#another similarity is that they both have very obvious movement quirks that I believe are caused by being previously obese for a while

[furshrimps]

This little dog has been through such incredible transformations, I'm frankly amazed she ended up not only looking like a perfectly normal elderly MinPin (she went from obese when she arrived at the shelter to being no more than a skeleton when she arrived in my sister's care, and I think the time between those 2 things wasn't very long) but also has evolved from a little snapping monster to an overall friendly (albeit quirky - and she does have some spice left in her if you force something onto her that she doesn't want, but you get my drift), people loving cuddle bug who happily sleeps on strangers laps and loves pets.

The transformation between the last two pics was so gradual that I didn't even really notice it until I looked at the older pics. At the time I really wasn't sure if her back would ever straighten again, I certainly wouldn't have been surprised had it stayed somewhat deformed, but it did. Just incredible what she has turned into if you compare it with older pictures! And once again, what a difference a fitting environment makes for a traumatized soul such as her.

Granted, she walks kind of funnily and has certain balance/ coordination issues (may or may not be caused by knee issues), but she looks pretty normal now and it's amazing.

[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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When the door fell closed again and Robin was left standing in the hallway by herself, in her pajamas, she sighed to herself. What a way to start a birthday… But then again, a part of her (an unsurprisingly large one) was also quite excited to have a very good reason to go find Snape once more. Not that she planned on staying longer than necessary, but the prospect of seeing him at all brought a smile to her lips and thus she started making her way towards the office. Still in her pajamas, much to her discontent. Not that she minded Snape seeing her in flannels and her Queen shirt at this point, he'd had that pleasure far too often already to pay mind to it by now, and it was rather the act of walking through the castle in her pajamas that she wasn't too fond of. But it was in the middle of the night, which made it unlikely that anyone would even see her at all. Thus she made her way out of the common room and through the dark hallways until she arrived in front of the office, where she unlocked the door only to find the room behind it dark and empty. Odd… didn't he still have those essays to grade for Monday? After checking the classroom as well and finding it in the same state, she went to the lab next, but it also proved to be vacant. He can't seriously have chosen this one instance to actually listen to her suggestion of going to bed early, can he? Insufferable idiot… but it wasn't his fault that she was trying to save his arse from some pathetic prank.

Robin groaned under her breath, putting her head into her neck for a moment before she made her way back down the hallway and towards where she believed his private chambers to be. It honestly wasn't too difficult a task to find the right place once she actually tried to, and before long she found herself in a hallway she had never been in before. It literally only had one single door going off to the side, and that made matters rather easy for her. As she stood there, trying to decide if she should knock or speak, she couldn't help wondering what the professors' rooms looked like in the castle in general, and Snape's room in particular. Certainly it was more spacious, and probably a lot more comfortable than the dorms as well. Would it have the same dusty and gloomy aesthetic as his house back in England? But then again, he spent way more time up here, he had said so himself… so his rooms here might just as well look entirely different.

Shaking her head to herself to put an end to her useless string of thoughts, she finally decided to knock. Three times, certain, and firmly as always. Generic as it could be. It took a few seconds but then she could hear movement, and finally the door was ripped open with a force that had her taking a step backwards instinctively. As soon as his dark eyes fell onto Robin however, the scowl on his face was gone in an instant and his entire demeanour changed from sheer furor and annoyance to question and concern.

"Robin! What-..." He started in mild surprise, but cut himself off after a second as he took in her appearance, then glimpsed down either side of the hallway, and finally just pulled her into the room before shutting the door behind them again.

Of course Robin's heart wouldn't miss the opportunity to start racing again, and for a moment she allowed herself to inspect the room she now found herself in. It was similar to his house, and yet entirely different in a way. First her eyes were drawn to a fireplace with a sofa in front of it, as it was the brightest spot in the room, lit up and tinted in a faint orange glow. The walls around it were lined with shelves, filled with books and quite a few other things actually, which she didn't have the time to inspect right now. But there was a small table with two chairs along one of those walls, hiding some of the books and objects from her vision, and she allowed her eyes to linger there for a moment only, before the next curiosity caught her attention. On two walls there were surprisingly large windows for a room in the dungeons, which could only mean that they must be in one of the corners of the castle that were facing the cliffside instead of the black lake… There was no water behind the glass, after all, unlike the common room on the other side of the dungeons. Robin frowned for a second as she thought; she didn't know a single other room down here with a windowed corner. Obviously being the only professor who lived in the dungeons had its perks; he got the very best room of them all. Honestly, she wouldn't even be surprised if he had the nicest room of all the professors. So her eyes wandered on, over the large desk which was even more meticulously organised than the one in the office, and over the wall of ceiling-high shelves that separated the room and shielded off the far right corner. Her gaze fell onto a four-poster bed that looked much like the students' ones, but about double the size, with the softest looking duvet she had ever seen, and dark green sheets that seemed almost black in the candlelight… she quickly looked away before she had the time to blush. Geez, it was just a bloody piece of furniture; get a grip, idiot! As she averted her eyes, she also saw a closed door other than the one to the hallway, and she simply assumed that it would lead to a private bathroom. Finally when she had roughly taken everything in, her eyes returned to Snape only to find him observing her in obvious amusement already.

"Are you done with the inspection?" He asked with one raised eyebrow, and now Robin did feel the heat creeping up her neck after all. Thank god it was quite dimly lit in here.

"Not nearly. But that will have to wait until a later point in time." She replied honestly, despite being called out for her undeniable curiosity.

"What brings you here then? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm perfectly fine… I thought you would still be in the office, to be honest. I didn't think you would actually take my advice about getting some sleep."

"I do take advice, occasionally, but only when nobody can tell that I do." He replied almost easily, and Robin had to smile in return. "But I would still feel a lot better if I knew what brings you here."

"It's nothing of any gravity, really… But it couldn't wait until morning."

"Building suspense as always, are we?" He quipped, and motioned to the sofa, before sitting down himself. Robin followed the example, and crossed her legs beneath her like she always did. For some reason, she felt no less comfortable being here now than she was in the lab or the office. All three rooms were very much Snape, in their neatness and calm and familiarity, and perhaps that was the reason why she loved either of them so much.

"Yes, no suspense, I'm sorry." She said as she shook her head to herself again, and finally started explaining. "I'm here because tomorrow morning some kids want to put salt into your coffee."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Snape started laughing, actually laughing, and Robin didn't know if she should laugh too, feel offended, or stare in awe. Either would have been an appropriate reaction, and since her brain couldn't settle for one, she did all three at once, which must've looked odd enough for him to stop laughing at last. Instead, he looked at her with a small smile now, which Robin still couldn't really put much meaning to. Why was this so amusing to him? He hated these things, all those imbeciles and their childish jokes… usually, at least.

"I don't understand what's funny about it." She decided to voice her thoughts at last. "I spent an hour being mad about it and trying to find a way to prevent it from happening, and you just… laugh?"

"I can see how that seems unreasonable, yes." He replied, and his amusement now toned down a bit. "Believe me, I wasn't laughing at you. Neither about the issue itself."

"Then what's so funny?"

"For one, I'm simply relieved that you are only here about a practical joke, and not about another situation that might end with you being hurt. Then of course there is the absurdity of the entire situation… I hadn't imagined that it would be salt in my coffee that would bring you to my room for the first time."

"But you did imagine what exactly would?" She quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk, deciding that humour would be a better way to deal with his words than turning into a flustered mess again would be. He probably hadn't meant anything by it in the first place. But still, for a moment, she was sure to see an actual blush on his cheeks for once, a faintest tint of crimson, but it might as well have been the light of the candles, a mere shadow. It made her heart skip a beat nonetheless.

"Tell me more about that practical joke." He said a moment later, not even trying to hide the fact that he wasn't answering her question. "How did you come to know of it?"

Robin sighed, and did them both the favour of ignoring the previous conversation indeed. "I don't know much… Some sixth year by the name of Parker planned it with his friends. They're going to put salt into all the drinks for the head table in general, and obviously everyone finds it hilarious. Cas heard from Simon, and she told Jorien and me about it just an hour ago. But no matter how stupid of a predicament that puts me into, I couldn't let it happen without telling you. To save your morning, at least."

"I imagine you wouldn't want me to put an end to it then, before the disaster ensues… That would certainly reveal your involvement."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't. I know it's probably a stupid situation for you too, to know and not tell your-..."

"I don't particularly care, actually." He shrugged, with an almost humoured expression once again. "I will certainly undo the damage before enjoying my own coffee, but my colleagues' fates are their own. And I wouldn't put your relationship with your roommates at risk over something as imbecile as this."

"Thank you! Really, I appreciate it. But I have another favor to ask of you, one that's not entirely my own." Robin replied with an apologetic expression. "Can you please tell McGonagall about it too, before breakfast? And ask her not to spoil it either? I know, that's going to be incredibly hard, but it is really important to me."

"I certainly will tell her if you'd like me to. However I am curious to know why your mixed sentiments for her seem to have changed enough to warrant such concern about her now."

"They haven't changed at all… It's about Jorien. She wants McGonagall spared, but can't reveal it as her own intention for various reasons, so I told her I would do what I can."

"And why don't you simply tell her yourself like you are telling me now?"

"Well, I don't think McGonagall would've been happy to find me in front of her door at this time of night." Robin said with a humoured smile, then had to snort. "Especially not in my pajamas."

"Indeed, I don't think she's particularly fond of Queen." He mused, and Robin had to laugh even more at his tone. "If your apparel is the problem, you could have warned both her and me in the morning. Not that I would dare to complain, but why did you choose to do it now instead?"

"Finding you in the morning was my plan, originally, but I was made aware that I won't be able to. I was just about to go to sleep actually, hence the pajamas, when Jorien told me that I wouldn't get a minute to myself before breakfast because of some plans they have made for my birthday, and-..."

"What time is it?" He asked and his voice was suddenly rid of every humour at all, as was his face.

"Eh… around one thirty at night, I think? Perhaps two already?" Robin frowned at him, in confusion about the sudden question and abrupt change in his demeanor. "Why? Is something wrong? I mean, I know I probably shouldn't be here at this time of night and all that, but-..."

"Then it is your birthday already…" The edge was gone from his tone immediately, leaving only a quiet statement with a tinge of sadness.

"Yeah, it is. What's wrong with that?" She asked in return, her expression a mirror of his own right until he got up from the couch and made for the other side of the room without a word. Robin's heart squeezed together for a second, then she jumped up as well, out of sheer nervousness, but stayed standing between the sofa and the fireplace, feeling lost as her eyes followed him through the room. Had she done something wrong? Or said the wrong thing, perhaps?

Snape merely picked what looked like a piece of paper out of a stack of documents on his desk, then returned to Robin without any ado. Her eyes didn't leave him once, but only met his at last when he stood in front of her again. All the small tells of emotion on his face showed guilt, a hint of annoyance perhaps, both directed entirely at himself as it seemed.

"I tend to forget about time and such trifles when I am in your company. I apologise for the delay." He said after a few seconds, then held out the paper to Robin, an envelope that once again had his own name written on it. "Happy birthday, Robin."

The nervousness that had churned her guts seconds before was replaced by a soaring wave of warm adoration with a start, at both his words and the fact that all he had been upset about was forgetting to congratulate her. If he wanted it true or not, that was incredibly sweet. In Robin's eyes at least. With a smile she yet again had to tone down a little, she took the envelope from him, but instead of opening it right away, she merely held his gaze.

"Thank you. And don't worry, time is entirely irrelevant to me; I am happy that you remembered at all." She said sincerely, still in a fight with herself to not reveal too much of her own adoration. "If it wasn't for the entire 'celebrating into the day' thing, I probably would've only remembered that it's my birthday tomorrow morning."

"You will have to tell me more about what your roommates have put you through, but first I would like you to open that envelope. I meant to give it to you at the end of the day, but seeing as you are here right now, the beginning of the day will be just fine as well."

"Alright…" Robin said, and she couldn't help her curiosity for much longer anyway. Thus she turned the letter in her hands, inspecting the already broken seal with a smile, a frown and a huff. "The letter is from the ministry…"

"Obviously."

She rolled her eyes with a smile, but then finally tugged out the two sheets of paper from the envelope, and unfolded the first. For a minute, she read over the letter that was indeed addressed to Snape, and almost as expected, she didn't understand a word of it. It was signed with a name she had never heard before, but the subtitle said that he was representing the department of admissions. A title as generic as the name itself. Other than that, the letter mainly stated that Snape's request had been accepted and processed thanks to the aforementioned reasons (which unfortunately weren't stated, but surely would've given Robin a hint about what this entire thing was about), and that the ministry would keep an eye on the issue nonetheless. After reading it twice and being left no wiser, Robin took a look at the second page.

To her great surprise, this one had her own name on it, and it looked a lot more like the official document she had received from the ministry after successfully completing the apparition class last term. Her frown deepened as she scanned every word and number on the form that looked more like a license almost, if the standardised look of it was anything to go by… it certainly would explain why the letter came from the department of admissions. But other than her name, a few numbers and the current date, the twentieth, she didn't get too much information from it either. Entirely confused now, she looked back up at Snape who had carefully observed her while she had been reading.

"I would love to tell you I'm happy about the gift, but I have absolutely no idea what any of this is about. I don't even know if it's a gift or a warning or a death sentence." She started with a helpless chuckle, sounding almost as lost as she felt. "Perhaps we could skip the part where you roll your eyes and make me guess for once, for the sake or my birthday. Please?"

"It's not precisely a gift in common terms." He explained, and thereby complied with her request without mention. Robin didn't fail to notice though how mildly uncomfortable he looked, and she wondered if it was about the subject itself, or the mere fact that he was finally admitting to giving her something like a gift at least. "It is a solution to a problem you have. Or rather one that you had, until now."

"Who's the one building suspense now?" Robin smirked at him, to which he merely let out a huff that was supposed to cover up his own not-smirk. It didn't work, and he probably knew, so he went on to explain.

"I do realise that I had no right to solve this problem for you, and I also know that you never made a problem of it in the first place." He said, which made matters no less mysterious at all. "But I know that it has been burdening you for a while now, and I had to put an end to it. Try to, at least. So what I did was to write to the ministry and request for you to be given a certain and admittedly quite rare professional authorisation that allows you to handle certain substances that are subject to permission."

"I… which… what?"

"Perhaps we should approach the matter from a different perspective that is less… political. You obviously are aware that the objects we have gathered over the summer, the subjects of the theories in your handbook, all share one essential attribute: they are rare, some even extremely rare, and therefore very valuable. Yes?"

"Yes."

"And you see how that correlates to the horrendously high prices one has to pay for them in any shop that sells ingredients for potions."

"...yes?"

"Now, the reason why these objects are more often sold on the black market than in any reputable establishment is quite simple. The vast majority of rare objects and ingredients, and thereby almost all of the ones in your handbook, are subject to permission, which means that without a permit from the ministry, you aren't allowed to sell them. This leads to the problem that most shops are generally short of these ingredients, seeing as the ministry rarely gives out such a permit, which in return makes the ingredients even more expensive. These issues can be evaded by selling on the black market, which however almost always results in selling under value to sell at all."

"I understand. But why doesn't the ministry want to give more people such a permit? Wouldn't that make things a lot easier?" Robin frowned, and she felt like the biggest idiot ever, with a large knot in her brain. She knew she was missing something very obvious, but she just couldn't tell what it was.

"Imagine what would happen if every idiot was going after these ingredients for the mere sake of selling them. Not only would most of them die before they even reach their goal, but there would be thousands of people roaming through both worlds and destroying everything in their wake for the mere sake of making money off these objects. The ministry can't risk that, and therefore they are very selective about those who they grant this permit to. They wouldn't give it to me when I tried a few years ago." Snape said, then motioned to the papers still clutched in Robin's hands. "But they gave it to you. People have known your name ever since the first conference you attended; important people who have enough influence to see to it that my request was accepted."

"But… what… I…" Her brain was completely out of it for a moment, until she gave herself a mental slap. "I only research rare ingredients because I love doing it, and I gather them for you and me to work with… But I've never thought about selling them before."

"I know. Your passion for the work we do, the work you do, will always be your highest priority, but that doesn't contradict selling what you don't need for yourself." He stated, then sighed while the subtle discomfort returned to his expression. "Even a mere handful of the wraiths' moss from last year's excursion would suffice to make a small fortune. I know you have been concerned about how to make a living without your parents' support for a while now. This is the solution. A possible one, at least."

For a moment then, the weirdest thing happened; Robin's mind was entirely blank. A mere white noise of too much to process, too many thoughts tumbling over one another while each was too briefly existent to be grasped. So she just stood there, papers still clutched in her hands, and stared at Snape with wide eyes and parted lips. Frozen in space and time.

"Breathe." He reminded her then, with an expression so uncertain it seemed almost uncharacteristic, and Robin did breathe indeed. Once, twice, thrice… then her mind exploded into a colourful variety of emotions, and she finally snapped out of her freeze only to throw her arms around Snape an instant later, hugging him as tightly as if her life depended on it. If he wanted it or not. He didn't have a say in this, not right now.

"Thank you…" Robin breathed as soon as she wasn't entirely choked up anymore, and she couldn't even bring herself to care that the tears that were running down her cheeks now were drenching his linen shirt. "Thank you thank you thank you."

His arms wound around her in return almost instinctively, pulling her closer and keeping her steady as she stood on her tiptoes. But when he spoke up, his voice was quiet, sad almost. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"What? You did nothing wrong!"

"But you are crying, which usually is a direct result of whatever matter I have screwed up this time."

"I'm happy, you dunderhead!" Robin couldn't help laughing through her tears, and her arms around him tightened even more. He really was no better at closer human interactions than she was, and it was relieving to see sometimes. "Happy, and overwhelmed. Positively! This is so much more than just a birthday present to me… You really did save my butt yet again."

"Nonsense… I did nothing more than to write a letter to the right person, asking the right questions. It hardly is a gift at all. I didn't even have to pay for it." He replied in tangible defensiveness to being thanked, but Robin wouldn't let him get away with it this time.

"Didn't you tell me two or three years ago that caring for someone extends beyond the material?" She asked while the tears slowly dried out, leaving her voice muffled by his shoulder rather than emotion, and finally the overwhelmed feeling made way for sheer happiness. "This is the best possible example of it. It might only look like a piece of paper, but it's so much more to me. It shows that you know me, know me so well that you don't even have to ask to know what's on my mind. It means that you willingly dealt with people you despise, because I know just how much you hate ministry officials, and writing to them in a nice enough way to get them to do something for you can't have been easy. And foremost, the fact that you didn't just give me a gift, but actually thought of a bloody brilliant solution to an incredibly important problem for me tells me just how much you actually care. If you want to admit it or not."

"You haven't the slightest idea just how much I actually care." He replied under his breath, and it sent a deep shiver through Robin, one which obviously was noticeable enough for him to follow it up by lightly tracing up and down her spine with his fingers. Bloody hell, she could've died right on the spot from the sheer emotional intensity of this alone.

"You're getting better at showing me." She finally made herself reply, in a voice way too breathy to be anywhere near appropriate, but it didn't matter in that moment. Not when her mind had enough trouble keeping her from doing something incredibly stupid.

"May I ask you something you might find rather odd?" He spoke up a few seconds later, and his hand stilled on her back, splayed out so that his fingertips brushed her sides.

"Don't you always?" Robin chuckled softly. "You can ask and say anything at all, you know that. Odd isn't a thing between us anymore." The question he did ask then, however, she had not seen coming at all.

______________________________

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[vibing-and-writing]

A Grove of Trees

A/N: hi!! Apologies for my inconsistent posting but life has been a crazy time recently!!! Anyways, here is the piece I will be submitting for @gingerwritess​‘s writing challenge for the prompt “a grove of trees”. Congrats on 4,000 bby!! I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Warnings: N/A (just witch tingz) 

Summary: When Bucky is sent on a stakeout to investigate ‘suspicious activity’, he meets someone unexpected instead.  

Witch!Reader X Bucky Barnes 

The day Fury told him he would be doing a stakeout, Bucky could feel the back pain coming already. Sam could call him an old man all he wanted, it still wouldn’t change the fact that Bucky hated stakeouts. Specifically stakeouts like this one that involved staying in a tiny hut in the woods, watching a cabin that has had, according to Fury, “suspicious activity” going on inside. Fury had refused to tell Bucky what “suspicious activity” had been happening, only that some of the plants of the cabin’s garden looked like something out of another realm. The plants overgrown, scoring the walls and fence of the garden, but well-loved by what seems to be a woman who only comes out once a month. Bucky found it hard to believe that one woman in the middle of the woods had caught the attention of SHIELD, so much attention that he had to be sent on a stakeout but nonetheless accepted the mission with a promise of a month-long vacation by the end of it.

It was two days into the stakeout that Bucky suggested he sneak into the cabin, but Fury strongly suggested against it saying “It’s too risky with how little we know.” When Bucky had asked about a background check on the woman, Fury said that not even their high-tech cameras could capture more than an extremely blurry picture, so blurry it couldn’t be traced. It was mysterious, to say the least, and by day three Bucky had just about had it. With a near-constant combination of a headache and back pains, Bucky was done. Putting his Avenger status to good use and a small argument with Fury, Bucky stood at the door of the cabin with strict orders to only engage if absolutely necessary. 

Bucky’s eyes settled into a glare, assessing his surroundings with expertise. The worn door has sigils and signs written with different colored chalk in a language he can’t recognize, but he goes to knock on it either way. Before his hand can touch the wood, the door swings open with a gentle whoosh. Hiding his surprise with a frown of his lips, he walks into the area with trepidation, senses on high alert. The cabin looks lived in, glass jars stand proudly near the windows, more sigils drawn on the sills. A counter is near the back of the cabin, a small cash register makes it home, with a tip jar and bell next to it. The walls are nearly filled to the brim with jars with different labels, some saying ‘protection’ or ‘luck’. Dried herbs are strewn on the rafters of the ceiling, filling the room with almost too many aromas as Bucky holds back a sneeze. Two signs near the cash register say ‘don’t see me? ring the bell!’ and ‘please don’t steal’, both seemingly hand-drawn with uneven smiley faces. Bucky walks closer to the counter with bated breath, his shoulders un-tensing without his permission as he rings the small bell. 

The twinkling of the bell seems to make the cabin come alive as Bucky hears a muffled voice come from below him. “I’ll be right up!” Bucky doesn’t bother hiding his surprise when he hears the voice. Hearing some crashes and stomps his shoulders tense up again, but he nearly jumps in surprise when he realizes his back and head don’t hurt anymore. 

There is a flurry of movement from behind the counter, a small creek being heard from what seems to be an opening in the floor. Bucky takes a step back as a woman stands in front of him behind the register, a bright smile on her face. Bucky goes to speak before he’s interrupted by the woman. “Welcome to Grove Of Trees, how can I help you?” She says it softly but with an air of confidence as if she already knows why he’s there. Heat starts creeping up his neck and cheeks, but not because of the lack of air conditioning. This woman is beautiful, though he tells her later that it’s not enough to describe her. Bucky had seen plenty of beautiful women in his 100-something years, but none of them shined as she did. Her lavender sundress only enhanced her features, the flowers in her seemed like they belonged there. Putting on his signature ‘scary face’ as Sam called it, he tries to think of something to say to her. Her expression seems to change from investigative to understanding as her eyes widen slightly. 

“Oh, so you’re the one that they called…,” she trails off with uncertainty. She even gets on her tippy toes to throw a glance over his shoulder, her eyes questioning as they land back on Bucky. Bucky looks at her slightly bewildered, his senses feeling dulled and on overdrive at the same time. “The one they called?”, he asks, thoroughly confused. The woman shakes her head, fixing her face with a small smile as she starts grabbing some vials from one of the many shelves. “Nothing for you to worry about, I’ll just have to consult the cards again, you know how finicky they can be,” she says, voice sounding similar to the bell he’d rung when he got here. Trying to ignore the calm feeling invading his senses, Bucky tries to think of the things he does know: this woman is a potential threat, this appears to be some sort of shop, and this woman is… glowing? “Mhm, yeah, for sure,” he replies with a nod, trying to sound like he understands what this mystical woman is talking about. The woman grabs a small teacup from behind the counter and a tea kettle (where she got it from he has no idea) and starts pouring some of the liquids from the vials. When Bucky gives a slight raise of his brow, she gives him a small quirk of her lips. “Your back and shoulders are tense, no? This tea should help relax you a bit,” she says, her voice soft and calm. While her voice draws him in like a siren, Bucky tries to keep his senses on high alert, reminding himself this woman is a threat. 

“Thank you, but that’s not why I’m here,” Bucky says, trying to keep his face from relaxing too much. Her expression seems somber at that, the room seeming to lose a bit of its luster, and he feels his heart sink. Bucky soldiers through the air of disappointment. “I’m investigating some suspicious activity in this area.” Her expressions seem to go from bad to worse at that, her brows furrowing, the warmth in her expression fleeting. 

Looking Bucky up and down, her eyes widen a bit in recognition before she starts putting away the vials again. “Fury sent you here didn’t he? Blessed be, how many times do I have to tell him I’m not going to be his next Avenger,” she says, grabbing more vials before waving her hands in various directions. The plants seem to stand at attention, many of the herbs on the ceiling floating gently into her hands. Her motions are quick and agitated, brows furrowing more as she continues. “How dare he, after I was kind enough to send him and his stupid lab a sample of my plants, which are my mother’s by the way, for him to send me another agent.” 

She stops her rant to look at Bucky then, who is stood in a bit of awe and confusion a growing trend as her expression softens. “At least they sent a cute one,” she mutters to herself, unaware of Bucky’s super hearing. Bucky’s blush makes its home from his ears to his neck, the woman’s words affecting them more than they probably should. She slides the teacup closer to Bucky, expression calmer as more light filters through the cabin windows. “You might as well drink it since it’s been brewed. I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she says, her expression apologetic, if not a bit embarrassed. 

Bucky snaps out of his confusion then, mentally cursing out Fury for making him do a stakeout for no reason, especially when the woman was clearly not interested. “‘S not your fault, Fury doesn’t normally take ‘no’ for an answer,” Bucky says gently taking the cup in his gloved hand. She gives a small huff then, her expression growing less exasperated. “He likes to think I don’t notice those cameras flying around, but I just don’t need that responsibility. I’m just a flower girl in the woods,” she says, her hands blindly grabbing a vial before bringing it up to her nose. Bucky looks at questioningly before she tips the vial in his direction, a distinct smell of eucalyptus wafting at his nose. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but I can see why Fury wanted to recruit you,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he lets the aura of the cabin envelope him. She looks at Bucky questioningly, her eyes shimmering. “Why do you say that, handsome agent?” Her tone is a bit mischievous, her smile growing. Bucky lets his lips quirk into a smile as the blush returns to his face, his heart thumping in his chest. “We don’t have anyone on the team who is like you,” he says genuinely. The room seems to get a bit brighter, but she looks disbelieving. “Don’t you have the Scarlet Witch?”, she proposed. Bucky gave her a very obvious once-over, wondering how this woman didn’t know she was the most vibrant being he’d ever seen. Wanda was an amazing person but Bucky’s instincts were telling him this woman was more than what he’d seen today. “You seem to be more than just a flower girl in the woods,” he replied, the blush still present on his cheeks. Her eyes move away from his, her hand fiddling with the vial as her face grows flustered.

Suddenly her eyes widen and her posture stiffens, the room brightening as if a light bulb had been turned on. “Oh this makes much more sense…” she says to herself. Bucky looks at her questioningly before she straightens her back and looks at him directly in the eyes, narrowed but not maliciously. Learning from the past couple of minutes, he resigns himself to the fact that this woman will probably never make full sense to him. Many emotions show quickly over her face from confusion to surprise to understanding. Seemingly settled, she looks at Bucky almost appreciatively. 

“You can tell Fury he’ll see me very soon,” she says, her voice confident. Bucky stares at her for a moment before replying tentatively, “You’re not joining just ‘cause Fury is pressuring you right? You don’t owe him anything.” Shaking her head she gives Bucky a soft look, her posture relaxed but sure. “No, you could say I have a good feeling about being an Avenger,” she says, a smirk on her lips. Bucky stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out this enigma of a woman. A sigh escapes his lips as Bucky looks at her consideringly, “If you say so.” Turning his body to leave, he feels something warm touch his hand. His head snaps towards the source, the woman now a couple of inches away, no counter between them. 

“I’m assuming I’ll be seeing you again,” she says, the contact bringing back the blush to his cheeks. Bucky tries to get rid of the haze in his head, struggling to get back any semblance of control as his heart beats loudly in his chest. “I hope so,” he replies, his voice too eager for his liking. 

She gives him a sunny smile, her eyes crinkling, and nose scrunching as she drops her hand from his. Before Bucky can be disappointed at the loss of touch, she says, “Have a good day, handsome agent.” All coy and happy, Bucky couldn’t help but smile back, the blush on his cheeks coming back full force. Continuing towards the door, all he can muster is a small wave before he walks out into the woods. 

Not far from the door stands a very smug Nick Fury, complete with a SHIELD jet waiting behind. Bucky’s smile drops from his face, a frown taking its place. “Mission completed Sarge, time for that vacation,” Furt says, his tone overly cheerful. Feeling his headache coming back already, Bucky points an accusatory finger at Fury. “Why would you send me on a useless stakeout when the woman was clearly uninterested,” he asks, already having an inkling to what the answer is. Fury gives him a small nod before replying, “She ended up saying yes didn’t she?” He says it as a rhetorical question, but not without promptly waking into the jet. 

Bucky heaves a sigh before looking back at the cabin. Focusing his ears he can hear more clangs and crashes, the vibrant woman inside doing God knows what. A smile takes its place back on his face, his heart beating faster at the thought of seeing her again.

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

Not Sorry ~ Embry Call (part 2)

A/n: Here we are, a finish as promised. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5500+

MASTERLIST

I was genuinely stunned. "Um... excuse me, what?"

He winced. "That was weird. I just- I promise I'm usually better than this, I'm so sorry. Please, if you'd just give me a chance I swear-"

Before I could even begin to hide the smile that was rising on my face or make sense of the nagging part of my brain that wanted me to say yes, Jake was intervening. He was eyeing Embry up and down, making him uncomfortable and setting me on edge. I couldn't exactly explain why Jacob making Embry nervous irritated me so much, but I knew that there was something I was missing and I didn't like any of it. "Did you imprint on her?" My ex demanded.

Embry shrugged awkwardly. "Imprint?" I asked. Both both looked at me, Jake's expression a little startled as if he'd forgotten I was there... and then as if realizing that he'd forgotten my presence was even more stunned. "What's that?"

"I think you're cute," Embry cut in. He was suddenly so casual, but it was natural and believable. Was he really just that good of a liar or was it the charm and charisma that made it so easy to believe him? "Sorry to cut in, I know you two have history and if I'm cutting in-"

Jake went to say something but I cut him off. "Jacob and I dated over a year and a half ago," I dismissed with ease. Jake's mouth snapped shut abruptly, his eyes a little hurt. I focused on Embry. "He made it pretty clear it was plenty over, and it's been plenty over for quite some time, as I said before. To call it interrupting would be ridiculous. Jacob and I aren't even friends anymore." I looked at Jake finally. "Right, Black?"

Jacob looked angry. Movement caught my eye and I saw his hands shaking at my side. Noticing my head drop, Embry followed my gaze to take the same notice I had. Immediately he shot into action like a bomb was going to go off, choosing to move me back rather than touch Jake and move him. At first I was startled, but he was even more natural and careful about that, slipping his arms around my shoulder and pulling me away from Jacob, walking away and turning my back to the other boy instead of actually grabbing me and moving me. I wondered briefly if Jake had adopted anger issues in the last year and a half. Maybe he was a little too physical nowadays... Whatever it was, Embry's reaction was instinctual and immediate. It wasn't planned or badly meant. I didn't hesitate to follow his lead, closing my door before falling into step next to him. That seemed to ease him, and he got even more relaxed the further we got from Jake. "So now that that's sorted, I think I was pretty forward with my feelings. How about you? Maybe I could take you to dinner? Or lunch? At least get your number?" He wiggled his eyebrows and despite myself, I laughed.

"Maybe you could," I mused, touching my chin as if I was actually thinking about it. His smile let me know he wasn't at all fooled. "It really depends... what are you doing right now?"

He looked back to some other boys, further down the beach in the direction he had come from. I assumed they were his other friends. They were all tall and muscular, but when Embry raised a thumb in the air, the one who stood in the middle of the mass of boys - the biggest and tallest - nodded at him, smiling. It was the boy I thought was Sam. By the way he nodded at Embry, he seemed to be in charge, so that theory tracked.

When he turned back to me, my gaze subconsciously drew to him as well, our eyes meeting and my stomach filling with warmth that slowly spread into the rest of my body, banishing the lack of total warmth in the air today. "I'm free."

Emotions zipped through me, all opposing each other and each pulling me in a different direction. It was overwhelming, shutting down logic and slowing my ability to make sense of anything. So, instead, I simply let my mouth move and what cane out was, "Know any fun things to do around here?"

-

The very first thing I did was drag Quil along. The idea of being alone with Embry made me nervous and uncomfortable. He was tall and strong- much bigger than me - and I didn't know him. Everything I did know about him screamed at me to hightail it. But, I wasn't doing that, so I took other precautions. Plus, any reason to hang out with Quil was a good reason.

We ended up at Quil's, with me on his back as Embry asked me question after question, getting to know me and letting me go off about things I cared about. How annoying the Cullens and Bella were. How boring and stupid school is. How fun fixing things up was...

"You have quite the little business going." He said it with a smile, his eyebrow quirked. His tone was almost a joking one except that his eyes were so light up with admiration that I knew he wasn't mocking as much as he was in awe.

I shrugged, playing it cool. Quil chuckled underneath me- we had fallen back in step without even a falter, as if no time had passed at all. There had never been bad blood between us. I hadn't even been mad about him leaving- we had talked about him wanting to join Sam's gang only because it would mean being back with Embry. They'd never officially gotten together but he did miss his friendship with the other boy, if nothing else. Embry had meant a lot more to Quil than I did. Why would he turn down the chance to be with him again? So now, it was fine and easy and fun and light, just like it used to be.

The easy going vibe between me and Quil carried to Embry, who's eyes never left me.

It was strange. Every time Embry had come to mind before this, a part of me hated him. Hated how he had hurt Quil. And another, bigger part of me thought that if it was possible, I'd want them to get together. I'd want them to be happy and end differently than Jacob and I did. Prove that there were happy endings.

Yet here they were now. The way Embry looked at me was not lowkey, and it was even more obvious that Quil picked up the odd chemistry between us, because he kept smirking and chuckling and shaking his head and giving Embry and I pointed looks- teasing silently, but teasing nonetheless. They had been reunited, back in each other's lives, and they hadn't gotten together? Had I somehow misconstrued the relationship between them? I mean Quil never SAID there was... anything romantic. But I had assumed. I mean Quil had insinuated...

It was even stranger that I was relieved, if I was being honest. The same magnetism that seemed to keep Embry's eyes on me also seemed to pull me closer to him. Made my hands itch to touch him. Made it easier to smile and forget the rest of the world as I lost myself in the sound of his laughter and breathing and how his words formed, his lips moving in a way that was almost mesmerizing. I wanted to know everything about him and I wanted to know it now.

Quil's mom was very happy to see me. Our greeting and reunion cut into the spell that seemed to be on me. "Oh I'm so glad you're back!" she gushed, grinning. As always her energy and warmth were contagious and I felt at ease and happy. When Quil and I hung out before, she had begun to accommodate for having me around all the time. We had sleepovers whenever we could. When she found out what my home life was like, she was only too eager to make this place mine as well. Making home a place I could go to again. "Our table has been empty without you."

I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck. Quil's house was so different from Bella's- even though it was also quite similar too. It was just Quil and his mom, the same way it was just Charlie and Bella. However, Mrs. Ateara was a lot more homey and motherly and warm than Charlie was. She was compassionate and picked up on everything, asserting herself and fixing problems in a way that awkward, unsure Charlie just wouldn't. It didn't make me miss him any less, though.

"You'll have to come over for dinner more often then," Quil piped up.

My smile fell. I was struggling again. I missed Quil so much. But we weren't friends anymore. This wasn't my home anymore. It hadn't been for a long time. This wasn't my life anymore.

Looking at Embry, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. What was I doing?!

"Quil can I talk to you? Privately?" The words tumbled out of my mouth a little too fast, making Embry frown and Quil shuffle awkwardly.

"Yeah sure." We moved outside, where they shouldn't have been able to hear us. "What's up?"

"Whats up?" I asked, a little irritated. He shrugged. "What's going on, Quil? Why are we pretending like nothing happened? Why are you pretending like I'm going to be coming over every Friday night like I used to? Why do you guys seem so... tired and worn down?" It was so hard. There was a part of me that was fighting to just go back to the way everything was. That part of me had taken control on the way over here. That part of me had fallen back with Quil far too easily. That part of me yearned for a boy that shouldn't have been on my mind. "What happened between you and Embry?"

Quil sighed. "I know it's really confusing... Let's just take it slow, okay? All you need to know for now is that I'm glad we're hanging out again, if you want to do that. And Embry has taken a liking to you."

"And you and Embry?" I pushed.

He paused, seeming to be struggling to find the words to explain to me. "Embry and I are just friends, and we're both happy with it being that way."

I stared at him for a long time. "Okay," I said slowly. "Okay," I repeated. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Wanna go back inside now?" After a second I nodded and he reopened the door, both of us going back inside.

Embry grinned upon seeing me. "We were thinking about playing a game. Monopoly or Uno?"

"Uno," Quil and I said at the same time." We looked at each other and despite myself, I laughed.

This was weird... but not bad. Maybe weird could be okay for a while.

-

It was odd enough, being thrown head first back into a life that had been abruptly taken from you without a single warning. A life you had just barely come to terms with never having again. A life you desperately missed. Fridays were spent at Quil's again. Tuesdays were at the Swan's. Yeah. As Quil, Embry and I hung out more, I eventually ran into Bella again. She was stoked to see me and had that same habit the others did of pretending nothing had changed. I was too relieved to be hanging out with Charlie to care. Between my own happiness and Charlie's obvious enthusiasm to having me return, that was a button I didn't push.

It was odd enough.

They just HAD to make it worse, didn't they?

First of all, Jake was being super emo and possessive of me which made not a lick of sense. He had broken up with me. He had burnt that bridge. And a while ago too! Why was he getting upset over the way Embry was flirting with me? Also: Why was Embry flirting with me? I'd finally come to terms that in my absence, things with Quil and Embry had kind of fallen apart on the romantic side. It made sense to me- things were the same with me and Jake. Except, how were they both so completely okay with it? Why were things so hard for me and Jake? Why was it so complicated and confusing? What was with the was Sam lead the group of boys like he had some kind of blackmail on them, in the way they couldn't say no? Why did they cut their hair and what was with that tattoo? Why did I see them so often with their shirts off or pieces of clothing tied around their ankles? Were they afraid their pants would blow off in the wind?

Okay so a lot of questions, obviously. Every time I brought it up though, everyone absolutely refused to give me any real answers. They were either really vague or snapped at me, or they were vague until I pushed too far and then they snapped at me. I was getting nowhere. It was like they just wanted me to hang out with Embry and fall in love with him or some shit without being clued in on any level to the shit happening behind the scenes. Shit that, apparently, even Bella was full aware of.

Which made no sense, since it seemed the Cullens and Sam's boys had a weird rivalry, even though as far as I knew they'd never met long enough in person or in any other way to have started beef with each other. With Bella dating Edward, it made no sense for her to be here all the time- even if she was best friends with Jacob.

It seemed the only sane person in this whole group was Leah.

She was broody and sarcastic and sassy and bitter and I absolutely loved her. She wasn't as quick to obey Sam as the other guys, and seem unwanted in the group. There was something awkward about her, Sam, and Sam's girlfriend, Emily. Who apparently was Leah's cousin. There was an even weirder vibe about how the other boys handled it- especially Sam. The worst part everyone kind of rolled their eyes at her and pushed her away, so naturally, I made friends with her as soon as she'd let me.

Let me tell you: she was really stuck on not letting me.

She warmed up to me when I started bitching about howe absolutely idiotic men were.

After that, my Thursdays were spent at the Clearwater's, goofing around with Seth and rolling my eyes with Leah. Seth and I had even gotten a smile out of her a few times. It was exciting. She had a beautiful smile. I wished she could be happy enough to smile all the time.

I found myself slowly but surely getting more and more involved with the boys and all their friends. 

Paul and I developed more of a physical, passive relationship. Most often, we tended to be simply friends of friends, unless one of us was bored. Then there was wrestling and shoving and ruffling of hair and all kinds of stuff. He often won, but by the way Embry hovered and Sam kept him back, easing him actively every second of my interactions with Paul, there seemed to be something dangerous about it. Even when I won, it didn't seem to be a real victory. It made me wonder if Paul was holding back. What was he really capable of?

Jared and I were pretty similar, instead taking a more humorous approach to the brief and far in between interactions. We usually cracked jokes, light heartedly teasing the others and each other. It was usually when everyone else was busy or someone was being coupley and Jared and I happened to do the whole loud, annoying 'awwwwww' thing like we were ten years old. He was fun and I rather enjoyed it, but when he would wink at me, insinuating a dirty joke of some sort, Embry would tense and get all jealous and Jared would look away and the whole mood would be ruined.

Even my hang outs with Quil started to be invaded by Embry whenever he got the chance to. My rant sessions with Leah started to be all about him and how much he was irritating me, and that seemed to amuse Leah while also disappointing her. I wondered a few times if she was telling him what I was saying. Why else did she get that sad look in her eye when I told her I was relieved I had her to talk to- someone I could trust. Someone who wouldn't let it slip to Embry until I was ready to share. When I'd start to push it, she'd bring up Sam and we'd be off ranting again, switching off to give her time to let some things off of her chest. Seth had even started to lay off. Our relationship was quite similar to mine and Paul's except lighter and with far other kinds of interactions. We could goof and joke and often made people laugh. It was innocent and light and fun. Every time Seth got too physical with me though, Embry was immediately next to us, separating us for some reason or another.

Yeah I was getting real close to the boys.

And even closer to decking Embry right in his stupid pretty face.

For a guy who was trying to woe me, he was succeeding only in confusing and irritating me. He set off all my red flags. He kept secrets and was possessive and over protective. He flirted with me and asked me out on dates, but then sometimes flaked because "Sam needs me" but wouldn't go into further detail.

I'd had enough. Despite common sense, I actually did have a small crush on him. By ourselves he was funny and sweet and considerate. His actions above all else made me feel like he was two people in one body. Or that there was something huge going on that they weren't cluing me into.

Which of course meant I had to immediately do some digging.

Since I was getting nothing from my friends, I decided to head straight for the Cullens. One night I knew they would be Bella-free, I made cookies and drove over to deliver them. It was secluded and mostly glass. It made me self conscious. How did they change in those rooms? They must have done a lot of fighting for the bathroom. Or maybe it was just like a "there's no one around". Or they had nothing to be ashamed of. They didn't have to hide their bodies from possibly prying eyes. That wouldn't surprise me. They were the most perfect human beings I'd ever seen in my life, if a little cold and distant from everyone else.

Emmet answered the door. He smiled. "Hey."

"Hi," I greeted brightly. I hoped that they'd be more inclined to let me in and hear me out and give me some answers if I was friendly. If I had a peace offering, even. I held out the cookies. "I just thought I'd drop by. Uh, we live weirdly close to each other for people who have never interacted and I was wondering..." I put on my best faux innocent smile. "If someone here was good at chemistry? I'm struggling."

Emmet actually smiled, seeming amused by my words. I hoped he was buying the act. I'd practiced for so long. "All of us are pretty good at school actually." Of course they were. "Why didn't you ask Bella though? Isn't she also good at chemistry?"

"She's good at biology," I corrected softly, trying to stay on his good side. "They're a little different but just enough. Plus, she's got her own work load and I bug her for help and am over there so often... plus, it might be nice to have some more acquaintances at school, if you guys absolutely refuse to be friends." I rose an eyebrow and Emmett laughed.

He sobered up a little, seeming about ready to tell me no. I sagged. The door opened wider and a small girl slithered around him and in front of him, beaming at me. "Oh my gosh, Y/n!" It was Alice and I had absolutely no idea why she was so excited to see me but like okay I guess. She took the cookies from me, backing up. Emmet moved out of her way, as confused as I was. "Come inside, I have so much to tell you. About everything." 

My eyes widened. Could she... know? That was impossible.

She guided me inside, passed Edward who was sitting at the table with a book he was currently ignoring to confusedly stare between me and Alice, and Dr. Carlisle, who was leaning against the kitchen island as if waiting for me. "Welcome to our home, Y/n. What can we do for you today?" I got the weird feeling that I was at a doctor's office. Or maybe a mental hospital. His smile was so kind it seemed weird. No one had ever smiled at me with such warm softness before. Was that even humanly possible?

Edward shifted positions from the corner of my eyes. A second after, so did Carlisle. Alice switched the hand that was on her hip and Emmet shuffled before shrugging and then going upstairs. Was it just me or did those movements seem super planned? They happened as if timed, each person triggering the other person to fidget. It was odd.

"I'm gonna talk to her for a bit. Catch up. The such. Is that okay?" Her eyes bore into his and I got the sense that she was asking a different question than the one she'd specifically proposed. Is that okay?

Edward sighed and Carlisle paused before finally nodding hesitantly. "If you girls need anything, let me know." Then he very casually walked upstairs. Is that where everyone went when they exited the room? Weren't there other places to go aside from up or out?

Standing, Edward walked over to us, closing his book. His smile was pleasant. "Mind if I join?" Alice looked at me and I shrugged. This was their house, and I might actually be getting answers. If not then having someone else t bounce off of to keep the conversation going for whatever Alice wanted to talk about might be helpful.

"So what did you want to tell me?" I asked Alice.

She smiled. "What do you want to know?" I thought a second before she placed her hand on top of my arm. I gasped softly, tensing slightly. It was ice cold. "Just be blunt. No reason to overthink."

Honestly she was a god send. "What's up with you and Sam's gang?" I hated calling it that but it was better than Sam's Cult, of which most of my friends were apart of. Edward smiled like something amusing had been said. 

Alice tilted her head, thinking. "They're self determined duty is to keep those like us in check. Behaving. We made a promise we would so we're kind of in this truce, but they still don't trust us. It's... tense."

"People like you?" I pressed, eager to soak up every bit of knowledge she'd give me.

Edward's jaw worked. "Normally we wouldn't tell you this. It's sort of illegal." He gave Alice a side eye, giving me the vibe that whatever he was about to say was actually super illegal. What law would prevent him from simply telling me something? Was he about to confess to some crime? He spoke, cutting my thoughts off. "But they're involving you in their lives without telling you the consequences. I played that game with Bella, and Jake tried to as well. It's not fair. You deserve to know."

I rose an eyebrow, leaning away nervously. "Know...?" I prompted.

Alice jumped up. "Come on, I'll show you something." She took me upstairs, to Edward's bedroom. There was a door that opened up into nothing, and it made absolutely no sense to me... until she simply stepped off, plummeting two stories or so.

"ALICE!" I ran to the edge, only to look down to my utter shock and see her on the ground, completely unharmed and even unfazed, smiling up at me. If that made my head spin, next she crouched down, her eyes leveling to the empty spot next to me. I tripped over myself to get backwards, but not before I saw her very clearly jump up to the second story of the house like she was hopping up on a curb, landing lightly and without problem.

"What the... hell?" I whispered, drawing each other out in confusion. I looked at Edward, demanding answer.

He shook his head. "Excuse me." Then  he moved to that same door, crouching like Alice had before launching himself a ridiculous height and difference, before he landed on a tree. Very far up a tree. And then stuck to the bark like some kind of tree frog. As I thought the comparison, I heard him laugh. I was distracted by a hand pressing to my shoulder. It was Alice. She smiled reassuringly. Edward was suddenly next to me again, making me jump as he spoke. "Any questions?"

There wasn't a bed to sit on, as I just noticed, so I put my hands on my hips and just thought.

I'd heard the legends of the Cold Ones of course. I'd heard them all my childhood and even recently from Billy at a few campfires. The ones who never aged. Who's skin was as cold as ice. Like Alice's. Who's strength and speed was inhuman. I looked at Edward but before I could even ask, he pointed. As I looked to see what he had pointed at, there was a slight push of wind against my shoulder and a blur in my peripheral and suddenly my eyes landed on Edward, in the tree again and much further than last time. This time he went a little slower - even though "slow" still wasn't the word for it - coming back, so I could see him a little better as he did so. It was insane.

Alice and Edward were soon joined by the other Cullens and I stepped back, swallowing hard. "So like are you guys going to eat me now?" I tried not to joke but my brain really wasn't processing this on any level so I coped by cracking one anyway.

Esme actually coughed, trying to cover up a laugh. Her smile was that same soft warm, welcoming grin that Carlisle had been wearing before. They seemed so kind and loving it was impossible to ever imagine them sinking far too sharp teeth into the neck of some poor human being. Covered in blood and everything. My eyes landed on Edward, seeing him wearing a knowing smile.

"We... eat animals," Edward told me slowly.

My eyes widened. "Oh." Forget a bed or chair. I sat down right there, on the floor.

"Let's give the human a little room," Rosalie said lazily. I let out a strong breath that made her smile. Everyone shot her a look but I smiled in return, genuinely appreciating that she understood somehow why I had made a joke before. I appreciated her humor. Despite their distaste in her approach, the Cullens did give me a wide birth, though none of them left. That reassured part of me... and in a way made me even more anxious.

I felt odd. Like my mind was suddenly not apart of me anymore. I felt like I had been shoved in a movie or a book. Or that this was a dream. Vampires were REAL? What YA novel was I apart of?

While my body floated in this sort of fantasy world, my brain refused to acknowledge it as MY world. Like I was a character in a tv show, but I knew that I was a character and that this was a tv show. It felt unsettling. Like the world around me wasn't real. Is this how Deadpool lived his life? How did one manage that? How could anyone tolerate this feeling? How could you stay sane in a world you knew was just the scrambling creation of some author who was creating a world and characters to satiate what they found unsatisfying about their own world and themself?

"Y/n." A hand on my shoulder. I looked up and met the almost yellow eyes of Edward Cullen. His lips were pursed. "I'm sorry if this is a little startling." He seemed to struggle for words. "It was a bit much for us too, when we first found out." His lips twitched, almost into a smile. "We had a few centuries to figure it out."

I broke into hysterical laughter. I felt a little insane, my body shaking just slightly. The others were quiet as I calmed from Edward's joke that wasn't that funny. "I'm sorry," I gasped, hiccuping. "I feel a little..."

"I understand," Edward offered when I couldn't explain what I was feeling. "You're disassociating. It's okay, it happens." His smile rose a little more to the surface. "I think I've gotten too used to Bella sort of just... handling these things. It's been a long time since I've had to help someone come to terms with this whole thing like a normal person."

After a second, I took a deep breath and shook my head to clear it. Real. This was real. I was real. "You eat animals?" My brain filled with the books I'd read as a kid, and movies I'd seen much more recently. An image with Edward, teeth sharp and mouth covered in blood. I opened my eyes. Edward wasn't smiling anymore. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

He shook his head, silently forgiving me. "This is honestly reassuring. At least some humans are still sane." He paused. "We call ourselves vegetarians. It's not as filling, but it allows us to not eat, uh, people, so I guess-" He shrugged, flinching at his words.

Chuckling again, shaking my head in wonder, I took yet another breath in. My chest felt tight. It was like I had to remind myself to circulate air through my system. My brain was short circuiting. "Okay," I said finally. "Why- why did you tell me this? You said it was illegal."

Carlisle kneeled in front of me. Edward was looking at him before he even moved. I was just grateful that he didn't super speed it. I might have passed out. "Just like you, we have a sort of government. They have rules, just as you have laws. The consequence for breaking those laws is death."

I was pretty sure I paled. "Why would you risk yourselves like that?" As much as I wasn't familiar with these people, I had gone to school with them for four years. I saw them talk and love and learn. I'd had lunches and classes with them. Emmet had been my partner for geometry and we'd spent the whole class losing our minds laughing. Alice had asked me for directions on her first day here. Even Rosalie had stood up for me once, when a guy had been a little too pushy about taking me to a dance after I'd been the only one left without a date and his date had dipped and he didn't want to seem lame by showing up alone. The thought of them dying to tell me something I didn't need to know... it made me sick.

Edward's expression was soft, and I realized that he could read my mind. I didn't know how I knew, but with all the weird reactions only he seemed to have, as if in response to what I was thinking rather than what I was saying or doing, it was just plainly obvious. I rose an eyebrow and a new expression crossed his face. Perhaps if he was human he would have blushed. As if to change the subject, he met my eye. "Y/n, there's more you need to know. Think you've got room for another information dump?"

I swallowed. The expressions of the Cullens was grim. Regretful. They wouldn't have dragged me into this hell scape if they didn't have to. I appreciated Edward's sentiment, but I was much too used to not having a choice to let it fool me. "Lay it on me."

I would never regret four strung together words more in my life.

"It's about Sam's gang," Alice said gently. My face went slack.

As if to confirm my fears, Edward added, "More specifically, it's about Embry."

....Fuck.

-

Forever Tag: @bitchyseawitch @alexa-playafricabytoto @chipster-21 @captainxholmes @justanotherdaydreamersoul

Story Tag List: @daddyslittleone65

[bakedpieceofchicken]

YES THIS IS @inexchangeforyoursoul‘S FAULT AND YES THEIR ART IS AMAZING WHY DONT YOU GO CHECK IT OUT ALREADY AND (EVEN THO THE POST I LINKED HAS IT) IM ALSO GOING TO LINK THE AMAZING FIC SOMEONE ELSE WROTE FOR IT!!!

Word Count: 3,173

Summary: Sako becomes unexpectedly acquainted with his colleague’s son.

notes: i have never written mr. compress in detail before this, just a warning. oh well, let’s see :^)

There was a knock on the door.

Keigo’s wings perked up in response to the unexpected noise. The little winged boy, distracted from the TV show he had been watching, stood up on the couch with both feet (dad would definitely yell at him if he weren’t asleep right now). He looked at the door--and then looked at the littered floor space between the couch and the door.

Keigo launched himself off the couch, using his wings to guide him above the floor to the door in only one magnificent leap. Alright, maybe it could be considered cheating that he was using his quirk. Nobody was keeping count, though.

Giddy that he made it (he knew he would but it still made him happy knowing he achieved such an impressive feat), he opened the door slightly and peaked his head out (just like how dad taught him)...

...to a stranger he didn’t recognize. Disappointment hit Keigo like a truck.

“You’re not mom,” Keigo told the man, frowning.

Sako blinked at Keigo, slightly startled at the sight of the child. Takami never mentioned having a son and Sako certainly never suspected the man of having one.

The boy didn’t look like his father too much but there were still some distinct similarities that made it undoubtedly clear that they were related by blood.

“I’m afraid not,” Sako said with a deeply sympathetic tone, taking off his hat and slightly bowing politely to the boy. “My name is Sako Atsuhiro. I’m a colleague of your father’s and I came to discuss work-related business with him. Is he around?”

“He’s sleeping right now,” Keigo said. “He doesn’t like being woken up.”

“...Should I come another time, then?” Sako asked. “What time would be appropriate?”

Keigo shrugged. “Sometimes he’ll be asleep for an hour and sometimes he’ll be asleep for ten.”

That did sound like the sleeping schedule of the erratic man Sako was horribly familiar with. “Ah.”

“You can come in though,” Keigo said. “If you want.” He opened the door wider this time, allowing Sako to see the absolute massive mess that was their apartment.

Used food cartons unceremoniously thrown around on the ground, empty bottles of alcohol all over the place--was that broken glass on the floor in the middle of the living room?

It was even worse than what Sako had imagined Takami’s living space would look like. He had a child living with him, for goodness sake.

“Don’t step on that spot.” Keigo pointed to the area with the broken glass. “Dad says the pieces are sharp and you could cut your feet there.”

Well, the pieces wouldn’t because Sako was still wearing his thick-soled shoes. He appreciated the kind sentiment of the child, though. It was terribly endearing and so... different from his father.

“Thank you for the warning, my boy.” Sako ruffled the child’s hair. “Do you have a name that I could call you by?”

“Takami Keigo,” Keigo answered, floating himself above the ground to the couch. The couch was nice; it was his safe spot away from the rest of the apartment. “You’re the first person I’ve met who wants to visit dad. The only other person who ever visited was mom.”

Not surprising. Sako wouldn’t consider Takami to be a very sociable man. “Where is that mother of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Keigo answered in a genuinely naive tone. “She left and then never came back.”

Sako winced at the brutal honesty. The situation had become quite clear to him, now. Sako sighed, taking another glance around the apartment filled with trash. Oh, Takami... what a failure of a father you appeared to be. This just won’t do, will it?

“Do you want to see a little trick I can do?” Sako asked the child with a wink. Keigo’s eyes lit up with interest and Sako felt pride swell in his chest for having made some form of light return in the boy’s eyes. 

“What kind of trick?”

“Well, if I told you now, it’d be spoiling the show, wouldn’t I?” Sako shouted, raising his arms in a grand gesture. He plucked the remote from the couch and turned off the TV. “Are you ready to watch the show?”

Keigo brightly smiled in anticipation. “Yeah!” He said, having appeared to be more excited than ever. He bounced in his seat on the couch, eyes locked onto Sako, and Sako was oddly sentimental about the fact that he was performing for someone else again.

“Let the show begin!”

--

“Hi, Sako-san,” Keigo politely greeted, opening the door at the sight of the man. “Dad’s not here at the moment.”

“That’s fine,” Sako said. “Do you mind if I...?”

“No!” Keigo gestured for Sako, “Come in!”

Sako stepped into the apartment, examining it once again for any changes since his last visit. Keigo ran to his spot on the couch again, looking at him expectantly.

“Are you going to do another trick?” Keigo asked. “I wanna see!”

Oh, the crushing guilt Sako felt at that moment. Of course, the boy wanted to see him perform again. He was so enraptured the last time Sako saw him--and he kept asking about how Sako pulled his tricks off. Sako replied to all those questions with the same answer: A magician never reveals his secrets!

Which made the boy quite irritated, but Sako was not a lenient man when it came to the art of his practice.

“Your father should be home soon,” Sako said after glancing at his watch to keep track of the time. “There wouldn’t be enough time, I’m afraid.”

Keigo’s face scrunched up and those wings of his drooped in disappointment. If his goal was to guilt-trip Sako even further, than he’s certainly achieved that in no less than five seconds. How keen of him to manipulate Sako’s emotions like that, intentional or unintentional.

“Well, maybe I have time for one trick...”

It was rather amazing how a child’s mood can fluctuate wildly within such a small span of time. Keigo’s wings perked up immediately and the child’s eyes lit brightly in comparison to the dullness that once occupied them. He didn’t smile, but he was visibly cheered up at the prospect.

“Watch closely,” Sako ordered the boy. He pulled out a small piece of paper and a black pen from his coat pocket. He drew a little bird and showed Keigo his drawing. It was a silly little doodle, nothing too amazing. That wasn’t the point of the trick.

He took one of the empty bottles from the floor, rolled up the piece of paper and inserted it into the bottle. Keigo watched him, observant eyes focused on the movements of his hands.

Sako then placed the bottle on the living room table in plain sight where Keigo could see it. His gloved hands blocked Keigo's view of the bottle and the bottle magically disappeared in between his hands that moved apart from each other.

“You turned the bottle into a marble,” Keigo complained. “That’s the most obvious trick you could’ve pulled off!”

“Oh?” Sako grinned deviously. “Why don’t you check what’s under your seat, then?”

Keigo blinked before hesitantly standing up from the couch and lifting the couch cushion to reveal an empty coffee can.

“Look inside,” Sako said and the man could see the realization visibly dawning upon the boy. It was quite amusing, he had to admit.

Keigo, already having a good idea of what was going to happen, shook the can and out came the rolled up piece of paper. He unfolded it and his face displayed visible shock at the drawn bird.

“No way!” Keigo shouted, jumping. He showed the drawing to Sako with a look of disbelief. “There’s no way! How did you do that?”

Sako only smirked smugly in response, causing the winged boy to huff in annoyance at the lack of verbal response. “One of these days, I’m going to figure it out! I bet you have a second, secret quirk!”

“That’s quite the theory,” Sako said. “Unfortunately, it’s not true. Ask your father if you really don’t believe me.”

“I bet dad doesn’t even know!” Keigo added. “You can’t keep it a secret from us forever!”

The door opened, revealing Takami (who was fashionably late by ten minutes). He blinked at the sight of Sako and his rather riled-up son together.

“Am I interrupting something?”

--

Takami was sleeping soundly on the armchair, snoring loudly and reeking of alcohol.

Sako had decided (against Keigo’s warnings) to try to wake the man, but the man was a heavy sleeper. He decided to give up after five minutes of trying to wake him up to no avail.

“You’re lucky,” Keigo told him. “He gets really mad if you actually do wake him up.”

“That’s how that happened.” Keigo pointed to the area with broken glass, which still had not been cleaned up. It had been weeks now.

“My, oh my,” Sako shook his head in disapproval. He took one of the plastic bags lying on the floor and started to pick up the individual pieces of the broken bottle with his gloved hands. “Do you happen to have a broom in the vicinity?”

“No,” Keigo said. “Sorry.”

It’s not your place to apologize, Sako thought sourly. He felt pity for the boy, if he had to be honest. This apartment was definitely not in suitable living condition for any children.

“Is... is there any way I can help?” Keigo asked. He bent down besides Sako and tried to pick up one of the pieces with his bare hands--

Sako grabbed him by the wrist. “Don’t,” he hissed to the boy. “You’ll cut yourself.”

“It’d be faster if I helped,” Keigo said. “I’ll be super careful, I promise!”

“No,” Sako smoothly said. “This isn’t a job for children. Why don’t you go back to watching television?”

“I’m not a kid,” Keigo argued. “Okay, I’m five. But dad says I’m really mature for my age! So I can do grown-up things too!”

“Go.” Sako swatted Keigo away. “This is non-negotiable.”

Keigo pouted and watched the TV with a disgruntled look on his face. After Sako was finished cleaning up the glass, he began to pick up the other trash that resided in the apartment. Keigo watched him with observant eyes and Sako sighed dramatically.

“Yes, you may help if you wish.”

That got Keigo scattering to pick up as many cans and bottles as fast as he could, almost as if he was playing a game with himself. The child was so fast that he was cleaning up at an even faster rate than the leisurely slow pace Sako had set for himself.

“Too slow!” Keigo taunted Sako with a grin. “Looks like I win!”

There was never any game that had been decided in the first place. Sako wasn’t one to ruin a child’s moment of victory, however. Meanwhile, Takami slept peacefully in his chair, oblivious to the world and his son who noticeably deserved a much better father.

--

Sako was a man of many talents, and cooking just happened to be one of them.

Takami was nowhere to be seen (not unusual), but Sako found that he didn’t mind. His son was a much better companion, anyways.

The child seemed to be in quite a lot of awe at his slice and dice technique. It wasn’t magic; no, not in the slightest. Keigo was impressed nonetheless.

“All the pieces came out evenly!” Keigo noted. “Can I try?”

“No,” Sako said without skipping a beat. Keigo had been trying to use his wings to elevate himself to where he could reach the knife that he left on the cutting board on the counter top, so he used a hand to force the child back down to the floor.

“No fair,” Keigo whined. “I never get to do any of the grown-up stuff.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Sako scolded Keigo. “Trust me when I say that doing ‘grown-up’ things isn’t as sensational as one would make it out to be.”

“Now, be a good child and wait in your seat.”

“You can’t make me,” Keigo said. “You’re not my dad.”

True, true.

“Yes, but I’m cooking for you out of my own hospitality. The least you can do is let me work my craft.” Then, Sako had an idea.

“Think of it like this: you don’t interrupt a magician when he’s performing on stage, do you?”

“...No,” Keigo said.

“Exactly!” Sako pointed to the seat on the couch. “After you, my valued audience member.”

Keigo was rather compliant after that, waiting by the couch but his eyes weren’t on the television. He watched Sako cook with curious eyes and an even more curious mouth if the questions that slipped out of the child were anything to go by.

Ah, the innocence of youth. How Sako missed it. Keigo was a good reminder of the children Sako used to perform for.

Keigo gaped when Sako set down the plates. “Nobody’s cooked ever since mom left.”

The little smile that came with the first bite warmed Sako’s heart. He was certainly no father by any means and he never planned on ever having a child; but Keigo made him wish that he had a son he could cook for, a son that he could perform tricks for and a son that he could live for.

“Thanks, Sako-san!” Keigo chirped, looking at Sako with such appreciation and admiration in his eyes that it almost hurt to watch. 

All he did was feed a child. Apparently, that was the world to Keigo more than anything his father might have done for him in months.

--

“You’re good with kids,” Takami said. “Real good.”

“Well, I’d hope that is the case,” Sako stated. “Considering my former occupation and whatnot.”

“It’s annoying,” Takami scoffed. “That kid constantly asks about you all the time now. It’s starting to grate on my nerves.”

Perhaps if you took better care of your son, he wouldn’t be asking for my company so much then, Sako thought. He always knew Takami had a bit of a reckless side to him, but he didn’t realize how irresponsible the man could be. Especially considering the man was in charge of a little boy now.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Sako sighed. “I can’t help what the boy wants, after all.”

“I want you to stop barging into my apartment unannounced,” Takami said. “It’s my house. I never gave you permission to come and go as you please. I thought you were supposed to be the polite one.”

“I wouldn’t need to barge into your apartment unannounced if you would just keep to your word about our meeting times,” Sako said. “Ever heard of the word ‘punctuality’? No, I’m guessing you haven’t.”

Takami growled--he growled as if he had a right to be mad about the bullshit Sako had called him out on--and he slammed the can of beer he had been drinking out of against the table. “That doesn’t give you the right to speak to my son!”

Oh, how things have escalated. This was a rather troublesome development, Sako had to admit. “If it bothers you so much,” Sako had to remind himself that Keigo is not his responsibility, “then I won’t talk to your son again. Though I ask of you to make a more conscious effort to meet with me at the times you prescribe me.”

“Deal,” Takami grunted. “Glad that’s done and over, then.” The man finished the can of beer in one swig.

--

Sako tried not to let himself think about Keigo.

Keigo wasn’t his son. He wasn’t his responsibility. Yet, there was this certain guilt that occupied Sako’s mind whenever he was even reminded of the boy’s existence. It was hard to go through an entire day without thinking about the fate of the winged boy.

So, one day, Sako asked, “How’s Keigo doing?” because it was a little suspicious how the man didn’t seem concerned in the slightest about returning home despite it having been hours since he was last home.

“Oh, that little bugger?” Takami grunted. “He’s out of my hands already.”

Sako froze. “Excuse me?”

“The government took him away,” Takami said. “Keigo went and saved this group o’ kids or something and apparently one of the agents saw that he had ‘potential’ in him to become a hero.”

“Him? A hero?” It wasn’t that Keigo didn’t have potential (oh, he most certainly had potential). It was that... well...

“Yeah, well,” Takami spat on the ground, “I signed their damn contract. It’s what his mom would’ve wanted, anyways.”

“And what will you do when the boy finds out about your true occupation?” Sako asked. “Does he even know?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Takami said. “I’m not that stupid.”

Yes, what a stupid father Takami would be if he didn’t tell his own son what his real career was. Honestly, did the man even think twice before opening his mouth to speak?

“He’s better off in their hands,” Takami rationalized.”You saw what things were like when it was just us two, didn’t you?”

Yes, and then you pushed me away from your son, Sako bitterly thought. The man had no one to blame but himself for his irrational behavior. “I suppose you’re right.”

“He’ll get a real bed now,” Takami added. “And three meals a day. I bet he’s already forgotten all ‘bout me.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. Despite Takami’s misgivings, Keigo never stopped looking up to his father. Even Sako could tell how much the boy seemed to idolize Takami no matter how much Takami seemed to neglect his own son.

“Perhaps,” Sako muttered disdainfully.

--

Sako felt like an old man when he watched Keigo--no, Hawks-- all grown up and flashing these award-winning smiles at fans who recognized him.

It felt weird to call him Hawks.

No man lives by their stage name alone--that is a dangerous ideal that most performers steer clear of. Yet, it seemed that nobody else knew the man’s real name. How peculiar, indeed. Sako wondered if that was their doing.

Irrationally, he turned to a random civilian from the crowd. How daunting he must appear, being a supposed “leader” of this new huge organization to have approached a new recruit spontaneously.

“Would you like to see a trick?” Sako asked with as much charm as he could muster up. When they agreed, Sako pulled off a magnificent card trick that seemed to stun them into silence.

Someone else, who had been observing him perform the trick (oh dear, where did this crowd come from?) asked him, “How did you... do that?”

Sako didn’t even need to answer the question himself. Oh, how that once-young boy knew him and his antics too well. Even with his face covered, the name would of course undoubtedly have been a dead giveaway (if he was more careful in the past, he would have given out a fake one).

Right on cue, Hawks was there, saying, “Don’t you know how this works? A magician never reveals his secrets!”

He taught him well. Perhaps, a little too well.

[nonbinaryizutsumimoved]

i’ve been dreamin’ of you

pairing: tangfu (tang mo/fu wendou)

fandom: the earth is online

ao3 link

* spoilers for chapter 210

It was incredibly dark at this time of night. Shadows covered every corner of the room, making it impossible for even Tang Mo's enhanced vision to detect anything with sight alone, but his other senses didn't betray him.

The even lull of breaths gently resonated in his ears. The warmth of the body next to him was contagious, causing his whole body to ease into the heat. The subtle scent of lemons intermingled with sweat tingled his nostrils.

All aspects indicated Fu Wendou's presence.

His arms, strong and secure, were another indicator, wound firmly around Tang Mo's waist. Their breaths synchronized as they lay together, savoring this rare moment of solitude, of quiet. If it weren't for the weight of Tang Mo's newly obtained ability, Fu Wendou's ability, he could easily imagine that their circumstances were different, that they were back to before the Earth went online.

Tang Mo’s overactive mind entertained the thought of how it would have been.

They would have meet when neither of them could handle the anonymity anymore, of only having a name but no face, finally acquiescing to the unspoken desire to be near each other.

Back then, the both of them would show this desire through implicative remarks stating their availability and hints of when they were in the area, but it never went further.

Despite this dancing around, Tang Mo pictured the coy exchanges would have soon been replaced with more direct advances. Without the same sense of responsibility and distrust brought upon by the black tower’s world, they would have gotten together sooner, Tang Mo was sure of it.

When their glances lingered a little too long, it wouldn’t be because they were calculating, analyzing what the other’s next move would be. When they held hands, when they kissed, when they had sex, it wouldn’t be under the pretext of exchanging an ability. When they quietly confessed to each other, there wouldn’t be the burden that it could be the last time they say such words.

But the Earth went online. His now slightly built muscles and the scars that didn’t quite heal fast enough reminded him of that fact.

Tang Mo closed his eyes and released a deep sigh.

While his psychological resilience improved since the Earth went online, there was no doubt that he was still impacted by everything he encountered, plagued by the memories of what could have been. He simply buried the fallout of his and the rest of the world’s current situation deep inside, out of wanting to both represent stability to his peers and to fulfill the all-consuming need to survive, taking root in him since the very first game. He wasn’t to be held back by the ever-growing corpse count, on top of images of the horrors he witnessed in his day-to-day life. He adjusted similarly to how he proceeded when his parents died, but there were no funerals for lost people now. There wouldn’t be time to cry when it was all over, because in this version of reality, it seemed it would never be over.

Tang Mo was grounded by the sensation of a face nuzzling at the crook of his neck, his boyfriend’s lips gently pressing on the expanse of skin there. There wasn’t much of a need to sleep anymore, not since the Earth went online, so he knew Fu Wendou was awake. It was confirmed when the other’s inquiring voice reached his ears.

“Something wrong?”

Tang Mo opened his eyes, and while he couldn’t clearly see Fu Wendou, with being so in tune to the other’s mannerisms and expressions, he sensed one of his eyebrows was quirked downward, forming a crease on his forehead. Tang Mo smiled, albeit embittered by his prior thoughts, and turned fully so he faced the other man. This time, Tang Mo tipped his head, resting the side of his face atop the other’s shoulder. The words he muttered dripped with the same bitterness he carried in his smile.

“Just thinking too much. Even in moments like these, I can’t really relax. At night, I usually pretend to fall asleep and let my mind go blank for a couple hours or even sometimes manage to get some rest, but when I’m with you like this, I can’t stop thinking… which isn’t usually a problem, but it’s different this time. Maybe I just feel so comfortable, like how it was before, that I let myself linger on the more difficult thoughts I have yet to confront.”

Fu Wendou lifted one of his hands from the other’s waist and traced it up his back to nestle it between some stray locks. His slender fingers toyed with a particularly curly piece of hair, and a quiet, contemplative hum settled in his throat. Fu Wendou said himself that he wasn’t sure what qualified as comforting, but the gesture could be read as such. At least, it was able to make Tang Mo feel somewhat placated.

“What are the difficult thoughts?”

Tang Mo glanced upwards, where he pictured the ceiling was.

“Everything about our lives since the Earth went online. It’s so overwhelming. It feels like when I got Eve’s Reward again, like my head is going to explode. The only difference is with Eve’s Reward, I forgot everything soon after I woke up. My memories of the instances, the monsters, the people that have died… I carry it with me, in the back of my mind, always. I just push it down because there’s other things to focus on in the moment, but now that I’m just laying here, on top of thinking of facing the sixth floor tomorrow too... I don’t know, it’s just all coming to a head finally.”

Fu Wendou figured it was better not to speak at this time. While he shared similar thoughts, he might try to rationalize Tang Mo's concerns if he were to talk it out. But how could he form reason out of all this death, all this tragedy? There was no logic to any of it --- it was just the cruel state of reality now. Any of his attempts at what could be interpreted as reassurance would be pretty pointless, since they would ultimately be hollow words, a temporary answer to a persistent problem. Plus, Fu Wendou assumed that wasn’t exactly what Tang Mo needed right now, to hear what Fu Wendou was certain the other already knew. While this was a moment of vulnerability for Tang Mo, he wasn’t naive when it came to the state of the world now, ever familiar with everyone's self-serving attitude and twisted morality, of the crushing weight of their impermanence.

So, Fu Wendou lay there, continuing his movements in his boyfriend's hair, because that's all he could do.

Without any interruptions from Fu Wendou, Tang Mo decided to continue his explanation, blinking a couple times first, then taking a steadying breath as he continued.

“... I was also thinking about us. Of how differently things could have turned out without the towers.”

Tang Mo imagined Fu Wendou’s brows crinkling upwards as he paused his movements in Tang Mo’s hair.

“What was different?”

“Well, we were just less restricted. We weren’t overly cautious or dutiful in the way we are now. We were kind of painfully mundane in comparison. We certainly weren’t constantly bracing to face a pyramid of death, murderous fairytale creatures, and the equivalent of the X-Men around every corner.”

His eyes lowered to where he pictured Fu Wendou’s face was, envisioning the other’s wry smile.

After a couple minutes of the words hanging in the air between them, Tang Mo was certain Fu Wendou fell asleep, or at least left the conversation at that. Tang Mo didn’t necessarily mind, especially since it was kind of ridiculous to entertain the scenario based on their present lifestyle. So, Tang Mo was surprised when Fu Wendou finally spoke, a certain surety in his tone.

“Maybe we’ll have that chance to go back someday. It probably won’t ever be the same as it was before, that’s just impossible at this point, but I know you know that. Still, maybe one day we can have a semblance of that life. Together, we could pick the pieces up of what’s left and figure something out. Whatever we make of it, I want to be there to see it through.”

Despite the obvious optimism of such a possibility at the face of the end of the world, a reassuring feeling struck Tang Mo’s heart, spreading through the rest of his chest. It reached his smile too, some hopefulness seeping into his previously sour expression. As foolish as it probably was, for some reason, Tang Mo believed him.

Of course, while he remained troubled by all which permeated his thoughts, this was a brief reprieve. As Fu Wendou said, he already knew that it would never be that simple for them, that it was impossible for them to have anything like before the black towers, and that it also wasn’t guaranteed they’d even make it past the sixth floor, but he still wanted to guard that small promise of the future.

Tang Mo rearranged his arms so that they loosely encircled Fu Wendou’s neck. He leaned close to where he thought Fu Wendou’s face was, going based on where the other’s breath tickled his skin. He was unable to resist the urge to press a kiss to where Fu Wendou’s lips might be, but instead hit the corner of his mouth. At Tang Mo’s own miscalculation, a small bubble of laughter slipped past his lips. Fortunately, Fu Wendou guessed what Tang Mo sought for, and this time, they both leaned in, Tang Mo’s laughter smothered by their kiss. By the time Tang Mo parted, not without peppering other parts of Fu Wendou’s face -- his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin -- and trailing some down his neck, he rested his head against his chest, then nodded and finally replied.

“I want to see it through, too.”

His hands now gently brushed those strands of hair at the nape of Fu Wendou's neck. The movements gradually slowed after a couple minutes until they eventually stilled completely.

While there wasn't a need for sleep, Tang Mo felt his eyes grow heavier and the numbing feeling of approaching slumber tickle the edges of his consciousness. Perhaps the fatigue of his overthinking, the events of this past week, or their previous activities hit him all at once. On the other hand, maybe he was just relishing in the feeling of the plush mattress, his companion’s sturdy body flush against his own, and the soothingly pleasant vision of a far-off future. In his own bed, he never felt so peaceful, so comfortably warm, or at least, he couldn't recall those times anymore. No matter the source of his exhaustion, he would succumb soon.

Before he dozed off completely, sleep-heavy words escaped him.

"Thank you, Victor. I love you, you know."

Fu Wendou smiled, genuine joy contained within his expression. They knew they loved each other; even if their minds were uncertain in the turbulent months leading up to now, their hearts always knew. To finally hear such a phrase spoken aloud was like sealing some truth of their fate, that they would have ended up like this no matter the circumstances. At the thought, he allowed his eyes to close contentedly.

They would attack the sixth floor tomorrow. This might be the last time they have a moment like this --- to lay in bed together, to hold each other, to sleep, to pretend, to fulfill what they quietly yearned for in the several months long past. So, Fu Wendou imprinted this memory into his mind, of the sensations and the conversation, and eased against Tang Mo’s form, slowly pulled under by a wave of drowsiness. Softly, he reciprocated his boyfriend’s sentiment.

"I know. I love you too, Mo Tang."

Once the response passed through Fu Wendou’s lips, the only sounds in the room were the ebbing inhales and exhales carrying the night into morning.

[impishnature]

Simply Special

AO3

Rating: G

Summary: All Ford wants is one peaceful day.  But then again, maybe peace is overrated.

AN: I am back- just something short and sweet but hopefully the beginning of a new year and back to writing! I have a new years resolution and everything.

.

It had started off as such a peaceful day.

Ford had began the day, sat quietly at his desk in the cabin, closing the door from the cold sea breeze that blew in off the deck. Stan instead had taken it upon himself to do the daily tasks, that were necessary on their journey, as quickly as physically possible, neither of them quite prepared for the sudden drop in temperature they had encountered as they drifted across the open waves. 

They were miles from any ports, and further still from their next anomaly according to Ford's research and so as far as either of them were concerned it was a day to hide below deck, swaddle themselves in as much heat as possible and ring the niblings back home who were desperate for an update. And with that notion building a nostalgic excitement in both of them Stan had rushed above deck to get as much done as possible is an quick a time as possible, all so that absolutely nothing would keep them from that endeavour. 

It had made Ford chuckle, just how raring to go his brother had become almost as soon as the idea had been mentioned. But he couldn't really blame him as his smile widened into a toothy grin and his eyes lit up with that soft endearing gleam they took on whenever the kids were mentioned. After all, he was sure that his expression was similar, his smile tugging at his cheeks as he tapped his pen against his journal with no small amount of jittering impatience. And really, who wouldn't be excited to talk to the twins back home? Their adventures were probably more exciting than theirs anyhow. 

So now it was just a waiting game. Ford had sent a message to the kids back home and was setting about getting the last of his scribbled notes written up in neat into his journal while he waited for Stan to be done and for the kids to respond. There would be time for everything he was sure, what with the differing time zones and everything else the kids would be up to but he knew telling Stan that would have no effect whatsoever.

In fact if he shouted now, he was sure that Stan would dart down and then sulk at him for getting his hopes up. 

He grinned at the thought, a soft chuckle escaping him. No, it was better to keep Stan occupied, maybe get some warm drinks ready for when he was done and have a few peaceful hours to themselves before they talked to the kids.

He was quite looking forward to it. Even if they lived together in such closed quarters, it still didn't mean they talked all the time about small trivial matters, nor did they take time to rest and unwind unless absolutely necessary. They were off on their adventures, after all! Just like they'd always dreamed. Most of the time, it seemed, they were chasing after the next big exploit. Or if they were taking a pause, it was more often due to a significant struggle with an anomaly- and those fretful times could hardly be called restful or relaxing in the whole scheme of things.

No, it wasn't very often that they actually got to just sit and stop and breathe for a moment.

It would be nice. Just this once to rest and relax-

"Ford!"

That is if the universe didn't have other ideas.

Ford's chair fell back to the floor with a thunderous clatter, his heart abruptly in his throat from the sharp yell. He was sure he'd left a dark line of ink across the entire neat page he'd been writing, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Something inside him lurched painfully as autopilot took over and he was racing towards the door without a second thought. It had been such a high pitch yell, so shocked, so insistent that everything else seemed insignificant in respect to his brothers well being.

His heart beat a discordant rhythm against his rib cage, in tune with the awful whistling alarm inside his brain- a mantra that something's wrong- something's wrong-

His imagination took over amidst the spiralling words, creating a myriad of scenarios- none of them good- that played out behind his eyelids, all of them showing him what he could find waiting for him on deck. He swallowed drily, praying to any deity that he'd encountered across the multiverse that none of them were the case.

Why couldn't they have just one peaceful day?

The cabin door groaned under his forceful exit, his shoulder slamming against it as he barged through. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment through the haze of survival instinct and concern, but his gun was already in hand and loaded as he darted out- 

-and promptly skidded a metre out across the deck.

Ford blinked, gasping out an ice cold puff of air as he held his ground- barely, his stance wide and unsteady. He was used to all kinds of terrain from his years in the multiverse but that didn't mean it hadn't caught him unaware in the heat of the moment. He shook himself as he took in the white, cold flakes dotted across the deck, the cold layer of sheen that coated the wood, scarcely giving any of it a thought, his mind still caught in the panicked trap of finding Stan and whatever predicament he'd found himself in. He cursed himself for the lapse in judgement, stabilising his footing, head snapping from side to side as he tried to assess the situation with the minimal amount of movement. When nothing caught his attention, no flashing teeth or rocking boat he chanced something more reckless, his survival instincts now warring with his brotherly panic. "Stan?"

"Over here!" 

Ford gave a long exhale of relief, not realising he'd held his breath as he waited for a response, another gush of mist exiting him at the sound of his brother's voice. He didn't sound hurt, that was a start, and he had enough in him to call back. All good signs. He sidled up to the wall of the cabin, turning to the unseen portion at the back of their small boat with his gun still ready in one hand as the other pushed against the wall, an anchor against the slippery wooden boards. 

Even if Stan could speak that didn't mean they weren't in danger.

Ford took a steadying breath, slowly creeping down the small railed area towards the back of the boat. He couldn't hear anything now, not over the whistling wind that sent a shiver down his spine, and bit at his exposed ears, but he hesitated to call out again. He didn't want to give their assailant any more warning than he already had. Instead he stood himself just out of sight, counting down in his head, listening intently for a hint that Stan was there and safe and when there wasn't one, his hand steeled, his gaze hardening. He took one last second to ready himself before launching out, one hand latching onto the railing as the other came snapping up, gun in hand-

And found only his brother in his reticle. 

He froze, blinking back against the small flakes that were continuing to blow in from across the sea, half thankful that Stan was staring out across the water instead of turning to face him just yet. He turned his attention in the direction he was looking, eyes desperately scanning for any sign of danger out in the dark, cold waters.

Even with nothing dangerous in sight, his heart still felt ready to leap out of his chest.

"Stan? What happened?"

Ford's eye went back to Stan, watching as his face changed, eyebrows furrowing and mouth down turning.

"Happened? Nothing happen- whoa!" Stan had finally turned to him, recoiling a step back at the gun still trained towards him. He cursed as his foot slipped, gripping tight to the bar to stop himself from going anywhere further than he'd intended. "Jesus- what the hell, Ford?"

Ford shook his head, his mouth a thin line as the warning inside his head clunked down into confused, hesitant silence. "Why did you shout for me?"

Stan blinked at him a few times, the pair of them seemingly suspended in a perpetual state of confusion as they both stared at one another. It was Stan who broke the silence, just as Ford went to repeat himself again, concerned that there was more to it than met the eye. He quirked an eyebrow, his eyes disbelieving and almost amused. "It's snowing."

Ford stared at him, the whistling warning starting up again, though now at a different key, filled with trepidation, as if it wasn't sure where the danger lay, or if there was any danger at all, and that was even more alarming. His face, however, turned deadpan. "I can see that." He lowered his gun, though still kept it in hand as his eyes skimmed across the water. "Why did you shout?"

He turned back to Stan when he didn't receive an answer straight away, finding the look he assumed was on his face mirrored back at him as his brother waited to have his undivided attention once more. "Because it's snowing."

Ford didn't break eye contact with his brother, his mind ticking over the information through a fog, as if it couldn't quite believe him. When it finally registered, he closed his eyes, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Relief poured through him in equal measures to the irritation at being scared for no good reason. "We grew up with snow, Stanley. You lived in Gravity Falls for the last 30 years." He chanced another glance at his brother, feeling ready to look at him without yelling after a few moments of darkness, his hand rubbing against the sore spot on his chest where his heart had been beating it's painful melody. "It's snow, Stan."

Stan flushed, his eyes darting out across the water as he turned slightly away from Ford. His voice grew gruffer as he spoke, embarrassment permeating though he was obviously trying to hide it. "What? We're at sea. I didn't know it snowed out this far..." He sighed, eyes on his hands for a second. "Maybe that's obvious- probably, why wouldn't it? It just took me by surprise." 

Ford closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath in. He paused to push all the emotion out. Stan hadn't meant to scare him, he'd been excited. They might need to have words but- that self-deprecation just wouldn't do. He opened his eyes again and leant against the railing beside his brother, taking in the minuscule white flakes as they flooded out across the water, a foam of snow that brushed through the waves and spun small dances through the air around their boat. He gave Stan's shoulder a soft bump as he hummed appreciatively. "I didn't know that either, never really crossed my mind."

He felt more than saw as Stan relaxed beside him at his words, the gruff edge sanded down again as they stood and stared. Ford felt a harder nudge back to his elbow, one that he was oddly used to from far too many conversations stood like this.

"Sorry, I scared you."

Ford huffed, shaking his head. They'd laugh about this later, he was sure. 

But just as he was about to say as much, he glanced over at Stan, and the words stuck to his tongue.

It was just Stan, like he always was, but there was something else too, something that had him staring as his brother obliviously kept his eyes trained on the view.

It was an odd familiar feeling, something from so far back that the way it snapped to the forefront of his mind gave him whiplash with it's intensity. It wasn't all too dissimilar to the expression he had had this morning. His eyes were sparkling, his mouth curling up with a bright smile, just as it had with the thought of talking to the twins. But there was something else there, a different light, one of wonder, one of pure joy at something so simple that it took Ford completely by surprise.

And reminded him so so much of a much younger boy. One who would joyfully wake him up in the middle of the night just to tell it was snowing, every year no matter how many times they had seen it all before. One that would drag him off the first chance he had to go see everything covered in the soft sheen, to go stare at the beach and laugh at how strange it all seemed, to watch the sand and pebbles vanish beneath a white coating right up to the waters edge.

He'd forgotten. Those soft little memories that sit there in the quiet, darkness, giving only that soft hint of warm nostalgia that tinged those childhood memories. Of course he remembered playing in the snow, snowmen and snowball fights and all the other things- but it hadn't been important. It had all been filed away into his childhood to resurface only as fuzzy recollections. Endearing meaningless moments. They hadn't been the big ones, not like the Stan'O'War. Nor had they been so special to escape the distraught tirade as he clamped down on them for years and years. When every warm memory had had a bitter, cold edge to it. When waking up to snow for the first time without a joyful yell had felt so bitingly cold and he'd pushed all the memories so deep down that he couldn't even explain why.

But now... now it felt warm again, even with the cold nipping at his fingers.

A different warmth perhaps, but a warmth nonetheless. 

As he stood and stared, it looked like the years had dripped off of his brother. Of course they were still old, he knew that logically, but it was so hard not to see the boy he'd always known, just sitting there below the surface, in the bright young eyes that gleamed from behind thick glasses.

His brother was still the same.

Some thing's never changed.

And after everything, after just how close they'd come to losing him- how they had lost him for a time- the knowledge that after everything that had happened, he could still stare with that same wide eyed look of wonder at the simplicity of snow...

There was nothing that quite compared to it.

"But..."

Ford started as Stan spoke, locking on to his eyes as they glanced at him for just a second before out to sea again.

"...It really is something, isn't it?"

Ford swallowed, the lump in his throat growing at all the connotations the notion had now brought up. He followed Stan's gaze out across the water once more, really taking it all in, though his answer would have been the same whether or not he got it or not now.

"Yeah." He coughed, his voice coming out more croaked than he'd intended. "Yeah, it really is."

And really, with the way Stan beamed at him in return, he knew it was the best answer he could have given.

~~~

They stood in silence watching the show for a few minutes before something glaring obvious became apparent.

Stan raised an eyebrow once more as he felt Ford shift beside him, giving him a once over that confirmed his suspicions in one fell swoop. "That worried that you didn't grab a coat?"

Ford's mouth twisted down, scowling at him ever so slightly. "It wasn't the first thing on my mind if I'm completely honest."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, I know. You should probably go grab it now though, right?"

Ford hummed, tapping his fingers against the rail before giving him a quizzical look. "I mean I could but... we also have already promised we'll call the twins."

Stan gasped, Ford recoiling ever so slightly at the sudden loud noise. "The kids! They'd love to see this!"

And with that he was off like a shot- or as close to a shot as he could be before slipping and grinding to a sudden halt against the cabin wall. Ford watching him with his eyebrows raised, with no time to really help or stop him with his sudden propulsion, instead only able to observe as one foot went out from under him and his arms windmilled precariously.

How he didn't go over was a mystery in and of itself to Ford. "Walk, knucklehead."

"...Shut it, Poindexter." Stan huffed back, regaining his footing and walking, though still at a faster pace than Ford deemed really necessary. "Come on, how much will Mabel love this? We can't tell them it snowed out here and then not show them evidence. I'll even get your coat while I'm in there." 

He guessed he couldn't argue with that infallible logic.

Or maybe he just knew there was no point trying.

Ford laughed, a bark that really couldn't be stopped as he leant back against the railing, staring straight up at the sky as the small flakes continued to patter around him. Despite the cold that made him shiver, he couldn't help but feel exponentially warm at it all, relief curbing into endearment and fond nostalgia. 

Perhaps Stan had a point. 

Sometimes something simple could be really special, after all. 

.

AN: Fluff~ Brought on by a really cool video of snow over the sea that looked ethereal *o* I broke it up slightly because I realised I’d written a good end point- but still wanted to write excitable Stan almost falling face first cause for Mabel he would.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

A Friend in Deed (Holmes/Watson)

                                                    A Friend in Deed

 They hobble forward through a swirling blanket of milky-gray fog that rises from the banks of the Thames, coating the rest of the city, thick and suffocating.  It invades the space around them, distorts the shapes of the haphazard huddle of houses piled along the narrow cobblestone that marks the unsteady squelching passage of their soaked feet with wet patches of footprints that disappear almost instantly into the same impenetrable haze. The fog obscures it all – the city in its peacefully ignorant slumber, the wharf that was to be his final destination, the Thames that was to become his grave, (that would have become his grave had it not been for Holmes), the macabre tableau left on the docks behind them – the twisted brushstrokes of flames and gunpowder on a canvas steeped in blood, the angry shouts of their few remaining pursuers.  

 In this the fog is their ally: it concealed them, allowed them to escape.  And Watson would like nothing more than to believe that they are safe now, that all they have to do is follow the path that Holmes had set them on as they scrambled up the river bank behind the wharf; that they would soon, hopefully, reach Bow Street, where they can finally get the much needed help.  Only he can’t tell one street from another in the sticky milkiness, and Holmes has stopped huffing out directions long ago, sagging heavier and heavier into Watson’s side with each stumbling step. And Watson’s heart stutters in helpless, gnawing worry as he spares quick fretful glances at his companion’s increasingly pasty complexion, as he listens to the harsh, labored rattle of his breaths.

 Hold on, he urges him silently, wrapping his arm tighter around the man’s shivering, sodden form, noting with growing despair that his arm has now become the only thing keeping his friend upright. Hold on.

 ***

“Holmes!” Watson waves at him enthusiastically, beckoning him over the moment Holmes steps over the threshold. “I’d like you to meet a very dear friend of mine, Cecil Hayward.”  

 “A former brother-in-arms, I see,” Holmes notes dryly, brown eyes skimming over the man in his usual all-observant manner.

 “Oh he’s much more than that!” Watson protests, taken slightly aback by an air of almost hostile suspicion he can sense rolling off his flatmate.  “This is a man who saved my life on more than one occasion.”

 The man in question smiles shyly at the effusive praise, shakes his head.  “Wasn’t quite as heroic as that,” he protests, holding his hand out to Holmes in greeting.  Holmes takes it, courteous as ever, but Watson can see the reluctance in the move.

 “Pffah! I can safely say I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for you,” Watson defends, clapping Hayward on the shoulder with perhaps a bit more fervor than necessary, but Holmes’ strange attitude just puts him on edge. “Even if all I had to thank you for was preserving my sanity during those endless Afghan nights.”

 He went a bit too far perhaps with that phrase, revealed a bit too much. Holmes’ face betrays nothing, however, as he quirks an amused eyebrow at him, a careful, blank mask firmly in place.

 “I only just arrived this morning,” Hayward cuts in again, breaking up the tense silence that has filled the suddenly too stuffy room.  “I heard from a mutual acquaintance of ours that John had settled here in London, so I decided to seek him out.  Catch up on old times, as it were.”

Holmes’ lips twitch in annoyance, his dark gaze skewering Watson another instant longer before he shifts it to land heavily on Hayward’s hovering form.  

 “Your clothes smell of cigar smoke and cheap alcohol,” he begins calmly, dispassionately, head cocked to the side as he examines the man in front of him as one would a bug on display. “You have specific red mud on your shoes and the bottoms of your trousers that puts your most recent whereabouts near Great Wild Street – a location not overly desirable to a gentleman of your caliber, unless you go there with a specific purpose of finding trouble or unsupervised gambling opportunities.  Judging by a stub of a lottery ticket I can see peeking out through a hole in your right coat pocket, I would venture to say it was the latter. Given that the location is quite out of the way of any train station or ship port and quite off  the beaten path for those visiting London for the first time, I would also venture to say that you came there expressly for the purpose of gambling and that you have been there, and by extension, in London, for some time.  Judging by the state of your clothes, I would guess at least a week.”  Holmes takes a step in Hayward’s direction, and the other man shrinks back from him, eyes wide.  “You are a compulsive gambler,” he states flatly.  “A bad one.  You’ve been on a losing streak as of late.  Got yourself in quite a bit of debt.  And one of your creditors recently asked you for their money back.  Seeing how you ran off to London and stayed underground all this time, I’m going to assume that that creditor is someone not only very persistent but also highly dangerous.  Someone, perhaps, of the organized crime caliber.  They have followed you here, gave you an ultimatum. A memorable one, judging by that poorly disguised bruising around your neck. You promised to make good on your payment, but luck wasn’t on your side.  So you grew desperate and decided to seek out your old war buddy and use his naiveté and his goodwill as­–”

 “Enough!” Watson roars, indignation making his cheeks burn. “That’s quite enough.” He grasps Holmes’ shoulder none too gently, pushes him back toward the door of his own room.  “I think you should leave.”

 Holmes flicks his gaze back toward him, the burning intensity of his stare making his eyes appear almost entirely black.  “I’m merely observing and pointing out certain things your friend neglected to share with you, my dear Watson.”  His voice is still perfectly calm, but there’s an undercurrent of danger there, of a barely restrained emotion Watson can’t quite put his finger on.

 “Not all things need to be observed, Holmes,” Watson retorts sharply, his anger fueled by Holmes’ continued, stubborn resistance.  “If you actually had any real friends of your own, you’d know that.”

 The words fly off his tongue before he has a chance to stop them, and he’s genuinely horrified by what he just said, his mouth stilling in a shocked ‘o’ as he watches Holmes’ reaction, frozen like a man on the edge of a crumbling precipice.

 Holmes flinches as if struck, his eyelids fluttering – brief and faint like the wings of a butterfly, the pallor of his cheeks becoming more pronounced.  Then he nods, taking a small step back toward the door and out of Watson’s reach.

 “Quite right,” he acquiesces quietly, voicelessly almost, and the smile he gives Watson looks like it physically hurts.  “Quite right.”  He nods again, tips his head to Hayward.  “By your leave, gentlemen.” And he’s gone before Watson can come out of his stupor long enough to call him back inside.

 ***

  His toe catches on the edge of an unevenly laid stone, his foot slipping on the pavement left slick by the heavy mist hanging in the air and the soggy soles of his own shoes. It’s a minute slip, to be sure, but it’s enough.  He lists to the right, his own awkward angle and Holmes’ added weight putting a sudden undue strain on his bad leg, and, struggle as he might to remain upright, gravity comes out the victor, landing the two of them in an ungainly heap on the wet, hoofbeaten pavement.

 The fall is nothing if not brutal, the particularly vicious twist of his injured leg underneath him leaving his body locked in a state of rigid-limbed agony, his nerve endings igniting a firework of sparks behind his tightly clenched eyelids as he lies there, still and breathless under Holmes’ equally unmoving form, waiting to ride out the pain.

 He isn’t given much of a chance.  

 Dimly he hears a sharp hiss of a breath above him as the weight on top of him shifts, and he feels the dull pressure of his companion’s arm against his ribs an instant before that weight disappears from his chest altogether, Holmes collapsing onto the cobblestones next to him with a soft moan of pain.

 “Holmes.” He scrambles up, wincing as the hurried movement echoes sharply in his battered thigh. “Holmes!”

 Holmes is on his back beside him, eyes screwed shut in obvious agony that sends rippling shudders through his rigid frame, hitches the all-too-rapid, broken rhythm of his breaths, sets his jaw in a sharp, gritted line.

Their unscripted fall and Holmes’ subsequent move to lessen Watson’s physical burden did the man no favors, and Watson grinds his teeth in renewed worry mixed with a heavy dose of self-recrimination.  Because Holmes shouldn’t be suffering on his account.  Because all of this, this entire disaster of a night, is entirely Watson’s own fault.  

 There’s a ragged tear in the fabric of Holmes’ pea coat about five fingers below his left collarbone, an ever-growing wet patch around it that differs from the filthy wetness of the Thames that has soaked both their clothes.  There’s a similar though smaller tear on the back of Holmes’ shoulder, he knows.  An entry point for the unerring, merciless path of a bullet, a bullet that was meant for him.  

 Watson deserved it, too. For being willfully, naively blind to Hayward’s true intentions, the intentions Holmes warned him about in that infuriatingly calm and slightly superior fashion of his that riled Watson so unexpectedly at the time, made him lash out at his friend, viciously, undeservedly.  For letting himself become entrapped as he was, led like a lamb to the slaughter.  For not preventing Holmes from getting shot.

 ***

 He stands stiffly on the wharf, looking with a kind of numb detachment at a night-washed splatter of ruthless faces, encircling him and Hayward like an ever-tightening hangman’s noose.  Winces at Hayward’s pathetically remorseful “I’m so terribly sorry, John,” blurted out in the instant before a gun trained on his former companion fires, silencing the man forever.

 He shakes his head at Hayward’s useless words of apology, clamps down on a wave of resentment toward his former friend.  Because there’s no point in being angry anymore.  Because he’s going to die next, right here on those filthy docks through no one’s fault but his own.  And his only regret are the sharp, cruel words he threw at Holmes the last time he saw him and the look on Holmes’ face when he said them.  He regrets not getting a chance to set things right between them, not getting a chance to say goodbye.

 The goons that dragged them here to the wharf had ambushed them at Hayward’s squalid apartment, the apartment Hayward pleaded with him to come to. There had been no use in arguing, no use in trying to explain that Watson had no association with his friend’s debts, that the apparent stability of his own financial situation (the appearance that Hayward latched on to in the hopes that Watson would somehow be able to cover the enormous debt that threatened his very life, the appearance that led the man to seek Watson out in his desperation) depended to a quite large extent upon the revenue from Holmes’ cases and Punchbowl fights, that Watson was currently, after having paid off his portion of the rent, completely and utterly broke.  The men who had come for Hayward wanted money, and if that money wasn’t there, they were prepared to cover their losses in another way.  Watson was merely collateral damage, for men like that are not in the habit of leaving witnesses.

 An explosion – loud and powerful – rends the quiet night, the resulting blaze spitting forth a hansom-shaped fireball that rolls toward the edge of the docks where they stand, its burning wheels shedding sparks along the way like some infernal machine hell-bent on swallowing them whole.  Watson’s would-be executioners stagger back in startled confusion, firing wildly in the direction of the new threat.  And then Holmes is there, emerging out of that roaring hellfire – unexpected and welcome and terrifying and beautiful, and Watson ceases to breathe as he watches Holmes run toward him, even as gunfire shifts its direction back toward him.

 He doesn’t realize that Holmes had been shot.  Not right away.  Not when Holmes barrels into him, the force of the impact propelling them both off the docks and into the river.  Not when the two of them fumble in the murky blackness of the Thames, Holmes tugging on his arm, pulling him downriver, away from the wharf, from the angry shouts of their would-be killers, tucking them both behind the thick veil of the fog. Not until the two of them stumble finally out of the water and Watson begins to scramble up the muddy bank only to realize with a start that Holmes isn’t following suit.  Not until he turns to find his friend collapsed on his knees in the filthy sludge, right hand clamped tightly around his left shoulder, swaying feebly from side to side…  

 ***

 He shakes the memory away, leans over his friend, gently pulling the top layer of fabric away from the wound to take a closer look.  The wound is bleeding still, albeit sluggishly, Holmes’ formerly white shirt clinging to his body, pressed fast against the skin by a thick, sticky amalgam of water, mud and blood.  Watson’s own shirt is just as filthy and the doctor in him balks at introducing more dirt into the wound, but there’s nothing for it, the wound must be tended, the bleeding stopped.  He was hoping to do it in the safety and relative cleanliness of the police station, but Holmes is ghostly white now, all color gone, and Watson doesn’t think his friend can afford to wait any more.  Swiftly he removes his own drenched jacket and vest, fumbles awkwardly with the buttons of his shirt, his fingers stiff and uncooperative from the cold.  He forgoes the buttons finally, choosing instead to simply rip the material apart as is.  Presses two of the hastily bunched up pieces hard against the entry and exit wounds, murmuring an apologetic, “Forgive me, old boy, I must get this bleeding under control,” when Holmes’ ashen face twists in response to the brutal pressure.

 Holmes peels his eyes open – a visible, taxing effort.  Blinks sluggishly up at Watson, pain-glazed eyes narrowing in observation.  Draws his own conclusion from the wretched expression on Watson’s face – a twisted mask of fear and self-loathing.

 “I’m sorry about your friend,” he breathes out, voice hoarse and paper thin.   “After our conversation I was somewhat… distraught… and I… I didn’t act on my suspicions as I should have.  Had I returned to our rooms sooner, I could have–”

 “Stop!”

 Watson presses down hard on the stubbornly bleeding wounds, and the momentary flash of surprised confusion on Holmes’ face is instantly whited out by pain.  Dark brown eyes slam shut, the body underneath Watson’s hands flinching sharply, waxen lips pinching to stifle a scream.  And Watson wants to rage at himself, wants to bang his head against the mist-slick bricks until his physical pain reaches the level of his internal anguish.

But a display like that would be counterproductive right now and he bites his tongue on a useless apology. It seems he’s doomed to hurt his friend today, one way or another, and no words of remorse would ever feel adequate. So he shifts his hands instead, uses the remainder of his shirt to wrap up the wound, keeping the improvised bandages firmly in place.  Takes care to be gentle this time – a pitiful attempt to atone for his earlier unnecessary roughness.

 “Stop it,” he repeats, softer this time, placing his hand carefully on the man’s sporadically heaving chest and waiting, breath bated, until Holmes opens his eyes again and looks at him.  “Please.”

 Holmes watches him silently from beneath a half-veil of water-clumped eyelashes, his gaze searching, questioning, seeking, no doubt, to ascertain the reason behind Watson’s uncharacteristic outburst.

 “I will not have you blame yourself for my own shortcomings,” Watson insists fervently, obliging the man’s curiosity. “You warned me about Hayward’s motives, and I refused to listen. I–”

 “He was your friend.”

 There’s no judgment in Holmes’ voice, no resentment – it’s just an observation, a bland statement of fact. On the surface, at least, that’s all there is.  But Watson knows him.  Too well. Has learned to read the complex, puzzling landscape of Holmes’ emotions, concealed from the rest of the world by a well-practiced and seemingly impenetrable mask.  And the faint whisper of sadness underlying Holmes’ words, indistinguishable for anyone who doesn’t know him as intimately as Watson does, rings louder to him than the deep peal of Big Ben.  

 “So are you,” he protests, his mouth suddenly dry.  Because Holmes is pulling away from him, he can see that.  Protecting himself, locking his shell tighter around himself, locking Watson out.  And Watson can’t let that happen, he cannot!  “Hayward was someone that… he was a relic from my past, and his reappearance in my life in no way excuses how I treated you!”

 Holmes blinks, bloodless lips twisting into a poor semblance of a smirk.  “You were ruled by emotions, my dear Watson,” and there’s no mistaking the rueful tint to his voice this time.  “People do foolish things when emotions are involved.”  He pauses, swallows with visible difficulty, eyelids slipping down another fraction of an inch.  Adds in a quieter voice, sounding almost resigned somehow.  “So I’ve been told.”

 “Holmes.”  He hears the plea in his own voice, the desperation. Feels the tremble in his fingers as they curl subconsciously into the folds of Holmes’ shirt – waterlogged and stiff with blood.  “Holmes, please!”  

 Something flashes in Holmes’ eyes at the supplication – a shadow, dark and troubled – and he looks like he’s about to respond when a distant clamor of agitated voices carries toward them through the fog, and Watson feels the man’s body grow tense underneath his palm.  Slowly Holmes turns his head toward the noise, brow furrowing with concentration as he attempts to discern something in the syrupy grayness.  

 “Our pursuers seem to have picked up our trail,” he concludes, the urgency of the moment seeming to override his waning energy, his eyes once again sharp with focus.  Huffs mockingly, his expression adopting a hint of his usual haughtiness, “Hardly a credit to their tracking skills, as you and I have marked a path so distinct that even an anosmic hound could follow.  Still…”  He shifts his gaze back to Watson, peers up at him, eyes bright with urgency but carefully, carefully shuttered.  “You need to go now, old boy.”

 “And leave you behind?” Watson hisses, outrage at the notion making his throat burn.

 Holmes nods, unperturbed. “Quickly, too, if you don’t mind. Preferably, before our new friends get here.” His right arm rises weakly up off the cobblestones, too-too pale, bloodstained hand waving briefly toward a drab lump of a building in the distance before dropping heavily back down to the ground.  “Turn left at that house over there and you’ll– ”

 “I do mind!” Watson interrupts him heatedly, the mere thought of leaving Holmes alone making him nauseous, the words almost stifled by the bile that rises in his throat.  “I do mind. And if you think for a moment that I will walk away and leave you here then you’re a bigger fool than I could ever imagine.”

 Holmes’ gaze narrows, his cheek twitching in annoyance.  “Don’t be daft, Watson,” he spits, voice harsh despite the overwhelming exhaustion lining every word.  “Those people are not so eager to catch up to us just to commiserate with you about the weather.”

 “All the more reason for you to come with me,” Watson counters, wrapping one hand around Holmes’ uninjured shoulder.  Braces himself on one knee at Holmes’ side as he prepares to pull him upright.

 Holmes shakes his head, tugging ineffectually at his trapped arm to pull it free of Watson’s grasp. “It’s no use,” he states with such calm resignation that Watson feels a sudden urge to forgo care and decency and yank the man up by the lapels of his ruined pea coat just to shake some modicum of sense into him.  

 Holmes reads him, like he always does. Smiles crookedly at the savage intent in Watson’s eyes.  “I have no strength left in me, old cock,” he explains, the weariness in his voice so heavy, so palpable that Watson feels it in his own bones.  “Even if you manage to pull me up, I will but drag you back down again.”

 “I won’t leave you to die here, Holmes.” Watson’s voice trembles as he speaks, the growing weight of despair pinning him down, turning his limbs to lead and his heart to ice. Feels the strain on his fingers as they dig harder still into the flesh of Holmes’ arm.  “Not after what you did.  Not… I… I can’t.”

 Something oddly like regret flickers in Holmes’ eyes, his smile fading into a bitterly wistful half-smirk.  “I can understand how, in light of your similar experience with Mr. Hayward, you would be inclined to feel indebted to me for saving your life,” he ventures, his dark gaze knowing, skewering Watson on the spot.  “Let me put your conscience at ease, dear fellow.”  His voice grows fainter as he speaks, the pale eyelids drooping lower with every strained syllable.  “I confess to you,” he exhales, the labored breaths tickling the back of Watson’s hand, “that my motives for jumping in front of that bullet were entirely selfish.”

 “Selfish?” Watson echoes distractedly, feeling like he missed something again, something important.

 Holmes blinks sluggishly, pulls his gaze up once more – a visible, arduous effort.  And Watson is left breathless by the look of unmistakable pity in the dark brown depths.  “You see, Watson, but you do not observe,” comes unbidden to his mind, and he reels, feels frozen all of a sudden, caught in Holmes’ all-too-knowing stare like a bird in a net.

 The corners of Holmes’ mouth tick up ruefully, a soft huff of a breath slipping through his nose.  “I did not wish to experience a world without John Watson in it,” he murmurs feebly, and Watson’s heart momentarily stutters to a halt, his lungs constricted with a sudden, acute lack of air as the words linger in the air between them – a solid, damning weight.

 Holmes watches him a heartbeat longer, a minute twitch of the second hand.  Whatever he sees in Watson’s face, it isn’t what he was hoping for, it seems, and his mouth twitches bitterly, a shadow of anguished disappointment passing over the ashen features.

 “I do wish you wouldn’t waste the fruits of my selfish endeavor, Doctor,” he admonishes hollowly, letting his eyes drift shut, cutting himself off from Watson as surely as if he had just slammed closed a heavy wooden door between them.  “Our pursuers do not appear inclined to indulge your hesitation. Leave.”

 Watson stares down at him, his emotions – a whirring powder keg of stunned confusion, sharp, stomach-clenching fear and a searing, heart-roiling sensation he is genuinely terrified to name. They bubble up inside him – a volatile concoction reaching critical mass, like one of those highly flammable, explosive mixtures brewing over Holmes’ Bunsen burner.  He, too, feels like he’s about to explode, his heart thudding so violently, so painfully in his chest, he wonders if his ribs might not crack from the brutal pressure.  He wants to cry, to scream, to rage.

 In the end, he does neither. Follows instead the simple, unmistakable message in the savage, erratic rhythm of his heart.  

 He reaches out with trembling hands, cups his friend’s gaunt and frighteningly anemic face with the gentleness and trepidation of one cradling a most rare and delicate of treasures. And then, before his already daunted nerves fail him completely, he leans in and crashes his suddenly too dry lips over Holmes’ slack, bloodless ones.  

 It’s sloppy as kisses go, desperate, bruising.  But then Watson isn’t striving for perfection and there really isn’t time for proper kissing etiquette here – not with their quite deadly pursuers hot on their tail, not with Holmes bleeding out on the wet cobblestone too far away from help. All he wants, all he needs to do is to drive his own urgent point across, to make Holmes understand.

 Holmes gasps against his mouth, eyes flying open in mute shock.  There’s an uncharacteristically raw openness in the golden-brown gaze, a vulnerability Watson hasn’t really observed before, and he curses himself for being so, so unbelievably blind not to have seen it sooner.

 “I’m selfish, too,” he clarifies, pulling back just far enough to pant out the words against Holmes’ quivering lips, his hands never relinquishing their frantic hold on the pale, clammy skin.  “I’m selfish, too.  And I do not wish to leave here without you.  Do you understand?”

 Holmes stares up at him, unblinking, timid childlike hope warring with distrust in the intense, probing gaze. Watson submits to his scrutiny, opens himself up to it, willing Holmes to finally see what it is he’s been looking for all this lost time.

 “You are a fool,” Holmes whispers finally, shaking his head with an expression of disbelieving wonder that belies his words.  

 “Aye,” Watson agrees, moving to gently pull Holmes to his feet.  And his heart sings with triumphant joy when Holmes doesn’t resist this time.  Submits to Watson’s manipulations with nothing more than a pained grimace and a bitten lip; leans heavily into Watson’s side as they begin to hobble once more toward the safety of the police station.  “People do foolish things when emotions are involved,” he quotes cheekily, smiling at the strained huff of amusement that elicits from Holmes.  “So I’ve been told.”

The End

(feel free to check out my stories on AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woland/pseuds/Woland)

[eyesaremosaics]

Feminist film recommendations?

Hmm interesting question anon. I will list some of my personal favorites (in no particular order) hopefully you enjoy them.

1. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

I felt like there was fire in my veins walking out of the cinema. Not only is Charlize Theron’s Furiosa a total badass, but the best thing is that it’s not just her. To have such a range of women portrayed equally and beautifully was so uplifting. Women caring for each other, lifting each other and fighting hard for what is right. We need more of that, both in Hollywood and in life.

2. The color purple (1985)

Read this book in high school, about a sisterhood of women, all standing together against the racism and sexism that they face and somehow coming out on top. It’s an inspiring story of women coming together in the face of adversity.

3. Gone With the Wind (1939)

Scarlett was the most coveted female film role of all time. Despite the films obvious flaws as a result of the time period in which it was made, overall this is a feminist parable. Scarlett is above all else–a survivor. She never gives up, digs her heels in, rolls up her sleeves and does it. She faces adversity with admirable courage. Despite the fact that she is a terribly flawed human being, you can relate to her. She sets her mind to something and she does it, whether it’s dragging her family out of poverty or eating as much BBQ food as she damn well likes. Her flaws make her human, which adds richness to the overall story. Scarlett has inspired me to persevere at the darkest of times. When all hope seems lost, “tomorrow is another day.”

4. Erin Brockovich (2000)

I love Julia Roberts, and this movie stands out as one of her best in my opinion. A single mother, fallen on hard times, but somehow holding everything together. Making the best of a bad situation, an eternal realist. Portraying a woman as much more than she appears. She uncovers some dark secrets (chemicals leaked into the sewer systems) which led an entire community to develop terminal illness. She works tirelessly to expose those responsible and find justice for those who can’t help themselves. My favorite line is when this bitchy secretary says: “maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.”“Yeah lady because that’s all you got, two wrong feet and fucking ugly shoes.” Bahahaha

5. Suffragette (2015)

Tells the story of the women’s right movement at the turn of the last century. It taught me to stand up for myself, and for women everywhere. Very proud to have that as a part of our history. Incredibly grateful to all the women who fought tirelessly, endured persecution, humiliation, incarceration to ensure my right to vote.

6. Pocahontas (1995)

Pocahontas is VERY loosely based on the true story. Disney took a lot of liberties here which mask the horror of early American history and its impact on the native Americans. HOWEVER, what I like about her characterization in this film… Is that she was strong, rebellious, bold, adventurous, and wise. She went wherever the wind took her, a true free spirit. She was graceful, and kind in ways other Disney princesses were not. The purity of her heart and the message she had to bring, stopped a war. She is a warrior, but not one that fights with weapons, she fights with love. In the end she chose herself and her duty to her people over a man. I wanted to be just like her when I was a little girl watching this in the theater, and she still inspires me today, nearly 20 years later.

7. Fried green tomatoes (1992)

I watched this film when I was in high school, with low expectations and was very surprised to discover how moved I was. A story of two women, finding empowerment within oneself. The main character listens to a story from an elderly woman and learns how to love herself. I believe it’s important to encourage other women and learn from each other.

8. Obvious child (2014)

Jenny Slate’s character has an abortion after a one night stand with a guy she actually really likes. However, she knows she isn’t prepared for it and chooses to terminate the pregnancy. There’s great friendship and family in the film and it really helps to destigmatise abortion.

9. Wild (2014)

The book is arguably better, but the film is worth watching. A woman goes out and hikes one of the worlds longest trails, on a mission to find herself and to prove that she can finish what she starts. Finding herself on the elements, and getting clarity. Very freeing and inspiring.

10. Kill Bill 1 & 2 (2003)

Uma Thurman is a boss, and everyone knows it. She is so vice tally connected to her inner life as an actress, always enjoy watching her. These films are what she is most known for nowadays, and for good reason. It’s a story of revenge. A woman is almost murdered by the man she loved, pregnant with his child. Wakes up in a hospital, having been in a coma for years. Suffered all kinds of indignities, she willed herself to walk again. Dragged herself by her fingernails until she could rise up, strengthen her skills as a warrior, and set out to settle old scores. She takes each person down one by one, yet you still find the humanity behind each character and the reasons why they did what they did and became who they were. It’s about survival, perseverance, and ultimately in the end–forgiveness. Leaving the past behind, to start over again.

11. She’s beautiful when she’s angry (2014)

It’s a documentary about the feminist movement in the 1960s and 1970s, with interviews with many of the women who were part of it. Sure, it makes you angry to see injustice, but it’s also highly uplifting to see what these women did, and how it paved the way for equality forty to fifty years later. These women were, and still are, amazing figures who haven’t stopped fighting.

12. How to make an American quilt

A group of older women reflecting on their lives around a quilting table. Each of their stories are so inspiring, and the way they all come together to heal from their traumas is very powerful. Winona Ryder’s character (Finn) is experiencing a late twenties crisis of identity, and is unsure about wether or not to get married to her long term fiancée. Listening to the lives of all these women helps bring perspective and clarity to her. Life is never black and white, life is like a quilt. You build as you go along.

13. Frida

This Selma Hayek-fronted, Academy Award-winning biopic of the feminist icon portrays the artist in a whole new light. It’s amazing to watch the story of any incredible historic figure succeed against the odds, but double if said figure is also a woman and shot so beautifully by Julie Taymor.

14. The hours (2002)

This film follows three women as their lives weave in and around the narrative of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. The multi-generational movie shows how people are connected through time by similar angst, anxieties, and personal struggles.

15. The Stepford wives (1975)

What happens to women when things are too perfect? The answer might make their husbands happy, but the truth behind what is happening in this ideal-seeming suburb is nothing short of horrifying.

16. Miss Representation (2011)

A documentary on the way women are treated and portrayed in the media, this film broke open the truth behind the images women and young girls are force fed on a daily basis. Start your watching here, if you can, and then continue on to these other films to see how much has and hasn’t changed.

17. North Country (2005)

A fictionalized account of the first majorly successful sexual harassment case in the United States, this film follows the female miners who fought for their right to work without suffering the abuse their male coworkers heaped on them because of their gender.

18. The Headless Woman, Lucrecia Martel

New Argentine Cinema figure Lucrecia Martel draws connections to the country’s dark political/class struggles, transposing its “disappeared” from the mid-to-late ‘70s into a sedate, challenging story about a woman’s fractured state following a fatal accident and its ensuing cover-up.

18. Princess Mononoke, Hayao Miyazaki

A thread of feminism weaves itself through the work of Hayao Miyazaki. Perhaps his most mature film, Princess Mononoke features a memorable and tenacious heroine, San, who subverts feminine stereotypes and is written without the fanciful quirks commonly found in animation. She is serious and single minded. Grounded to the earth, living in the moment. She is totally present, and pure. Even her rage comes from a pure unadulterated place. Wolf-goddess character Moro deserves attention as an unlikely mother figure that is fierce and, well, totally pissed off (you would be too if people were destroying your home), but also wise and nurturing. Fighting for what’s right, against impossible odds. Being humbled by nature, the ultimate female reclamation. So many layers in this film.

19. Dogfight, Nancy Savoca

A rare film set during the Vietnam War and told from the perspective of a woman, Nancy Savoca’s Dogfight reveals a different kind of cruelty people inflict upon one another, off the battlefield — in this case, a group of misogynistic Marines using women in a contest of looks. Lili Taylor’s peace-loving Rose, who becomes one of the targets in this game, soon realizes she’s being courted by River Phoenix’s Eddie for the wrong reasons — though his guilt and seemingly genuine interest in Rose is apparent. Rose confronts Eddie about the game, defending the honor of all women involved, which winds up bringing them closer together.

20. Alien, Ridley Scott

She’s not a sidekick, arm candy, or a damsel to be rescued. She isn’t a fantasy version of a woman. The character is strong enough to survive multiple screenwriters. She was lucky enough to be played by Sigourney Weaver,” said Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America President John Scalzi of Ellen Ripley from 1979’s Alien. Defying genre cinema’s gender clichés (she is gender neutral, really) as the clear-minded, intelligent, and capable officer of the ship Nostromo, Ripley is more resourceful than the men who employ her and steps in to take over when all hell breaks loose.

21. Orlando, Sally Potter

Our own Judy Berman recently highlighted Tilda Swinton’s performance in Potter’s adaptation of Virginia Woolf’s satirical text that explores gender and artistic subjectivity, a project that was ambitious in both form and content:

“Although it’s far more straightforward a narrative than most of her work, Virginia Woolf’s Orlando still presents one major challenge for the big screen: its protagonist is a nobleman in Elizabethan England who lives a life that spans centuries, and is suddenly transformed into a woman midway through it. Tilda Swinton may be the only (allegedly) human actor equipped to play the role of such a regal, mysterious androgyne, and her performance in this adaptation — also a breakthrough for director Sally Potter — became her signature.”

22. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, Jacques Demy

Celebrated for its vivid milieu, Jacques Demy’s sensitively characterized film is a superior look at an independent woman (Catherine Deneuve) in a romantic narrative who makes difficult choices about marriage, children, and survival that sometimes leave her alone — but she is never lonely because of that.

23. Daisies, Vera Chytilová

The young women in Vera Chytilová’s Czech New Wave farce “construct fluid identities for themselves, keenly aware of their sexuality, toying with the men who pursue them. It’s an exhilarating, surreal, anarchic experiment, framed by the turbulent 1960s.

24. Daughters of the Dust, Julie Dash

Julie Dash directed the first feature film by an African-American woman distributed theatrically in the United States in 1991 — a stunningly captured look at three generations of Gullah women off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia in 1902.

25. Meshes of the Afternoon, Maya Deren

The bar for avant-garde female filmmaking, born from personal experiences and anxieties. Maya Deren’s 1943 experimental classic builds its interior female perspective and constructs of selfhood through dreamlike imagery.

26. The Passion of Joan of Arc, Carl Theodor Dreyer

Critic Jonathan Rosenbaum on Carl Theodor Dreyer’s crowning achievement, released in 1928, that still painfully echoes contemporary cases of female oppression — the film’s silent context taking on an unintentional resonance:

“Carl Dreyer’s last silent, the greatest of all Joan of Arc films… . Joan is played by stage actress Renee Falconetti, and though hers is one of the key performances in the history of movies, she never made another film. (Antonin Artaud also appears in a memorable cameo.) Dreyer’s radical approach to constructing space and the slow intensity of his mobile style make this ‘difficult’ in the sense that, like all the greatest films, it reinvents the world from the ground up. It’s also painful in a way that all Dreyer’s tragedies are, but it will continue to live long after most commercial movies have vanished from memory.”

[jojotier]

Excuse You

(don’t worry, it’s an ogatani fic- not a callout or anything haha)

“When I’m big, I’m going to marry Genjirô!”

It took all of Ogata’s willpower not to immediately spew coffee all over the table in front of him, managing to just quietly choke on his gulp of bitter paste as the little girl across the table from him looked immeasurably pleased with herself. Tanigaki unfortunately hadn’t had the same luck, and the table in front of him had a small spot where his spittle had mixed with some tea. This was a fact he tried to cover up with some paper towels and a neutral expression as he glanced at Osoma thoughtfully. “... Is that so?”

“Yup!” Osoma said, pleased with the shocked reaction she’d gotten and swinging her legs gently. “I am! Because Genjirô is big and strong and cooks well, so he’ll make a good husband for me!”

“I see.” Tanigaki said very seriously, and Ogata already didn’t like that tone of voice. Logically, yes, this was the tone of voice Tanigaki tended to take whenever he was humoring children, but it sounded too much like a voice of sincerity for Ogata’s tastes in that moment. “I don’t really know about all of that, now- when you’re big, I’m going to be old, and I’ll get grey. I may not be able to hunt anymore either, depending…”

“That’s okay! I’ll love you anyway, even when you’re wrinkly and weird looking!” Osoma proclaimed, getting up on her chair to better illustrate her point. “Because I know you’ll never ever ever stop hunting, and even if you have trouble, I can come hunt with you and you can teach me how to set ALL the traps! And we can spend time in the woods and eat lots of good food and talk around the fire! And if you can’t talk it’s fine, because I’ll talk enough for the both of us.”

“Hm.” Tanigaki said, resting a hand delicately on his scruffed chin. The corner of one lip quirked up the slightest bit, and he tilted his head. “You sound very determined to see this through, Osoma.”

Excuse me. Ogata stared.

“Because I’m gonna make sure it happens!” Osoma said, clenching her little fist and grinning wide. “You can believe me on that!”

“Well now, how about this.” Tanigaki said, turning fully towards Osoma with bemused mirth shining in his eyes. “If you still feel that way in the future, and if I don’t somehow settle down with someone, I’ll think about marrying you too. But you need to think long and hard on that, because I think you can find a husband far better than me, easily. If you even want a husband at that point…”

You can stop humoring her now. Ogata privately thought, taking another sip of coffee that suddenly didn’t seem quite so bitter. Any time now.

“I will, I will! I will want a husband!” Osoma said, bouncing a bit on the chair before Tanigaki quickly picked her up so that he could set her in a much safer seated position. “And I’ll still want that husband to be you! I swear!”

“We’ll see.” was all Tanigaki said, and Osoma seemed pleased with that, so she went back to messing about on Tanigaki’s phone with the utmost childish glee. Ogata got up to deposit his mug in the sink when he caught Osoma looking back up at him, with what he could swear was a smug little smile on her youthful face. Then she innocently went back to Angry Birds, kicking her feet out energetically as she made small ‘pew pew pew!!’ sounds to accompany each colorful bird launched.

Was this kid…. Mocking him?

Pretty much any normal, well adjusted person would realize that no, a five year old wouldn’t be doing something as passive aggressive as all of that. Ogata on the other hand was neither of those things and was also filled with paranoia, dissociative tendencies and quite a lot of spite to boot.

Ergo, the obvious reasoning for that smug little smile thrown his way was that this child thought that she was going to get her wish, and that Tanigaki would actually wait all that time to go marry some pretty young Ainu brat to take on his arm instead of sticking around where Ogata wanted him. Anyone with a functioning pair of eyeballs would have seen it, though Ogata suspected that the Matagi oaf currently getting up to pour himself a second cup of shitty, slightly aromatic leaf water would not have those. The kid already had him wrapped around his little finger…

On his way back to his seat, Genjirô paused by Ogata and leaned down, pressing his lips against the corner of Ogata’s mouth in a way that broke his concentration. “Ogata, you haven’t moved for a full minute.” Tanigaki informed him, which was more or less Genjirô speak for Ogata what the fuck.

“Hm.” Ogata said, glancing out the corner of his eye to see if Osoma was watching. “I thought I heard something outside, is all. It always pays to be careful.”

“Ogata, no rifles at breakfast.” Genjirô sighed, and Ogata was annoyed to find the corner of his lip threatening to pull up as Osoma chimed in from where she was vibrating at the table, “Yeah, no rifles!! I don’t even know how a cat gets rifles in the first place….”

“A lot of determination and skill, I imagine.” Genjirô said sagely, brushing up against Ogata’s side affectionately before settling back at the table with his steaming mug of tea.

“I stole it.” Ogata said bluntly, watching with some satisfaction as Genjirô was given pause. Osoma clapped a hand over her mouth, leaning forward against the table so hard that she was bending in half across it as she gave a little ‘ooooo’. It was the kind of thing that all children did when they thought that someone was going to get in trouble, but what could Tanigaki do to him? Punish him? Perhaps make it to where Ogata couldn’t speak? Tragic… How ever would Ogata live…

But Tanigaki just sighed and sipped at his tea again.

Osoma was spending far too much time with Genjirô now, after she declared her plans to marry him. To the untrained eye, the shift would be unnoticeable- she seemed to keep herself busy and content most hours of the day with Huci inside this tent, with traditional trinkets and modern toys that Tanigaki bought and hid for her to find to keep her occupied whenever Genjirô was out and about, and for the most part didn’t overstep boundaries when wiggling in to take Tanigaki’s attention away. But she was there, getting closer and getting more touchy, despite Genjirô seemingly not realizing it.

Ogata knew that after the war the matagi’s senses must have dulled a bit, but that didn’t mean that it was in any way acceptable to overlook some kid trampling all over his space. It simply made Ogata all the more aware of the emptiness of the space beside him, watching the both of them chopping up the meat from a couple squirrels that Genjirô had caught earlier.

Sure, it would’ve been easier to just go to a store and grab some meat, but apparently Osoma had been wanting “real citatap”, so of course Genjirô absolutely had to go the extra mile for her childish whims.

Ogata sat near the doorway, watching the sickeningly sweet domestic scene. Osoma was settled partially on Genjirô’s lap, kicking her legs under the table as she held onto the knife. Genjirô laid one large, calloused hand over her much smaller ones and directed the chopping so as to not let her little fingers be chopped off and let her babble, “Citatap, citatap!” until the word lost any kind of meaning, both in Ainu or Japanese, and may as well have morphed into a stream of nonsense syllables.

Then again, he wasn’t sure what else he was expecting- Osoma was still a child, after all, and still clumsy with her speech at times, as all children were. Eventually she’d grow out of it, and she’d be eloquent and quicker to speak. She’d probably also end up being a far better cook than Ogata…

Genjirô glanced up at him, and Ogata caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He was almost too hyperfocused on the motion of the supple meat being sliced apart to realize at first. He met eyes with Genjirô, finding a relatively passive, but inquisitive stare being thrown his way. Then Osoma paused in her chopping and looked up at Ogata with a very similar look on her little face, though far less passive, before her eyes lit up.

“Ogata! Your turn!” She carefully set the knife in Genjirô’s hand and wiggled out his grasp, pattering around the table to where Ogata sat and tugging on his sleeve. “C’mon, you have to do citatap! Everyone does it!”

“Osoma,” Genjirô said gently, “I don’t think he would want to do it…”

“I’ll do it.” Ogata immediately said. Osoma gasped, then clapped in delight as she danced her way back over to Genjirô. Ogata wasn’t about to let her have her perch again. After getting up, he moved as quickly as he could, wedging himself in Genjirô’s lap.

Normally, Genjirô was right- this kind of thing wasn’t really his forte, especially since he could burn water if given the opportunity. His limited cooking skills in addition to the frivolity of the tradition was just another layer in the mound of reasons why normally he wouldn’t be caught dead doing this. But Osoma had gotten to sit here for a while, so now it was Ogata’s turn.

He could feel rather than see the confusion radiating off of Genjirô as he shifted, trying to move out a bit so that Ogata wasn’t essentially pinned between him and the edge of the table. Ogata moved with him until he was fully seated in Tanigaki’s lap with the wooden chair underneath them creaking ominously. He picked up the knife, and then realized that this was about the place where his own knowledge of what the hell he was doing ended.

Ogata stared at the cutting board where the tail meat was still in long strips, waiting to be chopped up, trying to find the best way to slice into the meat. They also left the bones inside of it too, didn’t they?

Osoma wiggled from where she was sitting in one of the other seats, eyebrows furrowing as she looked between Genjirô and Ogata. After a few more moments, she said impatiently, “Hey, are you gonna start?”

“Don’t rush me.” Ogata told Osoma plainly, still staring at the cutting board, with the knife in his hand hovering uncertainly above the meat. Then, he felt a warm sigh being heaved against his neck, and heard Genjirô’s deep voice rumbling in his ear with an obvious tone of amusement.

“Here- you do it like this…” He laid a hand over Ogata’s and guided his chopping, leaning forward against Ogata’s back so that he could have a better view of the board. They were silent for a moment.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Osoma said, tilting her head from off to the side.

“Ah, yes, I believe we are.” Ogata said before using his free hand to take Genjirô by the chin and pull him into a kiss. Genjirô paused, but leaned into it with a raised eyebrow and a huff of amusement, and Ogata’s eyes slipped shut. When the sound of the little girl sitting adjacent to them reached his ears, he considered it a victory. You’ll have to wait a good long while before you can do this, Osoma.

“Ugggh!!!” Osoma groaned in the exaggerated way that kids often did, sinking low in her seat as Ogata and Genjirô pulled apart again. “You adults and your kissing!! You’re so lovey dovey…” She pulled faces, seeming disgusted that any kind of kiss would ever take place in front of her little eyes, and Ogata just smiled.

He’d won this round.

“Ogata are you jealous of a five year old.”

“... Why would you think that?”

“Ever since Osoma said she wants to marry me, you’ve gotten clingier.”

“I have not.”

“You have so.”

“These are lies and slander.”

“You’re literally clinging to me right this instant, Ogata.”

The both of them lay tangled up in bed, pressing against each other despite the sweat and heat of the slowly encroaching summer outside. Sure, Ogata was still slightly drowsy from just having woken up, and sure his arms were still wrapped as much around Genjirô’s broad chest as he could manage, but he would hardly count this as clinging. They were cuddling- in that kind of disgustingly domestic way that if someone had told Ogata a few months ago that he would enjoy, he would have eviscerated them on the spot- but there was absolutely no clinging going on whatsoever.

“It’s not as if we can cuddle any other way, with your size.” Ogata told Genjirô blankly. “Frankly, it’s already stupid enough that you would even accuse me of such a thing, but I suppose I can’t expect anything less of an oaf like you, hm.”

Genjirô took one deep drag of breath in, the kind that made Ogata wonder if he’d ever been a smoker at some point, before he gently said, “I wanted to ask because I don’t want you to think that you need to compete for my affections.”

That gave Ogata pause, and he shifted back just enough to peer up at Genjirô’s face more clearly. “Is that what you think it is?”

“I know it is. Don’t try to hide it.” Genjirô stared back at Ogata with that disturbingly perceptive gaze that he held, eyes so intensely focused on Ogata’s face that it felt as if he was being stared straight through. He hated appearing in any way vulnerable, but when he was here with Genjirô, wrapped up in him and with those eyes staring holes through his own mortal soul, it was hard not to squirm. Even for someone like himself.

“Do you really have to bring it up?”

“Yes, and I may as well do it now while I have you here, so you can’t run.” Genjirô said this pleasantly, and all Ogata could do was sigh.

“... Damn, you know me too well.”

“Exactly. Do you really think I was serious when I said I would wait for her to grow up? She’s literally a fifth of my age.”

“You could do it, though.” Ogata said, huffing out another breath through his nose.

“I could, but why would I? I have you.”

With that, the both of them lapsed into silence. There really couldn’t have been anything else that could be said, after that, nor did Ogata really know what to say. Then again, emotions had never come easy to him.

It was easier to think that he himself was less than human, and that he’d simply had the heart burned out of him a long time ago. Emotions were messy, disturbing things, that made his chest swell with something unidentifiable and vulnerability to bubble underneath his skin until he was itching to crawl under a rock and let himself sink into the cool earth. It was a deep, dull ache, and it permeated throughout his entire being, but it felt strangely full anyway.

Wherever Genjirô smoothed his fingers across Ogata’s bare skin was warmed and soothed. No passing voice filled the silence, but he could hear the deep rumble of a hum on Genjirô’s breath, and it skittered across his nerves until the itch was chased away.

Maybe Ogata was full of paranoia and spite and whatever tendencies took him away from reality, but in that moment, wrapped up in Genjirô and anchored to a strangely cozy reality where his restlessness could rest, he was also full of love.

[breaktimewritings]

Snow on the Roof, Fire in the Hearth II Chapter Ten

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight I Chapter Nine

AO3

Deep in the forest near the Frontlands there was a hut. Milah smiled as she lay her eyes on it. Before, it had filled her with dread to see. It gave the hope of saving her son all those years ago, but she was also not so naive to know that there was no way they would be able to pay the price the man asked.

Now, things were different.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Hook said from behind her, tilting his head at the hut. “You sure this is the place?”

“It is.” Milah said firmly, approaching the rough wooden door.

Her knuckles were about to rap at the wood before a feminine laugh pierced the air. It had her whirling around and Hook placing a hand on his sword. Another figure had approached the hut with them, a tall raven-haired woman dressed in deep red and a high collar.

“It seems we both had similar ideas.” The woman said, her eyes scanning over Milah and Hook. “Though I’m not sure if you’re thinking big enough.”

“And who are you?” Hook’s voice deadpanned.

“Cora Mills.” The woman said, her eyes drifting to Milah. “And I believe we both want the same thing.”

Milah tilted her head, appraising the woman before her. She’d been around enough magic to recognize when someone was using it, though she couldn’t quite tell if the woman before her was one of darkness or light. She smiled well enough but it never quite reached her empty eyes.

“And what is it we both want?”

“Our children.” Cora said. “And revenge on The Dark Lady.”

A grin crept across Milah’s face. Suddenly, this odd lady was looking all the more like an alley. “You’re right. I believe we are after the same thing. Tell me, Miss Mills, how big do you believe we need to think?”

~

“A-and I am loo…looking forward to visi…visiting in the a…au…”

“Autumn.” Belle said helpfully, taking another sip of her tea. “It’s the season when all the farmers harvest their crops and sell them to make sure they’re ready for winter.”

“Oh!” Baelfire nodded, turning back to the letter, the teacake half forgotten on his plate. “She says thank you.”

Despite herself, The Dark Lady smiled. “She’s very welcome of course.”

“Can I use the dove again?”

“As long as I don’t need him.”

“I…” Baelfire paused, looking suddenly helpless. “Can you help me again?”

Belle blinked. She hadn’t expected the boy to ask her again. In all honesty she hadn’t expected him to turn up at her doorstep again with the letter at all. The first time, he asked if he could write his friend Morraine back, responding to the letter Belle had her write when she ended the Ogres war once and for all. She’d lent him her dove and helped him write a response. It had been a grand distraction to how restless she’d been feeling. Still, Mrs. Potts could read and write, as could Lumierre and Cogsworth. And Jefferson too for that matter! Surely one of them must be friends with the spinner family by now? Baelfire could have gone to any of them to share the letter. So why come to her? The boy must be crazy, just like his father.

“I’d be happy to Bae. See to Fillipe and the rest of your chores first, though. It’s getting very cold.”

“Yes m’.” For a moment, Baelfire had turned, ready to scamper off to the stables, leaving Belle again with her tea and book. However, something made him stop short. “Belle?”

Something in his voice had The Dark Lady raising a brow at the boy. “Hm?”

“How long had The Ogres War been going on?”

Belle’s jaw clenched, her expression darkening for a moment, but a moment was enough to send a trickle of fear up Baelfire’s spine as magic sparked around them for a moment. Finally, Belle sighed.

“Since before I became The Dark Lady.”

“Morraine said you ended it.”

“I did.”

“Couldn’t you have done that whevener you liked? I mean, you’re The Dark Lady.”

Belle shrugged. “I suppose. I simply didn’t think about it.” “So why now?”

Belle’s brows furrowed. Why indeed. Perhaps it was because the first time she’d tried she’d failed. Perhaps it was because she’d simply grown weary and bored of it all. Or, perhaps she actually felt the need to properly protect...something for once in her life. Either way, she only shook her head at Baelfire’s question.

“I couldn’t tell you.”

The boy didn’t seem satisfied, but he accepted her answer easily enough. He turned once again, though paused at the door of The Great Hall. “Oh!”

“Hm?” Belle hummed, pretending to be engrossed in her book.

“It’s almost Yule.” Baelfire said, his face alight with suck childlike happiness it made Belle’s chest ache. “Papa wanted to know what you wanted. That was another reason I was coming here.”

Belle’s lips quirked into a smile. “He’s sending you to spy on The Dark Lady? The fool.”

“What do you want though? There will be a gift exchange won’t there?”

No. There wouldn’t be. There never was. At least, not one she ever took part of. That day...Well, she never left her castle that day. But something about the way Baelfire’s eyes sparkled when he looked at her made her denial catch in her throat. “A blanket.”

Baelfire quirked an eyebrow. “A blanket?”

“Or just…” She paused, as if not quite sure where the words were coming from. “Something to warm my feet at night.”

With a final nod Baelfire was sprinting out, his mood restored. Belle let out a heavy sigh, sagging in her chair. With a wave of her hand, her tea and book were gone, replaced by her embroidery basket by the fireplace. With a hand stroking her round belly she moved to her settee, losing herself in the crackle and warmth of the flames and the clumsy movements of the needle and thread. She needed something for her hands to do. She needed not to think about the Yule that was coming, nor the way she’d spent the first Yule as truly The Dark Lady all those years ago…

~

Normally, no one would be found alone this day. Not even with the wind howling and snow so deep a small child could get lost under it. However, there was someone alone this day. Not that he wasn’t always alone. But it wasn’t as if that mattered.

“Hello, dearie.”

The apprentice stiffened, his cup of tea nearly slipping from his hands. He turned slowly, his brows furrowing at the sight before him.

The lady was dressed in a deep purple, marking of elaborate flowers embroidered over her sleeves and low-cut neck. The skirt fanned out beneath her in elegant ruffles, giving her the whole look of a rose. She’d be unbearably beautiful save for her glinting gold skin and the dark magic that sparked around her.

“So the rumors are true.” The apprentice said. “There’s a new Dark One.”

“Dark Lady.” Belle corrected, stepping around to stand before him. She sat at his table easily, giggling at the way his eyes widened. “Calm down I’m only here for a social call.”

“I don’t remember calling you.”

“It’s Yule.” Belle pointed out, raising a finger to wag at him. “You could be more hospitable. ‘Tis the season as they say.”

He didn’t move, only leveled a cold look at the lady before him. There was a tense moment of silence between them before she shrugged, her eyes leaving his to inspect his house once again.

“I was curious. I’m told I’m too curious. I don’t believe becoming The Dark Lady has helped.”

The sorcerer’s apprentice tilted his head as she waved her hand, summoning her own tea service as if not to impose on him. Her posture as she sat was perfectly poise and it was obvious from her speech that she was well-read. Not at all like the barbarian Zoso who killed without reason and sought the hat so forcefully.

“You’ll not get what you came for.” The old man said.

The Dark Lady hummed, her spoon clinking against her teacup as she stirred sugar into it, “And what is it you think I’ve come for? The hat? Afraid not, dearie.”

“Why are you here then?”

“I simply want some information.” Belle said, sipping her tea. “You see, I’m afraid I became The Dark Lady for a singular purpose and now with that purpose over I find myself quite bored.” She regarded him over her teacup for a moment. “And I’m afraid you’re the only one that came to mind that might give me a good conversation without running for the hills. Honestly was my predecessor so bad?”

“He was.” The apprentice said. “You don’t seek the hat?”

She rolled her eyes. “A magical hat that captures and accumulates magic? No I think not. Unless it can absorb dark magic from one’s very being and soul and leave them alive?” The sorcerer frowned. “No I suppose not. Either way, no. Such a thing does not interest me. I grew up a lady in a kingdom ravaged by war, Apprentice. I know better than anyone that raw strength amounts to very little.”

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice watched, the air around them tense with the swirling light and dark magic. The Dark Lady was completely at-ease at his humble table, across from him drinking her tea. There was no lie in her voice. No twinge in her magic.

“You’re…different than the others.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You haven’t given into the darkness.”

She only chuckled. “Oh no, apprentice. I think you’ll find I have quite thoroughly. It’s intoxicating.” She giggled, an odd manic sound. “But still, I’m not here for the hat. I simply want to find a good place to call home. A castle fit for a lady with lands worthy of her subjects.”

“You expect me to point you in the directions of lands you can pilliage?”

“Of course not, dearie. I expect you to make a deal with me…”

~ “Belle? Belle.”

The Dark Lady blinked, the memory that had came so suddenly slipping away like smoke in the wind. She turned, seeing Ruby had appeared by her side, a tea tray in hand.

“I could teach you how to embroider, you know.” Ruby said as Belle tried and failed the third time to thread her needle. How long had she been at that?

A hankerchief with some kind of sloppy “G” sat in her lap where she’d sat it before losing herself, the thread of one end broken from pulling on it a little too hard in her frustration. “It’s so tedious!” Belle complained, huffing and using her magic to thread the needle. “How does anyone do this?”

“It’s supposed to be soothing.” Ruby giggled, sipping the tea she’d poured for herself. “Some women do quite enjoy it.”

“How?”

“Wasn’t it you who said you always need something to do with your hands to focus on…whatever?”

“Forgetting.” Belle muttered to herself, setting the hankerchief aside and sipping her own tea. Ruby had taken her cup first, forcing Belle to use the chipped one she’d brought. Yes, that was the reason she was using it. “And I already have something for that.”

“What?”

“Books!” Belle grinned, the smile genuine, the first Ruby had seen on her lips in a long while. “They help me forget and whisk me away.”

“Can’t you whisk yourself away?”

“It’s different…”

Belle’s voice trailed off, and Ruby smiled. She knew, of course. The Dark Lady was not allowed such luxuries as being able to blend into a crowd. Especially not now that she was expecting. “Well,” Ruby said, pouring herself another cup. “You should probably let me teach you, so that the thread doesn’t pile up.”

“I can manage. I think there’s a book on it in the library.”

“You should probably stop buying thread until you have more proof that you’re using it. He’ll get suspicious if you don’t have embroidery you’re actually doing.”

“I’ll need the thread for the future.”

“You need over two-dozen spools for the future?”

“Of course!” Belle gave Ruby a glare as the other woman laughed. “Alright perhaps I do have enough for my uses…”

For a moment Belle looked to be at a loss. Her eyes drifted down, fixating on the cup in her hand. Ruby could already see her overthinking things, and that only made her laugh again. “Don’t worry, Lady Belle.” She said. “You’ll find some other excuse to see your spinner.”

Belle gave her a glare. “He’s not my–”

“You know you really don’t need an excuse. He’s already the father of your child. You could always just–”

“Ruby I believe I’m in the mood for some strawberry tarts. Do fetch them from the kitchen.”

“You don’t have any strawberry tarts there.”

“Yes I do! I bought them last market day.”

“No, you were so distracted by the cobbler’s widow fawning over thread and the multitude of people chatting about courting that you were distracted and got apple instead.”

Belle made a face. She hated apple. Everyone knew she hated apple. How the hell had she allowed herself to get apple?!

“Now I can get you an apple tart…” Ruby said.

“Of course. That’s what I meant.” Belle said, waving her hand. Magic tingled in the air and Ruby laughed again. “Of course, if you happen to run across any strawberry ones in there…”

“I’ll bring them right away.” Ruby said, rising to go into the kitchen. “You know he’s not going to court her. She’s far too pushy for the likes of our spinner.”

Belle blinked. “How do you know?”

“Just a hunch.” Ruby said, giving her a wink. “You know how rumors are.”

“Yes.” Belle nodded, but the hope in her eyes were unmistakable. “Yes of course.”

[rememberstilinski]

all for love || stiles stilinski

word count: 4174

warnings: none

prompt: collab with @sarcasticallystilinski

author’s note: happy lacrosse week everyone! this is my first part of lacrosse week with hay! we are very proud of this one and we hope you have as much fun reading as we did writing!

masterlist

coming soon

“Ah! Come on!” Another ball was shot towards the goal, but missed by just a sliver. Stiles threw his lacrosse stick in the air in frustration. The usual red and black helmet he wore, thrown to the ground as well. He wore a pair of white and red gloves, some black track pants, and the grey Nike shirt that hugged his biceps perfectly. Scott laughed as he watched a very frustrated Stiles pout from across the field. “I was doing so good! What happened?”

Coach had put the boys in partners for today’s practice. Stiles was always paired with Scott because Scott had learned to excel in the sport without using his supernatural strength, so maybe he could teach Stiles. All the other boys on the team had stopped when they saw just how good Stiles was doing, they were shocked that he of all people could be doing so well. As soon as Stiles messed up, the crowd dispersed.

“Stiles, you're thinking too much! Just go with the flow!” Scott advised. He walked over to his best friend so they didn't have to yell across the field. “Are you thinking about her again?”

“Scott please.” Stiles huffed, tongue darting out to lick his lips as his eyes wandered to the bench she sat at laughing with a few of her friends. “I am capable of thinking about things other than Y/N.” A small smirk formed across Scott’s lips, not believing a single word his best friend had just said.

“Alright.” He shrugged. “I guess you wouldn’t care if I told you that right before you missed, she was staring at you.”

“She was what?” Stiles asked, suddenly interested in what he had to say.

Scott smirked when he saw Y/N’s eyes roaming over Stiles body. “Don't look now, but she's looking again.” Stiles went to turn around and look at her, but Scott slapped his arm. “I said don't look now.”

Stiles rubbed the spot Scott hit on his arm as he frowned. Slowly, he looked over and saw Y/N biting her lip as she watched his every movement. Her Y/E/C eyes ran over his arms and hands. Veins and all had her full attention. The way she was looking at him sent a shiver up his spine. Confidence swarmed in his body and he wanted to try practicing again. “Again!” Stiles smirked and winked at the girl, a blush formed over her face and chest as she was caught.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Liam asked, joining his older companions. “It’s obvious you both like each other.”

“It’s complicated.” Stiles replied.

“What’s so complicated about it?” Liam challenged. “You like her, she likes you. There’s absolutely nothing complicated about that.”

Knowing that the younger beta was right he shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he shamefully stole another glance at her. Liam and Scott exchanged amused glances as Stiles silently contemplated the previous statement.

“What?” Stiles snapped when a small laugh escaped Liam.

“I’m right and you know it.” He smirked.

“Beat it Liam, don’t you have a hole to fall in or something?” Stiles quipped, annoyed, sending Scott into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, see ya later tough guy, but you know I'm right.” Liam shot at Stiles and started walking backwards towards the bench near the bleachers. He sat down and relished in the fact that he could get such a rise out of Stiles. “Just ask her out already. It's disgusting watching you two eye fuck each other all day.”

“He's got a point, Stiles.” Scott turned to his friend and smiled.

Stiles took his eyes off Scott and looked back at Y/N. The timing was perfect because from across the field he could see her laugh at something Malia had said to her. She was effortlessly beautiful. “She's too good for me, Scott. Do you really think she'd go for a guy like me?”

Scott got behind Stiles and clapped his hands on his shoulders. He started massaging in a way he hoped would get Stiles revved up and ready for his pep talk. “Remember what you told me when I was trying to go for Kira? You told me I was the hot girl. Stiles, it's your turn to be the hot girl. Impress her with your newly found lacrosse skills and then she's all yours.”

Little did he know that across the field, Y/N was receiving a similar boost of confidence from Malia. “Just talk to him!” Malia encouraged her. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Do you want a list?” Y/N groaned, not wanting to explain all of the reasons why things could go horribly wrong. “My top three maybe?”

“Look, all I’m saying is, Stiles is one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met and it wouldn’t kill you to talk to him.” Turning her attention back onto the field, she found the freckled boy talking to a few of his friends. Using the word ‘crush’ to describe what Stiles was to her just didn’t seem accurate, he was much more than that. He always found a way to make her feel like she was the only girl in the world. The only one he saw. She wanted nothing more for that to be true, but she knew Stiles was extremely attractive and sooner or later other girls would start to notice.

“And you really might want to consider talking to him.” Malia announced, pulling Y/N from her deep thinking and her gaze from Stiles.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked to her werecoyote best friend. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Stiles is coming over here. Like right now.” Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. She looked back to Stiles and realized he was in fact, walking towards her and Malia. If she hadn't been so busy staring at his perfect self, she would've had time to notice that Stiles had been watching her as well.

“Malia, don't you dare…” Y/N stood up and looked back at Malia and saw she had already left. She sighed in defeat. “leave.” A hand landed on the small of her back. She turned, not expecting Stiles to be as close as he was to her and she collided with his body.

Losing her balance, she stuck her hands out to grab something to stop her from falling only to be met with handfuls of air. Thankfully, a strong pair of arms caught her. Smiling up at the boy she felt her cheeks burn with a very noticeable blush. “Hi.” Y/N smiled bashfully. Her blush only grew when Stiles pushed a stray hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“Hey.” The mole speckled boy grinned widely showing off his insanely attractive side smirk.

“I was watching your practice.” She let out nervously. “You did really well.” She complimented him.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow up in response.

“Yeah, until you missed the last couple times.” Y/N teased. She bit her bottom lip as she smiled, looking up at him. Stiles couldn't decide if the action turned him on or made his heart burn with his love for her. He made up his mind saying it was both.

Stiles ran his tongue over his pink bottom lip. Y/N’s beautiful eyes flickered between his now moistened lips and his intoxicating whiskey eyes. His arms were still wrapped around her waist, but he pulled her close enough for their chests to press against each other. Y/N’s hands leaned on his shoulders. They were close enough for the breaths to hit each other's face, sending sparks down both of their spines.

“Well I have an explanation for that.” Stiles whispered. “This girl, who is unbelievably sexy might I add, had her attention on me all of practice. I might've been able to focus if she wasn't on mind all day.” His lips ran along her jawline, and his nose ran over the shell of her ear.

“Oh, really?” Y/N mumbled as she trying to keep her weakening composure. “And what do you think about this unbelievably sexy girl?” A sigh fell from her lips as Stiles nibbled on ear lobe. The fact that they were being so intimate in the middle of the lacrosse field had completely disappeared from their thoughts.

“Well for starters-” He smiled. “As I said, she's unbelievably sexy.” Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him. Subconsciously, her fingers threaded through his hair on the nape of his neck.

“Oh yeah?” She challenged.

“Yeah.” He pulled her closer as she slowly swayed from side to side, his hands steadying her hips. “And her laugh is infectious.” He added. “Her smile is breathtaking and she’s overall incredibly beautiful.”

Completely drunk off of one another, they almost didn’t notice the multiple howls and wolf whistles coming from the lacrosse field or the group of players that had gathered to watch if Stiles Stilinski could in fact score Y/N Y/L/N.

“I was wondering if she’d be interested in going on a date with me this weekend.” He offered, his hands rubbed up and down her arms. He said it so calmly and casually that he surprised himself. Something about Y/N seemed to ease his nerves, not heighten them.

“Hmm…” She hummed, thinking it over. Her hand moved to his forehead and she brushed the flat hair on top of his head to the side as she softly smiled up at him. “Tell you what, if you score the winning goal this weekend I think she will definitely go on a date with you.”

She wanted to go on a date with him more than anything, but she could sense his eagerness and wanted to make him work for it. Plus, she wanted to watch him go out of his way to impress her this weekend in the jersey that she loved so much. Stiles had a competitive edge and to her, it was the cutest thing to see.

“Really?” His eyes widened in amazement as her Y/E/C eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

“Of course. I know for a fact that she really likes you.”

Before Stiles could say anything, Coach Finstock blew the whistle and yelled from the center of the field. “Bilinski! We have a game this weekend, that doesn't mean practice is full of making out with your girlfriend!”

Stiles turned back to Y/N and rolled his eyes at Coach. The girl laughed when she saw the irritation on his face. As the laugh left her mouth, Stiles grumpiness faded and a smile grew on his face at the warm and beautiful laugh. “I've gotta go, but I'll see you soon?” He asked. Y/N nodded and before he ran off, Stiles kissed the tip of her nose. The simple and innocent gesture made her think of just how lucky she was to have him in her arms.

Just as Stiles had gotten back on the field and put his helmet back on, he sent her a wink making her stomach swarm with butterflies. Malia had come up next to her and she watched the way Y/N admired Stiles. “You really like him don't you?”

Y/N crossed her arms and turned her head to look at Malia then nodded. “I really do, Malia.” She looked back at the sarcastic boy she adored and smiled as he began to do really good once again. “I like him a lot.” Y/N whispered.

“Well, you're welcome.” Malia said loudly.

“What do you mean you're welcome?” Y/N chuckled.

Her companion shrugged. “I left you here alone with him, and everything sounded like it went smoothly.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that by the way. Really appreciated it.” Her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Doesn't sound like something you should be complaining about. All I did was give you a little push.”

“All joking aside, thank you, Lia.” The girl beamed, the realization of what just actually happened finally sinking in.

The rest of the week seemed to drag on. Stiles was practically counting down the hours until he would be sprinting across the lacrosse field, lights blinding him, as he scored the winning goal and got the girl of his dreams while Y/N was counting down the days until she got to see him in his jersey again.

A few of the boys on the lacrosse team, especially Scott and Liam, had been relentlessly teasing her calling her Stiles’ girlfriend and claiming that she was distracting him from practicing but she didn’t mind. If anything, being called Stiles’ girlfriend was a blessing.

When the night of the game finally rolled around Y/N couldn’t calm the butterflies that had taken flight in her stomach. There was so much riding on this game for both of them. Of course she would go out with Stiles if he lost the game but giving him a challenge seemed like a good idea at the time. Plus, she’d get to see just how hard he’d work for her to be his girl.

Malia, Lydia, and Y/N drove to the game together. Kira was in the game along with Scott, Stiles, and Liam, so she drove with them. As Y/N drove towards the high school, all she could think about was Stiles. How he'd look in his jersey, how his face might light up when he sees her. Lydia smirked from her seat in the car when she saw Y/N’s never ending smile, but let her be. The three girls had finally arrived and the sun was just barely setting. Parents and students were spilling onto the field and into the bleachers.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the field for any sign of Stiles. She saw him talking to Scott and Liam next to the benches. He sat down and tightened the strings on his stick. Smiling, she walked over to the boy. When she was behind him, her hands ran up his shoulders and up to his eyes, covering them.

She whispered softly, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “Guess who.”

Instead of responding, Stiles turned to face her and when his eyes met hers, a smile tugged at the corners of his pink lips. He stood and rounded the bench so he was in front of her. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in for a hug.

“Stiles…” Y/N chuckled as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around. Anyone who didn't know the two would've thought they were dating because of the way they acted around each other.

“Put me down!” He laughed at her attempt to appear upset and loved the way her cheeks dusted a light shade of pink as he set her down. Knowing that he had such an affect on her made him radiate with a newfound sense of confidence.

“Well if it isn’t my lovely girlfriend.” He beamed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Girlfriend?” Y/N questioned with a smirk. “The game hadn’t even started yet but it sounds to me like you think you have this in the bag.”

“Of course I do.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been waiting to ask you out for the past few months, I'm not letting you go that easy.”

“Really?” She asked wrapping her arms around his neck and playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Yeah.” He admitted bashfully. She admired the mole speckled boy in front of her and felt her heart began to beat faster than it usually did when she was around him. He was absolutely stunning. His usually soft eyes always seemed softer when they were looking at her. His hair was a mess, as always, but that wasn’t what caught her attention.

The thin red material the clung to his body made her swallow hard. Something about the way his jersey seemed to outline every aspect of his body from his toned, veiny arms to his lean torso made her dizzy.

In a spur of confidence, Y/N stood on her tippy toes and pressed her lips to his. Her eyes fluttered shut when his did and she could feel his long eyelashes flutter against her cheek. Stiles hands cupped her face and allowed his fingers to stroke her flawless skin.

The dizziness that had her head spinning stopped and she felt completely calm. At the touch of their lips, both of their heart beats synced together, their friends hearing the loud and intense in time beats. Happiness and complete love spread through their bodies, and they both could've sworn they fell harder in love than they already were.

It may not have been either of their first kiss, but this was their most memorable kiss. It was their only kiss that after parting, they could still feel the burning sensation they loved so much. Y/N was the first to break the kiss, but she leaned her head against his and let their noses nuzzle together. The euphoria they felt was beginning to fade and the yearn to have it back was intense.

“I have to go, the game is starting.” Stiles whispered, his minty breath hitting her face and causing goosebumps to raise on her skin.

Y/N smirked and pulled away to get a better look at him. There was a little nude lipstick around his mouth and she tried her hardest not to laugh. “Make me proud, Stilinski.” She pecked the corner of his mouth as a tease and walked off. Stiles watched her walk away and to Malia and Lydia.

He smiled and touched his lips. Scott saw his lovestruck friend next to the benches and he laughed. He walked over to him and pulled him from his gaze. “Come on, loverboy.” Scott rolled his eyes playfully. When he saw the little bit of lipstick around his lips, he laughed. “Your girlfriend got lipstick all over your face.”

Stiles smiled like an idiot. “She kissed me.”

The boy with the uneven jaw. “I saw that.”

“I kissed her.” Stiles chuckled. “I love that girl.”

“I know you do.” Scott clapped his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “But we have a game to play. You've got to focus on that.”

“Make my girl proud.” Stiles confirmed. He immediately got in the zone and was ready to play like he never played before. Even though she was already his girlfriend, he wanted to make her happy that he won the game. He would do it, just for her.

His eyes narrowed in focus as he prepared to annihilate the opposing team. Back in the stands, Y/N was greeted with smirks from both Lydia and Malia. Still in complete shock from the kiss they shared, she took a seat in between them, a wide smile still on her face. “I kissed him.” Y/N mumbled.

“We know!” Lydia squealed.

“We saw.” Malia smiled. “I told you so.” She added, referring to the fact that she had nothing to lose by taking a chance with the boy who stole her heart.

Snapped out of her trance by a few small giggles, Y/N turned her attention to her friends. “You have lipstick smudged across your lips.” Lydia explained. Heat rose to her cheeks as she attempted to tidy up the mess that was left around her mouth.

The game started about five minutes later. One by one, the players came flooding onto the field in an official manner. Cheering was heard from people in the crowd. Y/N’s eyes scanned the field for player number 24. When her eyes finally found him, she yelled his name. “Let's go, Stiles!” Her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify her voice. Stiles heard his name and looked to Y/N in the bleachers. She smiled when she saw him and he sent her a wink, causing butterflies to erupt in her tummy. She blew him a kiss in return.

Stiles had been put on the field and immediately started playing the game. To say players were shocked that number 24 had increased his skill was an understatement. Y/N watched as he dodged other players and through the ball into the net and she couldn't help but feel proud. He ran up and down the field like he never had before. Stiles wasn't much of a runner but watching this game would make someone think otherwise.

It was the last half of the game and there was one minute left in the game. The score was tied at nine. This game was the best Beacon Hills had done in a while and Stiles played a big part in that. He'd never been so motivated to play the game but now that he had a date with the girl of his dreams to motivate him, he'd began to grow very competitive.

Y/N stood anxiously in the stands as she watched Stiles play. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was an incredible lacrosse player, she had just never seen him play a game the way he was playing tonight. The energy that was coursing through her veins made her want to scream words of encouragement at the top of her lungs.

She could only imagine how Stiles felt in that very moment. The Cyclones’ success was based mostly on his performance and the entire team knew it. Even the Coach was shocked at how well he was doing. Her eyes followed the number 24 all night as he raced around the field, defending the net and playing what him and everyone else watching the game would call the best game of his life. He didn’t dare look into the crowd out of fear that he’d lose his focus, but he knew Y/N was watching him closely which only fueled his drive when he saw one of the opposing players.

During a moment of weakness, he hesitatingly looked to the crowd and saw Y/N. The hoodie she was wearing earlier had been taken off and she stood in the stands, wearing one of the many flannels he owned. Stiles had always known that that particular flannel was her favorite, she constantly told him that he looked good in it, but he thought she looked better wearing it than he ever could.

Just the sight of his flannel on her body gave him the motivation he needed to finish the game with a bang. A player on Beacon Hills’ team passed the ball to Stiles. Stiles ran across the field, impressively dodging the players that were coming his way. Once he was at the two point line, he took a shot and threw the rubber ball into the goal. The ball made it in and upped the score by two, Beacon Hills High ultimately winning the game.

The moment the ball was in the net, Y/N stood up and cheered. “That's my boyfriend!” A buzzer sounded through the field alerting that the game was over before the announcer spoke.

“The Beacon Hills Cyclones win the game!” Y/N didn't think twice before running down the bleachers and down to Stiles. As soon as the buzzer had sounded, Stiles took off his helmet and smiled. A few players patted him on the back and congratulated him on scoring the winning points.

Stiles looked for Y/N in the crowd and when he saw her, she was running towards him. “Y/N, I did-” The girl jumped in his arms and Stiles caught her as her legs wrapped around his torso and her lips landed on his. Stiles grabbed her thighs and lifted her up higher on his waist.

Stiles was taken by surprise at the action, but dove into the kiss nonetheless. The moment their lips touched, Y/N’s arms circled around his neck and her finger immediately went to his hair, playing with the soft, brown locks. Stiles moved his tongue over her bottom lip and asked for entrance. Y/N accepted and allowed him to deepen the kiss.

Cheers from around the couple pulled them out of the intimate moment they were having, as people were cheering their names. The two smiled at each other, trying to catch their breaths. Y/N leaned her forehead against Stiles’ and looked into his eyes.

“I did it, baby.” He whispered, his minty breath fanning across her face.

She rolled her lips between her teeth before she mumbled. “I love you, Stiles.”

A big smile planted itself on his face. “I love you, too, Y/N.” For the rest of his life, Stiles would call that night the best of his life. He won his first lacrosse game and got the girl.

[greyias]

FIC: Coquetry

Title: Coquetry Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Fluff, Romance, Humor Synopsis: Theron probably should have quietly made his exit and left her to finish her exercises in peace. But that would have been the mark of a sensible, mature individual -- and no one had ever accused him of being that. Word Count: 2,845

Crossposted to AO3

It was always a little dark no matter where you were in the base on Odessen, as no sunlight found its way to the deep underground caverns. The Force Enclave was always just a little bit darker than most. Theron had decided to chalk it up to mood lighting, meant to help with meditation. Or at least it seemed to help with him when he needed to clear his own mind. He had gotten a few strange looks the first few times he had pulled up one of the meditation cushions that C2-N2 had oh-so-helpfully provided for the Force users, but no one seemed to bat an eye these days.

He'd fallen out of the meditation habit sometime after Zakuul's takeover, after everything in the galaxy seemed just a bit darker and dimmer. A certain tow-headed Jedi had gently urged him to try and pick the practice back up after he had accidentally woken her up one night thrashing in the bed from dreams he'd rather forget. He'd humored her, because that smile she flashed whenever he took her advice tended to light up the dark corners of a room. And also it didn't hurt that she had sat just a little too close for Jedi propriety's sake in his first few attempts to reestablish the old habit.

It was late when he'd gone to the Enclave that evening, sleep chased too far away by a constant circle of thoughts from his endless to-do list. He'd settled into a quiet corner, hoping to quell the endless stream so he could catch a few hours of rest in his room before the next day began anew. He eased into the practiced motions of breathing, mind slowly relaxing into a state of calm as he let the outside world drift away. By the time he opened his eyes, the chronometer had ticked much later, and he found himself alone in the Enclave.

Or almost alone rather.

A lone figure was still running through a series of katas near one of the practice dummies, practice blades swinging in the air with ease. Theron leaned back on his hands, content to watch the as the Alliance Commander spun and twirled, lost in her own world. Her trademark caped armor had been traded out for a much more sensible, if somewhat revealing, workout attire. The dark gray band on her chest covered basic modesty, but still left a wide expanse of skin on display. He may have been intimately familiar with almost every inch of her, but it was still a pleasure to watch the way her muscles contracted with every thrust and parry.

Theron recognized the form as one of the many maneuvers he'd seen her perform out on missions. She dipped, spun, and twirled the practice blades as if performing a graceful dance. With her lightsabers, it was still graceful, but far more deadly. She had apparently been running through her exercises for a while now, as a trickle of sweat ran down her exposed skin, tracing each divot in her abs. He shifted on the ground uncomfortably as a familiar rush of heat washed over him and temporarily shorted out his higher brain functions. He probably should have quietly made his exit, leaving her to finish her exercises in peace. But that would have been the mark of a sensible, mature individual.

No one had ever accused him of being that.

As she hit one particular spot in the practiced motions, he could see a slip in the defenses, her back exposed for a few scant seconds before she hit the next pose in the kata. She cycled through the motions, practice blades twirling around her, until he saw that exposed slip of skin again. It was like she didn't even realize she was leaving herself open to attack like that. What if a Knight of Zakuul burst into the room at that very moment? They might see an opening and get in a lucky blow. And then where would the galaxy be without its stalwart defender? No, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

There was definitely not a zing that traveled straight down his spine as he quietly rose from his spot, bare feet barely making a sound as he made his approach. So engrossed in her kata, she didn't show any sign of noticing as he casually scooped up a discarded practice blade from the ground. She hit the second mark, the third. As her feed spread wide, she swiveled into the fourth pose, unsuspecting back exposed to the world — or at least to him.

TWHACK.

The practice blade made a sharp sound as it found its mark with her exposed hindquarters. Her graceful poise faltered, eyes going wide as she instinctively swung the blade towards her attacker. Theron had anticipated the move and dropped to the ground, the tip of his pilfered practice blade pointing at her chin.

She stilled, wide blue eyes searching for a moment until they fell on his grinning face, and her normally calm, placid expression scrunched up into an exaggerated expression of indigence.

"What... why did you...?"

She sputtered, trying to come up with the words, and he delicately touched the blade to her exposed neck.

"You leave yourself open on the fourth turn."

"I..." Her cheeks were flaming red now, the blush nearly drowning out the freckles that adorned her face. "You... that's not... proper!"

"No?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"No!" She managed to get one coherent thought out. "I was practicing—"

"I was only helping."

"That's not helping!"

"It's not?" He asked, eyebrows raising in exaggerated innocence. "What if an enemy burst in here while you were practicing?"

"That's absurd," she said. "You just wanted to mess with me!"

"Maybe." His grin widened further, if that was possible. "What are you going to do about it?"

She narrowed her eyes then, and he rolled away right before the practice blade would have smacked him right between the eyebrows. He swung his own blade around again, attempting to get in one last teasing blow before she rightfully pummeled him into oblivion, but she intercepted with one of her own blades and knocked it from his hand completely.

He let it go as he finished rolling to his feet, immediately bouncing away from the irritated Jedi who turned to face him. The red flush in her cheeks was only starting to fade, deep crease in her brow making it obvious she was displeased at him interrupting her kata. There was a part of him that wanted to say a word similar to "sorry" and then hide until she forgot his break in proper Enclave decorum. But as her chest heaved as she glared at him, a tiny little voice whispered evilly in his ear, telling him that running never solved anything.

He was so going to get his ass kicked. "You missed."

"You know a wise man wouldn't taunt an opponent with the upper-hand."

"You and I both know I've never been very wise." He bounced on the balls of his feet, flashing her a smirk.

"That is quite true." From the twitching corners of her mouth he could tell she was trying to fight down a smile and hold on fast to her righteous indignation, but it was quickly becoming a losing battle. "Have I ever mentioned that you are a very baffling individual?"

"Once or twice." He tip-toed backwards a few feet, towards the open area of the Enclave, motioning with his fingers for her to come for him again.

She arched a delicate brow at him. "You cannot be serious. You're unarmed."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"That wouldn't be very fair of me."

"Well, you could always give me one of your blades, if you really want to be fair."

"Or I could just walk away."

"You could," he gave her a look, one corner of his mouth curling up into a knowing grin, "but you won't."

She narrowed her eyes at his challenging tone, and let the practice blades fall from her hands without any preamble. She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin up at him, pressing her lips together tightly to try and keep a reign in on her emotions. It was the way that she shifted her weight to her back leg that let him know her next move, and he managed to leap to the side before she could tackle him. He let his hand graze across the exposed backside once more before he danced out of her immediate range, unable to completely suppress his amusement as her eyes went comically wide again.

"That wasn't—"

"You can always try again."

She huffed out a breath, before leaping in again, this time much faster — very likely tuning into the Force to predict his next movement. He shot up an arm to block her incoming blow, and dodged to the side as she followed it up with a second chop that would have knocked the air out of his stomach. None of the blows would have really hurt him, just knocked a little sense back into him.

He mostly danced around her, taking the defensive as she continued to try and get a blow in. Sweat ran down her cheek in tiny rivulets, which was just as distracting as the way her lips pressed together whenever he just barely managed to escape her strikes. He needed to level the playing field if he wanted any hope of losing out of pure distraction.

He barely rolled out of the way as she let another fist fly, and he flung out a hand at her. "Wait!"

She stopped mid-swing, eyes going a little wide with concern. "What's wrong?"

Theron pulled himself to his feet, only feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at her concerned expression. "I just realized something."

"What?"

"We are not evenly matched here."

She frowned. "You... just realized this?"

"Yeah," he said lightly. "I'm way too overdressed."

"That... what?"

He carefully peeled off his shirt, discreetly keeping one eye on her reaction as he lifted it up and over his head. The flush immediately returned to her cheeks, eyes darting away quickly before looking back at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Evening the playing field."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her vehement denial would have been more believable if she didn't keep worrying her lip between her teeth and eyes didn't keep drifting down from his face to his now bare chest.

"I'm just following your lead," he smirked.

Her mouth flopped open at that, the pink tinge of her flush turning bright red. "You... you..."

He just bobbed his eyebrows at her. "I'm ready whenever you are."

There was a long pause as she seemed to try and parse his statement, before she took another swipe at his smirking face. There was a bit more force behind the blow this time, as he felt the wind it generated as he barely dodged to the side. He attempted to get in a few jabs himself, and it was a testament to her flustered state that one nearly connected.

But Theron was more of a sprinter than a marathon runner, and there was no way he was going to stay out of her reach forever — especially since he didn't have the Force to fall back on once he got winded. He finally weaved the wrong way, and felt a leg neatly sweep under his knees. His back met the padded floor of the Enclave in a rush before an elbow lodged quite firmly against his neck. He smacked his open palm against the floor, signaling his admission of defeat to the Jedi pinning him to the ground.

The pressure against his throat eased. "Did you really think that was going to work?"

"No," he croaked.

Her serene expression of smugness faded into the beginnings of a frown. "Why'd you do that if you knew you were going to lose?"

"Depends on your definition of losing" he said huskily, his hands ghosting up to the hips straddling his waist. "How do you know I'm not exactly where I want to be?"

The blush returned to her cheeks ten-fold and she quickly yanked her hands up from where they had been resting on his bare chest. "I don't..."

"Don't what?" There was no hiding the wolfish grin as he watched her fidget above him, suddenly very self-conscious.

"I..." Still unsure of what to do with her hands, she crossed her arms against her chest tightly, unintentionally bringing his attention to her heaving bosom and sending another lick of heat through him. "You're impossible!"

His thumbs slowly traced the curve of her hips. "I don't know what you mean."

She tilted her chin up, refusing to indulge in his amusement. "This is a place meant for calm and contemplation."

"Yeah?" He dropped his voice another octave. "What are you contemplating?"

"Right now? Your lack of decorum for the sanctity of the Enclave."

"You could always give me," one hand delicately traced her exposed abdomen, feeling the way her muscles tensed and then relaxed at his touch, "private lessons in etiquette. Make sure I understand the proper way to do things."

"There's no point." She flicked his forehead, a hint of laughter escaping her affronted facade. "You're a lost cause in that regard."

He caught her hand before she could pull it away, threading their fingers together. "And here I thought you were the champion of lost causes."

She let out a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes up to the rocky ceiling. "Have I mentioned that you're impossible?"

"Maybe." He leveraged himself upright with his elbows, the action knocking her off balance until she was sitting in his lap. "But if you keep saying it maybe it'll sink in."

"What are you doing?"

"Being impossible."

"Yes you—are." She let out a tiny gasp as he began laying light kisses on her neck, tracing the line of her jaw up to her ear. "You do realize that this is not appropriate behavior for the Enclave."

"Oh yeah," he murmured, words muffled as he kept pressing his lips against her neck, "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to be able to meditate in here ever again after this."

"That's not what I meant." She was trying very hard to maintain her exasperated propriety, but from the flush that was spreading beyond her cheeks, it was clear she was fighting a losing battle.

He gently nipped at the sensitive skin at the hollow of her throat, knowing that from the soft noises that escaped her that she enjoyed it. She didn't always say things in so many words, and he'd gotten good at reading between the lines of what went unsaid. "What did you mean?"

"I..." He pressed a very soft kiss to the same area, causing her to draw in a sharp intake of breath. "You know you're being very distracting."

"Mmhmm."

Apparently her reserve finally broke, as he felt her hand run along his jaw, gently pulling his face up to hers. "I'm starting to think we should take this conversation elsewhere."

"You sure?"

Her lips pressed against his, and felt her tongue flick against his before she dove in completely — and finally managed to chase away his teasing grin, as well as the last scrap of rational thought he had. When she finally pulled away, there was a sparkle in her eyes that lit the fire in his gut anew. "Well, I'm sure I'm done in here for the night."

"Me too," he said a little breathlessly.

She rocked back to her feet, and offered him a hand. He took it and she hauled him up with a bit more force than may have been necessary, but was probably very deserved at this point. He dutifully followed as she led the way out of the Enclave, scooping up his shirt on the way.

"I can't believe I'm encouraging your bad behavior," she muttered to herself, fingers twitching against his palm.

"You're right." He sighed dramatically, pivoting on his foot in the opposite direction of their destination and taking a bold step away. "I should go back to my room and think about what I've done."

She stopped his march by giving his hand a firm tug back in the proper direction. "I didn't say that."

"I've done wrong, and I must atone for my actions." His front of feigned regret was fooling absolutely no one. 

Her sigh was more than a little on the exasperated side. "Why do I put up with you?"

"I ask myself that question everyday." He shrugged lightly. "Maybe you like me?"

She let out an indignant snort, but he felt her fingers give his a light squeeze. "I suppose I do."

From the fire dancing in her eyes, and the heat slowly rushing through every part of his body, it was clear that Theron wasn't going to get much in the way of rest for tonight. He was more than okay with that.

[thederailedtrain]

The Magic Shop: Lost And Found [One]

Half a year of working at Vestibulum Venenatis and Kira was still discovering new things about it. It’s not like the shop was a terribly large building, but it held more than a few secrets. The warded off section in the store room that once held Cedric’s grimoire, the protective sigils drawn under the corners of the carpet and the first dollar Cedric made, hiding under Old Reliable. (It was a silver coin minted in the days when the city was still called New Amsterdam and it took weeks of begging before Cedric let Kira see it.)

But those were all little things. Details of the shop Cedric had purposely hidden. How Kira had missed the giant goddamn basement was beyond her.

To be fair, Kira never really had a reason to go down there. No one did. It was absolutely bare, save for a broom Cedric had apparently forgotten under the stairs back in the eighties. Actually, it bore an eerie similarity to the basement they’d found the vampire coven in on Kira’s first Otherworld mission. Then again, it also looked a lot like the basement Toni and Violet had trapped Kira and Cedric in several months ago. Maybe all basements on the lower east side looked the same and Kira just didn’t know because the basement of her building was converted into a laundry room.

Those eerie similarities only kept her distracted for so long. Magic lessons with Salazar were completely different than magic lessons with Cedric. They required so much more of her concentration. Not that Kira didn’t put forward all of her focus when she was with Cedric, it was just everything about training with Salazar required more effort. He didn’t hold back nearly as much as Cedric did, and his ability to command magical spells was a lot stronger than Cedric’s.

At one point, their sparring got so intense that Kira wondered if they’d bring the shop down on their heads. Even Toni spoke up about it. Having a Harbinger hanging around the shop was uncomfortable at first, to say the least, but Kira was surprised by how quickly she was able to accept it. Feeling that dark magic presence pop in and out of her perception still made her jump, but the anxiety didn’t linger. Maybe it was because Kira had grown so accustomed to Toni’s presence in their months of meeting across the battlefield, or maybe it was because she always knew it would come down to something like this.

Whatever the case, Toni was more or less a permanent fixture at their shop now. While Cedric seemed less than enthused by her presence, Kira was arguably dealing with her more often. Over the last few days, she’d more or less formed a one woman peanut gallery for Kira’s lessons on neutral magic.

“Well, shit, Mr. Warden,” Toni commented with a laugh, just after Kira’s face had a very close brush with one of Salazar’s spells. “Looks like you’re just as bad at holding back as you are at matching your socks.”

Salazar’s brow was knitted in concentration as he stared down at his feet. Oh, Toni was right, Kira realized brushing a speck of blood off the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Well, I suppose you’re not wrong,” Salazar shrugged. “But only about the socks. I could hold back more, I just choose not to. Where would the lesson be in that?”

“There isn’t gonna be a lesson if Kira’s, you know, dead,” Toni deadpanned, indicating to a panting Kira.

The aforementioned witch shook her head, too busy working to draw breaths to respond right away. “I’m fine,” She insisted, bouncing back and forth between her feet like a boxer stepping into the ring. Kira even motioned for another hit from Salazar to prove her point. “Come on, one more. I’ve got it this time.”

Far from being convinced, Kira’s response actually appeared to persuade Salazar more than Toni’s earlier argument. “Actually…” Salazar trailed off, hand moving to his bearded chin in thought. Then he pointed at Kira several times, stepping forwards as he spoke. “Perhaps trying to teach neutral magic by defending against neutral magic may not be the wisest method.” He turned back to Toni, now pointing at her. “You- Toni, how about you take over for me? I want to see how Kira does against some chaos magic for a change.” When both women just gaped at him - Toni in what looked like disgust and Kira in bold faced shock - Salazar changed tactics. “Please?”

The sigh Toni huffed was impressively sarcastic, even for her. “Only because you asked so kindly,” She muttered, pushing off the wall she’d been using as her front row seat to the training disaster show. By the time she made it to the spot Salazar had once occupied, the Warden was already standing behind Kira. “Alright,” Toni called. “Now what?”

Salazar placed a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “Just watch this first one, alright?” He asked. Once he got a nod from her, he called out to Toni. “Alright, hit us with your best shot and I’ll try to neutralize it. Your most chaotic magic, if you would.” And back to Kira. “But don’t watch me this time. I want you to pay attention to the way Toni casts her spell.”

Alright, seemed simple enough. Kira wasn’t sure why she was paying attention to the witch without the neutral magic, but why not?

“One chaos spell, extra chaos, coming right up,” Toni called, already beginning to sway back and forth.

Then she began to move her arms and hands together, weaving around each other as the dark smoke as purple smoke began to pour from her fingers. In an instant, all the smoke constricted to her fingertips, and suddenly she was unleashing it.

The spell sailed right for Salazar and Kira, but he was ready for it. His magic lit up the room, dissolving the smoke before it reached him and Kira. Of course, Kira was too focused on Toni to see how he’d built such an effective defense so quickly.

But before she could complain about that, Salazar cut her off. “Now, what did you notice about Toni’s spell?” He asked. “Particularly in the way she cast it?”

“I dunno,” Kira shrugged her shoulders. “Seemed kinda showy, I guess.”

“Good! And do you know why it was so, as you said, showy?” Salazar went on. When Kira shook her head, Salazar looked like he was trying to hold back a sigh. At least it wasn’t that disappointed cello teacher stare Cedric had. He looked to Toni for answers instead. “And do you know why you used those movements to build your spell?”

Toni just threw her hands up. “The hell if I know. I just kinda...do it? You know, subconsciously. I don’t really think about it.”

“Exactly!” Salazar pointed excitedly. “It’s instinctual.” His attention turned back to Kira, but she didn’t really follow. “One thing I’ve noticed about the way you cast spells is that you don’t really use the same kind of preparation other witches do. You tend to just throw your magic forwards. With a lot of purpose, mind you. That instinct hasn’t been fostered within you.”

Instinct, right. Kira barked a single, harsh laugh. “You should meet my aunt,” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “Remember when I said I’m a shit psychic? Apparently it’s got something to do with my utter lack of intuition.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t saying there was anything wrong with the way you cast spells,” Salazar corrected himself. “It’s just a different style is all. The style you use became popular in the western Otherworld community during the nineteenth century I believe, but you’ll have to ask Cedric the specifics on that one. That’s right around the time exhibition dueling started becoming established as a form of entertainment at high society Otherworld gatherings. Duels are frowned upon these days, but the style had some staying power.”

“So what’s the difference? That one’s faster and one’s flashier?” Kira guessed, which only led to Salazar shaking his head a second time.

“Not entirely,” He explained. “While it’s true that the western dueling style is quicker-” Salazar held up a hand, then threw it outwards, fire forming along his palm and instantly rolling outwards to strike the closest wall. “The traditional methods produce a stronger result.” This time, Salazar let his hand move through the air in a zig-zag pattern before slicing through the air. Instead of a burst of fire, this one ignited a wave the collided with the far wall enough to echo through the basement.

“Holy shit,” Kira muttered. She stared at the still burning slash in the concrete in awe. If just those five seconds of build up led to such a big difference…

“I don’t mean to state the obvious, but there’s a real obvious drawback to using this style too,” Toni cut in. Kira nearly jumped at how close she was standing. She’d been too absorbed in Salazar’s demonstration to even notice Toni walk on over. The former Harbinger looked up at Kira. “You can’t really defend while you’re charging up for these kinds of spells.”

Okay, yeah. That was definitely a problem. But it also made sense why her preferred style made a better weapon in dueling. It would make it easy to take out an opponent while they were still building their own spell.

“Toni is...not wrong. Again,” Salazar relented after a few seconds. He even sighed about it. “This style of spellcasting takes more concentration. It relies on drawing from the ambient magical energies surrounding you, which can be difficult to sense. Duel-style casting requires less concentration, but draws entirely from your own power, so it tires the witch out more quickly. There are pluses and minuses to each form.”

“Then teach me the traditional style,” Kira suggested; no, demanded. “There’s gonna be occasions where one might be better suited than the other.” Halfway through her last sentence, a realization played in Kira’s mind. Of course. “And since the traditional casting style works with ambient magical energies, then it’s better suited for neutral magic, isn’t it?”

Salazar’s lips quirked upwards and Kira found herself mirroring that grin. “Looks like Cedric had good reason to brag about you at all those Council meetings,” He said. Kira definitely didn’t miss Toni pretending to gag in the background. She just chose to ignore it. “This is the form of spell casting I want you to use for those neutral magic spells - particularly for dismantling spells that have already been put in place.”

So time to practice it was. Several minutes later, Kira found herself staring down Toni from across the basement once more. It was a challenge to remember everything Salazar had just thrown at her. First, watch Toni while she gathered her spell and try to read her movements. Those would tell her what kind of spell Toni was preparing to throw her way. Then come up with a spell to deconstruct whatever Toni came up with.

While Toni finished her casting, Kira had to begin her own. Seek out the ambient magic floating around the room and pull in in for herself. However, she had to be careful which energies she was pulling in and how much of her own magic she was using. Then she just needed to finish the casting before Toni’s spell made it to her.

This was her fourth attempt to take on the same spell - a basic blast of dark magic that the Harbingers were particularly fond of. Not usually very potent, but the chaos magic infused in it meant the effect of each spell was unique.

When this spell came flying at her, Kira was only halfway through the casting. The basement might have been longer lengthwise, but that still didn’t give Kira much time to prepare. Kira threw her hands up, shield only half-cocked. There was a split second where the smoke dissipated that Kira almost felt like she’d finally made some progress...only for tiny embers of magic made it through her flimsy spell and splatter against her skin. The only thing Kira could liken the feeling to was hundreds of fire ants crawling across her arms, biting her skin.

It took a second for Kira to react, and then she was jumping nearly a foot in the air. She pressed her lips together as she tried to suppress the stupid noise that was attempting to crawl it’s way out of her throat. She still wound up making a few muffled, pained grunts anyway. Nope, this was actually way worse than the first couple attempts, which had only knocked her off her feet.

“Are you okay?” Salazar asked immediately, alternating between glancing at Kira and glaring at Toni.

The latter only put up her hands as if to say, ‘Hey, it’s chaos magic, how was I supposed to know it would do that?’ Which, to be fair, she really didn’t.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Kira said, relaxing her gritted jaw. The pain was already beginning to subside, and it didn’t look like the spell would be leaving any marks behind. All good signs. She looked back up at Toni and got into position. “Again.”

“Actually,” Salazar drawled, stepping in front of Kira. “This would be a good opportunity to point something out. Kira, how do you perceive your neutral magic?”

Now that was a question Kira wasn’t sure she knew the answer to. Neutral magic was neutral magic. It stopped certain magics from affecting her the way they could other people and made it easier for her to dismantle spells than it would for other witches.

“Like a barrier, I guess,” Kira shrugged, face screwing up in concentration. “A shield with a couple extra added benefits.”

“Ahh, then that’s your first misconception,” Salazar pointed at nothing in particular, like he was finally connecting the dots. “Most people I’ve come across guess that neutral magic is just the opposite of chaos magic, but that isn’t it at all.”

That was news to Kira. “It’s not?” She muttered, a little lamely. “Not like, um, chaos and order?”

Given the way the Guardians of Mixba’al and the Harbingers had been positioning themselves, she’d always assumed that there was some sort of balance there. That they were like two great opposing forces. Given the way Toni’s eyebrows were arching, her guess wasn’t so far off of Kira’s. And no matter what defenses she put up, Kira knew Toni was more invested in this discussion than she let on.

“Neutral magic is certainly not order,” Salazar gave a hearty laugh. “There is no such thing as decreasing energy in a system. Magic may defy certain laws humans have set in place, but it cannot defy the laws written into the universe. I may have just missed the definition of entropy, but I lived through enough discoveries in physics to follow them closely. For fun.” Well, Salazar definitely had a different definition of fun than Kira did.

“So if it’s not cancelling out other magic, then what is neutral magic anyway?” Kira made a face, puzzling through all this new information Salazar had just thrown at her. The science definitely wasn’t helping make this any easier.

“The simplest explanation I can come up with is that it’s the equivalent of arming yourself with a magical jackhammer,” Salazar explained. “The ability to weave your magic into preexisting magics until they break apart. Increasing the energy of the system much like chaos magic. Perhaps that’s why we’re so commonly pitted against one another; not because of how dissimilar we are, but how alike our power is instead.”

Well that certainly changed things. Not everything, but enough of it to matter. “Again,” Kira said, a new confidence in her voice.

Confidence she didn’t get the chance to prove. Before Toni could even begin prepping a spell, the sound of footsteps descending the steps made everyone come to a halt. Cedric didn’t even bother with a smile or a hello, just a nod in each witch’s direction.

“Gus is back from the lab,” He explained by way of greeting. “Meeting begins in five.”

Toni shrugged and headed for the steps while Salazar turned to place a hand on Kira’s shoulder. The way he beamed made pride begin to well in Kira’s chest. It wasn’t like the pride she felt whenever Cedric complimented her. Besides, he gave so many compliments when he was flirting with her anyway. This felt harder won, and she was all the more victorious for it.

Salazar didn’t need to say anything to let her know what that touch meant. He only had to nod and Kira pressed her lips tight to keep from showing too many teeth when she smiled back. And with that he was off, following after Toni.

That left Cedric and Kira in the basement. Together. Alone.

He was staring at her with an odd look on his face. One Kira was sure she’d seen on him before, though she wasn’t sure where. It was also the first time Cedric had looked at her directly for this long in what felt like weeks. Kira had to bite her lip with the effort it took not to mention that out loud.

Instead, she settled for a simple, droning, “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Cedric said, a little too quickly for it to really be nothing. He seemed to notice this too, his face faulting for a second before he looked up the stairs. Nope, it really was just the two of them in there. “Just...you seem to be getting along with Salazar plenty well.”

And that’s when Kira figured it out. Villa Berulia, that’s where Kira had seen this look last. It was the same look Cedric had been wearing on the way back to the bathrooms with Kira during her date with Ray.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Kira asked before she could stop herself. It wasn’t really a question she needed the answer to. The answer was as plain as the panic on Cedric’s face.

“I’m not jealous of Salazar,” Cedric was doing a really poor job of not laughing in embarrassment, but to his credit, he only stumbled once in that sentence. The next one was a lot more composed. “I supposed I’m just surprised. You two have gotten close very quickly.”

Kira shook her head as she stepped up to where Cedric was waiting at the bottom step. “I’m going to stop you right there,” She looked him dead in the eye. “It’s not like that at all. We just have a lot in common and he’s a very good teacher. And I definitely don’t feel the same way about him that I-” Do about you, but those words were never going to leave Kira’s lips. Looked like they didn’t need to. Cedric’s stare was just as wide-eyed as Kira’s. Shit, she needed to cover for this quickly. “Besides, he’s gonna be married soon. And he’s, like, four times my age. That’s just weird.”

Just like that, the tension was gone. Cedric laughed and it was only then that Kira caught what she’d said. She had a pretty good guess as to what the next thing out of Cedric’s mouth was going to be. “And I’m nearly fifty times yours,” He smirked. “What do you think of me?”

Most of the time Kira nearly forgot just how old Cedric was. He played it off so well. But then there were these moments - a lot more lately, which might’ve been due to their worsening situation or the fact that Kira could just read him better now - that Kira remembered just how much he must’ve seen in his time on Earth. It was reflected back in his eyes. Now wasn’t one of those times. Cedric’s eyes were twinkling like they hadn’t in ages. It lit up his whole face in a way that burned into the space behind Kira’s lids. But she didn’t mind this image of Cedric sticking in her mind. This is how she wanted to remember his face.

And as for what she thought of him.

Oh, this was a trap and Kira knew it. There was no way she could tell him that she didn’t think he was too old for her without him taking it the wrong way. And there was no way she could tell him that he wasn’t without also telling in the truth.

So she just opted for roll of her eyes and a droll, “Alright, knock it off. Do we have a meeting or not?”

[rockrevoltmagazine]

EXCLUSIVE VIDEO PREMIERE: Home Above, "Shouldn't Try"

If you’re not hip to Austin, Texas’s own Home Above, now is the time to change that. With their latest album, Indecision to Move, released last month, the genre-bending quartet are placing themselves alongside some of the current greats in pop rock (with a sweet dash of punk). They have shared the stage with favorites such as Hawthorne Heights and Turnover, and their star is on the rise. 

We have the extreme honor to premiere the video for their latest single, out today, “Shouldn’t Try.” Void of anything flashy to take your attention off of their pure talent, this video showcases them doing what they do best – singing the songs that get the feels a’moving. 

After you give the video a solid view (or two), feast your peepers on an exclusive interview with Cameron of Home Above below! Chatting with them about anything from writing process to pecan pie (yep, you read that right), we learned that this band is versatile in all kinds of fun ways we didn’t even expect! Check it out, and let us know what you think! 

Without further fanfare, we present: Home Above, “Shouldn’t Try.”

First of all, thanks for picking us for your premiere of “Shouldn’t Try.” I am absolutely hooked on this song, so I want to know what inspired it?? Where did the idea for the video come from? The energy is amazing, and I think people are really going to love it, too!

Thank you so much for the love! We are really excited as well. So, this song is a culmination of all of our issues in the band. I can honestly say I have indeed paid for ‘tattoos over paying the bills’ (sorry not sorry). I thought the idea of that line in the song stands out as the idea that we are young and dumb and just want to have some fun before we get old or whatever. “Shouldn’t Try” mainly stems from the “f*** it” attitude you’ll hear throughout the track. We are stressed and overwhelmed with life that we just want to break out and live a little! I believe I’m not the only one feeling that way, and maybe that’s why we’ve had such a great reaction to this single specifically.

You guys have quite the album with your release, Indecision to Move. It moves in a seamless way from start to finish, so I have to know, was that intentional or was the movement of it organic from track to track?

So, I’d like to start by saying this record is about 2-3 years in the making, and a lot of these songs were written while we were working on our previous album, If Anything Will. I believe the first song we wrote before we decided to put out this record was “Aurora” back in 2012-13; I can’t remember. But, it’s funny because when we wrote “Aurora,” we had the hardest time finishing it up. We went back and forth between different chorus ideas, key changes, different rhymes, etc. It wasnt until during the recording of the track that we came up with what you hear now. I say all this because we never intended for it to flow well as you mentioned. Everything just kinda fell into place as far as the movement from song to song goes. Well, with the exception of “The Start” being the first track on the album. That was intentional for maybe obvious reasons.

As a writer, I am always interested in knowing what other writers go through in terms of process. So, what’s your writing process like for Home Above? What’s it look like when you guys are creating? And, how in the world do you pick what stays and what goes in terms of content and lyrics? 

Those are really great questions. I myself am not entirely sure how it all works. Writing music and all. It’s all a very complicated yet simple process. I find myself overthinking and getting frustrated more or less. I do find inspiration however, at my studio piano back home. When I’m sitting at that piano, I think about what’s been going on in my life and in my friends lives and what I can do to maybe put a metaphorical “stamp” on it in the form of a song. For example, I as well as a lot of people out there reading this, suffer from finding your place in life. Ya know, the “Where do I go? What do I do? Who am I?” questions screaming from the bleachers of my mind! These thoughts consume my train of thought quite often, and it tends to either oppress me or inspire me.

So, I write my thoughts on paper at the piano in my living room and let my mind write the words for me, if that makes sense. I then will oftentimes present the song idea or lyrics or cool guitar riff to the guys, and they generally take it from there. Cameron would come up with a groovy clean lead line, Gaven will hit back with a powerful-face-punching guitar riff, and Davis jams out a few beats/rhythm ideas on the drums. I’ll accommodate the song with my bass digs. After we have a completed rough idea for a song, we revisit it after some time away from it, add different lyrics that help the story of the song flow a bit better, change out a few words via the great Thesaurus, and wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, a song is born. Sometimes we even ask outside sources for their input of ideas. This helps with making sure the song flows well within itself.

A lot of what you say is super relatable to what so many young people face today, and I am sure you hear it from your fans as well. Is that intentional, or is just the place you guys are in with your lives right now?

Absolutely. It’s like I mentioned before, our general audience I think tends to forget that they are not alone. I have problems just like you. Maybe in different ways. Maybe we have the same issues? The idea that we want to drive home here is you can find solace in knowing that you are not alone in this life. Whether you are getting bullied at school or are feeling alone. Whether you have a medical condition or are just different than the people around you, everyone has problems and issues. We all share a similar topic. And we can either let that hurt us and stay quiet, or inspire and make you want to inspire others. I think with all the bad, negative stuff that happens on this Earth, people could use a little more TLC from each other. A little more understanding of one another. Unity.

If I took a peek at your playlist, what would I see? Who do you turn to for creative (or escapist) inspiration? (I am still waiting for someone to ever say one of my favorite bands, so if it’s you guys, I’ll buy you all a Snickers bar!)

Oh boy! Lately I’ve been diving into a lot of classics to clear my head – Creedence Clearwater Revival, Queen, early Springsteen – it’s super refreshing to the ears after working on songs all day to tune in to the dynamic masterpieces of the past. While we were working on the record, however, I listened to a TON of Jimmy Eat World, Relient K, All Get Out, Manchester Orchestra, and Weezer. (Seriously, if you’re writing a song and you get stuck – just listen to some Weezer and ask yourself, “What would Rivers do?”)

You guys have shared the stage with some pretty solid names, so I want to know what is next? When is the tour? Who ya with? And please, for the love of god, tell me you’re coming to Cleveland!!

We’re planning a couple things for 2018 that we can’t share quiiiiiite yet, but there are a few friends we’d love to be on the road with, and Cleveland is certainly on the radar. 😉

Speaking of tour, if you could tour with anyone, who would it be? Who is on your dream tour ticket with you?

Forever Came Calling is a must. Not only would seeing a set by them every night be a dream, but they’re some of the nicest people we’ve met so far on our journey. 

If we could bend the rules of common sense/reality a bit though, our dream tour ticket would be: 

Oasis, Tenacious D, & Ed Helms And The Bluegrass Situation. 

You call Texas home. How do you feel you guys fit into the music scene back home? Do you feel a responsibility to represent your home state well? And, how do your roots in Texas reflect on your work ethic? They say everything is bigger out there, so how do you take that mentality and translate it into your music?

Austin, Texas, has one of the best music scenes I’ve ever witnessed. Everybody involved has welcomed us with open arms and we couldn’t me more grateful. While I don’t classify us as a textbook “Pop Punk” band, the Pop Punk/Emo scene of the town is such a supportive family, and the support of people from the scene fuels us every day! It carries over, too. With the support of so many awesome folks, of course we feel a responsibility to represent Texas well! It would be terrible to give people the wrong impression of one of the greatest states, so we do our best! 

Our roots don’t reflect in our work ethic as much as our work ethic is entirely a byproduct of living here. Texas is just so BIG. When we were starting out getting on cooler stuff & things like So What festival, we had to sell tickets. Selling tickets to a festival in Dallas when we’re three hours south demands hardwork & innovation, and that stuck with us in everything we do. Texas being so large drives us to see everything on a bigger scale, and motivates us to spread our music likewise! 

Speaking of music, what do you do when you’re not making and playing music? Where can we find you if you’re not in the studio? 

We all have our quirks and hobbies! Kevin is a great artist, and when time allows you’ll probably find him doodling on whatever piece of paper he can get his hands on, while Davis has recently become super passionate about riding his sportsbike for hours at a time! I (Cameron) love to cook – if I’m not working, I’m at home making whatever delicious idea I’ve had while daydreaming, and Gaven is most likely blowing people’s minds with his sorcery. (Witchcraft? Wizardry? Magic? Whatever it is magicians summon to do all those crazy card tricks)

In times like these when bad news seems to be on a constant loop, how do you feel music fits into the scope of the media? And as artists, do you feel a responsibility to your fans (both old and new) to bring something more positive to what seems like an endless shit show?

The beauty of art is that we own it. An artist can create whatever they want with no overhead, “Oh, you can’t talk about that.” And I think that the freedom we have as artists to express our personal opinions and thoughts and little known facts through a popular medium solidifies the idea that – yeah, artists owe it to themselves & to their fans to spread positivity and knowledge when other media might not necessarily get to exist in a similar genuine state. 

What are four words you would use to describe Home Above? Also, random, but what are you hoping to receive as gifts this holiday season? 

Fun, quirky, accessible, and open! 

And, thanks for asking! I love talks about the holidays (and gifts!). 

Every year since I was six, I’ve asked Santa for my very own water-park sized waterslide. Maybe this is the year! If not, I love getting snack boxes! I try not to spend a ton on junk food (and adversely do not eat a lot of junk), so receiving a box of goodies is always a nice surprise! 

Any final words for the fans?!? We can’t wait to see where this crazy journey takes you! 

Thanks so much for following us for this long! I’d love to end with sharing with you guys my favorite pecan pie recipe courtesy of the Karo syrup bottle: 

1 cup Karo® Light OR Dark Corn Syrup 3 eggs 1 cup sugar 2 tablespoons butter, melted 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 1-1/2 cups (6 ounces) pecans 1 (9-inch) unbaked OR frozen** deep-dish pie crust.

Preheat oven to 350F. Mix corn syrup, eggs, sugar, butter, and vanilla using a spoon. Stir in pecans. Pour filling into pie crust. Backe on center rack for 60 to 70 minutes. Cool for two hours on wire rack before serving.

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Interview by Devon Anderson, RockRevolt Magazine Managing Editor

EXCLUSIVE VIDEO PREMIERE: Home Above, “Shouldn’t Try” was originally published on RockRevolt Mag