his friends inside the tent. Prompto and Noctis were playing on their phones while Gladio has his nose buried in a book. The tactician still held the orb in his hand, watching the silver wisp encased inside bounce against the glass.

Prompto glanced up from his phone and saw the royal advisor admiring the artifact. He scooted closer to Ignis and stared at it, too. "Glad we found it and not those creeps."

"Indeed," the emerald-eyed man responded, his eyes solely focused on the orb.

"What did (Y/n) call him-Silas or something like that?" Noctis spoke up after overhearing them.

"Apparently, he's the leader of thing so called "gang". A few people were talkin' about him in Lestallum. Bastard's been terrorizing most of Lucis for that damn orb," Gladio said, joining in on their conversation.

"I can't believe we've never heard of him or these highwaymen 'til now," Noctis scoffed.

"A troupe of ruffians is simply what they are," Ignis responded.

"Let's just hope they don't plan on becoming a nuisance," Gladio said.

"Might be too late for that," Prompto stated, sliding his phone into his pocket. He yawned and threw his body down against the bottom of the tent. "Don't know about you guys, but I'm callin' it a night." Crawling into a ball, the blonde fell asleep only a few seconds later. Noctis soon joined him followed by Gladio.

Ignis switched off the lamp in the tent and set it aside to prevent anyone from knocking it over while they slept. He moved to where he usually slept and lied down. A few minutes passed and he finally fell asleep.

<--------<<<<<<<

A few hours later, Ignis' eyes flew wide open and his upper body shot off the ground. His body was doused in a cold sweat, chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran a hand through his slightly damp locks before glancing around the tent. Luckily, his abrupt awakening didn't wake the others.

Carefully, Ignis maneuvered through the tent and unzipped it. He stepped outside, noticing the fire had died and the faint rays of the sun could be seen in the sky.

"Nightmare?" A gentle voice asked him, startling him. Ignis looks to his left and sees (Y/n) standing a few feet away with a concerned expression. As he examined her, he noticed she had cleansed her clothes of the blood. He simply nodded, deciding to keep the contents of his nightmare a secret. The Horseman followed him to the chairs gathered around the once brightly lit fire and sat beside him. "I won't pry, but the way you're sweating tells me it was horrible."

"It was," Ignis responds. He placed a gloved hand against his forehead, wiping away some of the sweat. Though he was free from the nightmare, the images were burnt into his mind. The screaming and begging continued to ring in his ears even during his waking moments.

(Y/n) leaned forward in the seat and crossed her legs. "Would you like a warm cup of coffee?"

Ignis nodded, staring at the small fire pit in front of them. "Please."

Pestilence stood up and got to work on his cup of coffee. When she asked what he preferred, she was shocked to discover he wanted the same blend she made for him in Lestallum. "Coming right up."

Ignis reclined back in the chair, staring up at the semi-dark sky. He closed his eyes to see if he could get a few more minutes of sleep, but only the image of (Y/n) begging with tears in hers eyes before plummeting to her death plagued his mind. He opened his eyes when he smelt the familiar scent of coffee.

The Horseman offered him the tin cup, which he accepted with a faint smile. He sipped at the warm beverage, letting the bittersweet taste cascade across all his tastebuds.

(Y/n), once again, claimed the seat next to him and they chatted just like they did in the Leville a couple days ago. Their conversation carried on for hours until Gladio and Prompto woke up a little after seven.

"Morning!" The blonde boy greets the two as he emerges from the tent alongside the shield.

Gladio saw the tired expression on Ignis' face and scowled. "Didn't get enough sleep, Iggy?"

"A horrid nightmare startled me awake," he confesses. "I was unable to fall back asleep after awakening the first time."

"What was the nightmare about? Must've been pretty scary if it kept you from falling back asleep," Prompt eagerly pried.

Ignis glanced at (Y/n) for a brief second before his eyes darted back to the cup of coffee in his hand. "I'd prefer not to speak of it."

"Damn," Gladio said. "That bad, huh?"

"Undeniably horrifying."

The four fell silent as they sat in the four chairs around the fire pit. After a few minutes of suffocating silence, Gladio cleared his throat and looked at Pestilence. "Guess we're headin' to the Rock of Ravatogh next. After that, I want to head back to Lestallum. I can't let Iris go to Caem all by herself after what happened."

"Of course, Gladio. We all wish for Iris' safety," the girl responded. "The trek up the volcano will be less treacherous than our venture through Costlemark. Although steep, I know you all can handle it."

"Better wake Prince Charmless so we can get this show on the road." Gladio stood from the chair and headed over to the tent.

"We're gonna eat breakfast first, right?" Prompto glanced between Ignis and (Y/n). They both nodded, making the gunslinger pump a fist into the air. "Yes!"

[capricornus-rex]

Stronger Than Blood (3)

Not a witcher fic, the gif just fits the mood

Chapter 3: Impulses | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

Tagging @ayamenimthiriel​ since they asked in Chapter 2′s comments section ;)

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive! Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

Cal went back into the city, preparing for his stroll into the inner district with you. He entered Tundu’s shop again, he was half-expecting you to be already waiting by the counter but to no avail. Footsteps were followed when the hinges of the door stopped squeaking.

You were clad in a poncho, you smiled upon seeing Cal wearing the same article of clothing. The only difference is that yours was long enough to reach your knees.

“Awesome, we have the same cover,” you quipped.

When Cal saw you pull up the hood upon exiting the store, he followed suit.

“Stay close,” you warned within his earshot.

“Don’t worry, I plan to,”

Staying under the broad daylight and going together with the crowd was a good tactic, but Cal felt the growing tremors in your body the farther you got away from Tundu’s store. He’d catch glimpses of you—cautious yet calm in demeanor but deep inside you’re sweating bullets, hanging your head low as you pass by the loiterers who may know your face. Cal was under the impression that you’ve been to this part of town more than once. It doesn’t take a genius, after all, he had survived a similar environment for roughly five years.

As soon as the shadows have towered over the streets, your shallow breathing rasped through your lips, avoiding the eyes of the many bystanders grouped together at storefronts; you felt Cal’s arm brush against yours, causing you to flinch and shoot a glance at him.

“What? You said stay close,”

You wonder where does this boy find his smug confidence within himself and use it so casually. Whatever the answer was, it was a question for another time.

This part of town has always been a catalyst to your anxiety growing tenfold. It’s become an unconscious habit of yours to keep your fists clenched, as if repressing something that you can muster but cannot control. The chances of you getting jumped lingered with every step, so you find a way to distract yourself.

“Tundu says that you need a mechanic?” you began.

“Yeah, well, it’s just me and the captain who’s gonna be working on it. It’d be nice to have an extra set of hands,”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s a bit of a big project, and we have places to go,”

“Well, that was the job I originally signed up for when I walked into Tundu’s sweatshop anyway. I only ended up being an assistant store keeper because not many come by the place to actually get the service,”

“You seem like a pretty good mechanic,”

You scoffed another chuckle again, “Don’t flatter me too much, Cal. I just might get used to it.”

The two of you traded glances: he had that coy smirk flashing back, while you smiled and giggled away the wholesome awkwardness dangling between you.

Farther and farther into the inner district, all the twists and turns, this is the part of the town the locals call “the Boroughs.” The ambience has gotten sketchier, the crowd sparse, and flashing neon lights took the place of natural sunlight. Cal’s hand searched for the saber at his hip—still there. Good.

Around the curb, you’ve led Cal into a store a little bigger than Tundu’s, and you were greeted by a Balosar storekeeper at the counter upon entering. You had warned Cal beforehand to keep his hood on even when they’re inside. The Balosar’s jaw clenched and his eyes squinted, when he realized who it was under the hood, he eased only for a bit—he was suspicious of your companion.

“Come now, Finteb, you don’t have to be so hostile all the time,”

“I’m being precautious—there’s a difference,”

“Sure,” you moaned indifferently. “Where’s your boss?”

Speak of the devil, the boss stepped into the scene: a Quarren. The creature’s tendrils dangled left and right with every step of the stairs.

“Ah, if it isn’t Tundu’s little protégé, [y/n],”

“Hello to you, too, Melgu,” your deadpan greeting hummed through the room.

“It’s been a while, eh, girl?”

“Look, I don’t plan on staying here. I just came here for what I need,”

The Quarren spots the boy behind your shoulder. Even with the complicated structure of his mouth, you spot a smile curling between the fleshy tendrils dangling on both sides of his face.

“Ah yes, but who needs it—is the question. Is it you or your boyfriend here?”

You felt the color burn in your cheekbones, you angled your cowl lower to hide it from everyone in the room—including Cal, whose cheeks were also flushing red.

“He’s… someone I’m working with,” you dismissed. “And he’s the one who needs it.”

BD-1 promptly flashed the holograph of the Mantis’s cross-section to the Quarren—and the Balosar onlooker—Cal described the part to the store owner in full detail.

Just when Melgu thought he was being slick, your instincts were already telling you what he’s trying to pull—just by judging his body language and the tone of his voice. Cal picked up the hint seconds after you did, but neither of you were ready to call him out just yet. It was between you and the Quarren to negotiate about the ship part.

“I have such a part,” he raised his digit in front of you. “But it is no ordinary, generic-line compressor. It’s one of my best merchandise to date!”

“I don’t doubt it,” you reassured with a deadpan tone, obviously unimpressed with his bragging. “So, may we see it?”

Melgu turned to his Balosar assistant, Finteb, to go fetch the part from the stockroom. The young male scurried out of the scene and disappeared into the narrow hall of the store; minutes later, he comes back out with the compressor in his hand and set it down in the counter right in front of everybody.

“This is the all-around model,” you uttered, leaning slightly forward to see the finer details. “Corellian make, of course. You’re right, this isn’t some generic unit.”

“Ahh, see? What’d I tell you?”

“How much is this gonna cost me?”

Melgu didn’t answer with words but with a sinister chuckle. Something is definitely up, no denying that. With your collective suspicion with Cal aroused, the two of you became more cautious of what to say or do next to the Quarren.

“Actually, there is something holding me back,”

Your stomach sank, you weren’t able to control the furrowing of your brows. Cal could feel his ribs constricting around his lungs, pleading to the wind that he won’t have the need to use his saber against this Quarren and his Balosar helper. He felt for his saber with his arm subtly, when he felt the edge of the solid cylinder hit his skin, he was assured—at least on that part only.

Meanwhile, you were also dealing you own problem—both mentally and the one right in front of you, repressing the gradual anger welling up in your being while conversing with this wretched scumbag of a black market vendor was a tedious challenge in and of itself. You’ve dug your nails into your palms that you could feel it cutting through the flesh as you try to suppress yourself. Cal can feel it—and you perfectly well know that he does.

“What is?”

“Your boss, Tundu, he and I have some unfinished business—I’m presuming he’s told you that,”

“He hasn’t told me anything,”

“Aww,” he groaned with pity for you in a mocking manner. “I suppose that walking sack of wrinkles didn’t want to bring his little protégé into his mess—or he just didn’t trust you well enough.”

“What are you getting at, squid?”

“Your boss is in neck-deep debt. Obviously, his business is dying and he had nowhere else to run to but me—almost all of his customers come fleeing to me. They’d even risk the Imperial patrols for my merchandise!” he guffawed insultingly.

Melgu continued to gloat about how his business is booming and, consequentially, killing Tundu’s in the process.

“Look, squid, I didn’t come here to watch you goad at me,” you hissed through the tight grit of your teeth. “Unless, of course, you want me to arrange that on the spot.”

The store owner relished the last moments of his bragging rights, he had taken notice of your hand hovering over where your weapon ought to be; but you’re praying that he doesn’t cross that threshold, but knowing Melgu—who was a sentient combination of fragile ego and a red-hot temper—he does not see any boundary.

“Well, aren’t you just valiant? Tell me, are you really willing to go through all of this trouble…” he picked up the part and flaunted it in front of you under the shine of the building’s skylight. “All for this? Or are you also trying to preserve your boss’s honor?”

“That wasn’t really part of my plan until you decided to bring Tundu into the equation, you seaside degenerate!”

Obviously, the Quarren didn’t like the choice of word you used to call him. The inch-thick flesh over his eyes—where one’s eyebrows should be—wrinkled and the long cartilages that frame the flaps of his triangular head tightened.

With the snap of Melgu’s fingers, his goons appeared from all sides of his store—even from the front door—you and Cal were practically back-to-back with one another, but neither of you have drawn out your weapons.

“What’s the matter, a little outnumbered, aren’t we?”

“I like these odds,”

“Be careful, [y/n], in this part of town—being cocky could only lead you to two roads. If so much as a thread of your shirt flies onto me, my men will reach you and Tundu’s precious little outhouse of a shop,” Melgu chuckled in a sinister tone, images worked in his mind of how his henchmen will handle the situation. “Well, frankly, accidents happen all the time, darling.”

“You son of a bitch!” you snarled. “I could kill you right here and now—I’d even include your boy Antennas here for good measure, just so there won’t be any witnesses.”

An involuntary whimper escaped the Balosar’s mouth, looking to his boss for some kind of reassurance that you won’t lay a finger on him, but no such confirmation came—only a low growl objecting your threat. He motioned for his brutes to hold both of you down—they were Devaronians and their arms could snap your spine with a single squeeze.

“You’re not getting close to our shop!” you growled as you’re nearing your boiling point.

“Ohhhh,” he mockingly sighed. “I’m not going anywhere, but I think my men are getting close the second you stay within my men’s grasp.”

Melgu broke out chortling, it irritated you to the point that you felt your insides burning and seething with rage, sharp inhales entered through the paper-thin gaps between your teeth, and Cal never took his eyes off of you the moment the Devaronians grabbed both of you.

“No…” you snarled.

“What was that?” Melgu leaned in, cupping his right ear flap.

“I said… NOOO!!”

Nobody—not even Cal Kestis, a Jedi—saw it coming. An energy wave sent the whole store flying—both living and inanimate, no one escaped the torrent of Force that emitted from your very being. You quickly helped up Cal to his feet.

“Come on, Cal!”

“You little Serennian bitch!” Melgu groaned as he struggled to prop himself back up.

You gently pushed Cal ahead of you, made a split-second’s worth of a glance and spotted the compressor on the floor. You reached for it, and for the first time, used the Force after some odd years of stagnating your connection with it.

A speeder bike parked by Melgu’s storefront made itself open for the taking. You and Cal hopped on with you on the helm, the two of you sped away before the Devaronian lugs could catch up and dare to hold the speeder bike by its back bumper.

[crossyourheart-twff]

Chapter 2

This is a long one. Strap in.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812213/chapters/57624229#workskin

Parker was too numb to double check the pile of books headmaster Crowley set before her on the library table. He’d already checked their contents with the aid of magic so there was no real reason to verify, but it was his own way of distracting her, and boy, did she ever need a distraction. They’d been in the library for an hour, searching every book, map, and grimoire Crowley could think of in search of her home town. So far, they’d come up empty.

Now, after learning that her home apparently didn’t exist, she questioned where she was. Was this a dream? A hallucination? Had she had a breakdown at work and this was the consequence of a psychiatric cocktail pumping through her veins? Funny. It felt too real to be any of those things, but she pinched herself for good measure. The tiny bite of pain told her this was no dream. Whatever was happening was all very, very real.

Crowley shut the last book he’d pulled from the stacks, “Your home doesn’t appear anywhere. Not on a single map, nor in any of these texts.”

Nothing at all. So, the Mirror hadn’t been lying. But then how would Parker explain… herself? She had to have come from somewhere. She had come from somewhere, or else everything she knew, everything that she was, would be a lie.

She shrugged, not looking up from the table, “I don’t know.”

The headmaster tapped his chin. The frown he wore deepened as he considered all of the possibilities that came to mind, “At this rate you might as well be from another planet! Or perhaps,” Crowley lit up, “perhaps another world.”

Parker blinked, “Another world.”

Crowley nodded as if settling on the idea, “It might be the likeliest possibility. If that is the case, then I’ll have to do some deeper research to find a way to send you home. In the mean time, it does present a problem.”

Parker almost asked ‘how so?’ but based on how the night had gone, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Crowley, on the other hand, did not hold back.

“For starters, since you do not have any magic Night Raven is simply not the place for you. However, as an educator I simply cannot turn you out on the street with nowhere to go,” Crowley thought a moment before continuing, “Of course there is the old Ramshackle dorm.”

“Ramshackle?” Parker said.

“Its an older building most students tend to avoid, but it is livable,” Crowley said, “Yes. Of course, you’ll have to earn your keep… I might have a proposition for you. You may stay on campus as a something of a grounds keeper. You may help by keeping the school clean in exchange for room and meals. How does that sound?”

How did that sound? This whole situation was nothing short of insane for Parker, but as far she was concerned she couldn’t afford to turn it down.

 “Sure,” she said, “that’s fair.”

“Wonderful!” Crowley grinned, “That solves that problem. Now, as for your disguise- “

“Disguise?” She practically jumped to attention, “What do you mean disguise?”

Crowley shook his head, “This is an all boys school. That includes an all-male staff. Besides, I’m sure more than a few students might recognize you from tonight’s events.”

Parker couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A disguise! That meant she would have to go on pretending to be a boy until Crowley could figure out a way to get her home.

“Can’t you make an exception?” she asked, but even before she spoke she knew the answer.

“I’m making several exceptions already,” Crowley answered, “I’m afraid this is where I must draw the line, both for your own safety and the sake of my position! If you want any hope of returning home, this is a sacrifice you’ll have to make.”

It took everything in Parker not to fight back. This was ridiculous! To masquerade as a boy until she could leave? And who knew how long that would take? Still, Crowley had a point. It was this, or fend for herself in whatever world lay beyond the school, and after meeting Grim she wasn’t sure that was a chance she was willing to take.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” she sighed.

Crowley sat back in his chair, “Very good. I think I’ll be able to whip something up for you. For now, let’s get you settled for the night.”

  Ramshackle dorm lived up to its name. The building was so abandoned that if Crowley hadn’t walked through it’s rusted gate, Parker would have assumed it was condemned. Most of the windows were caked over with dust so thick it looked like dirty snow. Even the front door hung askew on its hinges. Crowley had to prop it open just right to get it to swing open and shut without dragging on the floor.

“It isn’t much,” Crowley admitted as they looked at the piles of broken furniture that littered the common room, “But it’ll keep you out of the rain.”

Just as Crowley finished a drop of water landed on Parker’s shoulder. Well, he was right about one thing: it wasn’t much.

Whether Crowley noticed the leaking roof, she couldn’t tell, especially as he turned and said, “Make yourself at home. I’m sure with some dusting this place will be good as new!”

He left a minute later with a swirl of his cape, leaving Parker by herself for the first time in hours. She stood in the middle of the common room trying to decide where to start cleaning, but in the end, all that did was give her emotions a chance to catch up with her. Without magic mirrors or demon cats or mysterious headmasters, Parker could finally take stock of her situation. She’d somehow wound up in another world with no clue how she got there, somehow managed to get herself a job as a janitor in exchange for a rundown dorm building to sleep in, and she was completely alone.

The silence of Ramshackle dorm was broken by a low rumble of thunder, followed by the steady beat of rain pelting against the windows. Several more leaks sprouted from the onslaught of rain, soaking into the already moldy carpet. Parker’s legs buckled beneath a wave of fatigue. Her eyelids grew so heavy she had to fight to keep them open long enough to hunt for a place to sleep. A set of rickety stairs lead up to a second floor. That must have been where the bedrooms were.

It took the better part of an hour before Parker could find a room in decent enough condition. It still wasn’t great, but at least the bed wasn’t broken. That and the roof here was mercifully intact. She only beat on the mattress twice before throwing herself down and sinking into an uneasy sleep.

  The smell of cinnamon and fried eggs sent Parker’s stomach rumbling. She wasn’t sure who oversaw the cooking in the main dining hall, but whoever it was their cooking smelled delicious. Unfortunately, she had to wait until the last of the students cleared out before she could have her own breakfast.

Crowley came by early that morning with her assignments for the day and a rumpled set of coveralls. The baggy work clothes did most of the work in disguising her, but he’d snagged a plain cap for good measure to hide her hair.

“It’ll have to do,” he said, then sent her off to tend to the dinning hall.

So far, the students of the school didn’t spare her a second glance as she’d wiped down tables and collected dishes. In return, she didn’t so much as glance at any of them, choosing instead to focus on the job at hand and, whenever the work died down, admire the chandelier that illuminated the room. It didn’t have a single lightbulb that she could see. It was lit entirely by candles, yet there didn’t seem to be a trace of smoke anywhere. One of the branches of light extended towards a set of tapestries on the back wall. There were seven total, each with the image of a different person and in one case a dark-maned lion. She wondered at them even as she tied her latest garbage bag shut.

“Impressive, yeah?”

Parker turned to the voice on her left. A student stood there looking over the tapestries in the otherwise empty dinning room. For a second Parker thought he might have been the red head from the night before, until she realized it couldn’t have been. This one was taller.

“Uh, yeah,” she answered, coughing to try and lower her voice, “Are they like the founders or something?”

The student looked her over, “Something like that. They’re called the Great Seven. Each of the dorms here are modeled after them,” he pointed towards the tapestry of a woman dressed head to toe in hearts, “That’s the Queen of Hearts, figurehead of my dorm. Name’s Ace, by the way.”

“Oh,” Parker didn’t quite know what to say next, so she settled on “I’m Parker.”

“Every one of them were great magicians,” Ace said, “So naturally everyone here wants to be just as powerful by the time they graduate.”

Parker took another look at the Great Seven. She didn’t doubt they were powerful magicians. By the looks of them that much was obvious, but the more she examined them the more uneasy she felt. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, the arch of the octopus woman’s brow, the calculated stare in the lion’s eyes…

“I don’t know,” she squinted, “They look more terrifying than anything.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Ace said, “You’re that magicless runt that caused a scene at the ceremony last night.  Don’t think I didn’t notice. What, you didn’t have any magic so they made you the janitor instead?”

Ok, she could see where this was going. The sooner she disengaged, the better.

“I should get back to work,” She turned away, but Ace wasn’t finished.

“Aww c’mon,” he grabbed Parker by the arm. She froze under his grip. He was too close to her, way way too close. Panic tingled at her fingertips and around the spot where his hand held her bicep. If this idiot blew her cover not even a day in... She had to get him off. Now.

“Let go,” Parker tried to shrug him off.

“Don’t be so lame,” Ace laughed. He yanked Parker forward so hard she almost fell. Her free hand flew to the cap on her head, just to be sure it hadn’t slipped. A newfound rage burned inside her chest. She straightened, adjusted her stance and knocked Ace away with more force than she intended.

“I said, let go!”

Horror spiked in her stomach as she watched Ace tip backwards over his heels and into the tray of another student. Ace caught himself on the edge of a table, but it was too late as the tray was knocked out of the other student’s hands. A bowl of leftover oatmeal hit the stone floor, splattering the liquid it held onto both of their uniform pants.

“Aagh!” the other student cried, “what’s wrong with you?”

Ace ignored him. Instead his gaze locked straight onto Parker. She back tracked as he pulled himself up.

“Picking fights, then?” Ace straightened, “Couldn’t get yourself into school so now you want to take it out on me?”

“Look I-” She didn’t get a chance to finish as Ace launched himself at her. She ducked out of the in time to avoid being pinned to the wall. Ace reared, ready to go after her again when the student he’d fallen into held him back.

“Are you insane?” the student shook Ace. Parker noticed he wore a red and black ribbon around his arm just like Ace did. They must have been dorm mates, “Riddle’s going to kill us if-“

Ace shrugged him away and went after Parker again. She braced herself, covering her head with her arms as he charged straight at her. This was it. But just when Parker expected the impact she heard Ace scream instead. Curious, she lowered her arms and nearly keeled over when she saw him hovering in the air just above her.

“I can’t let you drag me down on our first day!” Parker saw the other student aiming what looked like a pen right at Ace. It took her a second to realize he’d used magic to keep Ace from beating the absolute crap out of her. She would have thanked him, but she sensed this whole thing was far from over.

“Put me down!” Ace clawed at the air around him as if he were trying to swim, but only managed to turn himself upside down. The other student only glared in response. His pen remained aimed on Ace, “Fine! I give! I give! Now get me down before Riddle hears about this!”

That seemed to do the trick. The other student nodded and shifted his pen, but Ace only dipped a few inches in the air.  

“Put him down!” Parker said.

“I- I’m trying,” the other student shook his pen now, but Ace only matched his motion. Nothing he did released Ace from the magic that held him. He hovered higher now, a good three feet over their heads and rising. Ace struggled even harder as the other student’s motions became wilder. Parker could only watch as he dipped and rose in a spastic pattern. It seemed Ace wasn’t expecting his ankle to brush against one of the branchlike arms of the chandelier, for when it did he cried out and gave a mighty kick. They all heard something on the chandelier crack.

 The other student jumped. His magic released Ace and sent him plummeting to the floor. Parker had to stop herself from screaming as he fell. If it weren’t for a sudden gust of wind that slowed him just enough, she was sure he would have broken his neck. Something small fell to the floor between the three of them and shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces. A second later, the chandelier flickered and went dark. 

“Oh no…” the student who’d levitated Ace went white.

Meanwhile Ace sprang from the floor. He rounded on the other student, “Are you an idiot?! If headmaster finds out we broke the chandelier-“

Footsteps clicked against the floor one by one. She didn’t have to turn around to know who awaited them.

“If I,” Crowley’s voice was brittle, “find out.”

As one, Ace, Parker, and the other student faced the headmaster. His mouth was set in a thin line as he came closer, looked from them to the floor, and stared at the broken remains that littered the floor. Crowley didn’t move. Parker wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He only stood there, head down, absorbing the sight before him.

“Have you any idea,” the headmaster said at long last, “What you’ve done?”

They didn’t have a chance to answer as Crowley flew into a rage.

“This chandelier was made by a renown master of magical items! It was entrusted to this school since it’s very foundation over a century ago, and thanks to you delinquents it will never be lit again!” the head master pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask, “The destruction of such priceless artifact is grounds for expulsion.”

Expulsion. The two students went rigid at the news while Parker wondered, did that apply to her? She technically wasn’t a student so there wasn’t a way to expel her. But by the way Crowley was fuming, she wondered if this was serious enough for him to kick her out on the street. If he did that, she’d have nowhere to go and what’s worse, it would mean the end of his help in researching a way home. She might be stranded here forever.  

“Can’t you fix it with magic?” she dared ask. It felt like a stupid question, but she hoped maybe his temper was blinding him to the simplest solution.

“Magic isn’t all powerful,” Crowley said, “fixing a magical relic of this importance can’t be done with a simple spell, especially not when it’s source of magic has been damaged beyond repair.”

Source of magic… could he mean the thing that shattered all over the floor? She glanced down at what remained of it. It looked like some kind of glass ball, or crystal. Crowley took the time to examine the rest of the chandelier.

“Of course,” he began, “the rest of the structure seems to be intact…” Hope sparked in the both Ace and the other student as circled the chandelier from the ground, “It might all be a question of replacing its magic crystal.”

“I’ll do it!” the other student jumped up, “I’ll fix it, please, just don’t expel me! Whatever I must do, just say it.”

“Yeah, and I’ll help!” Ace added, “I can’t get kicked out of school on the first day.”

Crowley held up his hands to quiet the boys down, “Finding a compatible crystal is no small task. It must be the same type with the same origin. The crystal that powered this chandelier was taken from the Dwarf Mines, and those have been empty for decades.”

Ace frowned, “Maybe one of the crystals was missed. We’ll go check! And If we can find a replacement, we can stay at Night Raven, yeah?”

Check the mines? Ace must have been desperate to keep his place in the school. Parker was sure there was no way Crowley would take him up on that. Absolutely-

“Alright,” the headmaster nodded, “Since I am such a generous headmaster, I’ll allow you a chance. You’ll have until tonight. If the three of you manage to find a replacement by then, you won’t be expelled.”

The three of them? Parker wasn’t sure whether to thank the headmaster or protest. How was any of this her fault? Ace was the one who started the fight, the other guy was the one who used magic! Granted, she did end up shoving Ace into the other guy’s breakfast so… Ok, maybe she did have a hand this. Whatever. At least they had a chance to make things right.

“You may go together once classes have ended, but for now, shoo,” Crowley gestured towards the exit of the dining hall. Ace and the other student left bowing, promises of success and a shower of thanks poured from their lips all the while. When they were gone, Crowley simply nodded towards the remains of the crystal and the discarded meal tray.

“Clean this up,” he ordered, and disappeared. Parker frowned and went to find a broom.

Between cleaning the dining hall, the bathrooms, half the classrooms, and the library, Parker was exhausted. By the time the final bell chimed through the halls of the school, she felt simply storing her cleaning tools was too much to bear. How was she supposed to go searching through an old mine feeling like this? She decided not to dwell on it as she locked the broom closet. It was time to meet the others.

They, waited for her in the Hall of Mirrors, an aptly named room containing the entrances to all seven dorms along with an enchanted mirror meant to transport travelers to destinations off Night Raven’s campus. Or so they said. Really, Parker was ready to believe anything at this point.

“Let’s go,” the other student said, and made his way over to the mirror without so much as a look back. Parker and Ace followed in silence following his lead as he stepped through the mirror. For a second, Parker hesitated. In her mind, she knew all she had to do was step through, but her instincts weren’t getting the memo.

Ace shoved her forward. It was what her body needed to get moving, annoying as it might have been. Her foot slipped into the mirror much as it would have a puddle of water. The reflective glass rippled and swirled until she couldn’t feel herself moving. The sensation was like running in a dream, moving and not at the same time. In a blink, it was over. The Hall of Mirrors was replaced with a forest of trees and thick leaves. What little remained of the afternoon sun streamed in patches on the grassy floor. What she didn’t see was the other student.

“Where’d he go?” Parker jumped at the unexpected sound of Ace’s voice.

A moment later, the other student emerged from a thicket, “I can see the Dwarves’ cottage. If I’m right the mines aren’t too far off.” He slipped off again, not bothering to see if the others were behind him.

They caught up to the other student as he came upon the entrance to what must have been the mines. Whoever worked the place hadn’t been around in decades. In fact, it was so abandoned it reminded Parker of Ramshackle Dorm.

“Empty,” she said, “Do you think it’s safer to go in there?”

The other student huffed, “We don’t have a choice.”

“Relax,” Ace started towards the mine’s entrance, “Or do you need buttercup over there to hold your hand?”

“My name,” the other student grumbled, “is Deuce.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ace shrugged, “get in here, Goose.”

“Deuce.”

Parker sighed and followed them inside. The path before them yawned deeper into the ground. Much like her dorm, cobwebs and dirt reigned supreme over ancient support beams. The stone walls had chunks of glittering rock embedded in them, but none looked like the crystal they’d broken. That’s when it occurred to her. They were in a mine, meaning if they did find the crystal, they were going to have to pry it out of the rock. How were they supposed to- she smiled as they rounded a corner. Propped against the wall was a small pickaxe. Jackpot.

She jogged ahead and lifted it, wiping away cobwebs. The handle wobble a little, but it was better than nothing. Just as she was about to find the others, something jumped on her from above. Parker screamed as whatever it was leapt to the floor and took off further down the mine.

“Hey!” she cried and ran after it, almost knocking into Deuce as she did.

He jumped back in surprise as the creature darted around his ankles, ”What-?”

“Stupid humans! That crystal’s mine!”

Parker’s grip tightened on the pickaxe. It was Grim.

“Not you!” she cried out. It was bad enough she’d been roped into this along with Ace and Deuce, now she had to deal with the devil cat? Again?

“Uh, you know him?” Ace’s blinked as Deuce and Parker ran further into the mine. Both ignored him. The trio panted hard as they followed Grim’s blue glow down winding tunnels and tortuous caves. His light became smaller and smaller the further they went.

“That sucker’s too fast,” Ace frowned.

“I got it,” Parker adjusted her grip on the pickaxe and put on a burst of speed. In her mind, she told herself: Grim was a Running Back, a soccer ball, a pitch that was quickly flying out of bounds. And Parker had her feet. She was on the smaller side, but her size made her nimble. Grim darted left. Parker was about turn behind him when an unearthly roar shook the mine around them. Grim flew back and hit the wall hard as a massive shadow emerged from the tunnel he’d run through.

Parker’s face went cold as the blood drained from her cheeks. She heard Ace and Deuce halt just behind her.

“What is that thing?” Deuce cried.

“Headmaster Crowley never mentioned one of those,” Ace took a step back.

The monster towered over them, a faceless nightmare of a creature. Something black oozed from it’s head onto the tattered remains of a shirt.

“WON’T. GIVE,” the creature bellowed, “STONE. IS. MINE!”

Stone. So, there was a magic crystal left! Any hope the knowledge brought disappeared as the monster reared back, “WON’T. GIIIIIIIVE!”.

Ace was about to turn and run when Deuce caught his arm, “What are you doing? It has the crystal!”

“And?” Ace tried to pull away.

“We’ll be expelled without it! We need to go after it!”

Parker shot Deuce a look, “We need to be alive to get it! Let’s go!”

The monster roared again, the reverberations shook loose pebbles from the ceiling. The creature reared back and charged the three of them. Ace blew it back with just enough force to buy them some time to run. Parker was vaguely aware of Grim sprinting at her heels. They cleared the entrance of the mine a minute later, the monster’s chilling voice still echoed at their backs. They didn’t stop running until they couldn’t see the mines anymore. When they felt it was safe, they collapsed in a clearing by a small stream.

“My one chance at getting into Night Raven College, gone,” Grim lamented.

Ace shook his head, unblinking eyes stared at a patch of grass somewhere in front of him, “That’s it. I’m not going back there. I’d rather get expelled than fight that thing.”

Parker was too busy gulping air into her lungs to protest, but Deuce on the other hand… The second Ace suggested giving up his spine straightened and went rigid. Slowly, he craned his neck until he could get a good look at the red head.

“You can’t be serious,” Deuce stared Ace down. When Ace didn’t answer, Deuce narrowed his eyes, “Don’t screw with me. I would rather die than face expulsion. There’s a magic crystal right there, and you want to give up?”

She hated to admit it, but in that moment Parker wasn’t sure who she sided with. On the one hand, Deuce was right. The magic crystal was in their reach and the risks of not going after it could mean she was trapped in this world forever. On the other hand, the monster was terrifying. If she even wanted a chance to get home, she’d need to stay alive to do it.

Ace rolled his eyes, “That’s some big talk from someone like you. You think your magic is strong enough to beat something like, go right ahead, but I’m not risking my life just to stay at Night Raven.”

Deuce clenched his jaw, “Oh, so you’d rather stay here like some spineless coward?”

“Coward?” Ace let out a single laugh, “buddy, you need to straighten out your priorities. There are worse things than getting kicked out of school.”

Something akin to fire lit in Deuce’s eyes. Parker sensed at once that Ace had crossed a line neither of them knew was there. Deuce rounded on Ace.

“Worse?” he asked, “You mean like, disappointing your family? Or showing up at home not even a day after promising you’d make them proud?” Deuce raised his voice, “Or maybe hearing your mother cry about how she doesn’t know where she went wrong because her screw-up son can’t get his damn life together?” Deuce was shaking now, “Yeah. You’re right. There are worse things”

Silence stretched between the four of them. Ace’s throat bobbed as the truth of Deuce’s words sank in. For once, Grim refused to look either of them in the eye. As for Parker, she took a deep breath and adjusted the cap on her head. That was some heavy stuff, but what could they do? Ace’s magic barely did anything more than give them enough time to escape. Going back would be suicide, but they couldn’t give up now that they knew a replacement crystal existed. Not when Crowley expected all three of them- Parker blinked. Three of them.

Three of them.

“I think,” she began, “there might be a way to beat the monster.”

Ace, Grim, and Deuce faced her, but it was Ace who said, “Don’t play.”

“I’m not playing,” Parker put up her hands, “think about it. There’s four of us and one of it. We might be able to outsmart it if we work together.”

“Together?” Grim balked, “I’m the Great and Mighty Grim! A magician of my caliber doesn’t collaborate with lesser wizards.”

Parker crossed her arms, “Oh, so, you’ll be fighting that thing on your own then?”

Grim sputtered as the others watched him rack his little brain for something, anything to say to that. Unfortunately for him, he knew they were right, “But getting that crystal is my only chance to attend Night Raven. After I heard you idiots broke the the chandelier, I thought…”

Parker sighed, “How about this, if you help us we’ll put in a good word for you with Headmaster Crowley.”

The idea sparked some life back into Grim, or she thought it did based on how the fire of his ears flickered brighter.

“What about you two?” she looked over at Ace and Deuce. The two exchanged a glance. Ace still did not look convinced, but at the very least he was listening.

A beat later, it was Deuce who asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  The four of them huddled behind a line of thickets at the edge of the Dwarves’ Mines. From where they were, it didn’t look like there were any signs of the monster. Still, they kept out of sight in case it lingered around the entrance.

“Everyone remember what to do?” Parker turned back to the others. They each nodded.

Alright. Nothing for it, then. With a nod of her own, she stood and jogged for the entrance of the mine, collecting rocks as she went. As soon as she was just outside the mouth of the mine, she tossed on in as hard as she could.

“Helloooo! Big faceless monster dude!” she cried, “You home?”

Parker let loose another rock. This time, the familiar roar echoed from deeper in the cave. Good. She had to draw the monster further out. She kept up the taunting and tossed another three rocks before the monster’s head emerged from the mine. It was working!

“Over here!” She jogged further from the entrance and landed a rock to the monster’s left shoulder. It roared again, though Parker didn’t think for a second she’d hurt it. The monster edge closer and closer with each taunt until the entrance to the mine was left wide open. Now was their chance, “Grim! Ace! You’re up!”

“Hurricane force winds, coming right up!” Ace loosed a rush of air so powerful, Parker had to jump out of the way to keep from being blown into the monster, her hand  was pinned to her hat. Grim wasn’t far behind, sending a wall of flame into Ace’s wind. The fire whipped into an inferno that encircled the monster.

“Alright Deuce,” Ace called over, not daring break his gaze away from the monster, “Its all you!”

Deuce, however, was in a panic.

“Something heavy… something heavy,” he muttered to himself.

The monster roared and swatted at the inferno.

“Deuce!” Ace yelled.

“Ah!” Deuce made a snap decision, “Big- heavy-yeah! Come forth, Cauldron!”

If not for the fact she was caught in the middle of an honest to goodness battle against an honest to goodness monster, Parker would have gawked as a large, cast iron cauldron appeared over the monster’s head, then crushed it to the floor.

“Yeah!” Grim pumped his paw into the air like a fist.

“Let’s hurry and get this over with,” Ace ran into the mine, Parker went after him, retrieving the pickaxe she’d left by the bushes.

“You think they can keep him subdued?” she asked.

“They’ll have to,” Ace grinned.

Before long, they made it to tunnel where the monster had first appeared. There, embedded into the stone at the end of the chamber was a crystal the size of Parker’s fist. Parker ran up to the stone and raised the pickaxe. The impact rang through her bones like the vibration of a bell. She lifted it to strike again when Ace snatched the tool from her hands.

“No time,” he said, and made quick work of the rock. In three strikes the crystal rolled to the floor. Parker wasted no time in scooping it up. Ace tossed the pickaxe aside and followed her out. They made it out of the mine in record time, yelling “Go! Go! Go!”

Grim and Deuce did not need to be told twice. The cauldron keeping the monster down was beginning to buckle as it tried to rise.

The four didn’t stop until they found the spot where they’d first exited the mirror. Parker was only half surprised to find another mirror etched into the trunk of a wide tree. She didn’t stop to wonder if, technically, it was the same mirror on the other side. She was too busy leaping through it to care.

Grim was the last one through the mirror. As soon as he landed in the Hall of Mirrors Deuce cried, “Close!”

A flash of light later, the mirror’s face returned to normal. None of them breathed as the enormity of their success settled over them. They had worked together, had survived the most terrifying creature any of them had ever seen, and made it back in time to save their positions at the school. Parker looked around the empty Hall of Mirrors to convince herself she was there.

As one, they all checked to make sure the crystal didn’t fall on their scramble back to the school. Sure enough, there it was, sparkling a rainbow of colors in the palm of their hands.

They’d done it.

The floodgates of relief burst open. All four cheered, a mix of disbelief and joy swam through them as they jumped up. Ace clapped Deuce on the back while Grim did a little dance Parker knew she’d have been roasted for calling adorable. But the excitement turned to dread as Ace yanked Parker into a headlock.

“You pulled through, you magicless twerp!” He laughed digging his knuckles into her head through her hat.

“Ace, no!” Parker said, but it was too late. Ace was already mid-noogie when her hat tumbled off her head, the braids she’d so carefully hidden in the cap dropped around her face. Ace let her go and jumped back like she was a hot coal.

“No way,” he breathed.

Parker scrambled to shove the hat back on. Her fingers shook as she struggled stuffing her braids back under the brim.

Grim frowned, “’No way’ what?

“Are you blind?” Deuce shot him a wide-eyed look, “He’s a- she’s a-”

“Shhhh!” Parker’s gaze darted around the Hall of Mirrors, hoping against hope they were alone, “No one’s supposed to know!”

Ace scoffed, “Supposed to- how’d you- why- huh?”

Something bitter tingled along the back of Parker’s tongue like spoiled pop rocks. Crowley was not going to be happy about this.

She gestured out of the Hall of Mirrors, “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Headmaster Crowley stared at them from his seat behind the desk. He’d spotted the crystal the instant they’d entered his office and demanded they tell him everything. Between the four of them, they managed to cover every detail of their adventure up to and including the fact that Ace had blown Parker’s cover. The headmaster listened, nodding occasionally as they described what they’d seen and how they beat the monster. Parker was certain his calm demeanor would all vanish once she confessed, but even after they’d stopped talking, Crowley was careful to keep any emotion from showing on his face.

They stood there for ten seconds, then thirty, then a full minute without so much as a word from Crowley. Then, as if shocked from his seat, the Headmaster sprang up and beamed at the four of them.

“In the history of this school, never has there been such a rousing display of cooperation between students!” Parker thought she saw tears welling in the corner of his eyes, but didn’t bring it up. Anyway, he was moving around too much to get a proper look, “You all stood up against a common enemy and defeated it hand in hand. This truly is an auspicious day!”

“We- we definitely did not hold hands,” Deuce said.

Crowley either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his comment as he rounded on Parker and beamed, “You! You don’t have a spark of magic in you, and yet you’ve managed to accomplish something no professor ever could! Perhaps its your lack of talent that gives you the ability to think strategically.”

Parker couldn’t believe her ears, nor could she conjure up a better response than, “Thanks. For that.”

Again, Crowley went on as if no one had spoken, “We still don’t know how you’ve come to us, but its clear to me, Miss Parker, that you have something to offer this school yet.”

Parker still didn’t quite understand everything she was hearing, “So, you’re not kicking me out?”

“Why ever for?” Crowley laughed.

“Because I managed to blow my cover after only a day?” She exchanged a glance with Ace who could only shrug. He was just as confused as the rest of them.

“Hey! What about me?” Grim’s patience was at an end, “I helped too, you know! And these guys promised they’d convince you to let me attend!”

Ace put up his hands, “All we said was that we’d put in a good word for you, fur ball.”   

“Grim’s right,” Deuce said to Ace, “We did promise.” He turned to Headmaster Crowley and gave a short bow, “Grim was an important part of getting that crystal, we think it’s more than fair that he can attend Night Raven.”

For the first time since they recounted their adventure, Crowley’s smile faltered. He examined Grim from a distance as if trying to gauge something in him. Grim stared back, standing on his hind legs with his front paws crossed in front of him. It was a little unnerving to see a cat standing like a bratty child. Then again, the mine monster was more disturbing to look at.

“I see,” Crowley stroked at his chin, “Well, he certainly has displayed bravery…”

“And he has fire magic,” Parker chimed in, “It’s incredible.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ace muttered.

Crowley thought for a second more, then said, “I don’t doubt it. But some of the subjects do require more (how do I put this?) human characteristics to be successful,” the headmaster’s gaze fell on Parker. He hummed, tapping his chin as if considering something, “Then again, there is the issue of Parker’s identity having been discovered…”

Ace, Grim, Deuce, and Parker all exchanged a look. How in the world did one have to do with the other? She’d been discovered by Ace and Deuce, but that had no bearing on Grim whatsoever. They jumped up as Crowley sparked to life once again and clapped once.

“I have it!” Crowley said, “Parker and Grim, how do you feel about being enrolled as two halves of the same student?”

Both Grim and Parker didn’t respond beyond a confused, “Huh?”

“Simple!” Crowley’s smile was back, “Grim has the magic, but may need some extra assistance with the more mundane aspects of class, and since he isn’t assigned to any dorm he can be the second resident of Ramshackle. As for Parker, I appear to have underestimated the challenge of hiding her, well, her herness. If I enroll her as a freshman, that will make it much easier for you boys to help her prevent anyone else from finding the truth.”

 Ace started at the news, “How is this secret my responsibility?”

Deuce didn’t even hesitate,” Maybe because you were the reason we found out.”

“What?” Ace whipped his head towards Deuce, “I didn’t know!”

“Neither will the other students,” Crowley said, “Having one of you three around at all times will ensure none of them accidentally reveals her to the rest of the school.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Parker asked, “What happened to being the janitor? I don’t want to be a student I… I’m taking a gap year!”

Crowley shrugged, “Well, you certainly have a choice. But know that if you decline my generous offer, Grim will be unable to attend.”

Parker knew better than to look at Grim, but she found herself doing it anyway. Grim looked up at her with the biggest, bluest eyes she had ever and would ever see again. The meekness on his face and the dulled flames at his ears made him look like a proper house cat. She couldn’t say no to that.

She glared down at him, “Fine. You manipulative little a-“

“Then its settled,” Crowley nodded, “You’ll begin classes in the morning.”

“Um, no,” Ace was not about take this, “Deuce and I never agreed to do anything!” When Deuce didn’t say a word, Ace shoved him, “Back me up, cauldron boy.”

Deuce glowered, but didn’t say a word.

Crowley was beginning to get irritated, “Well, if you don’t agree I could always go through with your expulsion.”

“What?” Deuce jumped up. He couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“That’s extortion,” Ace narrowed his gaze.

Crowley simply smiled and sat on the edge of his desk, “Welcome to Night Raven. I’ll expect to see all four of you in classes tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

And that was the end of that. The four of them exited the headmaster’s office with varying emotions. Grim burst out first, doing a little dance that set off sparks wherever he went. Deuce followed, looking for all the world like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Ace muttered under his breath as he followed behind his dorm mate, and Parker trudged out with a knot in her stomach so tight she feared she would heave. How were they going to do this?

They walked together down several hallways until they came to the point they’d have to separate; Deuce and Ace would go back to the Hall of Mirrors and their own dorm while Parker and Grim made their way back to Ramshackle dorm. They hovered together, not quite sure how to leave each other after everything.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” Ace rubbed the back of his neck.

“I guess,” Parker answered. She wasn’t too keen on him after the objections he’d given to Crowley. They shuffled around for a second more.

 Ace sighed, “It’s nothing against you.”

“We know you’re not happy with this either,” Deuce added.

“I am,” Grim sang. He ignored the three scowls aimed at him.

Parker softened. Deuce was right, she wasn’t happy but neither were they. With a little less force than she thought she needed, Parker half smiled, “We’re stuck.”

“Yeah,” Ace returned the smile, “We are.”

At last the tension that haunted them since they returned dissolved. Deuce even managed a parting joke before both groups dispersed at last.

“Get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it.”

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Five

FFN II AO3

Summary: Liz works with Katarina, Red gives the Task Force a new Blacklister, and Jacob tries to figure out who Maddie Tolliver is and what her connection might be to Elizabeth Keen.

Chapter Five

"So," she mused, reaching for and flipping through another file, "the Sikorsky Archive is a blackmail file put together on powerful people."

She sat surrounded by research that fanned out from her in every direction. Names, dates, and faces stared up and Elizabeth Keen stared back at them, working her way through any connection she could find. It had been a little over a week since Katarina had won her loyalty and helped pull her out of what had felt like a never ending tug-of-war game between her mother and Reddington, both sides violently opposed to each other…. until they weren't. Katarina had proved that, unlike Reddington, she could set the war aside for Liz. She'd helped to save Reddington's life even after Reddington had refused to help save hers and had chosen to tell Liz the truth. There were no half-truths and or hidden agendas between them. What Katarina knew, Liz knew, and it felt like a breath of fresh air for the first time in seven years. She could get used to this.

"One that those that bought into the Townsend Directive are willing to kill me for, yes," Katarina answered from her own place at the desk she had set up in the small hotel room.

"And these people….?"

"The ones I've uncovered that have bought in."

"They're the ones being blackmailed?"

A soft sound drew Liz's attention and her mother looked tired. Years of running, years of looking over her shoulder, she couldn't blame her. Especially since it was Ressler's and her own questions that had shone a light on the possibility of her being alive. "Perhaps. I don't believe the list is complete yet or, perhaps, even if those are the end buyers."

"Fronts?" Liz confirmed and flipped the page to find a particularly gruesome image. "It could make sense why we haven't found a connection yet. My team—"

"Is beholden to Reddington. You cannot tell them about this. Elizabeth." She waited until Liz looked up, meeting those steely blue eyes of hers. "You can not tell them."

"I know." Her phone buzzed and she reached for it. Nick's Pizza flashed across the caller ID. "Speak of the devil."

"Your team?"

Liz blinked, confused for a moment by the association the other woman drew, but brushed it off. "Reddington." Liz waited until Katarina nodded her acknowledgement before she tapped the accept button. "How are you feeling?"

"Fit as a fiddle," came the cheery response from the other end of the line. "Amazing what rest and adjustments in medication can do."

"Any chance you'll tell me why you need the medication in the first place?" Liz asked, unfolding herself from the hotel room floor and standing. She looked down at her watch. She'd need to leave for the office soon.

"There are more pressing matters. How soon can you make it to Franklin Square? There's a lovely little bakery down here with exquisite passion fruit croissants. They are simply to die for."

Liz quirked an eyebrow, shooting Katarina a long-suffering look even though she couldn't hear the conversation on the other end. "Unless there's more than fancy croissants, it's going to have to wait."

"The croissants are a bonus. I have a new Blacklister for you."

That was interesting. "Really? I thought you were on bed rest. Or is that why you're giving the case to us? Having us do all your legwork to track down my mother?"

"Not everything is so devious, Elizabeth. Our deal includes me providing Blacklisters and that's exactly what I'm doing."

He wasn't going to give anything else up over the phone, that much was obvious. Liz loosed a long breath. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Splendid! We'll save you a croissant."

The line went dead and Liz shoved it in her pocket before reaching for her purse.

"Leaving so soon?" Katarina asked, though it was hardly strange. Since she wanted Liz to keep their alliance to herself their meetings had to be short. A quick drop in after sending Agnes off to school or a brief chat in the car. They were making it work.

"Reddington has a Blacklister for us."

"And you think it has to do with finding me?"

Liz grabbed her purse. "He's always got an agenda, and I won't know if this one has to do with you until I talk with him. I'll let you know."

She started past, but Katarina's hand snapped out and caught her by the wrist. The hold was firm but gentle. "This will end, Elizabeth," she promised. "When we find who really has the archive and prove to the people hunting me that I didn't take it, this will all be over."

Liz tried for a smile. "I know."

She slipped carefully and silently out of the room, down the hall, and to the back stairs that would let her out into the alley behind the building. As Liz stepped out into the sun, she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. She turned, carefully and discreetly, but found no one. No familiar faces, no cars with people loitering in them. Nothing that should have sparked the feeling other than a healthy sense of paranoia that has clung to her the last several weeks. She felt like she was always being watched these days. For her safety. That was the running excuse. It was wearing a little thin.

She brushed it off as best as she could as she slipped into her car. The first step was to meet with Reddington and see exactly what wild goose chase he was about to send them on, then she could deal with whatever tail her mother had stuck her with.

                                                        --------

The deeper a client's pockets, the more secretive they tended to be. That had been Jacob's experience, and even though Brigitte Tremblay had provided a wealth of information on Agent Keen to get started with, there had been more than one hole to fill. Very little on family outside of her daughter and no real details on certain connections. Raymond Reddington was listed as her CI, and while Jacob couldn't say he knew the man, he did know enough about him to confidently say he wouldn't have turned snitch for just anyone. There was a connection to Keen or someone else on the team, but if his research the last couple of weeks had shown him anything, he would have put his money on Keen.

Then there was Maddie Tolliver. A woman that didn't seem to belong in the dossier at first glance, but the more Jacob dug the more things didn't add up. The name appeared to be an alias - a burned one at that - with no obvious ties to Keen. None until trailing the fed led him to a hotel with Maddie Tolliver - under yet a different name - inside. He didn't have eyes or ears on the room itself, but he needed to get them.

One thing deep pocket clients could afford to provide was support. Sometimes Jacob brought his own in the form of a new graduate or a promising student that needed field experience, but Brigitte had insisted she provide her own people. They were alright. Not nearly as intuitive as a St Regis operative, but that's what he'd been hired for. So far they'd proven capable of following Keen when he couldn't and she hadn't seemed to notice. One had given him the room number and caught a glimpse of Tolliver as Keen had entered the room, but Jacob wouldn't dare send him in. He didn't trust them that far.

He set the low level tail to follow her while he made his way from the roof of the building he'd been perched on and down to the street level, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket as he rounded his way into the back alley to find a growing crowd of workers taking their smoke break not too far from the back exit. "Anybody got a light?" was all it took and he chatted with them like he belonged, a subtle hint to being new on the job dropped here and there, and by the time everyone was finished no one blinked twice that he followed them in.

Jacob shrugged his own jacket off to replace it with a uniform jacket that he'd snatched before working his way around to the front desk. He didn't quite make it there before he caught a break he hadn't expected: the elevator dinged, opening to reveal Tolliver and a bodyguard exiting. Jacob redirected and brushed past her, taking the limited opportunity and she didn't offer him a second glance.

The doors to the elevator slid closed and rocketed him up to the tenth floor. It was time to figure out exactly what this Maddie Tolliver's connection was to Elizabeth Keen.

                                                       --------

She'd caught sight of her tail finally, but it wasn't one that Katarina typically used. He was young and thought he was being more discrete than he was, but she'd seen him in the hallway of the hotel when she'd left. It would have been one hell of a coincidence that he decided to go for a morning stroll in the same park that Reddington and she walked through as he divulged the details he knew about the case he was handing her.

He called the Blacklister The Collector. A secret keeper of sorts, and Liz perked at the phrasing. He'd called her mother a secret keeper once, but when she pointed that out Reddington had brushed it off immediately. Instead he focused in on The Collector himself.

"Reddington believes he got his start in the Cold War in the intelligence community. He targets individuals with significant secrets and uses those secrets to gain one favour and a lead on another secret. Sometimes he keeps the intel for years before exploiting it," Liz explained to her gathered team and as she spoke. "Reddington says that seemingly autonomous decisions - a Congresswoman stepping down right as her bill comes up for a vote, a businessman testifying against his corrupt business partner a day before their big product was set to launch, or a judge recusing himself from a high profile case - are all the work of this Collector using something that they've done or something that they've been apart of in secret against them."

"He's a blackmailer," Ressler said, his voice low and tight.

"Essentially, and Reddington says that for every public incident, there are at least three that never see the light of day."

Park shifted in her place. "Does he have a lead on who the new target is?"

"He believes that the Collector's next target is Bruno Krause, a German attache." Liz waited until Aram brought the little intel that they had up on the screen. "Thirty-eight, single, and he's been on the ambassador's staff for years. Doesn't look like there's a mark against him, but Reddington says that he's responsible for the death of this woman." A pretty blonde woman appeared on the screen. She was young, all bright smiles and a future stretched out ahead of her. "Amanda Clemmons. Twenty-three. Her body was found trapped in a car that had been driven into a lake. The driver was never found."

"He's using the information to blackmail them, right? What's he hoping to get from Krause?" Ressler asked.

Liz sighed. "Believe me, I asked him. He fixated on his croissant." She couldn't help the snort of a laugh that escaped at the looks she received. Yeah. She knew it was absurd. They all did by this point. Welcome to another day in the life of the Reddington Task Force.

Cooper's gaze remained fixed on the sparse intel, and Liz could see the subtle tells of emotion playing just below his stony mask. He set his jaw and turned to the team. "Keen, Ressler, I want you on Krause. Talk to him. See if you can find out why this Collector might be targeting him. Park, you and Agent Mojtabai keep digging. Deep. Maybe we can follow the trail back and find where our Blacklister is getting his intel."

Liz gave a terse nod and fell into step with her partner towards the lift that would take them to the garage. The yellow doors rattled closed before she felt Ressler's gaze turn on her. "You think this has to do with your mother?"

"You and I both know Reddington always has an agenda, and right now he's focused."

"He told Cooper he wouldn't hurt your mother."

"He lies. That's what he does."

She watched his lips twitch just a little. "Does he?"

The doors opened and she turned a disbelieving look on him. "This is Reddington we're talking about. Every time I think he's capable of an honest moment with me, I find out whatever it is I believed was wrong. He's not my father, he's Ilya."

"But did he ever say he was either one? Actually say it?" He held his hands up in mock surrender at the look the question got him. "Hey, I'm not defending him. The guy's a prick and he'll let us think whatever benefits him, but even you have to admit we haven't caught him in an out-and-out lie. It's about listening to exactly what he's saying and figuring out what he's leaving out."

"That's been my life for the last seven years. It's exhausting."

"Hey, I already said the guy's a prick."

She shook her head as she circled around to the passenger side door. As she opened it she met and held his gaze. "Do you still think he cares? About me, I mean."

Ressler stood there for half a beat as if he were considering it, but then he broke that stare to hop into the SUV. Liz followed suit, assuming he'd move past it without another word. He revved the engine and she saw him check the mirrors before loosing a long breath. "That's the only thing about him I know for sure," he said at last and put the vehicle into reverse.

                                                       --------

Brigitte had set him up with a tiny studio apartment. It was furnished with more than he really needed, but it didn't hurt to have a place to go back to to crash and go over what he'd found.

Maddie Tolliver's hotel room had been cleaner than Jacob had hoped for. She had taken any papers of importance with her. The bed was made, her clothes were neatly tucked away in the closet, and the towels were hung over the edge of the shower glass. He had thought that the only thing he would truly walk away with was the bug that he'd planted on the inside lip of the nightstand, but then he'd spotted the glass with the telltale sign of lipstick stains. He hadn't intended to takeanything from the room, but most people would brush it off as the cleaning staff anyway. If they did a sweep of the room he'd lose his chance at audio. At least this way he could run a DNA test and hope to find the real name behind Maddie Tolliver.

A knock at the door took Jacob to his feet, his gun in hand and his gaze hard. He adjusted his grip on his weapon, inching towards the front door carefully, his boots soft against the old wood. He reached forward to unlock the deadbolt and recoiled back, ready for anything on the other end. When nothing came he opened it to find his employer on the other side. She quirked one auburn eyebrow. "You're a bit paranoid, aren't you?"

He snorted and holstered his weapon. "You usually call."

"I didn't realize we'd known each other long enough for a usually," she mused, her tone light as she pushed her way into the apartment. Her blue gaze swept the space, falling on the dossier that Jacob had pulled apart like a puzzle he was working. "Interesting choice."

"What are you doing here?"

"Wondering what you're doing. Agent Keen is working a case."

"I have someone watching her."

"And would you trust that someone with your life?"

"He's your man."

"And you're the one I hired to protect her. Those people are there to support you, not replace you."

Jacob stooped down, grabbing for a collection of papers. "In my experience, it's never the obvious threat that gets you."

Brigitte took the offered file and frowned a little at Tolliver. If Jacob didn't know better, there was a hint of approval in those guarded eyes. "What makes you think she's the threat?"

"There's no reason for her to be in Keen's life. She may be another informant, but if you were able to tag Reddington as one, I'd guess you'd have a note about that for her if she was."

A small sound of acknowledgement left her and she looked directly at him. "So who is she?"

"I don't know yet, but I will. I have the room bugged."

"She'll find those."

"Maybe, but there's nothing she can do about the glass she left. DNA doesn't lie."

"It can if it's not a trusted source."

"It's a trusted source. You don't have to worry about that."

"Zanetakos told me she was handing over her best. Good to know my money isn't being wasted." Her gaze swept him up and down. "Tell me, you have to have a theory."

"I'd rather wait until I have the facts."

"Sure, but where's the fun in that? What's your gut say?"

Jacob pulled in a deep breath and crossed over several more piles of papers. He reached down for one that he recognized and held it out. "A few years ago Keen went on the run. Apparently she was framed by some sort of shadow organization or something like that, but while she was in the cold she publicly admitted to being Masha Rostova. I did some digging."

"Did you now?"

"She's the daughter of a KGB spy named Katarina Rostova. No known photo, no concrete details. Everything is hear-say with this woman. If she's Keen's mother, though…."

"DNA doesn't lie," Brigitte murmured softly.

"Right."

"You think that's who she is?"

"Maybe. It's worth exploring if nothing else."

"And if she is Agent Keen's mother, you don't think she'll be a threat?"

Jacob looked over to where she was standing, his guard flashing up at the tone of her question. He tilted his head a little to the side and studied her for a moment. "Just because someone's blood related doesn't mean they're not a threat."

There was a delay, but finally she huffed what he thought was a laugh at that, handing the file back.. "If anything happens to her on your watch, you won't have time to call an extraction before I get to you. Keep that in mind." Then she turned and walked for the door, leaving Jacob staring in confusion.

In the weeks since he'd taken the job she'd never come by the little apartment, but that day she had, even if only for five minutes and a threat. Whoever Elizabeth Keen was to her, whatever the fed had that Brigitte Tremblay needed, it was important to her. Clients didn't cross St Regis operatives off, not if they wanted to survive the aftermath themselves, but this woman didn't seem worried about that for an instant. She moved through the world like the one that made the rules in a game of her design. Whatever she was after, whatever she wanted, she didn't expect anyone to know until long after she'd had it. He'd worked for people like that before, but never anyone that could pull it off. This woman… she was good. She knew how to play the game, and if Jacob could manage to survive it, it'd be one hell of a ride.

                                                       --------

TBC

Notes: You know you've been followed a lot when it's more of an annoyance rather than a concern. Poor Liz has just sort of learned to live in that space.

I hope everyone's doing well and staying safe! Happy Fourth to my American readers.

Next Time: Liz and Ressler hunt a Blacklister, Cooper and Reddington have a heart to heart, and Tom lands himself in a lot of trouble.

[sincerlypadfoot]

Secret Keeper (Chapter One)

 A twin to her brother Blaise, he hadn’t want her to get in to the troubles that he would get into, since she were a Hufflepuff, not a very good one and not liking it, one night he invites her to a party, her reckless side comes out that night

18+ Fanfic (No Complaints)

Word Count-1.4

Send Requests Here

The bell rung and as fast as everyone's books closed Blair was already out of the classroom, smiling and enjoying the rest of her friday afternoon, with no classes, no worries and no drama.

“Oi Blair!” She spun around and looked almost in a mirror, a spitting image of her, but taller, darker skin, less hair and a boy.

“Blaise,” Blair smirked watching her brother pant as he stopped infront of her. “What could I do the privilege of talking to you, Mr fancy pants,” she mocked putting her hands on her hips.

“We’re having a party tonight, a huge get together, I was thinking you could invite the twins, since they seem like your best friends and basically the life of the party,” Blaise paused, and she knew what he was about to ask her. “And I know, they have some good stuff,” He winked making her smile as she watched two redhead boys overhearing our conversation.

“Edibles and weed, what are you providing?” George and Fred said simotansily standing on each side of Blaise. “We’re in,”

“I’m providing the alcohol, see you tonight Blair,” Blaise walked passed his sister, putting his hand on her shoulder then taking it off as he walked by.

“Hello beautiful,” George said bending down and picking Blair up, placing her on his shoulders. “How was your day,” the two boys walked as Blair sat on Georges shoulder, they were like her brothers as well, treating her like their own.

“Good, are you really going to that party tonight?” Blair asked ducking as they came into a doorway, walking outside where the sun shinned and beamed around.

“Of course, we have a whole stash, and a duplication spell, are you crazy, we have endless supply of weed, and edibles, i’m sure you’d know, since you hang out in our room every day and day,” Fred jokes making her smile.

“You guys have created a monster because of that,” Blair laughed feeling George bend down, she jumped off looking around. “Can I come back to the common room with you guys, and get everything ready, I don’t have class this afternoon?” Blair asked smiling at the two.

“Nope,” George said with a smile then nudging her shoulders. “Yeah, well we got class, come with us,”

Fred smirked as the three walked down the hill towards Hagrids hut where McGonagall was planting trees with her class.

“Hello Weasleys, and Zabini, how nice to see you today,” McGonagall said without turning around, she was still using her wand to cover and dig holes.

“Is there anything we could help you with?” Blair asked moving beside McGonagall and pulling out her wand, about to start and help.

“You’ve got a free period this afternoon, I don’t need help, i’ve gotten everything I need in my wand, you three enjoy your free period, this’ll be the only one you guys get from me,” Her voice chimed as she straightened her back, filling in the holes and watering them, all with the magic from her wand.

“Awesome thanks,” Fred and George said high fiving each other and taking off. “Come on, we’ve got things to do Blair,” Fred grabbing Blairs hand and the three of them walked back up the hill they just walked on.

“So your brother invited us to a party, full of Slytherins and wants us to bring weed,” George chuckled wrapping his arms around Blair. “Come on, Nevilles be growing some good things, you should see,” The boys tossed Blairs hood up as they walked towards the Gryffindor common room,

“Nevilles things make no one remember what happened the morning after,” Blair chuckled ducking her head as they walked passed the fat lady into the common room.

“Hence why this one is called morning after,” Fred pulled her hood down, Neville sat on the stairs waiting.

“Took you guys so long, come look what i’ve made,”Neville shot up from the stairs, running up, they followed him into his bedroom, where it didn’t smell like weed, but iverywater.

“Smart thinking Neville, hiding the smell, come on now, show us what you’ve done,” George insisted, Neville opened up his closet, revealing bags, taking them out and tossing them on the bed.

“We’ve got a unlimited supply cause of magic, so we’ll never run out,” Neville opened the bag. “Smell, it smells good,” Blair went in first, bending down and taking a whiff of the bag.

“Bloody hell,” She smiled looking up at Neville. “Smells like nothing, how strong is this stuff?”

“Very strung, morning after you won’t remember, sit,” Neville grabbed the bags and pushed them back into his closet.

“Blair and I have some stuff to do, Fred we’ll be back,” George chuckled, picking Blair up and placing her on his shoulders. “Important business,” Blair knew what he was talking about.

“We can’t keep doing this you know, Fred and the others will find out somehow you know,” Blair chuckled looking down at George.

“Come on, don’t you trust me, they won’t find out,” George chuckled walking up the stairs. “Everyone's in class so Ron's room is  in the clear,”  

Blair shook her head as she ducked going into the doorway of Ron's room, landing on a bed with George sitting beside her.

“So, tell me George Weasley, what do you plan to do?” Blair asked smiling and leaning against the wall on her bed.

“I need life advice,” George flung down, his head resting on Blairs lap. “I like a girl, and I don’t know if she likes me,” Blair rolled her eyes smiling down at George.

“And who might this girl be,” She ran her fingers through Georges hair, looking at his face.

“Can’t tell you, you might tell her, but what should I say, cause I wanna ask her out tonight,” It was a normal thing for Geroge and Blair to just sit down and talk about their feelings, he was like her brother, they told each other almost everything.

“Well if the girl is smart, and you ask her out, she’d be dumb to say no, so just go for it George,” Blair bend down, kissing the top of Georges head. “What house is she in, you atleast have to tell me that,”

“Not that either, feel special, Freddie doesn’t even know about the girl yet,” George smiled up at Blair. “We should get ready for the party, I’ll have to sneak you back to your common room,”

Blair smiled down at George, running her fingers through his hair. “I guess so, the big party tonight, i’ll have to look gorgeous shouldn’t’ I,” She let out a bit of a laugh, placing her hand on Georges forehead.

The pair looked at each other for a second, Blair had a crush of George, first year but knew they’d be better as friends, not wanting to risk that friend ship and bond they both head.

George took his eyes away, sitting up fast but hitting his head on Blairs, both of them falling back in pain.

“Bloody hell George, what was that for!” Blair shouted, placing her hands on her forehead. Shaking her head in pain.

“I am so sorry Blair,” Geroge groaned in pain, opening his eyes and looking at Blair who had her hands pinned to her forehead.

“I’ll see you tonight George,” Blair took her hands off her forehead, smiling slightly in pain at George then crawling off the bed, not caring if anyone saw her in the common room.

Blair walked down the stairs quickly, hearing George come behind her but she was already down the stairs and leaving the common room. Her head killing her and her mind spinning out of control.

“Oi Blair, what's got you in a rush,” Not realizing how fast she’d been walking she came to a holt to look at Blaise who stood with Draco and Goyle and Crabbe.

“Nothing, just going back to my dorm, hello,” Blair smiled ignorantly, looking at the four, she pretended to scratch her nose to they wouldn’t notice a thing. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” She hadn’t really like Blaises friends, but she could handle them.

“It’s what we were going to do,  wanna join?” Draco asked flicking his eyebrows up and smriking.

“Blair does not want to join, do you,” Blaise and Blair basically shared a mine, she knew the four were going to get themselves in trouble.

“I’ll see you guys tonight, good luck on whatever your planning,” Blair slightly smiled, walking passed the boys and towards the hospital wing.

Madam pomfrey fixes Blairs broken nose, placing a bandage across, she looked in the mirror, scrunching her nose, not liking the look.

“Best be going, it’s almost passed curfew,” Madam Pomfrey siad with a smile, looking at Blair who looked at herself.

She turned around with a fake smile, scratching her neck. “Thank you again Madam Pomfrey,” Blair quickly took off speedy quickly down the halls, hoping to get ready and be there before the twins.