#anyway to answer your question yes the pg is still around. it does not disappear once sigma was created

[lotus-pear]

Hello! So, I was wondering if you knew what happened to the part of the book Sigma was written into existence with? (This is for a fic im writing and google had 0 answers so I ask you, only other bsd watcher i feel i can ask) If you don't know I'm just gonna write it disappeared after he was created or something.

hii!! i believe the pg that the doa has contained not only the terrorist plot but the creation of the sky casino and sigma as a person.. or at least that's what dazai claims when he was questioning sigma's existence w fyodor. so when the agency obtains the pg they also basically have sigma's lifeline w them. idk where the actual BOOK is (apparently sigma knows when he used his ability on chief tanaeda) but the doa only has a single pg not the book itself

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 07

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.5k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): Mentions of hybrid abuse, swearing.

♤ A/N: Surprise! I'm really sorry it took me this long, but I finally found the time and drive to write again :) Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you’ll give it to him.

Series masterlist

06 07

"What do you mean this hybrid doesn't exist?"

Her eyes are wavering with an unspoken fear, perhaps caused by the bitterness my questions holds. I'm not happy, and she knows.

“It’s just, the chance that a dangerous breed such as the tiger hybrid would escape our system is basically zero..” The gaze she held on the computer screen unsurely moves my way. My expression must've instilled another layer of anxiety to the already existing one, as her mouth abruptly stops moving and her pupils dilate.

“Go on, explain.” The tone of my voice softens a bit as I notice her visible discomfort worsening. Even if there is no way that I’ll get any information from this place regarding Taehyung and his owner, I would still like to know why they’re both not showing up here.

Eun-ji takes a few deep breaths to stabilize her voice. As she does her posture slowly relaxes just a little and her eyes lose some of the nervousness they held before. “Because the first ‘successful’ tiger hybrid ran rampant after killing their creator, anyone who still breeds or creates them is being watched very closely by us, as well as by some other institutions.”

Perhaps it’s my lack of reaction that causes her to trail off at the end. Though I’m not judging her or her story, unlike she may think. To encourage her to continue, I give her a nod, tilting my head to show interest.

“The regular citizen isn’t even allowed to have one, needing special training to handle them. It’s like that for most hybrids that find their origins in wild animals. Creating tiger hybrids obviously requires a lot of knowledge when it comes to playing with genes and breeding them…. Well there are only three organization that are authorized to do so. All the resulting hybrids are registered and chipped.”

The explanation, which turns out to be a lengthy one, gets broken by a shuddering breath leaving her lips. She composes herself, clinging on to the little confidence she has left in her line of work to speak about the rest of her clarification.

“Of course people have tried to do it themselves, but those d.i.y operations have always ended in disappointment. If not taken proper care of, with substances only a board certified hybrid doctor can provide you, the pregnancy will fail. These are no easy practices they are dealing with.”

After the girls’ last words I give myself some time to think, letting a silence full of tension fill the room. It must be obvious that my mind is somewhere else at the moment, as the other girl in the room does her best to stay quiet. I don’t need much time however, my thoughts having quickly rearranged themselves as they were trained to do.

“So what you’re saying is, since tiger hybrids are hard to ‘create’, if you will, there are only a few people who actually manage to bring them to life. And so those few people are kept under close watch, as are the hybrids they successfully wake, am I correct?”

Eun-ji nods affirmatively, clearly happy that I seem to understand the situation. “So there is absolutely no way that someone without authorization has had a decent attempt at either genetically merging a human together with a tiger or getting a tiger hybrid pregnancy to be successful?”

Perhaps there might be a bit of scepticism in the question I asked, as her attitude immediately changes into a defensive one. “There is not! Whatever hybrid you’re searching for either gave you a false identity or is not a tiger hybrid at all, which would seem rather unlikely. I told you they get chipped right? Why not go look into that.”

“He doesn’t have one. We already had a hospital take a look at him, they didn’t find anything. ” The statement seems to shock her, the gears in her head instantly turning as to find an answer to this riddle. She however can’t seem to get one.

“They can be removed, can they not? They’re just under the skin. If someone decided to just cut it out they could. Terrifying, but plausible. Either that or one of your faithful authorized employees has been leaking information to outsiders.”

This is where Eun-ji seems to give up. Her shoulders sagging and a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “There would still be the problem of the missing equipment, test subjects, practice… How would you even get hold of fertilized human eggs to play around with? But I guess that wouldn’t be totally impossible. As for cutting it out… There would be a noticeable scar. The implants are always put in the same place, it wouldn’t be hard to miss.”

I make a mental note stating to ask Taehyung about all of this when I get back. If anyone knows how he got onto this world it would be him. “Is there a possibility that you could have someone look into it?” The girl nods in defeat, paying more attention to the ground than to anything else. “I’ll see if I can get someone on the case. I’ll have them contact you if we know anything.”

After those words she turns around in her chair, facing the monitor that had already put itself into sleep, and turns it off. Taking a notepad out of the drawer to her left, she quickly writes something down with the pen from her breast pocket. “I’ll get on it right away. Would you like me to walk you back to the exit?”

I shake my head. “No It’s okay, I’ll find my way back. Thank you for cooperating.” Eun-ji gives me a small smile, followed by a bow and walks out of the room taking the note with her, presumably immediately keeping herself busy with the extra work. Not wanting to waste any time I copy her, walking myself back into the direction we came from. Turns out it proves quite easy to find the exit by myself.

It’s already far past dinnertime when I make it back to the office. Not many of my colleagues have remained in their seats, most of them opting for a nice meal with their families. The few that have stayed behind are mostly known to live alone, quite like myself.

I quietly knock on my supervisor’s door, but when no response emerges from within the room, I can safely deduce that she too has already returned home. “I’ll have to write her a report about today later..” I mutter to myself, before stepping away from the door and instead heading to the cells at the back.

Technically the arrest period had already ended for Taehyung, as the law wouldn’t allow us to keep him locked up for any longer without any charges being held against him. His cell however technically was never locked and so even now, he is free to go wherever he wants. Though it didn’t change the fact that he still has no place to go to.

“Good evening. Had anything to eat yet?” He just chose to stay here and we accepted it. “Oh, hello! Yes, that tall handsome bulky man gave me something earlier, I can’t remember his name. He said something about it ‘being the best shit in town’.”

I slightly giggle at his quote, knowing immediately who it belongs to. “That definitely sounds like something Namjoon would say. What did he give you?”

Taehyung looks a lot better than he did yesterday. The stress of the interrogation seems to have completely worn off, instead traded for the sweet bouncy personality he used to show around me.

“Umm it was something in the shape of a circle and it had meat all over it… Oh! I think he called it a pizza? It was delicious!”

“You’ve never had pizza before?” The words leave my mouth before I actually get the chance to process them, causing me to instantly regret ever even opening my mouth. These days are stressful enough for him as they are, he doesn’t need a painful reminder of the life he never got to live on top of that.

The question doesn’t seem to hit him as hard as I though it would though. In fact, his demeanour doesn’t seem to change at all. Although sadly, it doesn’t make his next words any less painful. “Nope! When I first got adopted all they would feed me was wet cat food. It wasn’t great, but at least I got my three meals a day. The foster family I stayed at after my first owners mysteriously disappeared didn’t actually have the money to even take proper care of themselves, so at that time all I would get was whatever was left of their dinner that day, if there was even any left. It was mostly just greens. The lack of meat made me real sick at the time.”

He pauses talking for a second to look up at my face through the metal bars. The content look on his face quickly changes to one of worry once he catches my eyes. It’s no mystery why, I know I look at him pitifully. Even if he may not wish for my concern, I am only human. I can perfectly hide it when I need to, but this is not one of those cases.

“There it is again, that sad look on your face…” He sits up straight on the side of his bed to fully observe me, a tilt of his head giving him away. I send a sad chuckle his way as I reach for the door of his enclosure, inviting myself into the small space with him. He doesn’t object.

“Is it that obvious?” It was meant more as a way to lighten the mood, not as an actual question that needs answering. He still does however, giving me a simple slow nod. “You don’t need to feel bad for me.”

“Someone has to. You deserve at least that much.”

There’s a chair neatly placed under a small desk in the room. It used to be quite lively, with all kinds of bright colours blending into each other. It was a little positive additive into the dark grey room, but after all the anger that has been acted out on it, it no longer has that same shine.

I pull the chair out to place myself upon it, straddling the seat while I rest my arms on top of the back rest. Facing the tiger I use my arms as a pillow to lean my head on, making myself comfortable on the creaking furniture.

“Say, Taehyung, do you remember anything from when and where you were formed?”

He seems slightly taken aback at first, though quickly regains his composure. He also doesn’t immediately answer, first taking some time to think before coming back to me. “I was born a hybrid to two purebred tiger hybrids. They did their best trying to care for me in the little time we got to spend together, but seeing as it happened on a breeding farm getting to spend time with my parents wasn’t the plan. I got sold off pretty quickly, as soon as I learned to hold my first few full conversations.”

“Do you… Would you happen to know what happened to the farm? To your parents?” I fail to hide my apprehensiveness, needing too much space to form a careful approach. This shouldn’t feel like an interrogation to him, I never even announced one. There is little reason for him to answer me, the vital information from his side has already been given anyway. Nonetheless, even though I probably shouldn’t be doing this right now, I can’t just miss this opportunity.

“I heard my adoptive family talking about how the place was burnt down a while later. Most likely the police had caught a hold of it and they had to delete their left behind evidence. Both building and hybrids.”

Despite talking about the death of his parents, he seems to tell the story with relative ease. Probably not having much connection with the far past, his brain too young to truly hold on to the memory of them.

“They were successful too, as the case got dropped faster than lightning. It wasn’t long before the general public forgot about it too, believing it was just another misunderstanding. Besides, hybrid lives weren’t as important anyway.”

The amount of rights hybrids had when they were first created back in the day were close to zero, only strictly being seen as objects to show off whatever possible wealth one may have had. For a while there was even a popular theory going around that hybrids didn’t actually have the ability to feel any kind of emotion or pain. The genetic puzzle wouldn’t allow for it, as it had been tampered with to an extreme extent. This only built on the carelessness shown towards them, slowly chipping away at their sanity.

Although the rumours were wrong, they came from a place of truth. Facial expressions were rare for hybrids, as was the ability to speak. Most of them couldn’t even keep up with regular humans, exhaustion quickly taking over the little anger they could show. Scientists hadn’t yet quite figured out how to perfectly combine the pieces of genetic code and so hybrids were more like living dolls in the eyes of evil humans. Having no voice to object and barely any means to actually hurt anyone, it wasn’t much of a surprise the selfish nature in humans came to rise.

Luckily, or depending on how you look at it, sadly, these first generation hybrids were never able to reproduce. The doll like hybrid features eventually died out with the rise of the newly perfected pieces and the theory was debunked by a group of scientist who actually did care about the hybrids’ wellbeing. Those hybrids had lived through countless punishments, and every single one of them had hurt. A lot.

Right now hybrids in a lot of ways are superior to the rest of us. Having the combined senses of both animal and human alike, society has reluctantly given up on trying to contain them. They are still to be bought and owned, but no longer to be treated like dirt. The smartest of hybrids have even already gotten complete freedom to do as the please, no longer having to be bound to a human to roam freely. However, those unable to pass the close to impossible tests aren’t so lucky.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

Taehyung gives me a reassuring wave of his hand, effectively trying to lighten the mood, along with a sad smile. It wouldn’t take a trained professional to know he still longs for his parent’s presence, even if he may do well hiding it.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

That doesn’t make the situation more okay, but I hold my remarks back. For now, that might just be for the best.

Taglist

@suhappysuho @intellectualxprincess @sana-b @littlewolfieposts @nellaphine @the8luvr @deathkat657 @elenaramos1 @namjoonies-dimple

[navyhyuck]

aphrodite.

pairing | na jaemin x reader (female)

genre | fluff, suggestive, domestic!au, friends-to-lovers!au (sort of??)

synopsis | all you need is a pretty boy and a quiet song to take your breath away.

warnings | swearing, like really suggestive, jaem’s kinda turned but not quite let’s keep it pg-13 folks, uh innocent-ish (?) reader, clothing is removed sort of more like skin is exposed, lots of kissing (uh jaemin??? am i right??)

word count | 2.4k

notes from vee | happy birthday to the babe himself!! this is based off aphrodite by rini that uh, i can’t get out of my head. leave feedback if you like this, please! ♡

you’re that goddess

aphrodite

well known for her love and beauty

“Your music taste is impeccable,” you note with an inward giggle as Jaemin finally sets down his phone, a quiet smile growing across his face watching you covered up by the safety of your sheets. The last song is still in his mind: lyrics and melody—and it gives him a brief idea—one that has your eyes widening as he suddenly crawls towards you.

You can feel your heart already jumping to your throat when his eyes pour into yours, sending a shiver down your spine that you hope he doesn’t realize. He does, but he refrains from voicing it aloud, only basking in the silence that had suddenly overcome the two of you. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

Jaemin’s voice is low, and it would have been daunting if you didn’t know the soft boy that hid behind a persona as strong as his. The closeness between the two of you is increasing with everything move he seems to make—or perhaps it’s just your heart playing tricks on you—but you subconsciously push your head back into against the pillow in attempt to keep away.

You swear you see your best friend glance down at your lips, just for a moment, but it’s enough to have your heart racing at a ridiculous pace that makes you think that he can hear it too. It almost felt lethal to be so attracted to him, and you hate it, right?

He’s just a friend. You know that, Jaemin was always a loyal, loving friend to you—and you were grateful for him—though you would be outright lying if you were to say that you didn’t at least have the tiniest crush on him. Well, who wouldn’t?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when he calls your name again, throwing you out of your fantasy back into the reality where he actually was, still looking down at you with something unidentifiable in his eyes. Quickly, you give him a short nod.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

you took me in, you bathe me

your waters, your fountain

left me yearning for more, for more

and i can’t take it anymore  

Your heart skips a beat—you can feel it—and time stops, the only breath continuing on with yours being Jaemin, whose eyes have still not averted from yours. And you will yourself to take a simple breath as you remain unable to tear your eyes away from his gaze. “Uh, n-no?”

He blinks, the trance being broken as he does it again, the expression on his face turning into slight—disbelief? “Not once? Never?” He sounds incredulous, but you only nod, bathing even farther into your embarrassment when you feel your cheeks heat up. “No way.”

“Yes way,” is the only response you can think of, and he all but looks down at you fondly, something appearing in his eyes that wasn’t present before. “I-” you start, pursing your lips before starting again. “You know I’ve never dated before.” The sentence leaves your mouth in a mumble, and Jaemin curses softly, making you look up at him in shock.

“So you’re saying,” he starts slowly, “that you’ve never been touched before.” It’s not a question, but he’s correct even with the way he puts the words together. You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but the indirect mention is already making you flame up with sheer embarrassment. “You mean never?”

“No,” you say again, your voice barely a mumble at this point. “Like never, I’m completely virgin and pure and all that good shit. No need to rub it in my face.” You’re about to cover your face with your hands but your best friend’s hands wrap around your wrists first, pulling them away. His face is so close, so close that you think he might just pull away from you and start laughing—but he doesn’t, only leaning in closer until he’s staring even deeper into your eyes.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

if i can have this dance tonight

i promise that you won’t forget

You open your mouth as if you want to speak, but your lips accidentally brush against his, making you jolt. You’re already out of breath, gasping for more when nothing’s even happened yet—perhaps that’s what Jaemin does to you. But you’re so infatuated with the thought of him, the feel of him, the touch he gives and you nod again.

“Say it,” he whispers, and there’s a hand brushing your hair away from your eyes, caressing your cheek carefully. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me,” you say at once, feeling like you were already drunk off the lips you hadn’t gotten a taste of just yet. It seems to take him by surprise—how easily you agree—but how could you refuse when he looked so young and inviting in front of you? When he doesn’t move, you try again. “Please, Jaemin? Kiss me?”

His minty breath fans over your face as he exhales deeply, closing his eyes as he chastely presses his lips to yours; it’s quick, and he pulls away almost as fast as he got there. They’re warm, making you crave for a second taste when you unknowingly chase his lips, stopping when you realize he’s smiling down fondly at you. “Want more?”

You don’t say anything in response—knowing that your words would fail you anyway—and you nod, letting your eyes flutter shut in anticipation. His hand moves from your cheek to your jaw, trailing until he grasps your chin gently. A low chuckle leaves him when you gasp, almost sinful, but before you can respond, his lips are back on yours.

But it’s nothing innocent this time, not with a hand guiding your jaw into the right position and definitely not from the way his mouth molds against yours. He sucks on your bottom lip for a second, eliciting a sound out of you that makes your cheeks flare up again, but he only continues further. You’re kissing him back sloppily, not completely sure what you were doing but also trying to gulp down the nervousness that was growing from the bottom of your stomach when he pulls away—only to lick into your parted lips—sending your hands diving into the sheets.

You suppose you should stop it where it is now, this is your best friend since forever, though when he mumbles under his breath and loops your arms around his neck—you know you’re too far. You rake a hand up to his hair, grasping lightly when he sucks on your tongue and you whine, making him pull back immediately.

“Sorry,” you say softly, searching his eyes to see if you had done something wrong but he shakes his head.

“Don’t be sorry. Are you sure you’ve never kissed anyone before?” He asks, licking his lips slowly. You nod again, feeling small under his gaze. “Because you’re good at it.”

i’ve been searching all my life

for something that i won’t regret

could it be that you’re the one i’m looking for?

“Oh,” is the only thing that leaves your lips, disappearing into the air. Jaemin shifts from above you, but his eyes are still locked on yours, focusing on you like you’re the only thing on earth that matters. “Thank you?” You let out a breathy laugh, and it seems to startle your friend—whose pupils are dilated to practically the fullest point. “Why-why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He challenges softly, eyes darting from one to the other in a way that makes you want to sink further into the bed. But he’s so captivating, so inviting that you bite down on your lip.

“Like you want to—” you trail off, not knowing exactly how to phrase what you felt, but also not feeling confident enough to say it. “—wreck me.” Even you’re surprised at your own words, and your eyes widen as he leans down again, moving back to your lips—but he averts them, brushing past your ear instead.

“Because I want to,” he whispers, and you visibly shiver at how ridiculously attractive he sounded. You feel his hot breath on your neck now, blowing air down until he meets your collarbone. “But only if you’ll let me. Will you?”

It’s a simple question: an answer that required a yes or no but you don’t register anything, not when he lands his plump lips against your skin. It’s warm and sensitive, each kiss moving up your throat and he’s back at square one—looking at you for permission with his mouth barely touching your own. “I can show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

He sounds sickeningly sweet, you think, but that’s exactly how you fall in even further; perhaps it’s wrong, because friends don’t kiss each other and they certainly don’t do anything more than that, but it doesn’t seem to be something you care about. You inhale, and nod.

“Use your words,” he insists, a thumb swiping across your lips to leave them parted. His knees are caging your hips, and he’s hovering over you with ease when he taps your cheek. “Y/N?”

“Yes,” you say, almost too quietly for him to hear, but he does. “I want you to—yes.”

ah, let me tell you one thing for sure

you’re the only one i want more of

‘cause every time, you strip away my pride

“Are you sure?” The softness of his voice contrasts from the way he’s looking at you—almost with so much desire in his eyes that it scares you a little—but he stays put. You nod again, but you catch yourself, giving a verbal reply as well. “Okay. Can I move this?”

His fingers curl around the edge of the sheets, brushing past your skin as he looks up at you again—you nod—and he pushes the barrier away from between the two of you. Jaemin sits back on his heels for a moment, contemplating something before he’s back over you, tapping your lips for a silent affirmation. You give him the go, and he gets to it, stealing your breath away from you.

His hands wander this time, travelling from the crooks of your neck down your sides, brushing up soothingly. You take in a sharp breath as he does it, the feeling being foreign but likable. Jaemin pulls back again, only to thumb at the hem of your shirt, looking up into your eyes again. “Can I take this off, princess?”

You’re not sure if he notices, but you melt at the name—almost missing his question until you’re nodding again—his fingers quietly pulling the buttons one by one, eyes locked on yours until they’re all undone. You practically jolt when you feel his warm fingers splaying across your abdomen, though he sighs, only running his hands all over your skin.

humble me down to my knees

you’re exactly what i need, you’re exactly

“Beautiful,” Jaemin says under his breath, not daring to speak even a decibel louder, feeling as if anything louder than that would ruin the moment. You gasp as his lips reattach to the sensitive area on your neck, biting the flesh ever-so-softly to elicit yet another sound from you. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

It’s a rhetorical question, he knows he’s not the first one to say so—he can’t be—not when your eyes are fluttering shut with your lips swollen to the point that he can’t help but meet them again. You kiss him back, soft and sweet enough for you to make your head fly up into the clouds. Mind going blank when he continues his trail of wet kisses down to your chest, you grab onto his arm, steadying yourself as he nuzzles his nose just under the band of your bra.

“You are,” he continues, though he thinks you can’t hear him, muffled against your skin. But you can, only inhaling deeply when you feel a kiss press against you again. “Like a fucking—goddess.” Maybe it’s going overboard, off the ship and sinking into the deep waters, it’s too much for you. But you don’t care, your fingers are tangling into the his hair, holding him closer to you.

if i can have this dance tonight

i promise that you won’t forget

i’ve been searching all my life

for something that i won’t regret

could it be that you’re the one i’m looking for?

Best friends definitely don’t kiss, you’re reminded of it when Jaemin rests his head against your stomach, the warmth of his cheek matching the slowly dissipating pang to your chest. He still has his hands on your sides, holding you in his grasp when he speaks again. “Sleep with me?”

You’re not sure what it is that wills you to hum in agreement, perhaps it’s the longing need of affection from the boy you loved so much, or even the memory of the heated instance not too long ago.

ah, won’t you take me away

bring me to your sacred place

won’t you, oh

Jaemin lays down beside you, drawing the covers over your body until his eyes fall down to your exposed torso—and he smiles, following back into your eyes—you might think he’s crazy if he confesses in that moment. So he doesn’t, only admiring the serene look you give him when you find purchase to his chest.

He thinks, maybe, just maybe, you’re too beautiful for this world.

if i can have this dance tonight

i promise that you won’t forget

i’ve been searching all my life

for something that i won’t regret

You realize—a second too late when sleep was calling your way—that your best friend hadn’t quite shown you much; but you’re content with where you are now, not wanting to leave the comfort of his arms tonight. You’re hopeful that in the morning, there would better words passed, a guide to where you were now. Maybe it’ll be more than title of ‘friend.’

Though for now, Jaemin’s hand caresses your head and you imagine it’s enough.

could it be that you’re the one i’m looking for?

all rights reserved © navyhyuck 2020.

[yeojaa]

stages: comedown (with me).

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  pg-13.  tags.  alluded/referenced drug use (please be responsible).  wc.  1.6k.  author note.  i got the idea for this in the shower so it’s disjointed/weird.  this will likely be a three part thing.  soundtrack.  songs to comedown to:  hold me close (climax).

Perhaps he’d taken too much.  (No, not perhaps.  Definitely.)  He can feel it in his bones, threading through his limbs as a tidal wave that pulls him under and sweeps him from shore.  Leaves him unmoored under the flashing lights (strobes, not stars).  Has him floating somewhere high above his own body, weightless.  Makes everything move in slow motion.

“Don’t run!”  

It’s a voice from his right - he thinks? Maybe? - and it’s so pretty.  An angel, surely.

“I’m not,”  he says.  Or imagines he says, anyway.  The words don’t fit the way they should, brought together like mismatched puzzle pieces and catching on his mouth on the way out.  They cut over his gums and teeth, stick uncomfortably behind his molars.  Too heavy and too light all at once.

“You are, baby boy.”  

It’s you.  A friend of his friends.  The girl with the kind eyes and creeping laugh and glitter all over your cheeks.  You’re radiant - ethereal, iridescent, awe-inspiring.  There are a dozen stars caught in your hair, shining back at him beneath the dim street lights.  He wants to reach out - almost does, can feel the desire edging up his joints and unfurling his fingers - but stops short when you speak again.  It’s the nicest sound he’s ever heard.

“Are you feeling okay?”  You’re staring into his eyes just as hard as he is yours.  Except you’re a fair sight better, studying him curiously, with concern laced over your tongue in criss-cross patterns.  He’s vibrating - inside, outside, everywhere.  It’s hard for him to focus on you when there’s so much happening, when he feels like his heart’s beating a mile a minute.  (Was that a lot?  Even he doesn’t know right now.)

“I’m f-fine,”  he stutters out, not because he’s nervous but because otherwise his jaw won’t move.  It’s seizing even as he works to loosen it.  That’s scary.  

All at once, it’s all he can think about.  The grind of his teeth, the ridge of muscle, the tension laid beneath skin.  Then comes his breath.  It’s so loud, echoing against his eardrums.  (Was that normal?  It doesn’t feel like it.)  In, out.  In, out.  Has he always sounded like this?  Have his inhales suddenly turned to gasps?  Is he—

“Hey.  Hey.”  There’s a hand on his cheek now.  Your hand.  So soft, a small palm with delicate fingers.  You’ve got glow in the dark nail polish on and a million little jewels scattered over top.  Jungkook nearly goes cross-eyed trying to follow the path your hand weaves.  (At one point, he loses it.  Where’d it go—)  “Relax.”  

Your voice is so soothing.  Rain on a windowpane.  Warm sheets at midnight.  A summer breeze.

“I-I’m trying.”  He hiccups once, twice, tries to focus on the shimmer of your eyeshadow, all the stars caught within the dark of your stare.  You’ve caught him in your magnetic pull, hung him into your orbit with just one look.  He can’t tear his eyes away;  yours offer a fireworks show against the night sky, so pretty it skips his heart. 

“Breathe,”  you instruct, take his fingers between yours.  He wants to look down - does, for the briefest moment.  Then he stares longer, entranced by your nails and the silver around your wrists, how your hands look twined with his.  

You haven’t got a single tattoo.  Not that he can see, anyway.  His stand in stark contrast, wobble across his skin as you squeeze and release, squeeze and release.

It feels nice.  Helps with the tension that branches into every vertebrae and makes his jaw hurt.

“Just hold my hand, okay?”  As if to remind him, you gently knock your knuckles against his once more.  It’s so nice he returns the gesture, watches as his skin blows white beneath the tension.  You don’t even flinch, simply pull him along after your group.

Oh, he needs to walk now.  Right.  

(It’s hard when all he wants to do is look at you.  Hold you.  Listen to your voice.)

(Your voice.  It’s too quiet without it.  Too—)

“Is this your first time?”  It’s not a whisper but it feels just as far, filters into his ears seconds after he’s seen your mouth move.  That’s normal, he thinks.  No.  Wait.  It’s not.  It’s not norm—  “I’m guessing yes.”

Should he be embarrassed?  Ashamed?  Worried?  All the emotions blend together, bleed over his features and he thinks he’s biting into his lip.  It’s not how it normally feels, though.  He does it again, over and over and over.

Only stops when you’re speaking again, reminding him.  “Relax, baby.”

Jungkook repeats the word in his head.  Then out loud, because everything in his skull is going a little too slowly, sounds dragged out and strange.  As if he’s underwater.  (But he’s not.  He’s okay.  He’s here, with you.)  “Relax.  I’m relaxing.”  The more he says it, the less it seems true.  

By the time he’s said it six times - or maybe more, because he really doesn’t know - you’re squeezing his hand again.  Guiding him beneath glaringly bright lights, stroking the fingers of your other hand over the pulse of his wrist.  Where has everyone else gone?  They’d been right in front of you.  

Oh— they’re there!  Five, ten, fifteen feet away.  Filing into the elevator like sardines in a can.

Run, his brain tells him.  Insists.  But you’d told him to slow down.  Don’t run! had slipped past your lips.  He has to listen. 

“We’ll take the next one.”  You’re talking to him.  Obviously.  There’s no one else in the lobby.  Just the two of you, waiting for the lift.  It’s taking so long.  Why’s it taking so long?  He’s inhaled at least five times.  Ten times?  Was that too many?  Was he breathing too fast again?

“Relax,”  he says to himself.

“Relax,”  you follow, soothing the nerves that tickle his skin.  You’re still holding his hand, leaning so close.  He’s warm - burning up, he thinks, radiating heat through his clothes - but he wants to be closer.  Craves touch.  Craves your touch.

You hum when he falls against you, settles right into the open frame of your body.  You don’t even complain when you have to manoeuvre his jellied limbs to hit the right floor number, simply returning your arms around his waist when he whines a noise and hugs you tighter.  He’s certain he’s a little gross - can feel it along his nape, over his chest, down the cut of his spine - sweaty and sticky.

“Come on, baby boy.”  You mean him.  He likes that.  Loves it, in fact.  Wants to hear it again and noses into your shoulder, knees bent and back curved.  He’s folded up against you, packed so tightly as if he might disappear between your bones.  

“Tired,”  he returns.  He is.  He isn’t.  His mind is abuzz, adrift, alight.  

But he wants to rest - lay down and not move for as long as he can.  Would you stay with him?

He asks you, because he needs to know - needs you.  “Stay?”  It’s hardly a question, barely able to beg an answer as he means to.  

You’re leading him down a hallway, past doors with numbers he can’t read.  His feet are dragging - he stumbles too many times - and he’s still draped over you, a weight against your side where your hands interlace.  “Of course.”  He doesn’t think you mean it as a promise but he takes it as such.  Can’t help it.  Doesn’t want to, in any case.

(Jungkook’s a sucker for pretty girls and you’re beautiful.)  

It’s impossible for him to look away, even as you pull him over the threshold and out of your little bubble.

“Kook, you good?”  A deep voice, liquor-laden.  Taehyung.  

Then a laugh.  Windshield wipers.  Two sets.  Jin and his girlfriend.

“____’s got him.”  

That’s your name.  He remembers now.  Repeats it until it’s the only thing he hears.  It looks nice written, penned in cursive against his eyelids.  

“I’m gonna take him to lie down.”  It’s your voice again.  He could pick it out in a sea of thousands (or more realistically a sea of fourteen).  He’s moving again, dragging his socked feet as he goes.  You’re still there.  He recognises the heat of your body and how good you smell, honeysuckle and lavender concentrated the closer he gets.

(He’s so close.  Pressed against your back, tangled in your hair.  He doesn’t think you mind.  You’re so soft.  So good to him.)

“Tired.”  

“I know, baby.  Just lay down.”

Lay down?  Where?  

Oh!  It’s a bed.  Beneath his knees, then under his cheek.  The blankets feel like a cloud but he’s hot.  Too hot again.  Breathing too hard.  His face is smothered.  He can’t—

“Hey.”  You’re there.  Always there.  He’s on his back, delirious, gaze unfocused.  The light above your head acts as a halo.  You’re an angel.  His angel, he thinks.  Must be.  “One breath in.”  Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart.  You must be able to feel how it stutters, trips over its own feet any time he looks at you.  (Not that he’s looked away.)  He does as told.  Takes a deep breath in to make you happy.  “And one breath out.”  It whistles past his teeth.  

There’s something else on his face.  You again.  You’re pushing his hair back, scraping those magical nails over his scalp and making him purr.  

“Just rest, okay?  You’re safe.”

His lips are being touched.  Are you kissing him?  

His eyes snap open but he can’t see.  Not well, anyway.  It’s too dark, your hair a curtain around him.  (It isn’t your lips on his, he realises.  Deflates with the knowledge.)  It’s the tips of your fingers brushing over his mouth, across his chin, up his jaw.  

“Relax,”  you tell him yet again.  “No biting.  No clenching.  Focus on me.”

It’s an easy ask - the simplest task in the world.  

“Okay.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​ @snackhobi​​​ @codeinebelle​

[cordonia]

Lovelink: Hugo Hornsby (Bored)

Rating: PG Word count: 1603 Summary: Hugo Hornsby is late, and Isadora can’t help but feel herself slipping out of his life. Maybe some love fizzles out just like this; tired and bored.

"The games you played were never fun You'd say you'd stay but then you'd run"

Bored. Isadora hunched forward over the diner counter and rested her cheek against her fist, very slowly rolling her eyes. He was late, again, and that was becoming an unfamiliar habit. She was getting bored. The last time she had seen him, she was walking around her apartment in her underwear, making him a coffee while he awaited on the couch. He stared at her hips while rambling on about planetary disease and she just nodded along. Two weeks later, he was...

"Late. So late. I know, I'm so fucking sorry." Hugo Hornsby scrambled onto the neighbouring stool and tossed his wallet down on the counter.

Isadora both cringed and laughed inside when his voice dropped to a whisper as he swore, then rose again with an emphatic sorry.

His cheeks were ruddy and the brown sugar hair upon his head was unkempt. He slept in. And regardless, she was charmed, hidden deep beneath her impatience. Hugo Hornsby was sort of ravishing.

"Good morning, Hugo."

"No smile for your best friend?"

She frowned, deeply, just in time for a waitress to set a cup of coffee in front of Hugo with a lightly toasted bagel with too much butter. They'd only gone to this diner for a few months, but everyone knew their orders quite quickly. It was just far enough from the city that they almost forgot about the real lives waiting for them back home. Almost.

"I'm starting to get the feeling that you don't have time for friends, Hugo. You bailed on Taylor Thursday night too." He flinched, and Isadora braced herself for a pang of guilt, despite its truth.

"Taylor was a mistake, I already talked to him about it. If you two aren't dating anymore, why does he talk to you so much anyways?"

"Bitter-bug." If he was going to act like a child, so would she.

"What did you call me?" His brows furrowed, a crease forming behind the bangs that kept falling in his face.

"You're bitter that Taylor thinks I'm cooler than you. And why we talk is no longer your business, we're allowed to be friends. You introduced us to each other, it's not our fault we're close."

The dating ruse had been fun while it lasted, but soon it became clear that there was a lot more complexity to Hugo and Sally's relationship. They'd been so close, Sally almost gave in. But even if she had, would Hugo have chosen Isadora after everything that had happened? She wasn't sure she would have settled for being a rebound if it was Sally's decision to leave.

"I suppose that one is on me. And I am sorry I'm late, I spent my Friday night marking thirty science tests in my least favourite unit."

"You don't have a least favourite unit," she said bluntly. "How was date night with Sal?"

Hugo shrugged sheepishly, a bit guilty but mostly embarrassed by his lie. She knew he missed their original date night that week because there was no obligatory Instagram post about it. She hated that she knew the inside workings of his whole life. He was very predictable, even if he wasn't calling her as much anymore.

"I wanted to take her to the restaurant her parents brought us to when we graduated, but it was three hours away. We drove all of the way there and it was closed, then got stuck in traffic the whole way home. She's back to not talking to me, again."

"She should have killed you."

"Isadora?" He stared at her so earnestly her heart began to slow, anticipation like a heavy rock on her chest. Time was slow around Hugo, love took a lot more patience than she ever dreamed. "What am I doing?"

Breaking my heart, she silently lamented.

"You're living whatever life you chose for yourself. Very few people choose, Hugo. Don't you feel lucky?"

Maybe it was cruel, but she couldn't look at him as she said it. She wanted him to recoil, to show a glimpse of misery or regret for what could have been. She just didn't want to see it, it would make her too sad to sit next him and know he hurt just as much as her. For what? That was a good question.

Maybe the only look on his face was content and at peace with his choices. Maybe he wasn't hurting like her at all. She couldn't bear to see that either.

"I'm very happy for everything I have. I suppose I could consider myself lucky."

When she finally looked, she really couldn't read what he was feeling. All she knew was that she was soaking up every ounce of exhaustion clinging to the air like radiation. And it all came from Hugo. Who was he these days? Was everyone losing him like this or was it just her?

"I've been thinking about something lately. You don't text me anymore, I know we hang out here and there. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I miss waiting to see your name pop up on my phone during a long shift. It used to make my day, talking to you about the little things. Once upon a time we were just friends on an app and nothing else mattered." Back when it was hopeful to fall in love with him, when he made promises.

Not promises, she supposed, declarations maybe. Ideas. Dreams that turned into bad ideas.

"I miss you too. I know it's been different for a while, I've been torn in so many directions I don't have a brain left to communicate with some days. It's a lousy excuse, but I know how different it's been. It's not just... I really do miss you, I promise."

"Just text me, if you think about me some days and have the time. You don't have to waste any thoughts on me, ever. But if you do," she shrugged.

Hugo rubbed his eyes, sighed a little. "No thought of you is ever a waste, and if I were to text you every time I thought about you, you'd swear I was obsessed with you."

A sad smirk curled Isadora's lip and she leaned a little into his side. They sat facing the kitchen, not looking at each other, shoulder to shoulder.

"Not if I answered back to every one. Then we'd both be obsessed, that would be pretty pathetic I suppose."

"Incurably pathetic." His voice was smooth with a gentle authoritative tone that came from years of teaching.

The romantics dream, a very simple foundation to it at least, is to find someone who actively chooses you. Hugo Hornsby woke up some days and chose Sally, as he had for about a decade prior to meeting Isadora. Then there were other days, when he came over for dinner with her favourite snacks in a bag and sleek button up shirt, almost always green, with a smile just for her. And she swore, however delusional she may have been, that he chose her over and over again.

And then he'd leave. Rinse... repeat.

"Taylor mentioned that they have more auditions on Monday night, I was hoping you'd have time to binge Ito's new cooking show. Netflix gave him a wicked budget; there's a whole episode about trying to teach the prince to make desserts for his fiancee."

Hugo's dimples framed a wide smile, his deep blue eyes sharp under the harsh diner lights. "That sounds perfect! How about I bring some of the wine Sally and I made last summer?"

Isadora nodded, despite the notion of drinking that wine seeming slightly sacrilegious. They'd only ever gotten drunk together one other time, and during a particularly harsh wind storm. She fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 4am, holding Hugo's hand from where he laid unconscious on the floor. No matter how tight she had squeezed, he hadn't woken up. Isadora had cried silently for what seemed like ages, wondering if it was her first and last time to ever hold his hand.

She could never hold his hand in public, never kiss his lips in private, never feel his body curl around hers in a bed they couldn't share. Hugo Hornsby was not her fiance, or boyfriend, or lover.

He was just her friend, shoulder to shoulder with her in a diner on the off-beaten path outside of town.

"If you're bringing wine, I'll provide the cheese. Actually, I'll grab some back up wine too, the temperature drops Monday and we're in for a cold night."

"Perfect!" He cheered excitedly, earning a dirty look from a rather tired looking waitress.

"You're perfect," Isadora smiled. She swore Hugo even blushed. Did he blush for Sally? Did she ever try to get such a reaction from her partner?

"Isadora?" She stared at him expectantly and wondered if she could ever get sick of hearing him say her name. Her arm was still pressed tightly against his side, to the point that she was almost falling off of the stool.

"Yes, Hugo?"

"The butterflies don't go away," he whispered. Those blue eyes were dimmer, dimples disappearing into a tightened jaw. Isadora looked away and rested her head on his shoulder, for just a second. She pretended it was to comfort him and not herself.

"Everything dies, Hugo. Especially the butterflies."

He should know that... it happened with Sally, didn't it?

"And when you walk out the door and leave me torn You're teaching me to live without it"

[magioftheseas]

Mending Cotton Thread

Summary: the ultra despair girls meet with an ex-servant once more.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language courtesy of Touko

Notes: This is late for Touko’s birthday and wasn’t even written for her birthday but please accept it anyway. Writing Touko is hard. I tried. Weirdly I haven’t written a lot of Toukomaru, presumably because I suck or something. And Komaeda is here, too. I do write a lot of him.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Of all the people to see again, she wasn’t expecting it to be Servant-san. It had to be at the weirdest, most unexpected moment.

Except not really. All she was doing was visiting the Future Foundation building to leave a report and namely, to talk to Makoto for a bit. Riots broke out in Towa City again, and he had been so worried about her but she took care of it, her and Touko, it was fine, everything was fine, but she did still want to talk to Makoto and—

“Oof!”

“Ah!”

She hadn’t been paying much attention. She ran into someone, near barreled into them, actually, and that person had been kind enough to steady her in return. They had a cold but secure grip. Not clammy like Touko but much more perfunctory. There was a mechanical whirl by her ear, and a soft exhale.

“Are you...alright?” A hesitant question. One that Komaru immediately needed to respond to.

“Yes, I’m fi—!”

When she turned to face that person, she stopped. In fact, everything stopped.

When she was face to face with Servant-san again, it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. She froze up and reached for her gun instinctively, only pausing when he backed off and held up his hands.

“Sorry,” he says with a pitiful smile. “I’ll be out of the building soon. Please don’t mind me, Komaru-san.”

Komaru blinked at him. It was Servant-san’s face, but Servant-san never looked at her like that.

Her thoughts start racing in spite of his apparent efforts.

What—should I do? Should I accost him? Stop him? Interrogate him? Demand something like, “what are you doing here?! What are you planning?!”

But he doesn’t look like he’s planning anything bad...

If she were Makoto, she’d stand her ground but smile in return. Would simply ask questions. Would defuse the situation. Act sweet. Act gentle. Makoto was a bit hapless at times, but he always dealt well with people.

If she were Touko, she’d stand her ground and strike first. Throw Servant into the wall. Incapacitate him. Show that she was in charge. That she was in control. Even though Touko had a unique way with words, she knew how to back herself up with actions.

She’s not either of them. Komaru is just—herself.

“Servant-san...?” she questions it because even now, Komaru is not the surest of herself.

“Oh. I never...” Servant laughs, wheezes. It’s such a scratchy ugly sound that Komaru nearly seizes up, but Servant is quick to wave his hands and shake his head frantically. “No, no, I wasn’t laughing at you, Komaru-san! It’s more that I...um. I never introduced myself properly to you, did I?”

“You said not to mind you,” she pointed out, lips pointed into a frown. “You said that back then—and just now. So, have you really changed?”

“Mm, no comment.” He doesn’t look at her but he seemed embarrassed. Human, whereas Servant-san had always come across as alien and incomprehensible. So he had changed in some ways.

If he was at the Future Foundation and not in chains, maybe he was dubbed safe to be around?

Unless—?!

No, no, she told herself once she got a closer look at Servant. Servant, who shuffled back uncomfortably but didn’t try to run. Servant, who was wearing a finely pressed suit with gloved hands. Hair tied back neatly to boot. One could be mistaken and almost think this person handsome in a soft, mushy kind of way. Either way, with a look like this... I don’t think Servant-san has recently broken out of any prisons.

“Servant-san,” she said, and he perked up.

“It’s Komaeda.” He gives a smile. “Komaeda Nagito. Nice to see you again, Komaru-san. I’m terribly sorry for causing such a scare.” Ducking his head, he side-steps as if just being in her path had been a horrible offense on his part. Touko would agree with that assessment, so Komaru is quiet as Ser—as Komaeda Nagito flees.

She never got any actual answers. Just a name.

Servant-san is still a strange person, she decided. At least—he’s more like a person than before.

--

“Um... K-Komaru...?”

She’s so busy daydreaming that she’s not paying much attention to her surroundings.

“Komaru...”

She’s caught up in thoughts of that strange encounter. Wondering if maybe it had been too lukewarm, too inconsequential all things considered. Too—normal. Which Servant-san of the past would’ve gotten annoyed about. Komaeda Nagito hadn’t been bothered at all.

“Komaru!”

Komaru gasped mid-sigh which caused a near hiccup. She also jumped to attention, much to her girlfriend’s annoyance.

“The hell is with you,” Touko was griping. “Did something happen?”

Straight to the point. A hand on her shoulder. A stern grip.

That was Touko. Her partner and pillar.

“You kept making that annoyingly constipated look you get when you’re deep in thought,” Touko elaborated. In a very ‘that was Touko’ sort of way. “Spill the shit, Komaru.”

Touko was very reassuring.

(Komaru means this sincerely.)

“There was someone I met...”

--

Touko ended up so shocked by this apparent encounter that she started foaming at the mouth.

“But, uh, he didn’t seem like a bad person?” Komaru offered pitifully. “Ser—um. Komaeda-san had a completely different feel! Actually...”

The more I thought about it, he had reminded me somewhat of Makoto.

“W-We absolutely can’t trust your judgment!” Touko hissed, still so rattled and anxious. “You’re way too naïve and flippant about this—that fucking shit-spewing toilet tried to get her to kill you, you know!”

“I know, but...” I believed in you, so it was fine. “I did ask Makoto about him. Makoto said that... Komaeda-san was working with the Future Foundation, and that Komaeda-san wasn’t a bad person.”

Touko’s lips pulled into a thin line.

“You didn’t tell him, did you? That you already met that fucker.”

Unsurprisingly, Touko had seen right through her. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile at that, even when Touko’s response was a long-suffering groan.

“Komaru, what the shit. That’s absolutely the kind of thing you should run by your damn brother. By the way, that scummy guy?! He tried to have me offed by a serial killer! So maybe—I don’t know! Be fucking careful, you dullard?! Something like that!” Touko flailed, but when she steadied herself, she took Komaru by the shoulders. “Are you seriously the kind of fucking doormat that keeps quiet when troubled?! Are you kidding me?!”

“It’s not that,” Komaru denied. “It’s more that—I trust Makoto? Just like I trusted you...”

“You shouldn’t! He’s an idealistic moron and I’m—argh!” Touko pinched her nose. “Forget this. Let me settle things.”

I trust Touko-chan, so...!

“Touko-chan!” She seized her precious partner’s hands, squeezing with all she had. “Let’s settle them together!”

“U-Ugh...” Touko does flinch with a face such a heated red that it caused her glasses to fog up and steam to come pouring out the ears. “T-T...T-T-T-To...gether...”

Komaru can’t help but smile brightly.

It’s cliché to think, but we absolutely won’t falter if we’re together!

--

Touko had made demands to Makoto on the first given opportunity, leaving no room for argument.

“Do you think that we don’t fucking know who that guy used to be?! Before you parade him around so s-shamelessly you have to run shit by us! I’ll be the judge if he’s actually good enough to be out in the open or not...!”

“You want to meet with Komaeda-san?” He does glance at Komaru. Swallowing, she nods and stares back. Her brother understands. “Alright. I’ll set up a meeting, then. Did something...?”

“Happen? Between us? What the hell gave you that idea,” Touko scoffed before getting all flustered. “O-Obviously! We met him in Towa! He really caused us a shitload of problems! Did Byakuya-sama not tell you?!”

“Ah, he might’ve mentioned something like that...” Makoto’s smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry, Komaru.”

Komaru waved her hands.

“It’s not that I want S—Komaeda-san to be behind bars or anything. If you say he’s atoning, I believe you, Makoto... But... I do want to see it for myself.”

For a moment, she does think of those other kids. Shingetsu in particular who had been earnest in his desires to help other kids. While she never could get a read on Servant either, she did wonder if he had been the same before he got warped.

If Makoto believes in him, she’ll believe, too. Touko is stiff around the face and shoulders, but she’s no less reassuring when Komaru squeezes her hand.

It’ll be fine, she thinks. She’s sure of it.

Makoto’s smile brightens, and Komaru can’t help but feel hopeful.

--

...that doesn’t mean she expects things to be simple.

She’s not that stupid.

“Ser—Komaeda-san,” she greets. The two of them are sitting across from each other now.

“Shit-spewer,” Touko scowls, crossing her arms and glaring. “You’re looking ruddier than last time we met. Disgusting.”

Komaeda’s cheeks darkened. He looked sheepish. To think someone like this had caused so much trouble—that was an understatement. This guy used to be major bad news.

“It’s nice to see you two doing well,” he states meekly, ducking his head. His shoulders hunch in a bit as if Komaeda wants nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear.

“It’s not nice!” Touko squawked. “It’s way fucking unpleasant to see your gross face out and about! And how dare you smell so clean! A-Are you mocking us?!”

“Not my intention, I swear,” he murmurs. “Is it...alright if I...?”

“We’re asking the questions!” Touko snapped and obediently, Komaeda’s mouth snapped shut.

There’s not even a whiff of defiance, and Komaru finds that she’s already relaxed.

Even if he acted up, we could easily take him.

Still, she’d rather not fight so she smiles instead.

“How are you, Komaeda-san?”

“I’m...fine.” Komaeda’s not looking at her. He seems so anxious. It’s starting to feel really weird.

“Why are you so nervous?” Touko asks outright. “W-With the shit you pulled, w...we should be the nervous ones...!”

Komaeda’s head bows. He apologizes. Komaru frowns.

Like this, he’s...so pitiful.

“Straighten up!” Touko exclaimed. “If you keep fucking bowing like that, we’re gonna start to look like bullies!”

Komaeda apologizes. He does straighten. And—

I don’t...think he’s a bad person.

“Let’s start over,” Komaru hears herself suggest. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Naegi Komaru. This is my girlfriend, Touko.”

“Fukawa,” Touko spits out with a sneer, trembling but still following her lead.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Komaru finishes sunnily. “Komaeda-san!”

Slowly, tentatively, Komaeda grips her hand with the flesh one. Even through the gloves, she can tell that it’s a little clammy and quite uncertain. But all the same, the two shake on it, and Komaeda is smiling in a way that’s not just calming, but reassuring.

“Komaru-san,” Komaeda says as he pulls back. “Fukawa-san. It’s nice to meet both of you.”

Touko groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You’re just saying that... This situation isn’t nice at all...”

“I think it’s nice!” Komaru exclaims, clapping. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let’s talk about stuff! Komaeda-san, what kind of manga do you like?”

“Ah.” Komaeda swallowed. “I prefer...novels.”

Touko snorted. “Murakami, I presume?”

“No, no.” Komaeda shook his head. “Yoshimoto-san is more to my tastes. Her works are more...welcoming, aha.”

“They also have a lot of death in them,” Touko remarked, frowning. “I see...so that’s the kind of person you like...”

“Then, you must read Touko-chan’s novels!” Komaru shouted with such force that Komaeda flinched back.

“I-I don’t want to be liked by someone like you!” Touko hissed.

“I do love your novels as well, Fukawa-san,” Komaeda said, much to her horror.

“No! I don’t w-want someone like you to like me!”

“Touko-chan’s working on a novel right now!” Komaru said, getting more excited. “It’s the best one yet! It’s about—!”

Touko screamed, tackling Komaru to the ground to cover her mouth furiously. Screeching unintelligible garble all the while. Komaru flailed and struggled, and then—a bright burst of laughter.

“N-No, no, sorry, sorry,” Komaeda wheezed, covering his own mouth and shaking. With a flushed face and sparkling eyes, such a look of joy was enough to get the girls separating and flustered.

“...there is an I-novel I finished a couple of years back,” Touko found herself grumbling. “Naegi liked it...so you’ll probably like it, too.”

“You really think so?” Komaeda asked, squeaked, almost, and his blush darkened. “I-I mean...”

“You’ll like it so much it’ll make you want to puke,” Touko was seething, now. “So—I expect you to read the whole thing! Beginning to end! Twice, even!”

“A-Ah...”

“A-And tell me your thoughts!” she demanded. “Every single one! No matter how shitty or scummy! Do it!”

“O-Okay, Fukawa-san...!”

Watching them, Komaru’s grin was wide enough to split her face.

It’ll be fine, she thinks as the two banter and bicker. I’m sure of it.

[ibuki-says]

Color Coded Symphony

Pairing: Ibuki Mioda x Sonia Nevermind

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,653

Spoilers: None! Non-despair AU

Prompt: Soulmate AU - One cannot see color until they touch their soulmate

       The cool autumn air was barely noticeable to the princess as she made her way across campus, diligently following two of her good friends. Her heart was pounding in such excitement that at times she feared it would leap its way right out of her chest. Sonia Nevermind was going to be attending her first Japanese rock concert!! Sure, she had been in attendance to live music before, but it was always the classical music of her homeland. This was so new and exciting! So different from what she was used to! Better yet, she was even going with friends that she already made...that were actually her own age! Chiaki, who had suggested the outing, and Mikan, who had overheard the conversation and expressed interest in the concert. Though it took quite a bit of convincing for the anxious nurse to believe it wouldn’t be a burden for her to attend the concert with the two other girls. Eventually, she did agree to accompany them, so when the time came, they met up and began their trek.

One of the things Sonia was most curious about was who they were going to see play. Ibuki Mioda, better known as the Ultimate Musician. Despite being her classmate, Sonia had never actually crossed paths with the other girl. She knew Ibuki was good friends with both Chiaki and Mikan, and she trusted the opinions of her dear friends, so she had no doubts that she was absolutely lovely as well.

“So what do we do at the Japanese rock concert?” Sonia eagerly questioned her friends, certainly not wanting to do or say the wrong thing, lest she offend the other concert goers, or, perish the thought, even Ibuki herself! Chiaki yawned and rubbed her eye before glancing at the princess.

“I haven’t been to a live concert before, so I’m not totally sure. I think we just kinda listen to the music. Maybe dance some?” She answered thoughtfully, though it was clear she was rather inexperienced in the whole “rock concert” thing as well.

“Ah- I-I know sometimes people get rough at concerts, so please be careful! I treat people that come in with all sorts of bumps or bruises afterwards, so it’s important to pay attention to your surroundings!” Mikan chimed in with her own advice, taking a deep breath after as if she had said the whole thing without breathing. Sonia looked between her two friends with a gentle smile, grateful for their input.

“Thank you two! I now know a little more of what to expect, and I am confident we will have a hella great time!” She exclaimed, pumping her fists with stars in her eyes. She really felt as though she was integrating herself incredibly well with her Japanese classmates, though of course there were cultural differences, she did her best. The three girls finally reached their destination, the music hall on campus but it certainly gave off a...different vibe than usual. The air practically sparked with a rebellious electricity that Sonia felt all the way to her bones. She could recognize many of her other classmates who had shown up to give support to Ibuki as well. She offered a wave to a few of those who caught her gaze before being drawn to the stage. She stared at the stage in awe when she heard Chiaki speak up beside her.

“It’s seven o’ clock. We made it just on time.” She muttered while just on time, a bass chord rang out through the music hall.

“IS EVERYONE READY TO ROCK!?” A loud voice echoed from the speakers while Sonia craned her neck to locate the person the voice belonged to. A beat later, the curtain fell away to reveal a girl with long black hair, with some parts haphazardly dyed different shades of grey...though she assumed they were supposed to be different colors. Sonia’s eyes sparkled once more, the princess was absolutely enchanted by the Ultimate Musician that immediately commanded the stage by launching into an upbeat rock song. Her heart pounded to the rhythm and she couldn’t help herself from moving her body as well. Keeping Mikan’s advice in mind, she swayed in time to the music and danced with her two friends to the exciting music that reverberated throughout the building. She felt every bass chord in her chest and the melody deep in her soul. The three of them danced the night away as the stage lights flashed brilliantly around them.

The concert was over much too quickly. Despite being practically covered with sweat and exhaustion, Sonia wasn’t ready for the fun night with her friends to be over. She cheered along with the rest of the crowds as Ibuki thanked them for coming and disappeared back behind the curtain.

“That...was...absolutely exhilarating!! I have never felt so alive!!” Sonia exclaimed, looking between her friends with the same gleam in her eyes that had never left. Chiaki nodded, the same tiredness Sonia felt was evident in her own expression.

“I’m glad you had fun. Before we go back, we do have one stop to make.” Chiaki’s smile turned slightly mischievous as she glanced at Mikan with a knowing look. Mikan let out a small “eep!” before nervously giggling and nodding. Sonia’s expression quickly turned to one of confusion as she regarded her two friends. Chiaki gestured for the two girls to follow her.

“Where are we going?” Sonia questioned, though still following Chiaki with little hesitation. Her heart began pounding once again as she realized Chiaki was leading them towards the backstage. Did this mean-? Were they going to be seeing Ibuki-?? Yes, she was their classmate and friend, but Sonia had just watched her perform! Was this not breaching some kind of etiquette? Evidently not as they arrived backstage. Her heart sped up more as she saw Ibuki, who noticed the three girls and brightly grinned at them.

“Ibuki hopes you all liked the show!! It was such a blast playing in the music hall again!!” Ibuki laughed, greeting Chiaki and Mikan with tight hugs. She stopped when she got to Sonia, glancing at her with a bit of a quizzical look before nodding in recognition. “Sonia, right? Ack! Sorry- Ultimate Princess Sonia!! That’s you?” She looked at her curiously, making Sonia nod.

“Yes, that’s me! Ah, I do not care for such formalities, though.” She answered with a soft grin. Ibuki immediately pepped up with an affirmative nod.

“Alright Sonia! Well, Ibuki’s super super glad you came to the show!” She exclaimed, proceeding to throw her arms around the princess to give her her own hug. She was caught off guard for just a moment before relenting and hugging her back. However, as she pulled away and opened her eyes, the world was suddenly full of color. The dressing room was painted a red color, the lights were different colors, she even noted the sections of Ibuki’s hair dyed pink and blue. Looking into Ibuki’s newly pink eyes, she could tell she was having the same realization. Sonia’s hand instinctively covered her mouth as she stared at Ibuki with mirrored bewilderment. The two girls went to speak at the same time, causing them both to fall into nervous giggles. They stood quietly processing this before Sonia managed to speak up again. “You...it looks like you are my soulmate!” After the confusion began to wear off, she was left with a positive giddiness. She clasped Ibuki’s hands in her own as she couldn’t take the goofy grin off of her face.

“Wow...just….I can’t believe it! I’m just-” Ibuki squeezed Sonia’s hands in return, sputtering out her own words of disbelief. Sonia suddenly remembered the two friends who had accompanied her and whirled to look at them, eyebrows furrowing.

“Did...did you two know about this??” She had to ask, though wondering just how Chiaki or Mikan would possibly know the two were soulmates before they themselves did. This was evident by the utter astonishment on their faces as well.

“I had no idea, I p-promise! But this is truly a wonderful turn of events!” Mikan cried as Chiaki nodded in agreement.

“Yup. Same as me. No clue.” Chiaki added, looking between the two of them. “But it does make sense. So...I think we’ll leave now. I’m getting tired anyway…” Chiaki muttered, yawning practically on cue, tugging on Mikan’s sleeve to non-subtly get her to leave as well. Mikan quickly got the hint as the two made their way out of the dressing room, leaving recently discovered soulmates Sonia and Ibuki alone together.

“This is super duper crazy like...what??” Ibuki’s disbelief was apparent as Sonia giggled as well.

“I know. I cannot believe I have been attending school with my soulmate and did not realize it this whole time.” Sonia mused with a soft smile. Her expression turned to one of contemplation as she looked back to Ibuki. “I do have a question... if you could not see color...how did you go about dying your hair?” She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Ibuki let out a loud laugh, seemingly been broken out of her daze from finding her soulmate.

“Oh! Well, I just asked my friends who already did find their soulmates to pick them out! Ibuki didn’t really care as long as it looked cool!” She answered cheerfully. Sonia nodded, it did make perfect sense to her. “Hmmm, anyway! Wanna go walk and talk for a bit? The night is still young, and I, uh, really wanna get to know you better now.” A light blush coated Ibuki’s cheeks as she asked this.

“Of course. I would like nothing more right now.” Sonia answered with a soft smile. Ibuki looked visibly relieved as she took Sonia’s hand once again, the two of them walking back out into the cool autumn night.

[justanother-unluckysoul]

OUAT Fic: For Love And Revenge, PG-13, Killian/Milah

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Killian Jones, Rumpelstiltskin

Word count: 2867

Summary:  "His arm throbs in time with his pulse and his heart aches, and he can’t tell if that’s an emotional pain from losing the love of his life or a real remnant of the Dark One’s attempt to rip out his heart. " Killian tries to come to terms with losing Milah and his hand. Tag to 2x04.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.

A/N: Apologies for taking this fic down earlier but I wasn’t fully happy with how I’d written certain things. But it’s back now and with an extra thousand words! (I only intended to tidy up a few parts but oops, I may have gotten carried away.)

For Love And Revenge

“Even demons can be killed,” Killian is aiming for a threatening snarl, but his voice cracks, “I will find a way.”

“Well, good luck living long enough,” replies Rumpelstiltskin, somehow still managing to taunt him even with a hook stuck in his chest, and he disappears in a dark red cloud.

The hook clatters to the deck. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy to kill him, else the Dark One would never have left himself open to such an attack. Killian’s balance feels off as he picks up the hook. Anger and fear can only drive a wounded man so far, and Killian quickly realizes he's reached the end of its capacity to keep him going. And suddenly his legs don't want to hold him up, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He stumbles to the rail of the ship. He doesn't vomit though, and after a brief interval wondering if he will or not, Killian turns and slumps down to the deck, his back against the railing. His first mate, John, is at his side in a moment.

"Get me something to tie off his arm!" calls John, raising Killian's left arm to slow the bleeding.

There's a flurry of movement. Killian's eyes are drawn back to Milah's body. He reaches for her but she’s further away than he thought. He’s suddenly desperate to have her back in his arms, but someone is holding him down and a scream of rage and grief builds in his throat. He doesn’t even have the strength to voice it. A strange coldness has taken over him. He feels as though he’s in a dream. John is tying something tightly around his forearm. Maybe a belt.

"You're gonna be alright, Captain," John says, "But I need you to stay awake, you understand?"

"Aye," murmurs Killian.

He has every intention of staying awake, but when he's pulled to his feet, the world slips away from him.

He dreams of crocodiles and hooks and Milah dying in his arms. He wakes with her name on his lips.

"Easy, now," says a stranger, "Don't be moving around just yet."

Killian recoils, not recognizing where he is, nor the man leaning over him. He’s also none too pleased to realize that he’s shirtless. Lurching sideways, he rolls off the table and he's on his feet in a quick movement. The action awakens all sorts of aches and pains in his body, dizziness suddenly overwhelming, and he reaches for the edge of the table with his left hand to steady himself. There's a brief moment of sickening realization, but it's too late. Killian goes down hard and barely avoids smacking his head on the table on his way. The fall jars his wounded arm, sending shooting pains from his wrist to his elbow and Killian barely holds in a scream.

"Oi, what did I just tell you?" the stranger says, sounding annoyed.

He hauls Killian to his feet and deposits him back on the table with ease, uncaring of the discomfort the further abrupt motion causes to Killian. The stranger is a big man, Killian thinks, and one he could not take in a fight in this condition. So Killian stays where he's put, cradling his burning left arm, hoping that his carefully measured breaths will quell the churning in his stomach. His head is pounding. If Killian didn't know better, he'd almost believe he'd had too much rum the night before. But he does know better, as his mind helpfully supplies him with the vivid memory of Milah going limp in his arms as the Dark One crushed her heart into dust. Killian’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head a little to dispel the image.

"Drink, it will help with the sickness," says the stranger, his voice gentler now that Killian’s being compliant.

Speaking of rum…Killian takes the offered cup and sniffs it cautiously before taking a sip. It’s not rum, of course. It's hot, spicy, somehow feeling both warming and cooling in his mouth. He finishes it quickly and his stomach does feel calmer having done so, so he risks a closer look at his... He was going to call it his hand but it's not anymore, is it? Well, whatever. It's wrapped tightly in thick bandages, blood peeking through faintly, and he can't quite believe that his hand is really gone. He can almost feel his fingers, imagines that if he tried, he could still clench his missing hand into a fist. But obviously when he tries to do that there's no response from his phantom hand. An uncomfortable shiver runs down his spine and Killian swiftly forces his attention outward.

“I assume this is your handiwork?” he asks of the stranger.

"Yes."

“Then I believe you’ve saved my life. You have my thanks.”

Killian's gratitude sounds hollow even to his own ears. The physician only grunts in response and drapes a rather scratchy blanket around Killian. He’s thankful for the security it offers. His shirts are in a blood-stained pile on the floor, except for his leather coat, which the physician has kindly hung on a hook by the door.

“The wound was partially healed already, by magic, I’m told,” the physician explains, “You are a lucky man, Captain. Whoever did this to you wanted you to live.”

There’s a clear question on the man’s face, although he doesn’t voice it and Killian would refuse to answer anyway. A lucky man. He’s the furthest thing from lucky. He’d rather be dead than live a day without Milah. But he had sworn he’d find a way to kill the Dark One, and Killian’s tired misery slowly ignites to anger again. There are footsteps outside the door, and it swings open to reveal John, carrying clean clothes.

"Captain," John says in greeting, and he looks as though he would say something further but thinks better of it.

“If you’re going to ask me when he can leave, the answer is when he can stand up without falling on his face,” the physician declares.

Killian bristles at that.

“I’m fine,” he growls.

And to prove it he forces himself to stand again, though he’s prepared for the dizzy spell this time, and remembers to balance himself with the right hand. But even after the dizziness abates, it’s still a struggle to remain on his feet. Everything hurts. And the physician only raises an eyebrow at Killian’s efforts, clearly not convinced of his ability to leave.

“And without using the table as a crutch?” he asks, even daring to smirk a little.

Killian wants to punch the man for taking that tone with him. Instead he grits his teeth and lets go of the table, clenching his hand into a fist to try to stop it shaking. He doesn't need help. Putting on his shirt and coat proves a little tricky with one hand and his centre of balance refusing to settle, but a warning glance at John keeps his first mate back. He doesn't need help.

“Make sure he gets plenty of rest,” the physician tells John, not Killian, as though John has any say in what his Captain does, “His body has been through a lot. And if he gets feverish--”

"Got it,” snaps Killian, heading for the door before the physician can make any more demands, probably to do with leeches or something.

The walk back to the Jolly Roger is miserable and Killian quickly regrets turning down John’s offer to find him a cart to ride back in. Now he can’t hear John’s words clearly over the rushing sound in his ears that grows louder the further he pushes himself, and eventually John stops trying. Killian’s too focused on walking in a straight line to care what John has to say anyway. His arm throbs in time with his pulse and his heart aches, and he can’t tell if that’s an emotional pain from losing the love of his life or a real remnant of the Dark One’s attempt to rip out his heart. Finally the ship comes into view. Killian steps onto the deck, planting his feet firmly, forcing a smile at his relieved crew. But he knows his body is moments away from betraying him. He mumbles an excuse and quickly heads for his quarters. He barely makes it down the ladder and when he steps off onto the floor, Killian nearly collapses right there. It’s an effort to stagger the last few steps to the bed, and he barely avoids landing on his wounded arm when he flops onto the mattress. He hates being so weak.

Killian's not sure how long it's been before he feels recovered enough to rise. He must have lain there all night because shortly after the fog in his mind dissipates, John brings him food and water, and reminds him that it's time to change the bandages. Killian can’t bring himself to eat. He takes several mouthfuls of rum instead and his eyes dare John to say anything about it. John wisely keeps his mouth shut on the subject.

"Tommy had this made for you," John says instead, and he deposits what appears to be a pile of leather on the table before leaving Killian to his unpleasant task.

Carefully, Killian unwinds the bandages from his… he still catches himself thinking hand. But looking at the swollen, disfigured mess that is the end of his arm for the first time pushes that thought out of his mind. It’s obvious that Rumpelstiltskin’s magical healing had been carefully designed to keep him alive with no regard for anything else. A horrible cold feeling washes over Killian and he can barely hold his right hand steady as he pours some of the rum over his wound to stave off infection, the agony of it nearly more than he can take. There’ll be no leeches around here, just a waste of good rum. It’s a small price to pay. When the pain eases and Killian can see clearly again, he risks standing and examining the item John had left for him. It’s a leather sleeve of sorts designed to fit over the stump of his arm. It has a hole in the centre so Killian can attach a tool of his choice to it, in place of a hand, and straps to hold it firmly in place. He's seen several men with similar fashions. He never dreamed he'd wear one himself.

 Once he’s sure he can walk straight, Killian returns to the deck, wounded arm still tucked close to his side. It feels better though, now protected by the leather. The deck has been well scrubbed clean of his blood and… other things. Milah’s crushed heart, Killian’s cruel mind reminds him, ignoring the attempt he’d made to not think of that. But he slips easily back into his role as Captain, barking out orders and shortly they are heading out to sea. Preparing Milah’s body for her burial is a tricky thing with one hand, not helped by the fact that his one hand won’t stop shaking, but the crew has wisely and unanimously decided to leave him to it.

"I will avenge you, love," Killian murmurs to her, emotion choking his voice, "I promise."

Moments later her body is gone, committed to the sea. Killian straightens his back, clenches his jaw. The need for revenge burns in his soul and gives him strength. He knows exactly what he’s going to use in place of his left hand and where he’s going next. Neverland. He’s going to make sure he lives long enough to follow through with his threat of killing Rumpelstiltskin.

  Neverland's weather is settled, almost too warm but with a cool breeze that offsets the heat in the sun. Killian finds himself wondering if it does ever change, as he sits on a wooden crate on the Jolly Roger's deck and sharpens his hook. It was already quite sharp to begin with, but Killian wants it to be more so. He imagines how it will now slice into the crocodile’s chest even smoother than the last time and he feels a flicker of sadistic satisfaction just at the thought of it, although whether or not this is a weapon he can actually kill the Dark One with remains to be seen.

 Killian’s crew treats him differently now and Killian hates it. They didn’t question his decision to come to Neverland, at least not to his face. But he notices their whispers, their looks of sympathy, and he hates how they always rush to help him pull a rope or lift something heavy before he can even attempt to do it himself. And he really hates how he keeps forgetting that he doesn't have a left hand anymore, although he could swear he still feels it there at the end of his arm, and he'll hold out his "hand" for a crew member to pass him something, and when nothing happens, he will turn to them in confusion and a bit of frustration, and they'll be looking back at him with pity because he's reached out with his hook instead. And he will snatch the item out of their hands with his good hand (his only hand) and shout at them to bloody do something else, anything to stop them looking at him like he's broken. Like he's weak. Like he needs any help at all.

 Several hours later Killian finds himself regretting ever increasing the sharpness of the hook, as he sits at the table in his quarters with blood streaming down his cheek. He'd distractedly gone to scratch an itch there and once again forgot for a moment that his left hand was gone. He'd only remembered when he saw shiny metal coming for his face, but it was too late to stop the motion completely, only to lighten the intended touch. Otherwise the damage would have been a lot worse. With a growl of annoyance at his own stupidity, he grabs a clean kerchief from the drawer and presses it against his face. Killian feels like a damn fool. What will his crew think? They already see him as an invalid. No, Killian thinks, they'll never know the truth of this. Because he's a good liar, he knows, falsehoods always flowing easily from his tongue. The cut doesn't bleed much, thankfully, and when Killian looks in the mirror, he can tell it doesn't need stitching. Another thing to be thankful for because while he's sewed his own wounds before, trying to thread a needle with one hand could prove difficult. And that pulls his thoughts to the times where he'd stumble back onto his ship after a long night, sometimes bleeding, sometimes bruised, usually just tired but whatever his condition Milah would be there to piece him back together. Milah. The memory of her smile and her gentle touch on his skin washes over him like a wave of warmth and peace. But in a moment, Killian's traitorous mind decides to remind him of the last time he saw his love, shattering what little comfort he previously found in his thoughts of Milah. Killian's jaw clenches hard and he turns away from the mirror, taking several large gulps of rum to chase down the lump in his throat.

 When Killian finally returns to the deck, he's radiating such a dark fury that none of the crew dare to ask what happened to his face, so Killian doesn't get to spin a story. Although, the way he's feeling now, he'd likely make them walk the plank just for asking, so it's for the best. Killian’s terrible mood isn’t helped at all by the fact his hand, his missing left hand, keeps seizing up with imaginary cramps at all hours of the night. Killian assumes this secondary torment has been deliberately inflicted on him by Rumpelstiltskin’s magic to further his suffering. As if it’s not already enough that the crocodile killed Milah and crippled Killian. Killian spends many hours lying on his bed in the dark, face pressed hard into his pillow to muffle his groans and whimpers and curses, holding his aching arm close to his chest. It's all too much and Killian feels as though he may bloody well go mad with the anger consuming his soul, a raging fire that will burn him right down until there's nothing left, if he can't get it to simmer down. He stares out to sea, breathing in the salty air deeply, trying to calm himself. The sky and sea meet unhindered at the horizon, except for the spot where the island is. There’s still not a cloud to be seen. The wind feels warm now.

 END

[sceptilemasterr]

Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 1, Scene 6 - Zephyr Hernandez and the Avalanche of Pants

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: While shopping in Penn Square, Shreya and Fiora meet a new friend.

Previous Scene: Answers and Questions

Masterlist: Link

EXT. PENN SQUARE - DAY

A beautiful open-air marketplace glows under the afternoon sun. A crowd of Attuned, along with a few nymphs and satyrs, stroll along the paths. Most of the surrounding buildings look fairly normal with a few unusual embellishments or energy streams flowing along their sides, though interspersed among these buildings are a few huge, hollowed-out trees and giant mushroom-like structures. A giant floating clock face hovers above it all, below which flows a sparkling fountain tracing impossible shapes with its water. A free-standing door is located at one end of the square, and a pair of familiar voices can be heard coming from somewhere “within” the door.

SHREYA (O.S.): This should be the one... ah! Got it!

FIORA (O.S.): If this one’s the bathroom again, Shreya...

SHREYA (O.S.): Rest assured, this time I’m--

The door swings open, and a startled Fiora falls through it, followed a moment later by Shreya stepping calmly into the square. Before she closes the door, a glimpse of the Room 108 common area can be seen: this is (one of) the other ends of the door with the many handles. Fiora stands up, gazing around her with awe.

FIORA: Wow, I can’t believe this! What is this place?

SHREYA: Penn Square. It’s the main shopping district of Pennelia. That’s the city around Penderghast.

FIORA: Just like Northbridge is to Hartfeld, I guess.

SHREYA: Uh, what?

FIORA: It’s not important. Let’s go shopping!

SHREYA: Right this way! Follow me!

Shreya leads Fiora through the maze of stalls until they approach one staffed by a man with a towering, spiked hairdo twice the height of his head. He peers down at both of them before clapping his hands together excitedly.

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Ah, well, if it isn’t the wayward daughter herself! Miss Shreya, so good to see you here! I do hope you are enjoying your time at Penderghast, but if you--

SHREYA: No, I still don’t want to return to the company.

The employee’s face falls momentarily, but his smile quickly returns.

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Well, that’s quite all right. Regardless of all that, you are still a Mistry. How can I help you?

FIORA: Wait, Shreya... your family owns this store?

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Not just the store, silly girl! The entire Mistry empire! We have branches in every major Stoicheal Realm bubble and--

SHREYA: It’s alright. Please. She’s our loyal customer here today!

The employee’s expression immediately shifts to one of apologetic excitement as he addresses Fiora.

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Ah! Well, why didn’t you say so before? Step right up, we have here the finest fashions and clothing this side of the Between! Though, seeing who your companion is, you probably already know--

Fiora looks around the nearly-empty stall with curiosity.

FIORA: Are they invisible?

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: ...What?

FIORA: The clothes. I don’t see much, are they invisible?

Shreya bursts out laughing.

SHREYA: No, of course not! These are just samples. Just say what you’re looking for, and he’ll bring them to you!

FIORA: Hmm, okay... uh, pants?

There is an awkward silence as the employee stares at her, confused.

FIORA: Pants? Please?

The employee raises an eyebrow, shrugs, then makes a few motions with his arms.

SHREYA: Uh, Fiora, you should probably--

Before Shreya can finish, the man snaps a finger. An enormous pile of pants appears out of thin air, covering the entire stall, spilling out onto the walkway, and knocking Fiora and Shreya to the ground, burying them up to their shoulders in pants!

FIORA: Yahhh! That’s a lot of pants!

SHREYA: That’s... what I was trying to warn you about. You may want to be more specific... maybe start with--

ZEPH (O.S.): Whoa! Avalanche of pants!

The two girls turn to see the dark-haired boy Fiora had noticed at the Test of Attunement walking toward the giant pile of pants, laughing at the sight. This is ZEPH HERNANDEZ, a fellow first-year.

FIORA: Sorry, I--

Shreya leans over and whispers something to the Mistry employee, who snaps his fingers. A second later, all the pants vanish, and Zeph frowns.

ZEPH: Aww, and here I was hoping to get a picture of myself next to the Great Pants Explosion of 2018. Well, there’s always next year.

Shreya laughs. Zeph approaches them and holds out a hand.

ZEPH: I’m Zephyr Hernandez, but you can call me Zeph. Everyone around here does.

Shreya shakes his hand, and Zeph turns and holds out his hand to Fiora as well.

ZEPH: ...Well, by “everyone around here” I mean “you two,” but hey! It’s a start.

Fiora shakes his hand.

SHREYA: Nice to meet you. You probably already know, but I’m--

ZEPH: Shreya Mistry, of course! I’d heard you were gonna be starting at Penderghast this year! I’m a first-year too, by the way.

SHREYA: Well, I’m quite excited to meet another first-year! We’ve only got a week before classes begin, and I’d like to make at least a few friends before that time! Between you and my absolutely wonderful roommate over here, I’ve been doing a fantastic job so far, if I do say so myself, and--

ZEPH: Roommate, okay, so that’s who this is! Gotta say, I don’t think you’re quite as famous as Shreya over here. You are...?

FIORA: Fiora. Fiora Luxen!

ZEPH: Nice to meet you, “Fiora Fiora Luxen.”

Fiora tries and fails to suppress a laugh.

ZEPH: So... how’d the Test of Attunement go? What’re your Attunements?

SHREYA: You know, we got really lucky: both of us are Fire-Atts! And that’s not all. Believe it or not, Fiora is also--

Fiora gives her a look, and Shreya immediately covers her mouth with her hands.

FIORA: I’m also... super excited to make a new friend! So, what’s your element?

ZEPH: “Element?” That’s a funny way of saying it... Anyway, I’m a Water-Att. Not too surprising. My whole family are Water-Atts, well, except Uncle Rodrigo, but we don’t really talk about him much so he doesn’t count.

SHREYA: It must’ve been quite nice knowing your Attunement ahead of time.

ZEPH: Yeah, there’s pros and cons, I guess.

He looks over at the Mistry market stall.

ZEPH: So, are you girls gonna summon a pants avalanche on me again, or do you mind if I go ahead and buy something?

Fiora blushes with embarrassment as Shreya nods.

SHREYA: Go right ahead! (whispering to Fiora) Here, watch how he does it.

Zeph approaches the stall owner and smiles.

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Can I help you?

ZEPH: Hi! I’m looking for a pair of men’s dress pants. Grey, waist 30, length 32, classic fit.

MISTRY EMPLOYEE: Right away, sir!

He makes the hand motions again and snaps his fingers. A second later, about two dozen pairs of grey men’s dress pants appear on the counter in front of him, all neatly folded. Zeph begins looking through the pants one by one.

FIORA: Oh, okay! Wow, so it’s like Amazon, but you don’t have to wait for delivery and you can make your selection in person! That is so amazing!

SHREYA: Amazon? Like, the rainforest?

FIORA: No, it’s... never mind.

Zeph selects one pair of pants and pays the stall owner, who snaps his fingers once again and makes the rest of the pants disappear. Zeph turns to face the girls and grins.

ZEPH: Well, that’s my shopping done. I’ll let you two do your thing... but if you want, we could get something to eat! There’s this great place I heard about that just opened in the square, Mysteriu--

Shreya practically leaps into the air with excitement. Zeph, surprised, takes a quick step backward.

SHREYA: Mysterium?! Yes! Absolutely! I was looking forward to that, I’d forgotten the grand opening was today! Fiora, you’re coming with.

ZEPH: That’s... a reaction. Wow. Alright, see you there!

He waves as he walks away into the crowd. Fiora looks over at Shreya, confused.

FIORA: You seem excited. What’s all this about?

SHREYA: It’s the hottest new place opening up here in Pennelia! I’ve heard the food there is absolutely divine, and the atmosphere... oh, I’m just so very excited!

FIORA: Food? Alright, count me in. I’m starving. ...Actually, why am I so hungry? I had such a huge breakfast this morning.

SHREYA (quietly): That Light technique you pulled off... that must’ve drained a lot of stoichi. Stoichi draws from your body’s metabolism, so after a thing like that, it’s not surprising that you’re hungry!

FIORA: Now you tell me.

SHREYA (quietly): Sorry, sorry! I keep forgetting how new you are to all this. It takes some getting used to, you know. Anyway! (louder) Let’s get some real shopping done, and then... on to the Mysterium!

_______________________

Scene Notes: Zeph may have had a cameo earlier, but this is his first real appearance! Now all the Pend Pals have been introduced! (Well, except for a certain mysterious twin, that is...) As for worldbuilding:

Pennelia: That’s right, here Penn Square is part of an entire city! As Fiora speculated, it is indeed the Stoicheal Realm “reflection” of Northbridge, much like Penderghast is the “reflection” to Hartfeld.

Stoicheal Realm Bubbles: The Stoicheal Realm is not one, giant, continuous world like Earth. Rather, it is comprised of multiple “bubbles” that have been stabilized for Attuned (and others) to live inside, each one reflecting a different area on Earth. To travel between different bubbles, one must either use a portal such as Room 108′s door to travel there directly, or pop back out into Earth, make their way through Tuneless society to the desired location, then pop back into the Stoicheal Realm.

The Between: The employee mentioned it here... but it’ll get explained in more detail later!

Attuned-style shopping: Fiora wasn’t wrong to compare it to Amazon. You know how if you type something super generic (for example... “pants”) into Amazon, you’ll get about a gazillion results? ...Yeah. It’s much more of a problem when the objects physically materialize around you!

_______________________

Next: Pend Pals

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

[sassyhazelowl]

Title: Of Chlorine, Nephews and Things Getting Better Pairing: stingue Word Count: 3, 400 Rating: PG Warnings: none A/N: @blackbloodrose20 I’m your secret Valentine for the exchange hosted by @ft-fairyexchanges. I hope you enjoy the story! It got a bit away from me, as this pairing tends to do, but I think it works.

-

This was not Rogue’s day.

“That was so embarrassing, Uncle!”

Rogue ignored the faint smells of wet clothing and chlorine that permeated the car and the soft croon of the radio, fingers gripped tightly around the steering wheel in mortification. His clothing clung to his skin and his hair to his scalp. When he’d slipped on the side of the pool and fell in, he hadn’t been planning to take a dip.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

This was said silently in his mind of course. Neil, his nephew, already had reason to doubt his sanity after what happened this afternoon. No reason to give the poor boy more evidence. Really, he probably shouldn’t even be driving, the shaking made things a bit unsteady and it was hard to focus on the road.

“For you or me?” Rogue replied archly, a beat too late. 

Lips burning, he took a hand off the wheel and scrubbed the back of it across them, hard. It felt good, for a second, then the burn came back. It had been a long while since he’d had a man’s lips on his.

The pre-teen in the passenger seat stopped to consider the question seriously, as he always did. Unfortunately for him, he was very much like Rogue was at that age. Awkward, quiet and serious. He tended to fade into the background of things, like a child-shaped shadow. He’d been like that for as long as Rogue had known him, which was about two months.

Neil flipped his too-long bangs from his eyes, peering over, “Are you okay?”

“Just wet.”

“You did fall in a swimming pool,” Neil pointed out and Rogue could feel his stare at the obvious and lame answer. “And Mr. Eucliffe had to pull you out and give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Rogue nearly hit his forehead on the steering wheel at the reminder but the last thing he needed today was to be pulled over. 

When Neil had brought home a permission slip and interest for swimming, Rogue’s friend really pushed for Rogue to let the boy join. Yukino seemed to have these sorts of things all figured out - at least where Neil was concerned. She said the boy needed a confidence boost and something to keep him busy. Rogue really just signed it because he thought that would buy him an extra hour three times a week alone - he didn’t realize those three hours would be spent in a damp, smelly building surrounded by a handful of middle aged moms on their cellphones. 

And he definitely hadn’t thought he’d be fished out of the pool like a drowned rat in front of everyone. Then kissed -- no, not kissed, mouth-to-mouth, absolutely not a kiss, it was a valid, medical procedure. 

It was a violent flashback to high school times. Stomach heaving, he shoved those thoughts away. That was the past. It was the past, and it couldn’t hurt him anymore. He was past that now, in a better - ok, well, different, anyway, place.

“I’m fine,” Rogue repeated numbly, realizing with dawning horror that the next swimming practice was sooner than he could handle. All those people were there. Mr. Eucliffe would be there too. High school never ended, did it? “It’s fine.”

Everything was fine.

What was another emergency visit to the therapist?

~

“Hey! You’re that guy from Swimland!”

If Rogue’s shoulders could creep up any higher, he’d be an actual turtle hiding in his shell. Lacking a shell and a retractable neck in general, he winced and slowly pivoted around, life-sustaining coffee in one hand and an indulgent raspberry danish in the other.

“You are! Everything good?”

The overenthusiastic swim instructor’s bright blue eyes twinkled and his smile gleamed. Too bright, too shiny… too loud. Suddenly, the burning on his lips returned, along with the butterflies. That danish was expensive, flicked across his mind, which was a shame because he’d most certainly not be able to eat it now.

I hate my body, Rogue thought to himself crossly. He’d really, desperately needed a sweet treat for the week he was having.

“Hello, yes, I’m fine, now, uh, thanks.”

“No problem.” Wink. Smile. Rogue’s stomach squirmed a bit more. “Not every day I get to save someone like you.”

“What does that mean?”

The swim instructor blinked, taken aback by Rogue’s tone shift. He reared back a bit, shifting an eyebrow and becoming more guarded. Some of the shine hid behind those clouds, the sunshine more bearable when he frowned instead of smiled.

“Uh… sorry?”

Rogue sighed, blowing the air out with a mix of regret and irritation at himself. He was fairly certain he wasn’t misreading the intent, but what if this guy really was just cluelessly friendly and a natural flirt? He probably had a girlfriend at home and was just nice with all the parents who paid his salary, so once again, Rogue was blowing things out of proportion. Rubbing the bridge of his nose and taking several deep breaths, he forced a smile with more teeth than cheer.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve been having a bad week… month… several months, actually. Can I buy your coffee as an apology?” Rogue really, truly couldn’t afford that, but he’d also feel terrible for the rest of the day if he didn’t at least offer.

“If you’re having a bad week, maybe I should’ve bought you a coffee. I’m Sting Eucliffe, by the way. I’m sure you probably know that --” Rogue didn’t, which made him feel worse -- “But I really came up on you like a pal instead of someone I haven’t officially met yet. My friends say I can come on strong. And you are?”

“Rogue, Rogue Cheney, Neil’s uncle. I’d shake but…” He held up his coffee and danish.

Sting looked him up and down with a tug of a smile that made his stomach flutter even more, “You’ve got your hands full. Uncle, huh? Neil’s a good kid; good swimmer too. Say, might be coming on too strong again, but you look like you need to talk. I’ve got a few hours before work… fair warning, I talk a lot, you might get sick of listening.”

Rogue sincerely doubted that. It would be like getting sick of the sun.

But Mr. Eucliffe might get sick of him. He didn’t have a lot of cheerful and chipper topics at the moment. Broke up with his long-term boyfriend, rather violently at that, last year on Valentine’s Day. Something about him being too brooding and not into fun. Lost his job to office politics, scrabbling to collect unemployment and find a new one. Hence why he was at the coffee shop in the first place, laptop waiting and white mocha in hand. Acquired a pre-teen ward, one he didn’t even know existed until he got a phone call two months ago. Rogue wasn’t close with his family after the falling out, but his sister had always been fond of him. Still, he’d spent long nights wondering why Neil was with him and not their parents. He was too afraid to call and ask.

He looked up into that hopeful, puppydog look and felt the resistance on the tip of his tongue disappear.

“...Sure.”

~ 

“Hey! Mr. Cheney!”

Rogue looked up, startled, nearly but not quite losing his balance. It was tempting, for a split second, to fall in. But at some point Mr. Eucliffe would realize Rogue was not only a proficient swimmer, but had won many competitions in college. Plus, he’d just regained his reputation with the moms - they hadn’t harassed or teased him too much about it. But falling in seemed to have broken some ice and more than once he’d been invited into their little gossip circle. It felt nice to belong, even if it was just a group of bored moms that would go their merry ways after their boys lost interest in swimming and moved on to the next sport.

Rogue had gotten in the habit of showing up a little early because Neil wanted to help set up. Today was the big meet, and Neil had been anxious all morning. 

“Congrats, man. Neil told me.”

Rogue felt a smile slip onto his face, although he wasn’t sure if it was the warm congratulations or the fact Neil was starting to open up to people. He’d taken a particular shine to Mr. Eucliffe, and Rogue found it nice to have someone who seemed to care as much about his nephew as he did - Neil gave them an excuse to talk. A coffee date here, some time after a meet there, before practice started during set-up.

“Thank you, Mr. Eucliffe.”

“I’ve told you this a million times, it’s just Sting. I don’t stand on ceremony.” 

That was true enough. Rogue had been regaled with many exciting stories of Sting, the globetrotter, getting in trouble for his lack of decor. Swim instructor was just the latest in a long career of job hopping and city changing lifestyle. Rogue had to wonder how long… how long before Sting grew bored and moved on. Like sunlight, he never stayed in one place.

Swallowing the lump that formed, he tried not to choke on his smile. He should be happy; he finally found a job. And it was a good job, a better job than his last one too. Things were looking up. It was too soon to be fretting about the future, like his therapist always told him.

“Thank you… Sting. You’ve been… you’ve been a big help. I probably couldn’t have done it without your support.”

“Aww,” Sting flushed an adorable shade of pink, his normally cocky look taking on a more boyish cast with embarrassment. Rogue had to fight back a blush of his own.

Neil stared between them with a look only a teenager could pull off but he didn’t make any quips. 

“Good luck out there, kid,” Sting said to him, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder. Ducking his head, Neil mumbled in response before slipping away to get changed. He turned to Rogue, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess this is it, huh? The last big meet.”

Rogue’s smile slipped this time but he didn’t say anything. What was there to say? This little bubble of happiness wasn’t going to last forever after all. Happy things didn’t last in Rogue’s life.

“Yeah.”

“Since it's the last meet, we should celebrate. Take the kid out for some pizza, get wasted on root beer. It can be a little party.”

“For the group?”

Sting cocked his head, doing that thing that made Rogue feel like he was trying to read him. He shrugged, trying to pass it off nonchalantly, “I was thinking just the three of us. Love the other kiddos, of course, but there is a team party on Saturday. After this meet, I’m not the coach anymore anyway.”

Rogue sensed a trap. That anxious feel was creeping up on him, little and lurking, something wasn’t right, something was coming, he needed to do something, anything, because something wasn’t right, something was coming, he needed to do…

“No.” Rogue’s reply came out a little too sharp, a little too shrill. He backtracked, staring away at the unnaturally blue pool water as he mumbled, “No, um, sorry, Neil and I already have plans with Yukino.”

“Oh.”

Rogue didn’t say more or look before retreating to the bleachers, waving to Amara and Nicole as they stomped in, armed to the teeth with entertainment for younger siblings and bags full of supplies so their families didn’t starve. He knew within minutes the husbands would troop in, having gone to park the car, and then the rest of the crowd would follow to get a seat. For once, timing was on his side.

He had an easy out, and like a coward, he took it.

~

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rogue’s friend Yukino was eyeing him with a soft, concerned expression.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

She fiddled with the end of the blanket a moment, debating, before sighing, “Well, you keep inviting me over or out for coffee or to take Neil out, and that’s great and no problem. But it’s kind of weird? And you’ve been mopey. I thought things were going well with the new job.”

“It is.” It was. The new job was great. It paid the bills, his bosses appreciated him and he enjoyed the work. It was a big step up from being stuck under his old boss’s micromanaging and unethical thumb.

Neil, who had been quietly watching the movie Yukino and Rogue abandoned from the shadowy chair, piped up, “He’s sad because swim season is over. I told him I want to do it next time too but he’s still unhappy.”

Yukino wasn’t a fool. Armed with the new information, her gaze sharpened and she narrowed in, dropping the kid gloves behind her.

“Oh, so it’s about that. I see. And what have you done, exactly, since swim season ended besides moping and trying to use me to distract you?”

Rogue had nothing to say for himself that wouldn’t be damning. 

Yukino smiled a smile he wasn’t the biggest fan of and remarked, “Valentine’s Day is in a few days. I know you are the Scrooge of V-day after He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named…”

“Voldemort?” Neil blinked in confusion and a laugh of surprise barked out of Rogue, breaking him out of what was the beginning of a spiral at the mention of his ex. Doggedly, sensing he was now part of a grownup conversation, Neil pressed on, “I didn’t know you liked Harry Potter, Uncle Rogue.”

“Your Uncle is the biggest Harry Potter nerd, Neil,” Yukino confirmed. “But that’s not who we’re talking about.”

“Oh, okay. Maybe we can talk about Harry Potter later though, Uncle Rogue?” Neil asked hopefully. Rogue felt stabbed through the heart. Was this the same withdrawn, sulky child he picked up from the bus station with a backpack and small rolling suitcase? 

“Absolutely.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” It was the easiest promise Rogue had ever made and he hadn’t hesitated for even an instant.

“Great,” Yukino clapped her hands together, “Now the task at hand. Uncle Rogue is going to take some initiative!”

“With Mr. Eucliffe?” Rogue winced, thinking fast how to explain things to Neil, feeling things crumple. But the boy added quickly, “I hope it’s with Mr. Eucliffe. Uncle Rogue, you’re always so happy around him, and I want you to be happy. Plus, he’s always so happy when he sees you too.”

“It’s settled. Let’s get to work.”

~

His finger hovered over the bell. He’d only been here twice before, once with Sting’s car broke and he needed a ride and another when Sting got wasted at a bar crawl calling Rogue’s number by accident. Neither situation was particularly romantic, and Rogue hadn’t the nerve to cross the threshold then.

Sucking in a deep breath from between his lips, he shoved the bell, torn between hoping no one answered the door and desperately hoping someone did. 

When the door opened, he swallowed, hard. An intimidating woman answered the door with cutting edge fashion, perfect make-up and an expression that made Rogue want to close the door like he was in a horror movie. She looked him up and down with the interest of a large predator gauging meal or toy. Sting never mentioned a girlfriend! In fact, Rogue had hinted about it more than once and Sting always insisted he was single and free. Who was this? Did Rogue go to the wrong house? Did Sting go get someone to take away the pain of Rogue’s rejection?

“Is this the Eucliffe residence?”

“It is.”

Pursing her lips, she raked him up and down, before stepping aside and motioning in. Even her heels clicked judgmentally on the foyer’s tiles. So not a girlfriend? Definitely not a sister or at least not a full sister.

“We are roommates. I’m not surprised Sting did not mention it. I ate his last boyfriend alive. So you are here for some groveling I see, along with Valentine’s gifts. Smart. You better not have cheated on him, or I will eat you alive too.”

Rogue felt a full body flushing coming on, pausing to listen to the well-manicured roommate’s dirge of information. Sting had literally talked for hours and hours and never mentioned a roommate, an ex or the fact that they were apparently dating?

“We are dating?” slipped out of Rogue’s mouth. A wicked smile curved her lips in a less-than-reassuring way and she offered a slender hand, “I am Minerva Orlando. It is a pleasure to finally meet the man of the legend in person, Rogue Cheney.”

“Min? Who’re you talking to? I thought you were getting ready to go out on your date!”

“Maybe you should get out of your boxers, put the tissues away and worry about your own date, moron. Your boyfriend’s here looking dapper with a box of candy and some roses after all.”

Rogue wasn’t sure about that, but it sounded better than what he actually looked like, so he kept quiet. He had the feeling she was hassling her roommate at his expense and enjoying every second of it.

“What?” Sting yelped from the other room, followed by the sound of crashing and stumbling then a hefty body hitting the wall so hard it shook at the impact. Much to Rogue’s relief, he did not appear in his boxers. Hair wild and in a hideous pair of sweats, Sting was shedding a trail of candy wrappers and swears behind him as he tore into the doorway. Seeing Rogue, his face went through a myriad of emotions before settling on sheepish for a long moment then he ran his fingers through his hair, trying for suave.

Minerva rolled her eyes, “Okay Casanova. I am going out on my date. No sex on the table.”

“Wha--” Sting sputtered, eyes wide, and Rogue wanted to melt into the shadows forever. That had definitely not been on his mind 3 seconds ago, and now he was having trouble focusing on what he came to do, remembering all those times he’d seen Sting in swim trunks and only swim trunks.

“Uh, hi,” Sting said uncertainly. “I kind of… thought you were done with me. I mean, at the swim meet… you were pretty clear.”

“We are dating?” was the only intelligent thing Rogue could say in response, everything all jumbled up. 

Sting scratched his cheek, “Ignore her. It sucks, but anytime I have a friend, she assumes I’m dating. Hazards of being gay with an aggressively supportive roommate, I guess.”

The front door slammed noisily, confirming Minerva had left the building.

“I brought you these… as an apology,” Rogue abruptly changed the subject, shoving the sweets and flowers at Sting unceremoniously. Not chocolates, not roses, that’d be Too Much, but it was a start. Sting took them awkwardly, that megawatt grin of his lighting up the room as he admitted while smelling the gift, “Never gotten flowers before. What do you do with them? Min! Min! Oh wait, she left… shit.” 

Snapping his fingers, he made a wait-here motion, disappearing back through the doorway and leaving Rogue standing in the hallway. Just as he was about to peer through the door, Sting returned, flowers shoved into a coffee mug with a crass saying printed across the front, still in the plastic sleeve and looking a bit bedraggled. He handed the whole thing back, making another motion, and disappearing in another direction.

The next time he emerged, he was changed and presentable.

“So… ready to go on a real date?” he asked with a smooth and causal tone that Rogue envied. Sting really did do things on the fly. “And I’m not just saying that because of Min. I was going to ask you at the pizza place weeks ago if you wanted to go out for real. Also, I’ve seriously been jonesing to kiss you this whole time, not going to lie. Your lips have been on my mind since day one.”

“Maybe you should fix that before we go out on our first real date then,” Rogue replied with a rare giddiness pulling the other man in to indulge in his fantasies.

This was totally Rogue’s day, and he was going to make the most of it.

[raywritesthings]

A Troubled Man

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Ginny Weasley, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger, Fred Weasley, Goerge Weasley, Ron Weasley, Buckbeak, Albus Dumbledore Pairings: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley Notes: Canon Compliant, Character Death, References to Depression Summary:  “Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” (Ginny Weasley, “Fight and Flight”, Order of the Phoenix pg 761) A look at the brief but meaningful relationship between the last Black and the youngest Weasley. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in my bio*

The only upside to what had happened in Little Whinging that night was that their mother was far too upset to remember to charm the kitchen door, Ginny reflected as she listened through the newly created Extendable Ears her brothers were trying out, the whole lot of them crammed onto the third floor landing.

It was amazing how clear their mum’s voice was coming through. “How did the Dementors even find him?”

“Harry’s residence is a matter of public record, Molly,” explained Albus Dumbledore with exceeding patience. She couldn’t imagine how he had the time to field the Orders’ questions and run interference at the Ministry on Harry’s behalf.

“Yes, but you said he’s meant to be safe there, Headmaster,” her mum persisted. Only extreme worry would cause her to argue with Professor Dumbledore like this.

“The blood wards protecting Harry only extend to the property limits of his relatives’ house. This is why the Order guard has been necessary. The preliminary report from the Ministry says that Harry and his cousin were attacked off the property, and Arabella’s account supports this. So long as he remains inside—”

“So he’s under house arrest, then?” Asked a voice Ginny was beginning to grow rather familiar with. Sirius Black, wrongfully accused escaped convict and their host of sorts in this gloomy house that used to be his family’s. Ginny couldn’t imagine growing up in a place like this.

There were a number of weary sighs.

“No, I just want to be clear. Can’t leave the property for his own safety and all that? In that case, Albus, could you tell me for what reason we sent Harry to stay with his relatives all the way out in Surrey — spending valuable time and resources this group doesn’t really have — when he could have been, oh, here maybe?”

“Ooh,” the twins breathed together, grinning.

“You’re meant to be writing that letter to him,” her mum snapped waspishly. She hadn’t taken much of a liking to Sirius ever since they’d gotten here. Ginny thought he’d have better luck with her if he cut his hair.

“Yes, and I’ve written it on the scrap of parchment I’ve been allowed. ‘Stay out of trouble’. Not much use when the trouble came to him in the first place.”

“Harry will be moved once it is safe to do so, Sirius,” said Dumbledore.

“Not an answer, though, is it?” Ron muttered at her elbow. Beside him, Hermione shook her head.

“He does have a point, Albus,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. Kingsley had an ear piercing like Bill and was therefore cool even if they didn’t know much else about him besides his job. “Moving him from one location to another is a security risk that could have been avoided.”

“I have explained before why it is necessary for Harry to spend a portion of his summers at his relatives’.”

There was a scoff at the word “necessary”. Ginny could guess who it originated from.

Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later by her mum asking, “Perhaps instead of undermining the Headmaster you could criticize your friend, Mundungus.”

“I haven’t defended him,” said Sirius. He said nothing further, though it was hardly any surprise. Mundungus Fletcher had been the one to supply Sirius a new wand off the black market. And Dung was funny in an odd way.

The front door opened and shut, though none of them could see who it was from their vantage point. Shuffled footsteps stopped with a bang and a curse as something heavy fell over; Tonks with the troll’s foot umbrella stand again.

“Quick, the Ears!” Feed began reeling them back up as, loud and clear without magical aid, old Mrs. Black’s portrait started her screaming back up again.

“HALF-BLOOD TRAITORS WALKING MY HALLS, SULLYING THE NAME OF BLACK!”

The adults could be heard rushing up to quiet the commotion, and Ginny snuck down a flight to watch the end of Dumbledore’s purple cloak disappear through the front door.

She came back up. “Meeting’s over. Dumbledore just left.”

“But we still don’t know what will happen to Harry,” Hermione said in clear disappointment.

“They can’t wait that long to move him, can they?” Ron looked to be trying to keep his spirits up. “Anyway, Harry’ll be alright. He’s fought off way more than two Dementors before.”

The twins agreed with nods, but Ginny wasn’t so sure. It was one thing two years ago; they’d all been warned about the Dementors guarding the school. It was another thing to be attacked out of the blue just streets away from your own home. Harry had to be wondering who had done it and why, just like they all were.

They were all forced to scatter at the sound of more footsteps, this time coming up the stairs towards them. Ginny peeked out of her hiding place in the drawing room to watch Sirius trudge past. He continued up to the room he shared with Buckbeak the hippogriff, and she heard his door shut with a snap.

“He’s in a mood,” she heard Ron mutter from his room down the hall.

“He always is lately,” Hermione replied in clear disapproval.

Ginny wasn’t sure what to think of that. She wondered what Sirius had been like the times Ron and Hermione had met him before and how that differed to now. Every so often she thought they caught glimpses of it, like the first night they’d arrived or whenever a good number of Order members stuck around for dinner after a meeting. He was always more jovial then, or trying to be.

Ginny looked around the dusty old room and shivered. They hadn’t started cleaning this one out yet, so she’d do better to steer clear of it for now. It felt like something or someone was watching her, holding their breath and waiting for something. She hurried back to the room she shared with Hermione to wash up before dinner.

---

Sirius hadn’t been at dinner, a point her mother refused to acknowledge. In fact, she’d made every effort to behave as though everything was perfectly fine. The only indication that it was not was near the end of the meal when the dishes were being cleared away and her father voiced a quiet question about taking up leftovers.

“He’s a grown man. He can make his own food if he doesn’t want to eat with us.”

Ginny privately thought that even if Sirius had been a grown man when he was arrested, he’d not had much experience cooking the last fourteen years or so and should possibly be cut some slack since he was forced to put up with the lot of them all summer. Ginny loved her family, but even she knew they could be a bit much sometimes to outsiders.

They were all sent up to bed soon enough. Ginny tossed and turned for a while. She just couldn’t seem to settle, mind occupied with Dementor attacks and Harry skulking around his Muggle relatives’ house — which in her mind’s eye resembled something like Grimmauld Place as she’d never seen it before — barred from leaving just like Sirius was and they all had been since the start of summer.

After a while, she gave sleeping up and rose from her bed. The house seemed even creepier at night, things looming out of dark shadows at unexpected moments. She might lose her head if she ran across Kreacher with no warning. For some reason, her feet carried her upstairs instead of down; maybe she was unconsciously avoiding waking the portraits by mistake.

Ginny paused in front of the drawing room. As much as she didn’t like it in there, she also felt some sort of morbid pull towards it, almost like…

Shuffling feet a couple floors above broke her from her thoughts, and Ginny quickly backed up out of the room. She hadn’t even realized she’d opened the door and stepped inside.

She heard the footsteps again and decided to have a look. It was coming from the floor above Ron but below the twins. Ginny didn’t actually think anyone slept on this floor, come to think of it. She passed by a door labeled pompously with the name Regulus Arcturus Black, noticing a light on in a room she hadn’t thought was in use. Ginny went to the door and pushed it open a few inches.

Inside she found a bedroom in shocking red and gold after all the black, silver and green of the rest of the house. There were posters on the walls, still like Muggle photographs, of women in hardly anything. In the middle of it all stood Sirius, who looked to be sorting through some old papers.

He glanced her way. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Point taken.” He gestured around the place. “How do you like a fifteen year old’s attempt at decorating?”

It made a very sudden amount of sense. “This was yours?”

“Yeah, when I Iived here. The first time, anyway.” Sirius looked down, his face cast in shadow.

She could tell he was likely to wallow if she didn’t rescue the conversation soon, so Ginny said, “Well, it’s very typical boy.”

He laughed, not quite the bark that seemed to be his usual. “Oh, I wanted my mother to think so. She was too busy goggling at those Muggle girls I cut out of the advertisements in the magazines to realize I was reading up on motorbikes. I built my own, enchanted it and everything.”

A man after her father’s own heart, Ginny noted to herself. “And the Muggle girls weren’t a side benefit?”

He shook his head, hair whipping about his face like shaggy ears. “Never interested me much. If I can figure out how to undo the old Sticking Charms, they’ll be coming down.”

“How come?”

“Thought I might clean this up for Harry to use. Though your mum reckons he’ll go in with Ron. Probably better he does,” Sirius muttered as he rubbed at his face with one hand. “No sense being alone in this house.”

“No,” Ginny agreed.

“Still,” Sirius said, rallying himself. “Might be worth it to show him some things. Look here at this.”

He took a photo off the pile he’d been sorting through and handed it to her. Ginny nearly gasped at the sight of an older Harry — except it wasn’t Harry at all, but a similar-looking man with different shapes glasses and hazel eyes. He was chasing a green-eyed baby on a toy broomstick around a cozy sitting room while a woman with deep auburn hair laughed and laughed.

“This was his family?”

“Yeah, his first birthday. I couldn’t be there — they were in hiding already, and the Order was spread pretty thin. Back when we could do something about all this,” he noted, though the usual bitterness was softened as he continued to gaze down at the photo of the Potters. “So I sent him that toy broomstick. Lily said it was his favorite. She sent a letter with the photo, should be somewhere...here!”

He’d gone back to his pile and withdrew two pages of old parchment filled with Lily Potter’s neat script. Ginny held her breath as she took a piece of the past. Her eyes only skimmed the text. She couldn’t really concentrate on the words themselves, only that they’d been written by a woman who’d been killed less than three months later.

“Harry writes his ‘g’s the same way as her.” Sirius pointed it out with a finger, undeniably proud.

Ginny’s eyes jumped from one ‘g’ to another rapidly, zeroing in on the two capital ‘G’s in the name Gellert Grindelwald, which was mentioned for who knew what reason.

“Does he?”

“You don’t think so?” Sirius was frowning a little, like he thought she doubted him.

Ginny shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never really read Harry’s writing.”

“You don’t write letters at all? Not just this summer?”

“Oh. Well, Harry is Ron’s friend, really. We all like him, though,” she added quickly. “Actually, I, er, I sort of had this massive crush on him when we first met. Sort of makes things awkward. He probably wouldn’t want letters from me.” She turned away under the guise of setting Lily Potter’s letter down. “And I don’t know why I just told you that since you said that sort of thing was stupid.” He probably thought her a real idiot now.

“I said it wasn’t for me, not that it was stupid. James and the rest all thought I was the stupid one when it came to that.”

Ginny didn’t know what to say, not sure she really understood. 

“Did Harry say he didn’t want letters from you? Doesn’t seem like him. Then again, he’s yet to ask me about girls.”

Ginny shook her head. “No, he’s always been nice about it. Even during everything with the Chamber.”

“Chamber?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing.

There was a moment where she thought her face might heat up, but it passed. Ginny was so used to everyone sort of knowing, even if they never spoke about it, that she’d quite forgotten that Sirius would have no reason to. Well, almost no reason. “Er, I was tricked by an enchanted diary in my first year, and Harry had to come and rescue me. I was a blubbering mess.”

“Ah, well that’s alright then. I was completely useless two years ago when the Dementors nearly caught me. Harry doesn’t resent me for having to rescue my sorry arse.”

Ginny found her lips curving into a grin, which Sirius matched with his own. “Will he be here soon, then?”

Sirius nodded. “The Order’s arranging a guard to collect him and transport him here. Mad Eye’s been put in charge, so he’s keeping tight-lipped. But before the week is out, I’m sure.” He looked happier just to say that out loud. Even if Ginny had yet to see them in the same room together, she could tell how much care Sirius had for his godson.

Well, good. Harry ought to have someone who was there just for him. Merlin knew those Muggles in Surrey weren’t up to the task.

Sirius checked a fine watch at his wrist. “I’ll put in a couple more hours here. You should really get to sleep, though. I doubt your mum will let you skive off chores tomorrow.”

“You think she’ll let you?”

He really did bark a laugh that time. “Maybe not, but I’ve got Buckbeak upstairs to ward her off.”

Ginny sat on the side of the bed. “I’m not tired just yet, so I may as well keep you company. No sense being alone.”

Sirius paused, his gray eyes meeting hers and for once looking absolutely clear. “No. No sense at all.”

He went back to sorting through the old papers. Some, he explained, had been left behind when he’d first ran away from this place. The others had been collected over the last few months by Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore. He seemed particularly happy about a set of mirrors the Headmaster had managed to locate.

“These were mine and James’,” he told her. There were a lot of those asides about his old friends. Gradually, she found it comforting rather than unsettling; the more Sirius spoke about Harry’s parents, the more he seemed to breathe life back into them so that they weren’t the silent, shadowy figures in the old Boy Who Lived story, but real people.

“I wish I had James’ old notes. He used to draw snitches in the margins and hearts with his and Lily’s initials when he thought we all weren’t looking. You might check Harry’s homework some time, just to see if he’s the same…”

She thought again about Lily Potter’s capital G, trying to imagine it on a fresh piece of parchment accompanying a Dear Ginny...and she drifted off to sleep.

---

She hadn’t meant to, of course, and woke the next morning quite disoriented. For a moment, she thought she must be in her dorm at Hogwarts with all the Gryffindor colors surrounding her — then her eyes caught sight of a woman in little more than underthings and remembered. Sirius must not have been successful about that Sticking Charm.

There was a blanket over her she definitely didn’t remember pulling over herself.

Ginny stretched with a yawn and headed downstairs to see if she could find anyone else up. The only ones in the kitchen were her mother, brothers and Hermione.

“Morning, all.”

The twins and Ron gave vague murmurings of greeting, the three of them devoted to their breakfasts. It would take a few minutes for them to regain their wit.

Her mum set a plate down for her. “Eat up, dear, we’ve a lot of work to do.”

“Which room?” Ginny asked, her mind going back to the old drawing room for some reason.

“I thought we might tackle the second bathroom,” said her mum. “With Harry coming in, we’ll have more company and that much more need of it.”

“That bathroom’s too small for all of you to work on it,” said Sirius. They all turned to find him in the doorway.

“Well, I suppose we’re not needed today,” Fred remarked. Beside him, George placed his feet up on the table.

“Don’t think I won’t find something for you two,” their mum said, swatting at George’s feet. “Even if Sirius has decided he’s making up the chore list for today.”

He hardly seemed bothered by the sullen tone; Ginny suspected he rather enjoyed getting small rises out of people. “Actually, I was hoping to borrow the girls.”

Ginny blinked in interest even as her mum asked, “What?”

“Buckbeak needs to get out in the back for a bit, stretch his wings, general business.”

“I could go with Hermione,” Ron said.

“And never come back inside,” Ginny replied quickly. She wasn’t about to let an opportunity to get out of the house even for a few moments pass her by. “You and Hermione would get so distracted bickering that Buckbeak might just decide to fly away.”

“He’d be smart enough to manage it,” Sirius agreed. “Come on, I’ll bring him downstairs for you.”

Hermione patted Ron’s hand with sympathy while Ginny made faces at all of her brothers while their mother wasn’t looking.

“Have fun cleaning up Hippogriff dung,” George said in a low voice just as the two of them left through the kitchen door.

Ginny stood in the main hall with Hermione, each of them quiet as possible considering the portrait-lined walls. She noticed the older girl watching her, though, and had a feeling a question was just waiting for the chance to be asked.

Sirius returned but in his Animagus form, as he seemed to be demonstrating for Buckbeak how a four-legged creature ought to navigate steps. The proud Hippogriff followed slowly, snapping his beak once or twice when he nearly stumbled. Ginny sent a nervous glance back at Mrs. Black’s portrait, but the curtains remained shut.

Once both animals had reached the bottom of the steps, Sirius changed back. He took the reins Buckbeak wore and passed them off to Hermione. “He’ll trust you best. Ginny, you just give him a bow.”

She did so, waiting with her breath held until Buckbeak mirrored her.

“There. You two will be fine now.”

“Er, Sirius?” Hermione asked. “What should we do with the, erm, droppings?”

“What the old Purebloods did, naturally.”

Ginny let out a snort that she hastily covered with a hand over her mouth.

“Someone will take care of it. Off you go,” Sirius said before Hermione could voice no doubt a series of follow-up questions. “He’s impatient.”

Soon enough, Ginny was leading the way into the backyard. It was incredibly small and fenced in with hardly anything struggling to grow in it. Buckbeak pawed at the ground in places and tossed his head once or twice, forcing Ginny to grab onto the reins to help Hermione. It was obvious the animal longed to fly.

“Poor thing,” Ginny couldn’t help saying aloud. “You probably miss being on the run.”

“Where did you go last night?” Hermione asked her rather than comment on her conversation with Buckbeak, which seemed to her a bit rude. She hadn’t even left him room to reply.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you weren’t in your bed when I woke up but you weren’t down in the kitchen either. You acted like you’d just woken up when you joined us.”

There wasn’t much point to lying to her. Hermione was a much early riser than Ginny anyway — she’d gotten into the habit of sleeping in two shifts at a very young age, after all.

“I was in Sirius’ room.” At the great gasp and shocked face Hermione pulled, she let out a laugh. “His old bedroom, Hermione, not the one he’s staying in now! It’d get a bit crowded with Buckbeak in there, too.”

“Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed before immediately slapping a hand over her mouth. They both glanced about nervously, but the shout didn’t seem to have shattered the protection they were living under. “What were you doing in his old room?” Her friend hissed after the tense silence.

Ginny shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Sirius was sorting through some things in case Harry wanted to use the room.”

“But Harry always stays with Ron.”

“Not when he’s with the Muggles,” Ginny pointed out. “But he’ll probably stay with him here, yeah. That’s what Sirius thought mum would decide. So he was just going through some old things to show Harry, maybe. He’s got loads of stuff from his parents.”

For some reason, this caused Hermione to frown rather than smile like Ginny might have thought. “Yes, I wonder if Sirius isn’t a little more focused on Harry’s parents than on Harry.”

“What?” Ginny scrunched her nose up. “That’s barkers. He wants to show Harry their things, not ignore Harry for them. And wouldn’t Harry want to see them?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. He hardly ever talks about them, you know,” Hermione told her. “The only things he keeps of theirs were given to him by other people. I don’t know if his aunt just keeps everything else at home or if he doesn’t like the reminder.”

“Oh.” Ginny hadn’t thought of that. Harry always seemed to be so enthralled by the atmosphere and clutter of possessions that filled Ginny’s house that she’d always thought — but maybe Hermione was right. Maybe Harry didn’t want his parents’ things. Would it be too painful?

The door opened behind them.

“You’ll have to bring him in now.” Sirius stood two feet back from the door, hidden mostly in shadow. Ginny wondered if he’d been told to keep from opening or answering the doors. Like Buckbeak, his eyes were on the sky. “Your mum’s getting nervous,” he added to Ginny. Without further explanation, he turned and retreated into the house.

Ginny sighed. “Alright, Buckbeak. You heard the rules.”

The Hippogriff did not want to go back inside, but between the two of them they managed. Hermione led the way up to the master bedroom and peered inside. “Eugh, it’s filthy.”

There were animal bones littering the floor by Buckbeak’s makeshift nest of blankets. Ginny swallowed down a spike of panic and stayed in the hall.

“Wonder where he gets the food,” she said, for something to focus on.

“Well, I wonder where he keeps his rubbish bin. Honestly.” Hermione came out and shut the door, leaving Buckbeak to resettle inside. “You mother would be horrified if he let her see in there.”

“Mum’s horrified by a lot of things. Anyway, least the bones are picked clean.” Ginny started down the stairs with Hermione following. “One time the twins forgot a plate of chicken when they left for school and didn’t tell anyone. Their room smelled for weeks.”

“Oi. Not nice to talk about people behind their backs,” said George as he poked his head out of the second bathroom. He didn’t look too grimy, all considered.

“Good thing we were to the side of you, then,” Ginny replied without missing a beat.

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Girls?” Her mum called. “If you’ve finished with Buckbeak, see if Sirius needs anything else. Otherwise, I’ll have to find you something.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione answered.

Try as they might, they couldn’t find him. When Ginny checked his old childhood bedroom in hopes of catching him there, the old boxes of photos and letters were all packed up tight.

---

Harry came soon after, livening up the place with anger and nervous energy. Some of that dissipated once he learned more about the Order thanks to Sirius’ intervention — Ginny was still incredibly cross with her mother for forcing her to leave, even if she’d gotten it all from Hermione later anyway — and the rest left once the result of his hearing came back. Ginny had quite a bit of fun celebrating that with the twins.

Harry was soon roped into leaning the house with the rest of them, and Sirius began participating more obviously as well. She hesitated to call it fun, but it passed the time as well as anything.

Ginny often worked with Sirius because she reckoned if something was about to blow up in their faces it was best to be standing next to the wizard who knew the most magic and was capable of performing it outside school. When not with Sirius, she stuck by the twins for exactly the same reason.

It was also to give him and Harry some space. She knew in an ideal world, they’d have probably spent the whole summer together and come over to the Burrow for dinners or games of pickup Quidditch. Had Sirius even played? She’d seen Mr. Potter’s name on a trophy during the odd detention or two.

Sometimes Sirius would call her over on his own. “Ginny, take that end of the sofa with Harry, there. I’ve got this side.” Or, “Can you and Harry take that bag down to the front hall? Mad Eye’s collecting them to dispose of.” Always her and Harry, too.

But Harry ended up spending a lot of his time with Ron and Hermione, which was what often happened when the three of them were in the same space. With the twins holed up together planning their business and her mother on a cleaning warpath, Ginny often found herself in Sirius’ company. One afternoon she was perched on the flat surface of an unused vanity in the master bedroom as Sirius fed Buckbeak — with supplies from Dung, as it turned out. Pigwidgeon flitted about his head with slightly more calm than usual, while Hedwig slept standing on an ornate owl perch probably placed their decades I’d not centuries ago, and Crookshanks slept on the bed. He was a veritable magizoologist, and Ginny wondered if that might have been what he’d have become had there not been a war on.

Rather than puzzle about the possible career choices of Sirius Black, Ginny decides to voice her suspicions. “I know what you’re doing, and you may as well stop.”

“Think Buckbeak would be rather cross if I did,” he replied.

“Come off it,” she said, grinning in spite of himself. “Making Harry do things with me. I said I had a crush on him as a kid, not that I’m in love with him.”

“I never said you were either. Just reckon you two could be better friends.” He tossed the last animal carcass to Buckbeak, who scarfed it down with rather overdone messiness.

“Sure. But just so you know, I’ve been talking to a Ravenclaw boy the last few months. And Harry likes a Ravenclaw the year above him.”

“Hm, similar taste.”

“I’m — oh no.”

“Were you about to say it?” He finally turned to her with a full grin. “Everyone does at some point.”

“Not me.” She’d stopped herself early enough, thank Merlin. “I’m merely telling you in an earnest fashion to stop your nonsense if you think it’s helping.” Having skirted the mention of the homonym to his name, she nodded to herself.

“It could be my own mean-spirited joke. I was quite known for those in the day.”

Ginny looked him up and down, scrutinizing him. Perhaps what she knew of him was little, but, “Nah, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t make a joke about Harry.”

Sirius’ look became one of chagrin. “Caught me out, did you? You’re pretty brilliant, you are.”

“I’ve worked hard on it,” she said, not bothering to hide that she was pleased. It wasn’t often adults saw her for much more than the youngest and smallest of seven. “Since I am so brilliant, I suppose you might as well induct me into the Order now. I promise not to give its secrets away to Fred and George.”

He barked a laugh. “That decision would be up to Dumbledore. And your mother.”

“Was worth a try,” she sighed.

“Always is.”

Two loud cracks outside on the landing announced Fred and George’s sudden proximity. “Ickle Gin-Gin? Our mother is calling us to dinner,” Fred said, loud enough to be heard from where he stood on the landing but soft enough not to carry down to old Mrs. Black’s portrait.

“Special party for the perfect Prefects before they assume their duties on the train tomorrow,” George added. “Don’t want to be late!” They Disapparated with two more cracks, probably to search for her on other floors.

“Merlin, forgot it was already the thirtieth.” The usual milestones of summer had seemed muted in the darkened house. Even her birthday had passed by with little fanfare, everyone too concerned with Harry’s hearing the next morning to be in a mood for celebration.

“So it is,” said Sirius, almost too quiet for her to make out. He went to the bed and scratched Crookshanks behind his ears. “You finished all your work?”

“Left History of Magic for last. I’ll just scribble it down the morning before first class. Not like Binns knows the difference.” Ginny hopped down off the vanity and crossed to the door. “You eating with us?”

“I might be down in a bit. Save me a plate.”

“Alright.”

He did arrive in plenty of time for the party, but though he talked and laughed with all of them, Ginny thought there was a shadow hiding behind his eyes. The way he followed Harry about the room, sometimes right at his elbow and sometimes at a bit of a distance, made her think of his Animagus form. She wondered if Harry thought the same.

---

Having Sirius accompany them to the platform had been a wonderful sendoff no matter what Hermione said about vague threats Malfoy had made to Harry. So what if the Malfoys knew Sirius was in London? They’d probably already assumed that, and it wasn’t as if they could go to the Ministry without revealing their source was an illegal Animagus himself and reportedly dead man. The sheer joy in his eyes and in that foggy grin as he’d chased birds about the sidewalk and jumped up to bid Harry and the rest of them a last goodbye had been worth it, and Ginny wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

She thought about Sirius every so often during the first term. Wondering what was going on at Headquarters, how he passed the time. Harry might know, but he had enough to be getting on with without her pestering him about his own godfather.

As the holidays neared, she wondered how Sirius would be spending them, too.

Then her dad was attacked and they were all back in Grimmauld Place, so in a way she was finding out.

Ginny wasn’t planning to stick around long enough for that, though. She waited long enough to hear Harry’s whole story after Sirius pulled her up from the floor when they were deposited by Dumbledore’s Portkey before stating, “We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s. Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything—?”

“Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!”

Despite her and the twin’s arguments that they needed to see their dad, he refused. And she understood not wanting to draw attention to the unexplainable connection Harry seemed to have with You-Know-Who, she got that Sirius was trying to protect his godson. But this was her dad!

He made them sit and drink Butterbeer instead. What had happened to them being old enough to know things? To not being kept in the dark? Hermione had told her they’d gotten word of Sirius’ support for the D.A., so why was he suddenly acting like her mum?

She sat glaring into the fire for the rest of the night until her mum came back with news about her dad. Overjoyed as she was to know he was recovering, Ginny barely touched her breakfast. They still weren’t being allowed to go right away.

Her mum and Sirius were making nice at the stove — making nice! — and talking about bloody Christmas plans or something.

She couldn’t believe the lot of them.

Ginny was still so angry she couldn’t sleep the next night, even after seeing her dad for herself at St. Mungo’s. She’d forced herself to appear happy to her mother and the others on the trip, but betrayal at Sirius’ actions the previous night stewed in her like a stomachache.

She got up, heading down to the kitchen in the hopes that a cup of tea might soothe her enough to settle for a few hours.

Except that Sirius was already sitting at the table nursing a mug of something. She didn’t much care what it was. Probably more of Dung’s cheap liquor.

“Evening,” he greeted casually. When all she did was glare, he sat up a little straighter. “Something the matter?”

Ginny scoffed. “Really? You have to ask?”

She crossed to the cabinets and started opening and closing them with loud bangs, not really looking inside. She was being so her mum at the moment and hated it, but right now she was more interested in hating him.

Then his hand reached for the cabinet handle she’d been about to grab and pulled it open, taking out a tin of herbal tea. It occurred to Ginny then just how tall Sirius was; he spent most of his time either slumped into chairs or slightly hunched over. 

It made her wonder how tall the cells in Azkaban were.

“Here. Unless you’re after something else.”

His words reminded her of her anger, and she wrapped it around herself like a cloak to ward off her chilling thoughts. “Like an apology maybe?”

She could hear the aristocratic raise of his eyebrow and didn’t even have to look to know it was there. “For?”

Ginny whirled around. “You didn’t back me up!”

“Of course I didn’t,” he said, and it sounded so damn dismissive she wanted to curse him, or punch him since that wouldn’t get her in trouble with the Ministry. “You weren’t thinking clearly.”

“And you got to decide that?”

“As the only adult in the room, yes, I did.”

Ginny petulantly opened her mouth to argue he hadn’t been the only adult in the room with Fred and George of age, but realized at the last second that would be playing into his hand.

So she struck lower.

“No one in the Order thinks you are.”

Sirius’ eyes flashed and for a single moment she was reminded of the wanted posters and how very terrified she had been of him the last several years of her life. “No, they don’t,” was all he said quietly. Then he turned his back to her.

“Sirius. I- I didn’t mean—” Somehow his lack of fight was so much worse than any shouting would have been. Because he was a fighter, and if he was giving up already then she didn’t know what that meant.

“Sometimes I forget the years. It’s hard not to, especially here. Then I see you or Harry or the others.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You’re nearly as old as we were, but don’t you see? How young that is.”

Her protests all seemed to have died on her lips.

“No one told us we were too young. No one tried to hold us back.” He shrugged. “We thought we were invincible, for a while. Then the bodies started piling up. And the Inferi came. And the Dementors…” Sirius shuddered, but he carried on in a hoarse tone, “Did you ever wonder why there’s barely forty kids in a year at Hogwarts anymore?”

“No,” she admitted quietly. “I thought it was normal.”

“I want you lot to be prepared, yes. Because it’s going to get uglier, a lot uglier, before it gets better. If it does. But I don’t want you to be like me.” His gray gaze held hers, and it sent chills up her spine. “I don’t want you to have their lives. I want you to grow old and have children of your own and get fed up when they yell at you for being such a broomstick in the mud.” His eyes were wet now. “I want you to have the lives they should have had. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I- I think I am tired after all.” She turned and left the kitchen, glancing back once to see Sirius leaning his back against the counter as he rubbed thumb and forefinger over his eyes.

She did what she’d always done since the Chamber with her tears and cried into her pillow for the lives that were never lived. And the lives that this war had yet to take.

---

She didn’t have a present for him, Ginny realized on Christmas morning. She hadn’t thought they’d be here for Christmas and hadn’t known how to get it to him. Then she’d been so distraught and angry the next few days. But they were all sitting around the table talking about their gifts and thanking each other, and she realized it didn’t seem as if he’d gotten a thing.

They were shuffled off to see her dad at St. Mungo’s, but when they returned Ginny hurriedly took out some parchment and ink and scrawled out a quick card.

“It’s an IOU,” she explained when she found him still stringing up tinsel on the bookcases in the library. He was big on decorating, she’d discovered in the days leading up to Christmas. “Next time we see each other, I’ll have the present.”

He hummed as he looked over the sloppily drawn tree. “And when will that be?”

“Next summer. We’ll be coming back here if nothing changes, won’t we? Or maybe you could come out to the Burrow for a day. Have you ever been?”

“No. But your uncles described it when your parents bought the land and started building the place.”

Ginny blinked. She’d forgotten Sirius had known her uncles. Ginny usually forgot about her uncles as well, but the looming war seemed to provide frequent reminders.

“They said it was hilarious,” Sirius added.

Ginny smirked. “Is a bit, yeah, but it’s home. You’ll have to come. I know King’s Cross is too public, but the house should be alright, shouldn’t it?”

“We’ll see,” was his answer. “But I accept this delayed present on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You help me spread some cheer today.” He threw some tinsel over her shoulder and wrapped the rest around his neck, galloping out of the room. Ginny laughed as they ascended the steps, and joined in on the second half of the verse of his carol.

“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy—”

A door flew open on the landing above, cutting them off mid-song.

“Sirius, please.” Her mum’s face was red and splotchy; probably still upset by the fight she and Ginny’s dad had had about the Muggle stitches. But she froze as she took in the sight of Ginny.

“Er, sorry, mum.”

“No. No, that’s alright, dear. It- it is a holiday,” she said. “Carry on.” Then she turned and shut the door.

“Downstairs, eh? Let’s see if we can find your brothers,” Sirius suggested, the tinsel train connecting them already tugging her in the other direction.”

“Right.” Ginny waited till they cleared the next landing, then heaved in a big breath.

“God rest ye, merry Hippogriff, let nothing you dismay!”

---

She never saw him again after that holiday.

A quick hug as she hurried down the stairs to join the others on their ride back to school was what she’d left with. She couldn’t remember if there had been words. It was a regret Ginny carried the rest of her life.

Harry at least had seen him and spoken to him before the end. She was proud she’d helped to give him that. Proud still that she’d gone with him to try and rescue Sirius. She’d do again in a heartbeat, especially if it did save him this time. But time didn’t work that way.

Three summers later, Ginny entered Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the first time since that Christmas before his death. She did it for Harry, since he didn’t want to go alone.

The house felt small and dim instead of strange and Gothic the way it lived in her memory. Kreacher wasn’t present — he’d opted to stay among the Elves at Hogwarts, lonely in his old age, they suspected. That was just as well; Ginny could only muster pity for him, no matter how much he had changed since the spring he helped orchestrate Sirius’ death.

They walked hand-in-hand through the house, using their wands to move the furniture that would be leaving to the front hall. Then Harry led them up to Sirius’ childhood bedroom, looking unsurprised as he stepped into total chaos. Ginny gasped.

“Snape did it,” Harry told her. “He was looking for something.”

“In Sirius’ things?”

“It’s complicated.” Everything with Snape was. She was still processing how she felt about her one-time Headmaster. “I wish I’d known all this stuff was here before,” Harry remarked, more to himself than anything as he looked about the parchment scattered on the floor.

“He was going to show them to you. He told me that, but I think...I think he got the impression you wouldn’t want to.”

Harry frowned. “How’d he get that impression?”

Ginny shook her head. It was on my a sneaking suspicion, nothing to get him riled up at Hermione over. They were all older now, and wiser for it. “I don’t know for sure. Only there was talk. I think he worried he was doing everything wrong by you.”

“Most everyone back then was telling him he was,” Harry said. “They didn’t understand. He wasn’t perfect, of course.”

“He had a lot of his own troubles.” Ginny was reading things, Muggle books Hermione had lent her. They talked about things they called illnesses but to her sounded like curses. Post-traumatic stress. Depression. The Dementors never had wands, but she thought they’d put a curse on Sirius all the same.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed softly. “Yeah, he did. He didn’t need to be perfect, though.”

Ginny stepped forward, circling her arms loosely around his lower back and forcing him to look at her. “He told me about some of this stuff. I can’t remember everything, but looking at it might help.”

Harry kissed her forehead. “It might.”

They packed up the boxes and antiques and furniture and left. Bill removed the Fidelus and Unplottable Charms, and it sold for a small sum before the year was out.

A weight lifted off her chest. One of her own curses gone.

---

They were having a boy. They’d gone to see one of the Muggle Healers. Her dad has been fascinated to know how much the Muggles could see about a baby that had yet to be born.

They’d gone in part because they were having trouble deciding on names. This was to be Harry Potter’s first child, after all, and like it or not people were going to obsess about it.

Her husband threw himself down into a chair. “I don’t want my name in it.”

“You have your dad’s name,” Ginny pointed out from her own seat. She preferred sitting to standing these days, though sometimes she grew stir crazy. “Bill has my dad’s, and I have my mum’s. It’s not like it’d be out of the ordinary.”

“It’s not that. It’s just...a lot to put on a baby, you know?”

She nodded.

“I’d rather give him my dad’s name. I always sort of thought I would. Only…”

“Only?” She prompted, knowing if she didn’t he’d just drew for another day or so.

“Sirius.” Harry looked at her, his eyes sad. 

“Oh,” she said softly.

“When I think of — it’s horrible, isn’t it? But when I think of a dad, or what a dad would do.” He shrugged helplessly. “I know my dad would’ve if he’d been given the chance, I know that. I just…”

Ginny leaned as far as her belly would allow and touched his shoulder. “It’s understandable, Harry. Sirius was all you knew.”

“I know, but I know he’d never want to take my dad’s place.” He put his head in his hands, hair sticking out at even odder angles.

She thought for a while. He was right about Sirius’ wishes, but Ginny wanted to honor him, too. She always would.

“James Sirius, then,” she said after a moment, and Harry looked up. “That way, they’re never apart.”

His face slowly split into a wide grin, his shoulders slumping in relief. “You’re brilliant, you are.”

She closed her eyes, smiling at memories of a young girl who’d thought herself so grown up. “Suppose I am.”

At least she’d had the chance to become one. Ginny rested her hand on her stomach, feeling James Sirius kick to meet the touch.

The life they should’ve had. The life that every child could have now. Sometimes it didn’t feel real.

She’d fight every day to keep it, though. Sirius has said once that some things were worth dying for, like the children he’d charged into battle to protect. But some things were worth living for, too.

Ginny would never forget that.

[heart-shaped-heart]

New Dawn [oneshot]

Fandom: Assassin’s creed

Pairing: Ezio x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You’re Spanish assassin, courageous and talented. Once you’re invited to Rome by what’s left of Italian Brotherhood to defeat your common enemy - Borgia. But even you, the avant-garde of assassins’ powers, have some secrets to keep.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1480

Warnings: none

Requested by: @ witch-of-letters

A/N: Once again thank you for your great request! I apologize for making you wait that long, but I hope it’s worth it and you will enjoy the story!~

It’s been a year. A year since you’ve arrived at Rome. A year since you’ve become one of the leaders of the rise, the new dawn of lately dying Italian Brotherhood.

A year since you’ve first met Ezio Auditore de Firenze.

...You still remember your first meeting, and it’s not that it was very pleasant. Monteriggioni was defeated, Ezio himself was defeated, and then here you are, strong and invincible, come to help - of course, deeply inside Ezio felt more vulnerable and offended by his weakness than he wanted to show, especially to a woman. 

But after some time of working together, side by side, he understood that you’re not the person that could ever make him feel ashamed. As spoked, you truly were ruthless with your enemies, but you turn out to be understanding, easy-going and jovial with him. You quickly got attached to each other.

You pulled the strings of underground with him, you found new recruits for him, you helped him with Leonardo’s machines, you was with him, when Caterina, who, as he thought then, he had a thing for, left. But with every shared moment you were getting more and more clear realization that your attitude to him went too far from working relationships. Of course it was against your principles, but at some moment you realized that you have neither will nor power to fight yourself.

And he... He was just Ezio Auditore, did you have any chances? Afraid of ruining your relationships, you were completely content by just being with him, working with him, helping him.

But one day something broke. Something changed. One day he looked at you, and his look wasn’t the same as always; there wasn’t usual smile, usual warmth in his eyes anymore. His look was absolutely empty, and at this moment something crashed inside your chest. 

And since that moment time began to flow more slowly than ever. It felt like if you got stuck in the middle of the still sea all alone, and you just float, and your thoughts are the only companions you have. You couldn’t get rid of them at all: what’s wrong? what did you done? why does he keep silence? After your every attempt to talk to finally find out the problem Ezio disappeared with some new excuse, and it did scare you even more. 

That silence between two of you was tense, but so numb, and after all you just gave up. You had no more energy to fight, you were too devastated, so you just let things slide. It hurt. It hurt even more then if he yelled, screamed; but he kept silence, and it was the worse. 

With every other day you found yourself more and more distant from people you called your family: assassins, Machiavelli, Claudia... Ezio. With every other day you felt worse; finally, you lost your sleep. 

Night streets of Rome were beautiful, truly beautiful. Empty and neat, with fresh air, they were the thing that could calm and distract your mind. You travelled through the sleeping city, no matter how - on the ground or from one roof to another, and then came back to the assassins’ base shortly before morning. 

Tiny fire on the end of the candle trembled, as you were looking at horizon, which already started to burn with a weak shine. Night silence covered you, letting you get deeply in your thoughts. And you’d already started to nod off when a sudden thud waked you from drowse. You flinched, and then quickly recognized the sound of the opening door. But before you could think of who could open it, the person who did in entered the living room, and in trembling light of candle you saw Ezio’s face. 

As he noticed you, he stood still, not sure what to do. 

“Why are you awake?” he finally asked non-emotionally, and this was the first time in a long time when he spoke to you first. 

Ezio walked across the room, put off some weapon and placed it on the table. 

“I could ask the same of you”. 

He didn’t answer - of course he didn’t; and suddenly you felt like if something burst inside you; a mixture of resentment, anger and despair filled your chest, and inability to keep silent burned your throat.

“Ezio,’ you called and stood up, “We need to talk, don’t we?”

He sighed with some tiredness and hesitated for a few seconds more - but these seconds lasted for ages.

“Y/n Y/S/n,” he finally turned to you and looked to your eyes, as if he was trying to find the answer in your face, and you shivered, “This name you said to me when we first met. But that wasn’t true, was it?”

As you realized what he was talking about, everything fell into place.

But you almost choked on how sudden and unpleasant was his question. This topic you would like to avoid the most of all. Not because you was afraid, but because you was ashamed, and also sorry for missing any opportunity to tell him the truth by yourself. Maybe if Ezio had learnt it from you, he would have not reacted so roughly?.. Anyway, you’ll never know.

You looked at him. Ezio was still looking in your eyes, and there was no any exact expression on his face; only a ghost of disappointed sadness and pursed lips could show his emotions.

He doubted. 

And you clearly understood, that it's his duty to protect the Brotherhood and eliminate any possibility of being betrayed, but... as much as you hated to admit it, the fact that he doubted about you was painful to accept.

“My mother was an assassin,” you started, sighed deeply and turned around to the window, “One of the most devoted members of the Brotherhood. Once she had a... quick romance with Rodrigo Borgia. But when she learnt who he happened to be, she left him immediately. I didn’t know my father’s name till my mother’s last day... She finally confessed me on her deathbed. I was ten.” 

After a moment of silence you turned to him again, but there is no sorrow or confusion in your eyes anymore - only strength and confidence.

“And then I was raised by assassins. I realize that hiding my origin wasn't the right thing to do and I apologize for that, but Borgia’s not my family, it never was. The Brotherhood is. And I would rather die than betray it.”

Ezio turned away a bit, and after a minute of tense silence you suddenly heard a soft nervous laugh. At the sound of it you suddenly felt both relief and confusion; you just stood still, not sure how to react.

“...You find it funny?” you asked.

“No. No, of course not,” he signed deeply and tiredly, a sad smile slowly disappeared from his lips, “I don’t laugh at you. I laugh more at myself. I’m such a fool sometimes. It is me who should apologize.”

You slightly stepped closer.

“What do you mean?”

“You know... All these wars, fights, betrayals... They can make anyone paranoid. When I heard about your origin, I... I didn't know what to think, the news swept me off my feet. You just... were the only person I thought I could trust, and...”

“You can.”

“What?” he finally looked you in the eyes with some kind of surprise as if he just noticed your presence.

“You can trust me, Ezio. I swear.”

His lips suddenly pulled into a soft, gentle smile as he slightly nodded.

“I know,” he whispered, and you felt a knot of warm forming in your chest.

...You didn’t really remember when did the distance between two of you disappeared - but it did. The only thing you could notice is his eyes, deep and dark, as if they were the only object that existed in the whole world, and at this moment you suddenly understood what does the phrase “to get lost in someone’s eyes” means.

“Ezio... Auditore de Firenze,” you whispered as your gaze travelled down to his scarred, but so pretty and kissable - this word came to your mind for the first time in your entire life - lips.

“Yes?” he answered in the same murmur, still smiling, and you felt his hands slipping up your back.

Some needed words formed on your tongue and slipped out quicker than you could weigh the pros and cons:

“Just... kiss me already.”

And he did nothing but obeyed.

...Warm morning took over Rome, slightly dispelling the darkness of the night and spreading through the narrow streets, but still harbouring the ones who wanted to be harboured, and hiding their gentle whisper in soft gust of wind.

“Never leave my side. Please.”

“I promise.”

And above the horizon the new dawn revealed its shine to the sleepy city.

[madrut16]

Meeting the Parents (Adrian x MC)

Author’s Note: I’m already back! This fic took me maybe 24 hours if that to write and a few hours more to edit which is the fastest I’ve ever done one of these. I just had to write this because it will provide some background for the first fic for the July Challenge I’m doing. I hope you like it, it’s just a cute little scenario I’ve been thinking about for months now for these two. 

Also, I’m going to be tagging all of my fanfic with adrianadmirerfics from now on so that you have an easy way to find all of my content! I’ll try to tag some of the old stuff too. :)

(p.s:  Also, I don’t know if I’ve said this publicly but Delilah--my TRR mc--is Isabel’s cousin and adopted sister.)

Pairing: Adrian x MC

Rating: PG

Summary: While visiting her in New York, Isabel’s parents finally meet Adrian for the first time. However, after learning the one thing she’s been keeping secret about him, will that jeopardize their opinions of him?

Word Count: 1523

@endlesshero1122 @kinda-iconic @krishu213 @ladykateofhousebeaumont @shelley-parah @tabithacarlisle @galaxyside-0 @desiree-0816 @brightpinkpeppercorn 

"Do you think your parents will like me?" Adrian wonders, playing with the cufflinks on his grey suit.

Isabel bites her lip as they walk towards their destination for the evening, the cool air blowing gently against her bare shoulders. "Mmhmm."

She certainly hopes so. They're visiting her in New York for the week and insisted on meeting him during the trip. In fact, she was pretty confident that it would go well...that is until their conversation yesterday. One secret uncovered later, everything has changed.

Now suddenly, this dinner is more important than ever. 

"I mean, of course, they will,” she adds quickly. “While they are overprotective, any hostility is usually just a front they put up. They’re actually really amicable. In fact, there’s only one person I’ve introduced who they haven’t liked," she explains. Her stomach twists itself into a knotted mess as she pauses in front of the restaurant. "Although...there is something that might complicate things."

His eyebrows lift up. "What is it?"

She lets out a sigh, playing with nonexistent dust on his suit. "They know about you."

It doesn't take long for him to realize what she means. 

He looks at her in shock. "You didn't tell them did you?"

Isabel shakes her head vigorously. "No! I haven’t told anyone besides Alyssa. Delilah did, even though I explicitly told her not to when she first said she was briefed on it. And then I had to tell them some information just to keep them from freaking out on me.”

She watches as his anxiety skyrockets. "I doubt you would allow me to have them debriefed."

"I know that you consider Jameson a friend Adrian, but I still don’t trust him. So no, I’m not letting them anywhere near him,” she confirms, pursing her lips at the thought of the scholar. “I don’t think it’s necessary anyway. They don't know that much. I didn't even tell them about The Council! I just said enough to reassure them that you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

A brief silence between them lingers as he becomes deep in thought. Finally, his expression clears, his mind made up.

"Okay, I won’t make them then, Isabel. I trust you.” He began to relax, but he’s still more nervous than before she said anything. “How do they feel about it?"

Isabel shrugs. "Well, they're still a little apprehensive but, they are willing to keep an open mind," she says. "I doubt it’ll be a problem. My mama is already fine with it since she’s been hearing vampire stories since childhood from my grandma, who’s kind of obsessed with everything supernatural. My dad will be the harder sell. But I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Why is that?”

She gives him a reassuring smile. “Because I know him...and you. All you have to do is answer their questions and while it’s probably best if you don’t bring up your past in detail, I wouldn’t pretend like you don’t have one either. Just be yourself, like you were with me.”

“From what I recall, that did seem to work back then,” he chuckles as they enter the Italian place she selected. 

After being shown to their table, the two only have to wait for a few minutes until their company arrives. 

“There she is!” a soft voice with a distinctive southern twang exclaimed. 

Isabel looks up to see her parents walking towards them and immediately sets down the menu she’s holding. 

“Hi,” she says getting up hug both of them. 

“Hi Mija,” her father replies, a hint of unease on his aging features.

Meanwhile, Adrian stands a little ways back, watching the interaction take place. 

Seeing him, Isabel gestures for him to come forward. “Mama, Papa, this is Adrian.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he tells them, shaking their hands. 

“Likewise. I’ve heard so much about you, on the internet, newspapers, Isabel,” her mother gushes as they all sit down at the table. “But, that clearly doesn’t give you justice.”

Isabel feels her cheeks becoming red as her father continues to scrutinize him. 

“Don’t worry, he always does that,” she whispers reassuringly. 

They continue to make small talk as they decide what to order. Everything seems to be going smoothly. But she still waits in anticipation for the inevitable questioning that is coming. 

“What will you be having?” their waiter asks after a little while. 

“I’ll have the cannelloni please,” her mother says before she smiles cheekily. “And be sure to leave off the garlic if you will.” Her eyes flick over to Adrian and she gives him a wink making him squirm. 

“Mama!” Isabel whispers in protest. 

“What? I’m simply being considerate.”

Rolling her eyes, she proceeds to give her order. “The Gnocci for me please.”

Soon the waiter leaves with their requests. 

Her father clears his throat. “So. I have a few questions to ask about...this vampire thing. I understand that some things must remain a secret but...I just want to make sure that my daughter is in good hands.”

“Of course,” Adrian says, his smile faltering for a second. Beneath the table, Isabel gives his hand a squeeze. “As do I. What do you want to know?”

The older man becomes thoughtful. Finally, after a minute he starts with, “How much of this is a part of her job? Is it dangerous?”

Isabel answers this one. “It’s...a significant part. And yes, I’ve been in some...precarious situations. But, I know what I signed up for Papa. This is what I want. I’m really getting to help people--mortal and vampire alike. And Adrian is here to protect me.”

“She has proved to be very capable of defending herself also,” he interjects. “She’s even saved my life.”

Her father’s eyes widen before a tentative grin appears. “I see those self-defense lessons have come in handy.”

“Yes, yes they have Papa,” she replies in amusement. 

“Well, as long as you’re keeping her safe,” her mother says. “I don’t see a reason to object.”

“Neither do I. But, I do have one more thing I’m curious about.”

Adrian nods. “Go ahead.”

Her father pauses before inquiring, “How long have you been so...friendly to humans? I’m assuming that you’ve done some things in the past that were less than...honorable.”

The CEO’s expression darkens into one Isabel is all too familiar with. “You’re right. We’ve instituted a restraint here in New York that is rather uncommon, it’s also relatively new. However, we now have rules against that which I stick to firmly. It’s been a while since I’ve killed anyone...almost a century now.”

“Why did it change? For you?”

“Well...I’ve always been sympathetic to you, even back then,” he replies, swallowing. “Deep down I knew it was wrong but, I didn’t think that there was another option, it’s what I was taught for years. Eventually, I decided I had enough. That I could use what I’ve been given to help people instead of hurt them. So, I helped create that other choice.”

Just like Isabel advised, the truth seems to remove the lasting doubt her father had. “I can respect that. As long as you’re sure about him Isabel. I don’t want you to go through what you did last time.”

At the mention of her previous relationship, she frowns briefly. “Yes, I’m sure. More than anything I’ve ever done. Now, can you please not mention Derek? You know I don’t like talking about him.”

Adrian’s eyes widen slightly at her sudden change in demeanor as her father nods silently, a secret communication between them. “Of course. Well, that’s all I need. You seem trustworthy.”

She’s kept him in the dark about her ex minus brief, minor details since the beginning. She fears that the lasting effects of the unhealthy relationship will affect what she has now. He’s the first person who she’s tried to date who she hasn’t felt guarded around and she wants to keep it that way.

Just as quickly as the tension appeared, her smile comes and it fades. The food comes after that, providing her much needed relief. “Thank you,” she says before swiftly changing the subject. “Why don’t you tell Adrian some stories about Ginny?”

Her mother’s eyes light up at the mention of hers. “Oh, that’s a great idea! My mama, Adrian, you’ll absolutely love her! She’s such an intellectual like you, especially when it comes to the dark and mysterious subjects.”

“I get a lot from her actually,” Isabel adds cheerfully. “The love of history, my perceptiveness. I could go on.”

“And your need for adventure Iz! Don’t forget about that.”

Adrian’s eyes sparkle at this. “Oh really? I definitely need to hear this then.”

They spend the rest of the time filling him in with numerous stories, any lingering discomfort between them quickly disappearing. And Isabel can’t help but smile, her mind already filling with quixotic wishful thinking. The seemingly impossible pipe dream of peace, even friendship between the two worlds she now belonged to. 

But, maybe, just maybe one day she’d be able to see it become a reality.

[spartanguard]

we cannot choose our fate (1/?)

Yesterday’s discussion of where Alice would fit in at Hogwarts—and subsequent headcannoning—became this. Not sure when I’ll get back to it, or if it’ll actually have a plot or just be a universe I play in, but I couldn’t resist. 

Summary: Alice Jones is off to Hogwarts, and neither she nor her father are confident they’re ready for the separation it will bring. But maybe some new faces—and some old ones—will help.

2.2k words | Rated PG | Knightrook, CS, Alice & Henry brotp | AO3

Everything was just like Papa had described, but even better: she’d completely expected to hit the wall as she ran at it, but passed through like it was nothing, and here she was in front of the shiniest, reddest, most beautiful train she’d ever seen—nothing like those dingy passenger trains they’d taken into London from their seaside home.

Even the tiny new owl they’d bought (named Mr. Rabbit) hooted appreciatively from its cage, perched on top of her worn old (but still sturdy) trunk, emblazoned with the seal of Her Majesty’s Navy. It had been her papa’s in another life—a life he didn’t tell her much about, but said he would someday, when she was old enough.

His warm hand was on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Are you ready for this, Starfish?” She looked up over her shoulder at him, where the blue eyes she’d inherited were smiling down at her.

“I think so, Papa, but...I am a bit nervous.”

He chuckled—a deep, warm thing that always made her feel better. “Aye, I was too on my first day.” He knelt next to her, placing him a bit shorter than her but at an easier height for conversing. “But just think of all the incredible things you’ll learn, all the friends you’ll make, and all the fun you’ll have,” he assured her, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear (with its pointed tips, also just like his) and giving her a big grin that deepened the wrinkles around his eyes.

“I know; I’m just...worried. What if I don’t make any friends?” There weren’t a ton of children her age in their quaint little village; just a couple rude boys and one quiet girl, all Muggles. She’d tried to befriend the girl, but in her excitement, her magic started making things float around her, and the girl had ran off, frightened.

“Trust me, love—you’ll have no problem there; you’ve definitely inherited the Jones charm,” he said, winking badly and making her giggle. “And you’ve also got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met; they’d have to be a fool not to see that.”

She nodded, but that wasn’t all that had her concerned, and Papa could tell.

“What else, love?”

“I’m just...I’m going to miss you,” she said quietly, then bit her lip to staunch the flow of tears she could feel starting.

“Oh, my Alice,” her papa said, and immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, his hand cradling her head like it had done since she was a babe. “I’ll miss you, too, my darling.”

She hugged him as tight as she could and buried her head in his neck, unable to hold the tears anymore and likely soaking his jumper. All her life, it had just been the two of them; what was she to do without him? “Can’t you come, too, Papa?”

He laughed again, but it was watery this time. “No, my darling, I cannot; you don’t want your silly old dad around anyways.”

“Yes, I do!” she insisted.

He pulled back so he could look at her again, and used his thumb to wipe the tears from her eyes. “You’ll be having so many adventures, you won’t even notice I’m not there.”

“Of course I will! How can you even say that, Papa? And who’s going to look out for you if I’m not there?”

“I’ll be just fine, lass. But, if it helps, I brought this along.” He reached into an inner pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out his old scarf. Its bright gold and black had faded a bit with time, but he still wore it every winter. “Take this with you, and you’ll always have a piece of me nearby.”

“Papa, I couldn’t…” She knew that was a gift from her uncle Liam to her papa many years ago, long before he died; that was why her father took such care with it.

He ignored her protest and placed it in her hands. “You’ll have this, and whenever you look out at the sky at night, just remember that I’ll be seeing the same stars. We’ll never be far from each other then, not in our hearts.”

She sniffled and nodded, squeezing the scarf tight. But then another worry jumped in her head. “But what if I’m not a Hufflepuff? What if I end up in Slytherin, like Uncle Liam?”

Papa laughed again. “All these questions, one would think you’d be in Ravenclaw,” he teased. “Whatever house you end up in will be very lucky to have you. But,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I have it on good authority that the Hat takes your choice into consideration.”

She sighed; that did make her feel a bit better. Then the train whistled, letting everyone know they only had a few minutes to board. Her papa stood, pulled his wand from the left-side pocket of his jeans, and with a quick flick made her luggage disappear.

“Where’d you put it?” she asked, shocked.

“That compartment right there,” he said, pointing to one that looked like it only had one person in it. “Now go on board, say hi, and then have so many amazing adventures.”

“I’ll write you every day, Papa,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his midsection for one last bruising hug.

“I can’t wait, Starfish,” he answered, hugging back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She pulled back to look up at him again, but he cupped the back of her head, rested his blunted left wrist on her shoulder, and placed a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

The train whistled again, making them jump apart. “Off you go, my darling,” he said, gesturing toward the train. “Be good. And remember, talk to Prof. Nolan if you need anything; he told me he’d keep an eye on you.”

“I will!” She said. “I really do love you, Papa.” She wanted to make sure she said it enough times so that he wouldn’t forget.

“I know, my love; and I you. Now go!” He gently shoved her toward the train, and she realized she needed to get on it quickly lest it leave without her. She hopped up on the entrance to the car, but only took one step before turning around to wave at her Papa. “Bye!”

He just smiled and waved back, and she finished boarding so she could find her compartment—which wasn’t hard once she saw Mr. Rabbit in his cage above the bench.

There was still only one other person in there—another first-year, she guessed, with a mop of dark hair and his nose in a book.

“Hi!” She greeted, flopping down on the seat across from him. “I’m Alice, Alice Jones.”

He looked up and gave her a grin. “I’m Henry Swan-Cassidy; nice to meet you!” He replied, extending his hand, which she shook perhaps a bit too vigorously but he didn’t seem to mind. “Are you a first-year, too?” He asked.

“Aye.”

“Are you excited or nervous or both?”

“Definitely both.” The train gave a lurch just then as it began to pull away from the station. Oh, goodness—where was Papa? She looked out the window, searching the crowd for his dark hair (well, not all dark anymore, but he was still quite dashing if she said so herself). And there he was, smiling and waving at her from the edge of the throng of families. She enthusiastically waved back, keeping her eyes on him as the Hogwarts Express slowly pulled out of King’s Cross station.

Her arm was tired by the time he was out of sight, but she waved a bit longer for good measure—and so did Henry.

“Is this your first time away from home?” she asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mhmm. I’ve never been away from my papa before, but he says I’ll have fun. And I am excited to learn. But I’ll miss him.”

“Yeah, same here. I worry about my mum; she gets lonely.”

“So does my papa,” she agreed. “Isn’t your papa there?”

“No; he died when I was a baby. So it’s just me and her.”

“Well, I’ll gladly share mine with you, if you want! He’s the best,” she boasted. “He always taught me to share with people who don’t have the same things you do, and he’s got a heart filled with love—sometimes overflowing. So there’s definitely plenty to spare.”

Henry smiled. “I’d like that! I can share my mum with you, too, unless…”

“Oh, that would be splendid! I never met mine either,” she shrugged. “Papa says she didn’t want to be a mum, but he did want to be a dad, so it was an easy decision.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a deal, then!”

“Indeed we do!” she grinned back at her new friend. “Oh, is that the sweets trolley I hear?”

Killian Jones could see his reflection in the gleaming red sides of the train, even as far away as he was. It was hard to believe it had been so many years—nearly 30—since his first trip to Hogwarts. He wondered just how much of that small, gangly, hopeful little boy was left in the man he saw staring back at him—graying, weathered, lean, and tired.

But then he saw Alice through the window, and he knew that lost sense of optimism lived on in her. In so many ways, she was the best thing to ever happen to him, even if she only came as a result of some of his darkest days (the darkest days anyone had known, really).

She was talking animatedly to the other boy in her compartment, and it filled his heart with glee to see her connecting to someone finally; as much as he wanted to keep her close and safe in their home, he knew she needed this—and maybe he did, too.

“Jones, is that you?” A feminine voice approached, one he hadn’t heard in years. And he wasn’t sure from her tone if she was happy or not to see him.

He turned and there she was: Emma Swan, a bit older than he’d last seen her but no less beautiful or confident. “Aye, Swan; long time, no see,” he offered, with a tentative smile.

“I wondered if I’d run into you here,” she said, standing next to him and then tilting her head toward the train. “Is that your Alice?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” he answered, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “Where’s your lad?”

“Sitting across from her.”

Killian’s eyes flew back to the window, looking at and assessing the boy. “I see the resemblance,” he concluded, a bit sadly. “He looks a lot like his dad.”

“He does,” Emma agreed. “Your daughter looks just like you, too.”

“Thank goodness,” he added, almost bitterly. He didn’t like to spend any time thinking on Alice’s mother, or the circumstances of her conception—and their consequences.

“Does she know?” Emma asked quietly.

“No,” Killian shook his head. “Does Henry?”

“No.”

An uneasy silence settled over them as the both fought off the memories of the events of 11 or so years ago, none of them pleasant and all with lasting consequences that much of the wizarding world was still recovering from in one way or another.

“Why are you even talking to me, Swan? You know what people will say,” he protested weakly, hanging his head and shoving his hand and wrist into his pockets.

“I stopped caring about that ages ago,” she answered. “And sometimes, it takes time to see things clearly, and realize you made some rash judgments.”

He looked back up at her, and the apologetic look on her face; she’d never been great with words, but he knew what she was saying nonetheless. “I...appreciate that, Emma,” he slowly thanked her.

“Plus, if I know anything about my son—and can guess anything about your daughter—it’s that we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other over the next few years,” she continued with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah?” He looked back at the train, and indeed, the two seemed awfully close. He grinned proudly at the scene.

Then the train shook as it began its departure, and once Alice’s eyes found his, he held her gaze and waved as long as possible—until his arm was tired and the train had long since disappeared into the fog of its own exhaust.

“They’ll be okay,” Emma assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He sneakily tried to wipe a tear from his eye, until he noticed the ones brimming on her own.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s just…”

“I know,” she too agreed.

The crowd was beginning to disperse from the platform, families regrouping and heading off together, leaving Killian, and probably Emma, feeling extra alone without his constant sidekick of these last years.

“I guess that’s the cue to leave,” she said, but he could tell she was a bit reluctant to.

“Aye, probably.” He was, too, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do next—what would be seen as proper for someone who’d been generally outcast from wizarding society.

Leave it to Emma to know what to do, though. “If you’ve got the time, would you want to grab a drink? Maybe do some catching up?”

“I...I’d love that,” he stammered. “Leaky Cauldron, or somewhere else?”

“That stuffy old place? No way. There’s a cute little Muggle diner not far from here, though.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you should also check out Ad Astra by @killianmesmalls (another product of yesterday’s headcannoning).

tagging @cocohook38 @snowbellewells and I’m not sure who else... @kat2609 @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @fergus80 @thesschesthair @mryddinwilt @wingedlioness @sherlockianwhovian @queen-mabs-revenge @pirateherokillian (feel free to ignore!)

[kpopfanfictrash]

Addewid (XIV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,313

Genre: Fey!AU + Series

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Her heels echo on marble, and she tilts her head. “Disappointing,” she muses, looking at Kai. “I am disappointed, as this trial was not the girl’s sentencing at all. It was your own, dear Prince. You have failed me. I did so want a happy ending,” she sighs, gaze fraught with emotion. “Truly, I did.”

What’s odd about all this is – I don’t think she’s lying. The way Maeve looks at Kai now, gaze hollow and wanting, this is how you look at ones you love. How you look when your child turns away from you, when your love rips your heart still-beating from your chest.

Her gaze moves to mine. “The sentence has changed. Prince Kai will receive punishment for the both of you. Tomorrow,” she clips, then whirls away into darkness.

Part XIV - The Dream

Maeve reappears on the dais.

I barely understand what’s happening, as I’m wrenched upwards to stand. Kai remains motionless beside me, Maeve holding him still in the grasp of her magic. My arms are yanked behind my back, new cuffs attached as Maeve continues to stare at Kai.

“Prince,” she murmurs, waiting until he looks up. Kai’s muscles strain, bunched beneath his tunic – almost as though even now, he’s struggling to escape. “Do not try and leave,” Maeve warns. “Once you are in your cell, you are not to exit unless Kyungsoo releases you. From this moment on, you will not disobey Kyungsoo’s orders. Kyungsoo,” Maeve’s gaze shifts sideways. “If Y/N tries to escape, you will hurt the Prince.”

I freeze at her order. I didn’t think it was possible, to feel such hatred for one individual. My anger is a living thing, it breathes and beats independent of my body. It tinges my thoughts, turns them bleak and crumbling. It snakes through my veins, breaking me into something emptier than before.

I wish I were powerful, so I could fight. Wish I were stronger, so I could win. I want to see the look on her face, when Maeve realizes I’m the one who beat her. A chill travels my spine, knowing I should not find pleasure in such an idea.

“Y/N,” Kyungsoo interrupts, fingers soft gripping my elbow. “Kai. Come with me.”

Haltingly, as though fighting the urge to obey, Kai stands. He moves one leg before the other, still looking at Maeve, staring steadily back. Kai’s jaw tightens. When he turns, it’s as though Kyungsoo’s order has finally won out and when he looks at me, his gaze softens. 

“Come,” Kyungsoo demands. He turns, bringing me with. Nodding at the two closest guards, who fall into step beside him.

“Lock them in the dungeon,” Maeve instructs, almost bored.

Kyungsoo hesitates, then nods as we leave the room.

The way down is shorter than the way up. Perhaps it feels this way because of Kai’s healing, which took away all my previous ailments. No longer does the poison run in my veins, no longer does it taint my thoughts, dilute the castle around me. As we descend the stairs to the dungeon, I can feel the air around me dampen and chill.

I don’t try to escape. Maeve’s warning hangs over me, her command to hurt Kai at the front of my mind. This is my fault. If I hadn’t offered to take my father’s place, it I hadn’t answered the door when Sehun came, if I hadn’t done a million, tiny things, Kai would be safe right now. We’re here, he’s in danger because of me.

At the entrance to the dungeons, Kyungsoo comes to a halt. “Wait,” he instructs, looking at the Fey. “Kai, Y/N – follow me.”

I nod, following him down the hall. When I fall into step behind him, Kai’s thumb brushes my own. It’s quick, barely more than a graze but it gives me strength. I look back, meeting his gaze. At the end of the row Kyungsoo unlocks a single cell, pushing open the grate and nodding for me to walk past.

Kyungsoo’s hand catches my wrist when I enter, unlocking the handcuffs from behind my back. “I’ll have to replace these tomorrow,” he tells me, already apologetic.

I nod, turning away. “I know.”

Kyungsoo looks at Kai. “Go on. Why do you think I told the other guards to stay put?” His voice drops to a whisper. “I cannot fight her Majesty on the commands she gave, but at least I can offer you time together.”

After a pause, Kai moves, stepping forward to embrace Kyungsoo. “Thank you,” he mutters, before releasing him. “Did she mention what will happen tomorrow?” he asks, though he doesn’t seem to expect an answer.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “No. I don’t think she trusts me to remain silent. She suspects the reason I offered to stay with her last night, I believe that’s why she placed you on Trial.”

“Then,” Kai exhales, bowing his head, “I am sorry. Sorry, for what I have brought you, my friend.”

Kyungsoo merely smiles. “Don’t apologize. The choices I have made in the past forty-eight hours have been some of the proudest of my life.”

Kai looks up, nods. When Kyungsoo turns to go, I meet his gaze. Trying to convey silent gratitude, since I know anything I say will not be enough. Kyungsoo smiles back at me, his eyes sad. He knows what this night means – as do I. It might mean our last.

When Kyungsoo disappears, the sound of his footsteps fade up the staircase and Kai crosses the room. “Y/N,” he sighs, hands finding my body. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, into my hair. “This is my fault.”

“Yours?” I mutter, shaking my head. “How?”  

“I should have known Maeve wouldn’t spare you.” Kai pulls back. “Should have known she’d never let us go.”

“When did you ask that?” I say to him, slightly dazed.

“This morning.” Kai lowers himself to the floor, pulls me down with him. “She called me to her, I went. Maeve wanted me to see Kyungsoo. I,” Kai takes a shuddering breath. “I asked what your sentence would be.”

My fingers brush the back of his hand, offering comfort. Kai’s pain is clear, his eyelids flutter as he tries to block out the memory – but can’t. “What did she say?” I ask softly.

“She had not decided. She said she couldn’t let this pass, not when your treason was announced to the court – not when they already think you guilty.”

“But,” I nearly laugh, incredulous. “She did that! Maeve is the one who announced my treason to the court.”

“I know,” Kai nods. “That’s what I said, but she just smiled. Maeve asked what I wanted. I asked her to spare you,” Kai murmurs, seeming lost. “I asked this of her, and she agreed. Or – I thought she did.”

“She lied,” I mutter.

Kai’s mouth twists. “In a way she did,” he acknowledges. “She said she would not hurt you, is how she phrased it. I was foolish of me to believe she meant more than physical pain.”

“Damn fairies,” I mutter, leaning against the wall.

To my surprise, Kai chuckles. I turn to look at him, somewhat alarmed when I see tears forming at his eyes. “Kai,” I touch his arm. “Kai?” 

He opens his eyes suddenly. “She won’t hurt you,” he repeats, quieter. “I won’t let her. These past few months have meant more than my entire previous existence. She won’t take that away.”

I hesitate, unsure how to phrase my next question. I don’t understand what happened, back in the throne room. Don’t understand how or why I’m alive.  “Kai,” I toy with my skirts. “How did you save me?”

He quiets. “Today?”

“Yes,” I look up. “How did you heal me of poison, how did you break my cuffs? You kept Maeve back with magic – but how?”

Kai hesitates. “I think she wanted that,” he murmurs. “Maeve was careful, when she phrased her commands. I was told not to speak during sentencing. I was told that if I interfered, it would be taken out on you. Maeve did not actually order me anything. She wanted me to be tested,” Kai admits. “Wanted to know how I felt, to see if I would disobey in order to protect you. That’s what my Trial was.” 

Kai leans his head against the wall. “And now,” he laughs, somewhat bitterly. “I’ve doomed us both. But then,” he opens his eyes, gaze pleading. “What could I do? She would have killed you.”

“Maybe you should have let her,” I say bluntly.

Faster than I can see, Kai moves. His hands touch my face and I blink, surprised by his proximity. Kai hovers over me, knees bent to either side of my body. “Never say that,” he whispers. “I love you. Before now,” his lips tilt, forehead bending to mine. “Before you, I was only half-alive. Even in Summer, even as Seelie – the only person I loved was myself. I was cold, hardened and proud. Partly due to my upbringing,” Kai allows. “But mostly because I was selfish.”

When his thumbs find my cheeks, I stare up at him. “You’re not selfish.”

“No,” Kai shakes his head, exhaling. “You are not selfish. You stood in your father’s bookstore, you protected his life with your own. When you called me similar,” he breathes, suddenly unsteady. “I didn’t understand. That night in my study, I was terrified. Scared, because you thought me redeemable.”

“Why?” I murmur back at him. “Why is that such a terrible thing?”

“Because,” Kai’s expression falters. “If you found me redeemable – perhaps it meant that I was.”

My thumb strokes his wrist, delicate and sure. “You are,” I tell him.

Kai closes his eyes, smile soft. “Ridiculous, that you think this. I took you from home, I forced you to stay. I am your jailer, your warden. I kill, I,” Kai breaks off, drawing in breath. “You are too good, too pure. You of all people, should not see the good in me.”

Gently, I lift a hand. Kai is dressed entirely in black, a military-style jacket over loose trousers. It’s dirty, scuffed with dust and wear. A reminder of him protecting me, of the moment he threw himself between me and Maeve.

“My father wrote that Anthology,” I whisper. “He knew the risks but did it anyways. If it hadn’t been you who cam, someone else would have and I doubt they would have accepted my bargain. I didn’t want my father to die alone – which may have been rash, may have been foolish – but you respected my rash and foolish wishes. You allowed me take his place.”

“Stupid,” Kai mutters, looking up. “I should have just ignored you.”

I manage to smile, fingertips tracing his cheekbones. “You didn’t, though. You listened. When I kept trying to run, you saved me. When I ignored you entirely, you protected me, hid me from Maeve. I asked why you would do this,” I exhale, remembering. “I asked myself this over and over, and the thing I kept coming back to was that you cared.”

Kai’s gaze flickers, staring back. “Of course I did.”

I nod. “That’s what I saw. I saw that despite the situation, despite your collar,” my fingertips trace over this, “despite the woman who owned you and the things she ordered you to do – you wanted to help.”

“I had to,” Kai returns, gaze pleading.

“You didn’t,” I say to him gently.

He looks down, oddly hesitant. “When I first saw you, you reminded me of her,” Kai confesses.

“Your sister?”

Kai nods. “The stubbornness of your chin, how reckless you were – how brave,” he admits, swallowing. “You were brave, loved your father so deeply. It’s why I stopped.”

“Jongin,” I pause. “I – what do I call you now?”

He smiles. “What do you want to call me?”

“I’m used to Kai,” I admit. “Your true name is Jongin. Then there are those who call you Prince, Enforcer,” I slide my hands around the curve of his waist. “I’ve heard you called traitor, along with other – less savory – names.”

Kai’s breath hitches. “Well, Jongin isn’t my full true name.”

My hands stop as I arch a brow. “No?”

Kai seems amused by my reaction. “My true name,” he hesitates, then leans forward. 

He whispers, speaking for so long I nearly lose track. When he’s done, he pulls back. Staring at me, his dark eyes wide and scared.

I look back. “That’s,” I blink, exhaling. “A lot of names.”

Kai chuckles, still uncertain. “One’s true name is difficult to find. I only know mine because of a quest I went on, when I was young and foolish.” Kai settles onto his knees, weight resting atop mine. “There’s a creature called the Serpent, which lurks in t he deep Other. If you catch him, he will answer one truth. I caught him,” Kai’s lips curls, triumphant. “I asked him what my name is. You see, your true name is not the one given to you at birth. It is you, in the simplest terms. It’s everything you are, everything you could be. Many cannot bear to hear the sound. To know your true self, to see your darkest parts – it’s a daunting task.”

I stare back, trying to imagine. “That’s the only way to find out your true name?” I muse, turning this over in my mind.

Kai shrugs. “It’s how I did. Now that you know, though,” he murmurs. “You know what I am.”

I nod, thinking this over. Kai’s true name is dark. It’s haunted, unforgiving but at the center burns a light so bright, it’s dazzling. “I love you,” I inform, tightening my grip. “All of you. Maybe more, now that I know.”

Kai inhales, the noise timid. “Then you understand,” he bends his head, “why I won’t let her hurt you. Before, I didn’t understand what I was. Worse,” he mutters, “I didn’t want to understand. You changed that.” Kai winds hands through my hair, lifting my face to his. “I don’t want to return. I don’t want to go back to what I was. A killer, whose blackened soul was not their own. Y/N,” he inhales. “I will do anything, to stay.”

“But,” I protest, and Kai interrupts.

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, curling fingers through my hair. “You keep thinking you’ve hurt me, that this is somehow your fault. The truth is though, the only reason I care at all is because you woke me up.”

I still, considering. Letting his words filter my thoughts, rearrange themselves around waht I know. It feels right, somehow. His chest rises and falls against mine, breathing me in. “What now,” I ask. “Kai.”

He smiles. “Yes, say my name like that. I’ve grown fond of you lightening my darkness. Kai has meant such horror to me for so long – I enjoy listening to you change that.”

“Kai,” I smile, a gesture which slowly disappears. “From the way Kyungsoo spoke, it didn’t sound like we have much time.”

His gaze darkens. “I don’t know what will happen,” Kai sighs. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. There’s a quote,” he hesitates, reaching for a far-off  memory. “From a human author, I don’t remember the name – Dickens, Dackens? He had a character in one of his books who was tragically in love with the heroine.”

“Dickens,” I correct, smiling. “Go on, though – Dackens is nice, too.”

Kai makes a face. “Insulting me, at a time like now.” When I laugh, he smiles. “The character’s name was Sydney. His love wasn’t returned by the heroine, she feel in love with another. In the end, Sydney decides to give his own life so that they both might live. When Sydney is taken away, he muses, ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known.’” Kai falls silent, thinking this.

At last I nudge him and ask, “Why did you think of this now?”

“Because,” he sits on the floor. Pulls me to him, so I curl against his side. “I have lived a selfish life. A violent life, one filled with unhappiness. It is only after meeting you, I knew hope. I knew unselfishness. It is only after, that I lived and if it means I must die by your side – it is a far better fate than living on without you.”

He says this quietly, matter-of-fact and I wish my words were as eloquent as his. Wish I could explain how I love him, but I’m afraid I’ll fall short. Taking his hand, I bring it close to my heart. “I’m yours,” I say simply. “I don’t know when my heart ceased to belong only to me, but it did and it does.”

“Mine as well,” Kai says softly.

He pulls me into him and we sit like that for a while. Breath rising and falling, the world continuing around us. “What will we do?” I ask, well aware of the fear rising to the surface.

“It’s hard to prepare for the unknown,” Kai considers. “Maeve likes spectacle. She likes to put on a show, so whatever the sentence is – it won’t be private. She’ll want as many people as possible to see, to know disobeying her is a fate worse than death.”

A chill crosses my spine. “Do you think she’ll kill you?”

“No.” Kai shakes his head. “I don’t know what she’ll do, but death is far too easy. Maeve’s punishments aren’t so quick. Whatever she has planned though, I think she intends for you to watch.”

I close my eyes, nauseous at the thought. “No.”

“I will be okay,” Kai wraps both hands around my waist. “Whatever she does, whatever she tries – know it won’t matter. I love you, I will protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” I look up. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh,” Kai brushes a lock away from my face, smiles faintly. “I know. I taught you myself.” When I groan, he smiles. “What I mean is – Maeve wants to hurt you because of me. I can’t allow that to happen.”

I nod. “I hope you know, this goes both ways. I will protect you as well.”

Kai smiles. “I know,” he brushes a kiss against my temple.

I lift my face closer. “If I wanted to find out my true name,” I murmur, opening my eyes. “I need to visit this person – this Serpent?”

Kai arches a brow. “Most go their whole lives without knowing – your true name is dangerous. If you really want to know, though,” he nods, “I will help you find out. After we leave, after we survive.”

I lean into his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Addewid?” he quirks, amused.

“No,” I intertwine my fingers around his. “Just a dream I have.”

When I look up, Kai is no longer smiling. He searches my expression, gaze soft. “I want to dream with you,” he whispers, bending. “I already dream of you.”

When he kisses me, it’s not a question but a promise. Kai’s lips open against mine and he pulls me to him, filling the spaces between us. His hands slide from my hair to my waist, lifting me onto his lap. I exhale, curving around him. Craving more of his touch, his warmth. He slides his mouth down my neck, scraping teeth against skin.

“I just want to be with you,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

He nods, “Whatever you want,” Kai sounds hoarse, though his eyes are shining. “Whatever you ask.”

“I’m yours,” I tell him.

“I’m yours,” he agrees.

I don’t know what time Kyungsoo reenters our cell. He walks in quietly, purposefully – like he seems to act with everything that he does. Kyungsoo’s gaze is dark, steady when he says, “It’s time.”

I swallow, nodding as I push to my feet. Kai stands before me, one hand entwined with mine. My dress is dirty, torn from the floor and last night. I’m sure my face is equally as unattractive. Kai seems tired as well, though he still looks ethereal. Hair falls forward into his eyes, disheveled and limp.

Kyungsoo extends a hand, reattaching the cuffs to my wrists. I allow this, watching Kai while Kyungsoo works. He stares back, lips tight with worry. His emotions are so obvious to me now – it’s strange, I once thought him unfeeling. In the beginning I did, in those first few weeks I thought him a monster.

Maybe it was me, though. Maybe I was the stubborn one, too blind to see him for what he truly is. I see him now.

When he’s done, Kyungsoo leads up the stairs and exists down a long hall. Three guards flank on either side, more than the amount which accompanied us down to the dungeons. I wonder what Maeve thinks will happen, wonder what she thinks we could do. Where would we go? So long as Kai wears her collar, Maeve is in control and we can never be free.

My legs tremble and despite Kai at my side, I’m scared. Terrified, for both him and myself. I don’t let this show, though. Don’t let her see, when we enter the hall.

It’s the same space as the ballroom, although it’s laid out differently. There’s the dais above, but the tables are gone. The throne gone as well, just Maeve standing looking down from above. She’s dressed in all black, but no longer a dress. Closer to the fighting leathers in Kai’s memory, than anything.

The entire room is filled. A sunken pit sits at the center, around which stand the entire Unseelie court. A chaotic mess of shapes, nightmares and monsters. Some yell, others hiss. I’m spit at once or twice and though I flinch, I try and remain silent. Kai is livid, I feel his anger like a living thing. Wherever his gaze sweeps, the Unseelie step backwards. Even bound, even cuffed – Kai is feared.

When we reach the front, Kyungsoo steps forward. He stops before Maeve, lowering himself until one knee touches the ground. “Majesty,” he intones. “The prisoners.”

“Indeed.” Maeve lifts her hands, waits until absolute silence. Only the crackling of flames, ice-blue pillars which rise on either side. “Welcome, members of the Unseelie Court.”

The crowd roars; a solid, writhing wall of night.

Maeve’s eyes gleam in the torchlight. “We are here to right the evil which has wronged us. To condemn this disgrace known as disloyalty,” she sneers. “A quality I cannot tolerate in my subjects.”

There’s a soft hiss throughout the crowd, seeming to come from the floor itself. It wraps around me, renders me frozen. I wish I could think of something to say, to do. I try to come up with a way out, but my mind remains a perfect blank.

Maeve stares at Kai, unflinching. “Unseelie,” she murmurs. “What is the price of treason?”

Rage expels from the crowd, hoards of voices which demand torture, anger and pain. My skin crawls with the force of it and I tell myself to remain still, despite my legs which quake beneath me.

“Yes,” Maeve murmurs. “The punishment for treason is a life. What to do though, when the life in question already belongs to you?”

There’s no answer, the crowd falling silent. Maeve steps forward, stopping just before the dais. Kai and I are surrounded below, guards on either side. At our backs stand the Unseelie, another inescapable path. 

“The gauntlet,” Maeve muses, sending exaltation through the room.

I taste savage joy from the audience, raw excitement in the air. “What’s the gauntlet?” I turn to Kai, but he doesn’t answer. Instead he’s gone white with fear, looking up at the Queen.

“The gauntlet,” Maeve’s voice rings out. “Is an obstacle passed by only the fiercest of warriors. Our dear Prince Kai,” she allows time for laughter in the audience, “is obliged to face any beast of my choosing – he will fight them in the ring.”

I turn to stare at the sunken pit. The room spins before me, dancing with the dread of what’s to come.

“If he wins,” Maeve declares, eyes blazing. “He will remain in my guard, his human will escape punishment. Should he lose,” she tilts her head. “Your dear human will lose that which she loves most.”

“I,” Kai stills, furious. “What do you mean?”

Maeve does not flinch. “Well,” the dark behind her shimmers, “I merely asked myself – what would be most fitting, for the thing which has ripped out my heart? What should he lose, in return?”

The room falls silent, no one knowing the answer.

“He deserves pain,” Maeve nods, almost to herself. “But what kind? You, my Prince, have already lost what you hold dear. Your lovely, dead sister. But,” she looks to me, her gaze hardening, “what about her?”

When our eyes meet, I stare at her in shock. Horror floods my body, and I realize then that Kai was right – this is about hurting Kai, but Maeve will do so through me.

“Death is not good enough for you,” Maeve allows. “Death is only a moment. I want the two of you to suffer for much, much longer.”

Behind her, shadows begin to coalesce. I squint, unable to see beyond the two shapes which emerge in the distance. When the one closest becomes visible, I recoil. I step backwards when I recognize Oh Sehun. He doesn’t seem to notice me though, too focused on the task at hand –  dragging a nameless shape across the stage. A man, I realize, wearing a black hood. He thrashes mightily, hands tied firmly behind his back. I notice that he wears similar handcuffs to mine.

Sehun stops then, shoving the man down to his knees. He stays like that, chest rising and falling from the ground. He looks out over the crowd, though I know he can’t see. I can’t look away though, can’t stop staring because – those pants. I know those pants.

I know that shirt, too. Know, because I bought them.

Sehun reaches down to remove the bag from the man’s head.

“D-dad?” I choke out, seized with disbelief.

When I try to move, hands encircle my arms. Their grip like iron, yanking me backwards. Dimly, I notice Kai is being similarly restrained. He’s moving his lips but nothing emerges, or maybe it does and I just can’t hear. I can’t understand him, everything is faded but my father, who looks at me with wordless apology.

“Pass the gauntlet,” Maeve’s voice rings out above. “Or be responsible for the death of her father.”

[Master List]

[black-wolf066]

Never a Dull Moment [3/?]

Words: 3469

Rating: pg-13 to be on the safe side

Summary: In which the land of untold stories should have been a warning that it wasn’t just fairytales that were real. (Killian whump and BAMF Henry)

[Part 1]  [part 2]  [3]  [Part 4]  and  [FF.Net link]

(((((A/n: Humor me because I’m curious. How many of you guessed right about the group of people from the last chapter?

Tagging @killianmesmalls, @killian-whump, @mcbrideannemgt, and @theonceoverthinker (if any of you want me to stop let me know, I won’t be offended).

Anyway, enjoy Chapter 3 guys!))))))

Chapter 3: The Grand Underground City

When it rained, it poured apparently because that’s just the type of luck his family seemed to have in these situations.

At least it’s not the Lost Boys. Henry’s subconscious unhelpfully supplied.

Yes, on the one hand, they weren’t the Lost Boys; but on the other, they could be just as wicked and ruthless (or cannibals ready to sacrifice them to whatever deity they believed in). Though something about their white hair did strike Henry as familiar; even if he couldn’t quite place why.

His eyes bounced back and forth from them to their sharp weapons; his heart beating a frantic staccato against his ribcage as they inched their way into the water. His hold on Killian tightened, his body tensing and straining to compensate the sagging weight as he tried desperately to look for a way out of the situation (and half hoping, despite knowing better, that this was all some nightmare and he’d wake up from it soon).

They continued to shout at him in their language, gesturing for them to move and jabbing their spears at the air in irritation the longer he didn’t.

“Please,” He finally spoke, doubting it would do any good, but he hoped the soft tenor of his voice would allow them to know they weren’t a threat. “We mean you no harm. I’m weaponless and this,” He gestured to Killian’s hook and the arm it was attached too. “Is just a replacement for his hand. Please, we need help; he needs help.”

One of the older men shifted in his stance, his eyes going from Killian’s hook to another younger tribalmen standing by him. He gestured wildly at it, his harsh language and movements spurring the others to murmur amongst themselves too.

If they hadn’t still been watching him, Henry would have taken the opportunity to shuffle away (even if he knew the task would have been near to impossible to do so quickly enough to matter). The adrenaline racing through his veins was beginning to make his chest ache with the pressure as the men argued presumably over their fate. Then, all at once, the conversation cut off after a bark from the younger man, and the older turned back to face him with narrowed eyes.

“How is it possible that Hook is still alive?” he interrogated harshly.

Henry faltered at the sudden crisp English and the use of Killian’s moniker; dread of a different kind beginning to mingle with the rest of his anxious emotions. Much like his other mother, Killian had made many an enemy in his late quest for vengeance; the only difference was Killian had lived centuries longer to make even more of them than Regina ever had.

He did not like their odds.

The younger man next to the first—maybe a little older than Henry himself—moved forward in spite of the grunts of protest from the others. He was adorned in rich cerulean and golden trimmed cotton pants, his upper half left exposed to show off his fit physique, the neon tribal markings tattooed against his caramel skin, and a necklace with a light blue crystal that seemed to glow under the sun. The color of his clothing and the golden jewelry he wore set him apart from the rest who adorned themselves in simple earth tones and silver armlets. He regarded Henry with demanding ice blue eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Is this Captain Hook?” he commanded.

“Yes,” Henry figured either way they both would be damned if he didn’t answer honestly, and he watched in awed confusion as the guarded expressions on all their faces dropped. “Who are you? And how do you know the Captain?”

He spoke again; his hand going up for the others to lower their weapons. “I am prince Hakan, and I believe it is I who should ask you these questions.”

“My name is Henry,” deciding that they weren’t in any immediate danger anymore; he paused just long enough to debate how to proceed with his next sentence. But time was of the essence. He couldn’t afford to waste any more of it by explaining; not with Killian leaning more and more heavily against him the longer they stood there. “I’m his son.” His response relaxed the rest of the tribalmen and Hakan measured him as if trying to spy a lie (which he knew the prince would find none, only a half-truth that Henry believed whole-heartedly). “Please, we were attacked and separated from our family, he needs help.”

Hakan barked something in the throaty language and two of the burly looking tribalmen began to wade forward. As they drew near, moving to take Killian from him, Henry hesitated and shifted away on instinct; not quite trusting what was ordered when he couldn’t understand what was said.

“Fear not Henry, son of Hook,” Hakan spoke gently in English. “We offer you our help. Ahanu and Chaska will not harm him; you have my word as prince.”

He finally relented at the sincerity with which the other spoke; his body involuntarily sagging in relief the moment the added weight was lifted. “Thank you, your highness.” He replied gratefully with a small bow of his head; cringing slightly in sympathy as Killian hissed out in pain as the men moved to better accommodate him.

“Please,” The prince started with a slight shake of his head and a raise of his hand as they all moved for dry land. “No need for such formalities from the son of our ally.” He turned to one of the lanky tribalmen and ordered. “Tapu, run ahead and warn the healers that their assistance is needed, then let my mother and father know that the patrol is being cut short and we’ll be arriving with honored guests.”

As Tapu raced back into the forest to heed the order, Henry bent to retrieve his sword and inquired. “Ally? How is it you know my father?”

“Hakan was young, he does not remember much.” The older man who had spoken first—the one that Henry now assumed was the prince’s right-hand man or guard—answered. “But the Captain saved our prince from his own imprudence.”

Whatever story was to be told there, Henry wasn’t going to get it from anyone here, for the man simply left it at that; barking orders to the others in their guttural language as they began to march forward. Henry quickly jogged ahead to fall into step with the prince; his eyes never leaving Killian who was being carried on the back of Chaska. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but his concern curbed his curiosity; his anxiety returning as he realized the pirate had fallen unconscious once again.

Two questions; however, begged to be answered. “Where are we heading? And how do you know English?”

“You’ll see,” Hakan vaguely replied, turning with a slight twinkle of mischief gleaming at Henry as he finished. “And we know many languages, Henry. French, Spanish, and Latin just to name off a few.”

“Really?”

“Oui,” Hakan answered cheekily in French.

“Incredible,” he breathed out even as Hakan shrugged his shoulders. The cocky grin however, never left the prince’s face as they continued to venture through the undergrowth.

(***)

Conversation between him and the prince had lulled off not long after.

And for a long while, Henry remained silent; lost in thought as the murmured conversation filtered around him while they picked their way through the forest. They were safe, but the worry over Killian’s condition and the unknown fate of the rest of his family petrified him. Did anyone else get transported to a different realm? Did they manage to defeat Slappy and the Plant Monster? Would they find a way home only to discover no one left to go home too? Would Killian survive to even make the trip back with him?

The uncertainty of it all made his stomach roil.

“We’re here.”

Hakan’s announcement snapped Henry out of it, and he gave his surroundings a good once over, seeing nothing but trees fanning three sides while in front of them was the start of a steep rocky mountainside that stretched as far as his eye could see. There were no huts, as he had expected to be led to. No openings in the rock face to lead to any civilization either. It was a dead end, and Henry briefly wondered if it was a trap before the prince was turning to face him.

“These crystals,” he gestured to the necklace he and the others wore. “Allow us passage through the gate.” with a gentle smile, he lifted his hand up for Henry to take and explained. “Seeing as neither of you possess one, you’ll need to be connected to a bearer if you wish to pass through safely.”

Henry watched in awe as one by one the men passed through the rocks like ghosts. It wasn’t until Chaska and Killian disappeared in the rock that Henry realized he was gawking. He turned back to Hakan, who was grinning amusedly at him with his arm still patiently extended for him to take.

“You ready, Henry?”

Moving to take the offered hand, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He braced himself as they moved forward, half expecting himself to smack into the stone while the other half expected to feel it pass through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut the moment they reached the apparent gate, feeling a faint electric current run through his nerves and causing his toes to curl at the tingling sensation.

As quick as the feeling came, it left and Henry opened his eyes to see a dark wide open cavern lit by the blue glow of the crystals around the tribalmens necks. He turned to face the way they came, seeing solid wall and two tall stone statues standing guard at the hidden gate; their eyes and the hieroglyphics craved into them glowing a similar blue.

“Wow.” Was all he could manage to utter out.

Hakan’s barking laugh startled him, and he turned back to see the others were already making their way down a narrow pathway toward a large cave opening.

The prince moved to clap him on the shoulder with a grin and said. “If you’re amazed by this, then I can’t wait to see your reaction to my home. Come, we’re almost there.”

(***)

After what felt like a half an hour more of walking, a bright light up ahead penetrated the dull blue glow. His curiosity grew as he heard an echoing hum of something akin to a motor and the rushing of water; the excitement dulling his apprehension slightly at the prospect of seeing what was creating the noises, and to see the civilization that built those statues. He picked his pace up as they trekked up the steep incline and the moment they exited the cave, the men stepped to the side to clear a path and waited (save for Chaska, who continued onward along a bridge to take Killian to the awaiting healers).

The moment his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight filtering in from above, the air left his lungs in one fell swoop at the wondrous vision before him.

Metallic contraptions flew and whizzed by all around, but the metropolis itself was truly and utterly breathtaking. Henry found he had no words, for anything he could say wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what he felt as he gazed, slack jawed, around the massive cavern and the glistening city of hewn stone. It sat upon a circular platform and was surrounded entirely by water that fell into the abyss below. Giant stone or metal statues stood guard on the outer edge and the natural light from above gave the water and the billowing mist clouds from the falls a crystalline sheen.

That bizarre deja-vu feeling nagged at him again, the memory or the knowledge hovering just out of reach.

“Welcome to our home, Henry.” Hakan broke him out of his stupor as he moved to stand beside him. “To the city of Atlantis.”

(***)

The city (of all the places to wind up, it was Atlantis. The lost freaking empire Atlantis from the freaking movie he hadn’t seen since he was five) was even more amazing up close.

People bustled around everywhere he was led, while the hover vehicles continued to buzz past high above their heads. Most of the men had dispersed the moment they entered the metropolis, save for Peyak—Hakan’s personal guard (that Henry had guessed correctly)—and the prince himself.

“Are you sure you do not wish to be checked by one of our healers?” Hakan urged for the third time as they led him into the heart of the city where the palace resided.  

“I’m sure, it doesn’t really hurt anymore.” Henry answered distractedly, his eyes bouncing from one thing to another and absorbing as much detail as he possibly could.

“If you’re sure…” Hakan sighed out, and Henry saw him sharing a brief glance with Peyak from the corner of his eye.

Their journey came to a halt outside two towering doors, and Henry’s eyes traveled from the beautifully etched markings to the woman standing tall and regal before them. She looked no older than his own mothers; wearing robes in a similar cerulean and gold color as the prince and a tribal tattoo marked under her left eye (her eyes also a similar color to the prince and making it obvious that this was either his sister or mother). A golden headdress framed her face like a crown and her long, loose white hair fanned down across her shoulders and back. She offered a warm, welcoming smile to him even as Hakan stepped forward to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Mama, where is Papa and Catori?”

“Your father and sister have long since gone down to teach the daily lesson.” She answered in a rich, soothing tenor, her eyes flitting to her son for a single moment before they were back on him.

“Henry,” Hakan began. “Allow me to introduce you to my mother; Queen Kida.” pivoting back to his mother, he supplied. “Mama, this is Hook’s son.”

A dark eyebrow rose as she strode to stand before him. “You are Hook’s son?” he noted she threw the question more to herself than to him; her hand moving to tilt his head this way and that as she examined his face. Whatever she saw, it must have been what she was looking for as she met his eyes and grinned. “I can see it, though I believe you take after your mother more, yes?”

“More or less.” He answered ambiguously with a smile in return.

“Come, Henry, I’m sure you have much you would like answered.”

“I do, but…”

“Your father is in good hands, Henry.” Hakan reassured him as he and Peyak moved to leave; throwing over his shoulder as he went. “Stay and ask your questions. It will help distract you for a while.”

“My son is right; there is nothing more you can do for him at this point. Now come,” she gestured for him to follow as the guards moved to open the doors for them. “Let us talk.”

(***)

“Thank you,” he said kindly; throwing the older woman serving them an appreciative smile as he accepted the tea. Staring into the steaming liquid, he pushed forward with his conversation with the Queen. “I just… I don’t understand how we got here.”

“Portals work in mysterious ways, young one.” Kida answered as she accepted her own cup. “But from what I was led to understand, most portals will take you wherever or to whomever you’re envisioning as you pass through.”

“But that’s the thing; I wasn’t thinking of this place—or any place for that matter—other than home.” he sighed out tiredly. “I had hoped the portal would have just dropped us off at the house or something.”

“You may have been thinking of home, but you also did not go through the portal alone. Who’s to say Hook was not thinking of this place when you passed through?”

“But dad was unconscious at the time…”

“I’ve found, over my long years, that sometimes an unconscious thought can prove to be stronger than a conscious one.”

“I guess so…” he murmured with a furrowed brow and took a tentative sip of the hot liquid in the clay mug.

It was the only explanation that was making any sort of sense at the moment, so what else could he really say? If it were true, than he was incredibly relieved that they stumbled here, and not back in Neverland. That dreadful island and the Lost Boys were something he hoped he’d never have to experience ever again.

A comfortable silence lulled between them, Henry lost in his thoughts and Kida silently observing him as she sipped at her own tea.

“Your Majesty?”

“Please Henry, no need for formalities here,” she smiled. “Call me Kida.”

“Kida,” he nodded and continued. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to know my father? He’s told us plenty of stories of different realms he’s traveled too, but I don’t remember him ever talking about Atlantis.”

“He was sworn not to.” she answered simply. “Not many people of this realm, or any other, know of our existence. Greed and War forced us here once, young one, and I lost my mother for it.” a troubled expression crossed her face than, and Henry wondered just how far off the myths and movie had been; wondered what really happened in Kida’s past before Milo stumbled upon them. “We take precautions wherever we can.”

“Then how did my father come to know of you and this place?”

“It was quite by accident really. From what I remember him telling me, he was on a mission of sorts to retrieve an artifact for someone–come to think of it, he never did answer my question of who he was retrieving it for.” she muttered mostly to herself before shaking her head and continuing. “He hadn’t been the only one looking for it, unfortunately. There had been another crew from this world that sought after it and the power it contained; our people didn’t even know of its existence or how close to our kingdom it was…” a shadow crossed over her face again. “My son—Hakan—was very young and extremely foolish at the time. He had gone against our orders by venturing up to the surface, where he stumbled upon the artifact.” she sighed out and visibly deflated with it, and Henry got the impression that the young prince had been more than just a handful to his parents and people. “Hakan was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Hook… he saved him from that other crew. He didn’t have too, he could have made off with the relic and left my son to die, but he didn’t and for that my husband and I will always be indebted to your father. He—and anyone he calls friend or family—is more than welcome in our city.”

“Thank you,” he answered gratefully, the smile he gave her not quite reaching his eyes as his thoughts once again shifted to worry.

“He’ll be alright, young one.” She answered knowingly, soothingly. “He’s with the best healers our kingdom has to offer. But I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient while they work; these things take time if you want it to be done right.”

“Am I allowed to go see him?”

“When the healers are done, I’ll bring you too him myself.” she assured. “But until then, I believe it is time for you to go see a healer yourself.” She stated as she gestured to the visible wounds on his hands and arms.

“I’m fine.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to distract anyone from treating him right now.”

“Non-sense, I believe your father would be very displeased if you were to ignore it any longer for his sake.” The look she sent him—the look of an unyielding mother (the same look he’s seen frequently on both Regina and Emma over the years)—cut him off before he could think to argue farther. “You will not win this argument young one; do not even try. I don’t ask this as a queen, I ask this as a mother who would want the same thing done for my own kin.” She called to one of the guards in Atlantian, gesturing with her free hand and Henry didn’t need to understand the language to know what she was ordering.

There was just no arguing with a mother.