#debating whether to bother copying this to ao3

[27dragons]

fuckit I don't have an actual plot but I can't let this go until I write SOMETHING for @cerealism 's amazing art.

Mob AU because fuuuuuuck me that's too pretty.

The door burst open.

"What the fuck is this bullshit about an extra point off my take?!"

It was Lia, because of course it was. She'd been winding up for an explosion for at least a month, and they'd talked about encouraging her to move on to some other territory but Jayce had begged Viktor to give her one last chance, because he was a total pushover and he knew it.

Sky scurried in behind Lia, still protesting. "...can't just barge in without--" She gave them a chagrined look. "I'm so sorry, I told her you didn't want to be disturbed!" She shot Lia a venomous look, and Jayce knew that if he hadn't specifically told her that there was to be no blood in the outer office, Lia wouldn't have made it this far.

Viktor knew it, too. He graced Sky with a smile. "It's all right, Ms. Young," he said pleasantly. "We encourage input from within our network."

Jayce had been sitting on the corner of the desk, but as Sky backed out, closing the door behind her, he paced over to lean on the back of Viktor's chair by the window. He kept his eyes on Lia, but reached down, dangling his hand where Viktor could see it.

Viktor took Jayce's hand, moving it to press it against his chest. Jayce could feel Viktor's heart beating through the shirt, steady and slow. It was soothing.

"Now, Lia," Viktor said, almost gently, if you didn't know him very well. "Please share your concerns with us."

Lia's lip curled in a snarl. "You can't just decide out of nowhere to take an extra point out of my take!"

"But we did not just decide out of nowhere," Viktor said, reasonably. "Two of your crew were injured on your last job, one of them severely. This is not the first time that poor planning has resulted in injury. We discussed it for some time before deciding to extract the cost of their care from your share. It seemed fair."

"But," Jayce said, "if you would prefer to pay the entire amount in a lump sum, we would certainly be amenable. That would save you the interest," he added helpfully.

"You son of a bitch," Lia growled, "Myk's broken leg was his own damn fault, you can't stick me with that!"

"Jayce," Viktor said, so smoothly that even Jayce might have been fooled if he couldn't feel Viktor trembling in rage under his hand. "Please escort Lia out of the building."

Jayce gave Viktor a bracing squeeze and then straightened. A few steps brought him close enough to wrap his hand around her arm. He was careful, not wanting to hurt her. "Let's go."

Lia made a frustrated, furious sound, and leaned toward Viktor, her eyes narrow. "One of these days, your lapdog won't be here to protect you," she said, low and threatening.

Jayce wasn't touching Viktor anymore, but he didn't have to be to know that the insult to Jayce would have spiked his partner's anger and heart rate. So much for that last chance. "Oh Lia," he said, disappointed that she understood so little. "I'm not here to protect him. Come with me now, or I won't be able to protect you."

She scoffed, shaking off Jayce's hand and still glaring at Viktor. "That's bullshit. I'd wipe the floor with you, Viktor, and you know it."

"I would prefer," Viktor said in icy tones that Jayce probably should not find such a turn-on, "if you did not keep ignoring my partner's excellent advice. But if you would like to challenge me directly, that can be arranged. Jayce?"

Jayce let out a slow sigh. "Yeah," he agreed. Lia was a liability, now. It was out of his hands. "I'll be outside." He left the room, making his way over to Sky's desk and sitting on the edge of it.

Sky glanced up at him. "She challenged him, didn't she?"

"I think he was hoping for it," Jayce admitted. "He's been in a mood all week. He might have provoked her a little bit." He shook his head. "Wish it hadn't come to that, though."

Sky smiled and patted Jayce's hand. "You're such a softie," she teased.

Jayce ducked his head bashfully. "I guess so. I'm just old fashioned, really. I'd rather take a hammer to their kneecaps, or at least take them down fast. Viktor..." He glanced back toward the door to the office, wincing slightly at the sounds that managed to make it through the heavy wood. "Viktor likes to play with his food."

Sky nodded. She'd been with them long enough. She knew.

The sounds were growing softer. "I guess we'll be going home soon," Jayce said. "You can head out now, if you want."

Sky nodded and gathered her things, pulling on her coat and checking the placement of her knives. "Maybe his mood will improve now?" she offered.

"Hopefully." Jayce walked Sky to the outer door and watched until she'd turned the corner out of sight before going back to sit on her desk and wait.

Not too much later, the office door opened and Viktor came out. He glanced at Sky's empty chair curiously.

"Sent her home," Jayce said.

Viktor nodded. "Caitlyn?"

"If you'll pick up dinner, I'll swing by and have her send over a cleaning crew," Jayce offered. "Oh, wait." He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket. "You've got a little..." He dabbed gently at Viktor's cheek until the blood was gone. "There." He left the cloth on the edge of Sky's desk. Caitlyn's crew would handle it. "I'll see you at home?"

"Don't take too long," Viktor said, his eyes glinting in a way that made Jayce's libido sit up and pay attention. Guess that really had helped Viktor's mood.

It was going to be a lovely evening.

What's up jayvik nation

[daviesroyal]

daviesroyal's fanfic status update

I debated on whether or not I should make this post, because it's not like my fic writing is well-known or anything, but for the readers I do have I decided it's only fair they hear about it instead of waiting in limbo:

While I currently have no intentions to delete my fics from AO3, as the unrevealed collection is working well, I don't think I'll make them available again for a very long time, if ever. This isn't just about lore.fm (my last update) or Memento Archive, which was recently taken down (apparently from the flood of DMCA takedowns once enough authors realized what it was). Those are just symptoms of a larger problem.

There's a growing part of the fanfic community that feels increasingly entitled to an author's work. I'm not just talking about demanding authors write certain things, or how sites/apps feel perfectly comfortable stealing those works. I'm talking about how, when an author deletes a work (for whatever reason, they're not obligated to share that either), more and more readers will immediately solicit the wider Internet for repostings, downloaded files they never bothered to get when it was available, or any other way to get access to that work again.

I have no problem with downloaded files for personal use. I'm a fanbinder! I enjoy the process of fanbinding. However, the important part of that is that I'm only making it for myself, and I'm asking permission from the author to bind their fic (and offering gift copies, as is the custom in the fanbinding community) for anything I want to post about.

When those downloaded files get passed around in a public community like r/DeletedFanfiction on Reddit, or the fics are stolen and reposted on a site like Memento Archive, it stops being personal use and starts being illegal distribution. And before anyone starts quibbling about the legality of fanfiction, look up US Fair Use laws, and how AO3 got started in the first place, and all the legal cases they've fought to prove (legally!) that fanfic authors have legal copyright to the works they create.

It's also difficult for authors to express their frustration and distress about these methods, because the instant they do, a bunch of others will dogpile sentiments like "but what about the READERS!!" and "well if you didn't want your work to be taken out of your control you shouldn't have put it on the Internet" - all things that make it clear they consider the feelings of the reader (the consumer) more important than the creator of the work who did it for free. It's a terrible attitude to have, and honestly, comments like that have the opposite of their (likely) intended effect on me: any time I see those sentiments, I want to delete my work because I don't want to be part of a community that is increasingly treating artists like content creation machines that can never break, never stop, never take away things that they made, and should make content to their specifications.

I don't write for engagement. I don't even really post for engagement. If I did, I would post on multiple platforms to reach a wider audience. I post because I made something cool, that means a lot to me, and I wanted to share it with others if they thought it was cool too. But I'm not giving it to them. It's not a gift that I can't take back once it's out of my hands. It's never out of my hands, that's the point. It's more like a movie that I made, and all my readers got tickets to if they wanted, and it was also available for download if you want to watch it without going to the theater. But if I decide that movie shouldn't be showing anymore, I can take it down, and no one is entitled to go show it somewhere else, or pass around bootleg copies.

Despite my bitter apathy, I know this isn't the majority of the community. At the very least, I hope it's not. I hope it's just a very vocal minority. But that minority is growing, and as fanfiction becomes more and more mainstream, there are external forces (like lore.fm and Memento Archive and all the bots scraping AO3) that see these people as a market.

And that's terrifying.

That's something I don't want to be part of.

It puts me off not just posting fanfic, but writing it as well.

I hope that one day I'll feel good enough about writing fanfiction to finish the stories I currently have in progress, even if I never post them. I want the community to take a long hard look at this attitude and decide to course-correct, to get better. But right now, I have to take a step back, or all of this might ruin my love for fanfiction completely.

That being said! If you really enjoyed my work, and didn't get a downloaded copy before I put it in the unrevealed collection, please feel free to reach out to me here and I will send you a copy at the email of your choice! (Or if you want a physical copy I'm also more than happy to bind something to send to the physical address of your choice.) The only works I will not be sharing as files are Fate and Choice and Rebuilt Machinery of Our Hearts (the Harry Potter/Criminal Minds crossovers), as they are works I reposted specifically on AO3 with permission from the author. However, you can find them here under the original author's account!

[olderthannetfic]

With all this talk about AI, the one perspective that appears missing from the discussion is that of someone who actually uses AI writing tools in production of their fanfic. So here I am, stepping in to provide my (anonymous) two cents.

I've been using a generative AI program especially made for creative writers for several months now. Initially, I had a lot of the same reservations I'm hearing form others, but I was curious about the tech and wanted to try it for myself. I quickly discovered that it's insanely useful, and I truly believe it has improved my writing. 

I also believe these tools will become commonplace among creative writers in the near future. In fact, I've heard that generative AI is coming to a writing software near you (MS Word to be exact), and I suspect that that once more people have actually tried it, use of AI will begin to seem no more remarkable than the use of spelling or grammar checkers does now. 

In the meantime, as you can see, I am staying anon, and there is absolutely no way I would tag my fanfic as AI assisted given the current environment. People are very quick to make assumptions about what a statement like that means, and are all too hasty in reaching for their pitchforks.

As far as I can tell, the main concern seems to be that Ao3 will be flooded with 'bad' fanfic as a result of AI use. But 'bad' fanfic has been a thing for as long as I've been in fandom (decades, at this point), and in my experience, human beings are perfectly capable of writing poorly without any help from machines. Readers are, as always, advised to curate their own reading experience. The 'back' button works the same as it always did, and someone's possible use of AI changes nothing about that. 

But the general assumption that AI input automatically leads to 'bad' writing seems rather short-sighted. Yes, obviously if someone were to go to ChatGPT and tell it to write them a fanfic in 'x' fandon about 'x' pairing, the output would be bland, generic and probably a bit rambling. AIs are not great storytellers; they can't maintain narrative logic. 

If this hypothetical person then copy-pasted the unedited output directly onto Ao3 and called it a story, the result would most likely qualify as 'bad' fanfic. Whether it would be worse than a story the same person might have written on their own is debatable. Our hypothetical protagonist obviously decided that the output was good enough as it was, and chose to post it without bothering to edit, which suggests (at least to me) that they would have similar standards about a story they'd written without an AI.

Since the above seems to be the scenario everyone has in mind when talking about "AI fic," I would like to point out that what I just described is not the only way to use AI in one's writing. My own use is more akin to using an online thesaurus; a very powerful thesaurus that can make suggestions for things like phrasings, descriptions, dialogue, and so on. The key there is that it makes suggestions. 

My AI assistant is smart enough to 'read' the scene I'm working on and tailor its suggestions to the mood, style and context of what I'm writing. But it's still my story. The AI doesn't write it for me. I'm the one who sifts through those suggestions, takes the bits that work, and shapes them into useful text. Sometimes the AI comes up with amazing things. I wasn't kidding when I said it's improved my writing - and my rewriting. It knocks me out of those mental ruts we writers tend to get into, coming up with descriptions and turns of phrase that I wouldn't have thought of on my own. 

But it's still just a tool, and at the end of the day, I'm still the writer. The words that end up on the page do so because I chose them. Those writerly choices are what make the story mine, regardless of where the words might have originated from. And whether they came from my brain or the AI, they are still subject to the same standards of rewriting, editing and proofing.

So no, I don't think I'm going to be tagging my fic with an AI disclosure statement any time soon. Not until the current moral panic dies down to the point where people don't read that and automatically assume it means 'copy-pasted from ChatGPT.' And for anyone who's curious about AI... I suggest you try it for yourself. Play around a little and find out what it's about before making judgments. I think you'll find it's a tool like any other - and just like any tool, it can be used well or it can be used badly. That's entirely in the hands of the human being using it - which is one thing that hasn't changed, and never should.

--

Yeah, I fail to see any major issue with more sucky fanfic getting posted. That's just the default for big fic archives.

The actual problem problems we're seeing are with paid markets with open submissions that get flooded beyond what staff can handle and big corporations replacing humans they already try not to pay.

The main potential issue I see with other uses of AI is that it may end up with samey suggestions, but it's hard to know how much that's 1. a thing and 2. an actual issue when writing genre stuff that often sounds samey on purpose and where that's a desirable characteristic.

[multi-fandom-of-madness]

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love

Pairings: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia X GN!Reader

Type: Fluff that turns to angst w/ no comfort

Summary: Copia had just begun his reign as Papa, and was overworked. He needed to get away from the ministry and all of it. He found someone along the way. Someone who showed him love and happiness. It was perfect, until things changed, and then things descended into chaos.

Warnings: Mentions of character death, heartbreak, use of Y/N, google translated Italian

Word Count: 3,619

Notes: I’m debating on whether I want to make this into a short series. I already have the second part written, but I don’t know how I feel about the plot I previously had for the third part. I originally did this as a self insert, so if there are pronouns that don't correlate with a gender neutral reader, please let me know I will fix it asap. Also I'm sorry for the way the song lyrics copied over, you're just gonna have to deal with it (unfortunately).

Read on AO3

~

When the summer dies

Severing the ties

I'm with you always, always

Will you walk the line?

My path serpentine

Remember always

That love is all you need

Tell me who you wanna be

And I will set you free

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

For you

It was a September afternoon. The leaves were just starting to change and the air had just started to relieve itself of its hellish temperatures. Summer finally started saying its goodbye.

The Clergy had been on Copia’s back recently due to his most recent accomplishment of being in talks to become the new Papa. He knew that they just wanted everything perfect, but he was struggling to believe he could live up to their practically impossible standards. It had been an impossibly long day, and he knew that he needed a break before he snapped, inflicting the wrath of Sister Imperator.

He drove around, just trying to clear his head until he found a café. A small little thing that looked very simple. He didn’t bother to check the name or the reviews before walking inside.

“Good afternoon! How can I help you today?” A chipper voice called out to him. His head snapped up from his phone as he set his eyes on them.

“Oh, hello. I-I’m good. How are you today?” He responded, his cheeks reddening slightly as he stumbled over his words.

“Well, it would be better if it were time to go home, but honestly I can’t complain too much,” the cashier responded. “What can I get for you today?”

Copia looked over the menu for just a moment. “Could I just get a black coffee and a blueberry scone?”

“Sure thing!” They smiled as they told him the total and grabbed his scone. They handed him the bag, and his hand lingered for a moment. He held his breath once he realized what he was doing, and grabbed the bag.

“Grazie,” he mumbled as he walked over to the other end of the counter to wait on his coffee. He watched as they poured the coffee, entranced by their every move.

“Here’s your coffee, sir,” they called as if he wasn’t jumping at the chance to talk to them again.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it and finding a seat. He was the only person actually sitting down, everyone else who came in got their orders and left. Copia knew that wouldn’t do for him. If he left, he didn’t know what would have happened.

He sat for a while, eating his scone and sipping his coffee. It was peaceful in the little café. Soft music played over the speakers, and the scent of freshly baked treats filled the air. It was nice.

“I’m heading out now! I’ll see you guys later!” He heard them call, apron off and bag in their hand. He watched them walk towards the door, and jumped up, not really knowing what he was doing.

“Excuse me, but I was just wondering if you-if you had any plans today. It’s been a long day, and you seem like you would be nice to talk to. Only, if you want to of course! I just thought you were gorgeous-I mean you seemed nice. Not that you aren’t gorgeous of course! I’m sorry, I don’t really talk to people outside of my work,” he rushed his words. He was slightly shaking, scared of what they would say.

“I don’t have any plans,” they smiled. “There’s a park right down the road, I could take you if you wanted.”

A look of relief washed over his tired face. “Really? I-well, I would like that actually.”

“My name is Y/N,” they said, holding out their arm.

He looped his arm in theirs, internally smacking himself for not asking their name earlier. “Copia.”

“Well, Copia, it’s nice to meet you.” They squeezed his arm lightly as they left the café. He smiled and looked at the ground.

The park wasn’t far at all, just about a ten minute walk. It was pretty, especially now that the leaves were changing their colors, shedding their summertime glow. There was a winding path that had trees scattered along with a few bushes surrounding them. The flowers on the ground were already wilting, but the scene was still beautiful nonetheless.

“So, Copia, what brought you to my little café?” They asked, their head tilting as they continued to walk arm in arm. Copia found it refreshing to not have his title used to address him for once. It seemed to be all he heard now.

“Well, work has been getting to me. Sis-My boss likes everything to be perfect. It’s just the way that the company is run. I’m beginning to take on a new…new mantle, and in order to properly take it on, I have to be perfect. It is a lot of stress for one man.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it is stressful. May I ask where you work? I might be able to help, or at least provide some comfort with a little more context.”

He was hoping they wouldn’t ask that question, terrified of scaring them off. “Well, it’s a, uh, ministry of sorts.”

“Oh, so you’re going to become a priest. I guess that could be difficult. Not living a life of sin and being perfect for God and all of his followers.”

“Well, not exactly,” he admitted to them. “Are you religious?”

“I’m not entirely religious. I’m sure there’s a source of something out there, but if it is, I haven’t found it. I don’t judge religions though.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” he sighed. They gave him an odd look. “Our ministry isn’t exactly…Christian.”

“Now I'm a little bit confused.”

He laughed lightly at their response. “It’s a Satanic church. We preach about the word of Satan, and it’s a fun little gig we have going. We use a band to spread the word. Maybe you have heard of it?”

“That's interesting. What is your band called? I’m not sure whether I would have heard of it or not.”

“It’s called Ghost, we are pretty popular,” he teased. He wouldn’t be sure whether they’d heard of it or not, and was surprised by their reaction to saying he was with a satanic church.

“No, I don’t think I have heard of it actually.”

“Well, what kind of music do you like? I can help be a good judge of whether it would provide entertainment. It’s, eh, not really your basic music.”

“I’ll listen to almost anything, honestly. I’m always down for a good tune.”

Copia was taken aback by this a bit, a pleasantly shocked look on his face. “Well, it’s a rock band. A pretty good one if I do say so myself.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a listen later.” 

They continued to walk for a minute in silence before Copia piped up. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“I don’t really know. I like to read, watch TV, listen to music, and all the basic things.”

“What about video games? Any of that interest you?”

“Not really. I never got into gaming.”

“Interesting.”

“What about you, Copia?”

“I play a game or two here and there, but with the Ministry, I don’t get much time to myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that sucks. You can always call me up, if you want some company. I don’t really do much other than work. Here,” they said, sticking their phone out to him, “put your number in, and then you can text me whenever you get too stressed and need an outside source for comfort.” Copia took the phone, put his number in, and sent himself a message to make sure he didn’t put it in wrong, then they continued on their first walk of many.

And that is what they did for months.

They texted back and forth often, called, and even went on quite a few dates. Copia had yet another long day, and knew that he could trust the person he now proudly called his partner. He called, asking if he could spend the night at their apartment, and of course they said yes.

Copia made his way to their apartment, using his key to get inside. “Dolcezza? I’m here, amore.”

“I’m in the bathroom! Just got out of the shower!” They called, and he walked that way. He still had on his paints, which still shocked them sometimes, but they were beginning to grow used to it. “Well don’t you look handsome?” They teased, noting that he was in a hoodie and sweatpants.

“What? Oh, heh, yeah I guess I am a beauty. But you, amore mio, look stunning.” He grabbed their hips, pulling them into a kiss. They had on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of black shorts to match. Their hair was wet, and before the kiss they were drying it with a towel. As they kissed, they dropped the towel in favor of wrapping their arms around his shoulders while his arms crossed around their back to pull them in.

“Well, someone missed me,” they said as they pulled away, leaving their arms around him.

“I always miss you,” he said, pressing a lighter kiss to their forehead.

“You’re so sweet, Copia,” they hummed, staring up into his mismatched eyes, nothing else but adoration showing.

“I love you, tesoro.”

“I love you too. What brings you tonight? Anything special?”

“No, just a long day. Needed a way to relax,” he hummed, looking at them.

“What do you want to do?” They asked, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“What do you say I treat you to a dance?”

“What do yo-” before they finished, Copia removed them from where they leaned on the counter, dancing with them out to the living room. They laughed as he spun the both of them around, one hand holding theirs while the other rested on their waist, kissing them while he dipped them.

They were absolutely in love, and that was easy to see. They had only been to the Abbey a few times, but any sibling of sin, ghoul, or anyone who crossed their paths could see the love on their faces.

Soon, the rings on their left ring fingers became evidence enough. Copia, being the romantic he was, proposed to them about a year and a half later.

The air was warm, spring just beginning to settle in, as they walked through the park they first walked at. They walked there often now, finding comfort in the atmosphere. Little did Y/N know that Copia had a surprise waiting for them. It wasn’t uncommon for them to go on picnics, especially not if they were sunrise or sunset picnics.

They walked the winding trail, arms linked together, as Copia nervously led them to their destination. In the other hand, Y/N held a picnic basket that had all of their favorite things, as Copia’s hand nervously fiddled with the small box containing the second most precious gem. The first being his beloved.

The sky was a gorgeous pale blue, the clouds outlined with pink and orange as the sun began to sink past the horizon. Their normal picnic spot had been set up to look very different.

Copia had to pull a few strings, but the trees were decorated with lights, and all of their favorite flowers formed to make a walkway that led to a small platform that was covered in more flowers.

He walked them towards the destination while one sibling of sin hid in the bushes to capture it on video and get the most perfect photos.

Y/N was in absolute awe. It looked like something out of a movie. “Is that for me, Copia?” They asked innocently, unsure of whether this was just for them or someone else.

“Yes, carissima. This is all for you.” He walked up to the platform, letting them take the first step. He steps up next, bending down on one knee. “I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on you that I wanted to be the one you loved. I have cherished every moment, every laugh, even the fights, all because I got to spend that time with you. You are the love and the light of my life. I love you beyond words, Y/N. So please, will you marry me?”

Crying, Y/N lowers themself to be level with him. “Yes,” they cry, holding his face in their hands and kissing him. “A thousand times, yes.”

Copia’s face lights up as he takes their left hand off his face, slipping the ring on, then pulling them into the closest hug they will ever feel in their lives.

Will you spill the wine

To summon the divine?

I'm with you always, always

Now paint a pair of eyes

And let's watch as it dries

Remember always, that love is all you need

Tell me who you wanna be

And I will set you free

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

So bold, so sweet

The big day was here. The day where Y/N and Copia would pledge their love in front of everyone.

Marrying a Papa was a big deal. Everyone in the Clergy would gather to watch the occasion. The reception, however, was for close friends and family members only.

“Are you ready?” A voice called from behind Y/N . It was their father. He wasn’t entirely on board with the concept of marrying a satanic pope, but once he realized just how wonderful Copia made them feel, he accepted the relationship, and welcomed Copia with open arms.

“I believe so,” they said, using one hand to hold the bouquet of flowers, the other smoothing down their outfit.

“Then I believe it’s time,” he said, taking their arm in his as the doors opened. They looked up to where Copia was standing in awe. He had on a gorgeous suit and his paints were on. Tradition is that they wear full regalia, but he didn’t want to remember this moment as Papa, just as Copia. He finally was able to compromise with just using his paints, so he took what he could get.

They could tell that there were tears in his eyes. He was always the sentimental type. They smiled as tears welled in their eyes as well.

As they reached the altar, their father smiled at them and kissed their cheek before sitting down. Copia reached a hand out to them as they walked up the stairs, handing a bridesmaid the bouquet of flowers.

“Hi, you look gorgeous,” he whispered excitedly.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” they said, giving him a wink. The officiant began speaking, signaling the ceremony had begun. There was a bottle of wine, two chalices, and their rings on a small table next to the officiant.

A little while into the wedding, both of them poured wine into the other’s chalice, crossing their arms as they sip. It wasn’t the most necessary part of the ceremony, but it was something that they decided to do. A symbol of their joining together.

They slipped their rings on after, officially combined as one.

They walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, smiling like children, so happy that they found their perfect match. Neither of them wanted to get their outfits messed up, so as their chosen guests filed into the reception room, they changed into simpler, yet still formal, outfits.

“I am so happy that I have you now,” Copia said, coming behind Y/N to wrap them in a hug and leaned his head on their shoulders.

“Until death do us part,” Y/N responded in a joking tone.

“Not even death could keep us from each other,” he said, kissing their neck. Y/N turned around, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, kissing him.

“I would never let that happen,” they smiled.

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

For you

“Are you excited? It’s your last concert of this tour. I’m so proud of you,” Y/N said, kissing his cheek as they helped fix his robes.

“It has been a blast. I’m sad to see it come to an end, but that just means we can start new journeys now,” he smiled.

“You’re going to do amazing.” They both walked to the side of the stage, waiting for the cue that they were good to go. “Do you hear that? Copia, they love you.” A smile rested on their face, their head leaning on their husband's shoulder.

“No one could love me the way you do, dolcezza. They may love me, and I may entice them, but my eyes are only for you. I am only for you. I will be with you always,” he said, listening to the crowd’s chanting.

“It’s time. I’ll see you after the show, my love.”

“I love you,” Copia said, kissing them lovingly before walking on stage, the crowd screaming their heads off.

Y/N made their way to their designated spot above the crowd. There was always one section where they would stand and watch, no one else to bother them. The crowd was extremely reactive tonight, everyone having the best time. Even the ghouls looked to be having the greatest night of their lives. 

They smiled, singing along to every song. Occasionally, Copia would look up to where they stood, and they waved each time.

He bounced around the stage, everyone enchanted by his every move, but now the concert was coming to an end. He looked so content and happy performing that neither of them wanted this to end.

“Now this song is very special to me. I used to sing this song, worried about the pain another would cause me, or a pain that I would cause another if I let anyone near me, close to my heart. I said no! No relationships!” He paused, looking around the crowd then looking up to them. “Now, I know that I was wrong. I wish I could have figured this out sooner, but when I stepped into that little coffee shop, I’m glad it took all the time that it did. For the past few years, my love, my beautiful, my angel, my partner has been by my side. So now, I sing a new song of love. Love for the one I am so glad to be able to call my partner. For my Y/N.” He pointed at them as the crowd cheered at the mention of their name, causing them to grin and blush. "This is Darkness At The Heart of My Love!” The crowd cheered some more as the opening notes played.

He sang beautifully. His voice was perfect, and his movements bewitching. Everything about this performance proved Copia was a masterpiece. Y/N leaned onto the railing, singing and watching as their lover made his way through the song.

“Remember always that love is all you need. Tell me who you wanna be, and I will set you free,” he sang as the song drew near its end, looking up to Y/N as he did.

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

So bold, so sweet

There's a darkness at the heart of my love (my love)

That runs cold (runs cold), runs deep (runs deep)

The darkness at the heart of my love (my love)

So bold (so bold), so sweet (so sweet)

Y/N didn’t notice the security coming behind them, but they recognized similar strange figures standing on either side of the stage, stalking towards Copia.

Panic flooded them as they turned to run to try and save him, though it was a waste of effort. The security guards behind them grabbed them, forcing them to watch the events unfold.

“And all this time you knew that I would put you through the darkness at the heart of my love for you!” Copia sang, unaware of the men behind him while Y/N struggled.

When the summer dies

Severing the ties

I'm with you always, always

The men came behind Copia, grabbing his arms and legs, pulling him away from the microphone. A look of fear filled his face.

Paint a pair of eyes

Let's watch as it dries

I'm with you always, always

“No!” They screamed out, watching him get dragged off stage, struggling in the same way they were. “Copia! Please! No!” People in the few rows below them turned, watching the tears streaming down their face as they continued to scream.

Sister Imperator walked out on stage, beginning to say some words, but Y/N couldn’t make it out. The guards let them go, and they crumpled to the ground, shaking and sobbing, feeling utterly broken. “No,” they cried quieter. The crowd was painfully silent as they watched Sister. “This can’t be happening. No. Please.” A few siblings of sin walked toward them, lifting them off the ground, walking them back to a car.

They took them back to the ministry, and they cried the whole way there. They brought them to bed, changing their clothes and making them comfortable. They listened to their cries, sad looks on their faces.

They said nothing now, laying in the bed them and Copia would never share again. They held his pillow close, crying into it.

He was gone, and they wouldn’t get him back.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just Ask

Prompts: Hey… So, I was wondering if you could write a fic where one of the sides are dyslexic? Since that usually just ends as "Oh, I can't read, oh no!" and not like the actual neurodiversity it is. Yes, I admit, I want to relate to one too, but… Well. It'd be awesome if you would, but if that's too tall an order or too specific that's fine too. If you do, though, maybe college AU with roceit? -anon

Hi you're amazing! I love your writing and brand of writing and just I've read a lot of your stories and I love them all kskejejwuwugfhsv-

I was wondering, if you take requests, that maybe you could write a human AU with fake dating Roceit? With confident fat Janus because we need that! Or not, that's your choice!

(I sound like some snob asking for a highly specific coffee shi-) - anon

oh babe y'all wanted to be FED huh

Read on Ao3

Warnings: slight ableist/fatphobic language

Pairings: roceit

Word Count: 2487

Sometimes, you can get all of your work done in the library. Sometimes, people are ableists.

And sometimes there's something wonderful in finding out there's someone there for you as well.

Roman scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. Between waiting ages at the printer or absolutely destroying his retinas by staring at a screen for hours on end, he isn’t unhappy with making the choice to save the environment by using less paper but god.

“At least this pdf was convertible,” he mutters, scrolling down to see how many pages he has left. The last four weren’t and reading without the right font is a fucking pain in the ass.

Seven pages left. Great.

Roman focuses on the screen and starts to mutter under his breath again. Focus on the word, figure it out, make the sentence, move on. Pause to take notes, make sure it’s legible to read later, and repeat.

A computer and heavy bag thuds onto the table next to him and he jumps, almost knocking his coffee over. He looks up, glaring at the person who stares down their nose at him like he’s some sort of stain. Rude.

“You’ve been here for like, three hours, dude,” they say, like that’s supposed to justify their behavior, “move. I need this spot.”

Roman looks around. There’s like, four more tables open. “Can’t you just go sit somewhere else?”

“No! This is my spot! You can go sit somewhere else.”

“Well,” Roman mutters, glaring at his screen again, “I was here first. So you can either wait until I’m done or sit down.”

“Dude, I swear—“

“Excuse me,” comes a smooth voice that has no business being this polished in the fucking library, “is this person bothering you, sweetie?”

Roman turns around and his mouth drops open.

“J-Janus?”

Janus raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and glaring at the dick with the heavy bag. Who, as a matter of fact, seems to be muttering and stuffing shit back into said bag.

“Sorry I’m late,” Janus drawls, still sounding way too confident and way too much like he knows what’s going on, “got held up after class.”

“Uh, no problem,” he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder to see the asshole is still standing there, “just, um…working.”

“Ah, well then, you won’t mind if I join you.” And with that, Janus sits down with a flourish, propping his chin up on his hand and fixing the asshole with an impressive look of disgust. “And you…you can leave.”

“Look, buddy—“

“My partner and I have work to do,” Janus says, swiftly cutting them off and making sure Roman has no idea what’s going on, “now leave.”

Roman’s really glad there was no ambiguity that Janus could’ve been talking to him, because he’s about ready to bolt. Only when the asshole has retreated does Janus turn his gaze to him.

“Sorry about that,” he says, flicking a speck of imaginary lint from his gloves, “he seemed like he was bothering you. Thanks for playing along.”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m, uh—“ Janus raises an eyebrow as Roman stumbles over his words— “sorry. Uh, thanks?”

Janus chuckles. “Oh, no worries, sweetie. I was happy to do it. Although…”

Janus squints at him and Roman fights the urge to squirm under that gaze.

“You’re in my seminar class, aren’t you?” Roman nods. “The one that let out three hours ago?”

“Yeah, uh-huh.”

“Have you…been here since then?”

Roman nods, trying to get back to work and, you know, maybe get out of here, only for Janus to reach across the table and still his hands as he goes to pick up the pen again.

“Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“Eaten,” Janus says slowly, mouth stretching into a smile, “lunch, sweetie.”

“Uh—“ no, is the correct answer— “I was going to?”

Janus just gives him a look.

“…no.”

“Mm.” Janus glances at his computer and notebook. “You’re not by any chance attempting to read all of the assignments in one go, are you?”

Roman’s guilty flush seems to answer that question for him. Janus sighs and it’s such an odd mixture of disappointment and fondness Roman hasn’t earned that his brain spits out the only question he actually wants an answer to.

“Why are you here?”

Janus chuckles. “In the library, at this school, or are we already to the point of questioning the very nature of existence?”

Roman just blinks at him.

“Oh, relax, sweetie, I’m teasing.” Janus glances off in the vague direction the asshole wandered off to. He leans a little closer. “I know how…difficult it can be to try and do work when they bother you.”

Roman’s cheeks flush. “Oh, uh…thanks, then.”

Janus waves a hand. “It’s none of their business why you’re doing so much work at once. Even if it does make you skip lunch,” he adds with such a pointed look that Roman can’t help splutter.

“I was going to! And you’re not my mother!”

“No,” Janus purrs, “but like any good partner, I like to make sure my sweetie takes care of themselves.”

Roman does not squeak, despite Janus’s chuckles, but he does start to fiddle with his pen. “I can’t…stop yet.”

“Why ever not?”

“Can you stop,” Roman blurts, scrubbing his hands over his blushing face, “please? For like, two seconds?”

“Sorry, you’re just adorable.”

“Stop, dude, seriously, if you want an actual answer to the question?”

“I’m done,” Janus chuckles, “I’m done, sorry.”

Roman takes a deep breath. He fiddles with the pen. “It’s just—with my dyslexia, it takes a while to…find the, um…”

“Zone?”

“…sure.”

Janus hums in understanding. Then he reaches into his own bag and pulls out a book of his own. “Then we may as well work together until you’re finished.”

Roman blinks. Hi, hello, brain is confused, what just happened in the last five minutes?

Janus waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Sweetie? You okay?”

“Sorry, I’m just—trying to process what happened.” Roman blinks again. “Because it seems like some asshole tried to take my seat, you came up and pretended to be my partner to scare them away, proceeded to badger me about taking care of myself, and now you’re…still here?”

Janus nods. “That’s how I experienced it too, that’s correct.”

“…so now what’re we doing?”

“Well, I’m also going to try and get some work done, you’re going to finish your work, and then we’re going to get lunch.”

“And what about the dude that now thinks we’re partners?”

Janus looks at him and shrugs. “I’m game if you are.”

Roman blinks again. Is…Janus suggesting they fake being in a relationship to, what, defend Roman’s right to sit wherever the fuck he wants for however long in a library?

“What’s in it for you?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Roman says, “what’s in it for you?”

Janus’s fingers still on the book he’s pulled out. He sighs and looks up at Roman.

“How long have you known about your dyslexia?”

Jumping around a bit here, aren’t we? “About six years, why?”

“And you know how to manage it? For you?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That doesn’t mean it goes away,” Janus says softly, “it’s still work, you just…know how to do it now.”

“Yeah, it still takes me time to do things, why—“ Roman’s eyes widen— “oh. Oh, wait, you mean—wait, what do they have against you?”

Janus’s mouth tugs up into a smirk. “How sweet.”

“Shut up,” Roman mumbles, “you know what I mean.”

Janus just winks at him before sobering. “Well,” he says wryly, gesturing at himself, “surely you can understand that…not everyone treats you very well when you aren’t the circumference of a toothpick.”

Oh. They’re those kind of assholes. Something Janus chuckles about when that thought gets out before Roman can stop them.

“Quite. I can manage them, but it’s still work.” He looks at Roman. “Maybe we can split the load?”

“I’m down with that.”

“Wonderful. Now,” Janus says, mock sternly, “get back to work. We have lunch to get.”

Roman chuckles. “Sure, sure, don’t ask to borrow my notes.”

“I would never, I just forget things like a cool person and make things up that the professor likes to hear.”

Yeah, this is gonna go just fine.

As it turns out, it does. Roman won’t lie, he was…skeptical about the viability of this plan of theirs. He’s read the stories. He knows how this works. He knows about the misunderstandings and whether it’s a bet or a dare, something goes wrong.

But…nothing does.

Watching Janus tear anyone to shreds is entertaining enough in class, where Roman gives up on taking debate notes and just watches because goddamn, but when he gets to stand there and just glare at some ableist while Janus verbally decimates them? Poetic cinema. He debates sneaking some popcorn into his jacket pocket but that would take away from the power of his glare.

And it is nice to have someone else do the work of glaring assholes away from his table when he’s working on reading. He would be lying if he said that actually having someone else to talk to isn’t part of it. It’s so much easier to keep track of where he’s messing up so he can focus on it during his exercises later.

“You know,” Janus remarks as they leave the library one day, “you can ask the professors for editable pdfs.”

“Huh?”

“For your font stuff.” Janus nods toward his backpack. “I know you like to change the font so you can read it better, most of them have editable copies of the materials.”

“Not for the eBooks and scans and stuff.”

Janus huffs, waving his hand. “How do you think they get the audio transcripts for the recorded versions? They have to transcribe it anyway, just ask for those.”

Roman stops. “How…how do you know those exist?”

Janus just taps the side of his nose and winks.

“Can…can you do that?”

“Of course.” Janus links his arm through Roman’s. “Anything for you.”

That shouldn’t do what it does to Roman’s chest.

Because yeah, okay, maybe Janus is…really cute.

Like, unfairly cute.

No one should be able to rock that hat all the time. And the gloves. And the pocket watch. And the curly hair. And the attitude. And the impressive vocabulary. And the razor-sharp wit. And he actually knows how to flirt! What is flirting? All Roman knows is Gay Panic™ and Suffering™. What is this? Why is it allowed?

And why, oh why, did Janus have to be the one that started the fake-dating idea?

Because here’s the thing. It would be so easy to just be friends with Janus. It would! They’re already friends now, fake-dating kind of does that to you. And Janus, despite what he wants everyone else to believe, is a fucking dork. His actual laugh is squeaky and bubbly and ugh, Roman could drown in it. And he’s really kind. It’s not the same breed of kind that Roman’s used to, but goddamn, Janus is so sweet when he lets himself be. And it’s been so long since Roman had like, an actual friend…

But it would also be so easy to be more than friends with Janus. To actually be able to take him out for dates and not just lunch at their janky cafeteria. To be able to spend time together that isn’t just for show, or platonic, or just hanging out ranting about stupid dead supposed-to-be-smart people.

Again, Roman’s read the stories. He knows how this is supposed to go.

So when he takes a little longer to pack up one day, enough that Janus notices and eases himself back down into his seat with a soft, real, ‘what’s wrong, sweetie, let me help,’ Roman prepares the bittersweet ‘nothing, I’m fine,’ and to swallow down everything real.

But instead…

“Can we, um, actually date?”

Janus blinks. “Come again, sweetie?”

Roman fiddles with the buckle on his bag. “I, um, I really appreciate what we’ve been doing, and I, um, I’m super happy being your friend…”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“…but I, um—“ god, why are words so hard?— “I think I would actually like to try…dating you. For real.”

He peeks up nervously at Janus.

“Is…is that okay?”

Janus sits there, silent. He blinks a few times. Then a slow, real smile spreads across his face.

“Roman,” he says softly, almost too quiet, even in the hush of the library, “why do you think I proposed this idea in the first place?”

Oh.

Oh.

Roman blinks. “Wait, you—you?”

A pretty flush covers Janus’s face. “Well, I…was planning to ask you normally, but then I saw you being absolutely tormented and…panicked.”

“You panicked?”

He throws his hands up. “Well, what was I supposed to do? The most gorgeous person in my seminar was being bullied and I was supposed to just let it happen?”

Wait. Back up. Roman is what?

“And yes, maybe I...wanted an excuse to be your friend first, but as I said, I panicked and so—“

“You—wait, you think I’m pretty?”

Janus stops, mouth open, before he’s scoffing. “Roman, have you seen yourself?”

“Uh—“

“At least you’re pretty,” Janus mutters under his breath, “pretty and dumb, but pretty.”

“Hey!”

“You can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time, sweetie.”

“Oh, says the man whose idea was to fake-date me because you wanted to actually ask me out!”

“I will not be lectured on dramatics from a theater kid.”

“That’s ex-theater kid to you.”

“Oh, you know once you go, you never come back.”

Roman giggles. Then he’s laughing. Janus joins in and oh, this is much better than shoving feelings down and pretending they don’t exist.

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“No,” Janus purrs, reaching over to boop the end of Roman’s nose, “I’m your fucking dork.”

Oh. Oh, that sounds…really good. Roman’s chest is really warm now, when did that happen? Janus smiles too.

“So…dinner?”

“You’re paying.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

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[i-like-plan-m]

If you're accepting prompts, how about one where people either can't lie to LWJ or he can tell when they're lying, and he inadvertently discovers a whole bunch of stuff WWX would rather he didn't (could be either WWX's low self worth, or his intense LWJ-based thirst!)

such a good prompt omg thank you [Posted to Ao3]

It was a curse, some said. A gift, according to others. The sect debated for years on the technicalities and argued their differing opinions over Lan Zhan’s head until Lan Qiren insisted the sect leave his nephew alone.

No one ever asked Lan Zhan what he thought.

He considered it neither a gift nor a curse. It was simply a part of him, the same as his golden core.

Except while a golden core was perfectly normal, Lan Zhan’s ability to detect any lie— spoken or unspoken— was less so. He heard falsehoods like music; words were notes, conversations were harmonies, and lies were the jarring wrong note that scraped harshly across his ears.

The hardest part was learning the reasons for a lie. Lan Zhan did not understand people the way his brother did, could only hear their lies and quietly disapprove. But Lan Xichen spent hours upon hours with him, testing the bounds of the skill and gently pointing out the different types of lies, and why the distinctions were important.

Sometimes, he’d said, people lie to protect themselves or others. Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth. They were not all born of malicious intent, and he’d taught Lan Zhan how to distinguish between them. How to identify the dangerous lies, the harmful ones, and those that were best left unacknowledged out of kindness or respect.

Lan Xichen had been eternally patient, remarkably encouraging, and quietly concerned about the effect this curse would have on his little brother. Lan Zhan had seen it in his face, the nonverbal lie reading to him like a whisper every time Lan Xichen smiled to hide his worry.

His brother had never asked about the source of the curse or gift or whatever the sect considered it; Lan Zhan suspected he had his own theories, and Lan Xichen’s guesses would most certainly be better than the elders’.

But only Lan Zhan knew its origins for sure.

His mother had been lied to, once, and as a result had spent the rest of her days a prisoner in a small, lonely house. His clearest memory of his mother was her holding him close, tucking him into her lap and wrapping her arms around him in a loving, protective cocoon. It was the safest he had ever felt.

He’d been too young to recognize his mother’s sorrow for what it was at the time, the way she’d clearly known her death was approaching. But he remembered the quiet words she’d whispered to him, words of love and fear and protectiveness. The way her golden core had enveloped him, warm and steady, as she made sure her youngest son would not live in a house of lies and silence like her.

It was her greatest gift to him, and her last.

~*~

Lan Zhan knew the sound of a lie. So when a particularly irritating disciple arrived and immediately began causing trouble, Lan Zhan expected any number of lies from the boy. He was eager, even, for vindication for his own prejudice against such a disrespectful nuisance.

But Wei Ying had a way of talking that sounded like slurred notes to Lan Zhan’s highly trained ear. He was all chaos and deflection, and Lan Zhan experienced something uncomfortably like whiplash trying to keep up with the words in Wei Ying’s never-ending chatter.

It could not have been deliberate— no one outside of the Lan Sect’s elders and his own family knew of Lan Zhan’s particular skill— but nonetheless Wei Ying avoided giving straight answers, topics sliding sideways and off course with a joke, a question of his own, or some wildly inappropriate comment that made Lan Zhan too furious to focus.  

He was infuriating.

He was beautiful.

Somehow that was worse.

Lan Zhan did not bother to look over as Wei Ying bickered with his sect brother, not in any mood to deal with him or his own feelings about the biggest troublemaker he’d ever met in his life.

Wei Ying’s laugh rang over the courtyard, bright and happy as he slung an arm over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders, ignoring the sect heir’s incensed protests. “Don’t lie, shidi, I know you love me!”

The lie sounded like a gong in Lan Zhan’s head, startling him so badly that he stumbled to an awkward stop and snapped his head around to stare at Wei Ying, who was for once paying him no attention.

His ever-present smile was in place, nothing false or fixed about it. Wei Ying wore happiness and humor like armor, and Lan Zhan wondered if anyone had ever seen past it. He hadn’t… until now.

Lies were interesting things. Sometimes entire speeches were a lie (for instance, everything that came out of Jin Guangshan’s mouth). Sometimes gestures held the lie, such as Nie Huaisang’s amiable nod of agreement whenever his older brother ordered him to go train with his saber. And sometimes the lie was only a single word.

I know you love me. The low, booming signal of Wei Ying’s lie was significant for two reasons: the timing, and the strength of the sound. The greater the lie, the louder the noise, and this one had left a painful echo in Lan Zhan’s ears from the force of it. And the timing… the lie had been marked on a single word: love.

I know you love me. But Wei Ying did not believe this, not even a little.

Lan Zhan… did not know what to do with this revelation.

By the end of class that day, during which Wei Ying had been bellowed at by Lan Qiren and handed off to Lan Zhan for yet another punishment, he still had not figured out what to do about it. He would have gone to his brother for advice, because Xichen always helped him find the right thing to do, but lately his brother had a terrible light of laughter in his eyes every time Lan Zhan mentioned Wei Ying, and he was not about to willingly subject himself to that indignity.

So he was left to his own devices. Lan Zhan stared down at his scroll, not reading a single word of it because of to Wei Ying’s indecent sprawl across a nearby desk. He was humming innocently, like Lan Zhan couldn’t see him urging a tiny paper man on a march towards Lan Zhan’s pot of ink.

“Focus on your work,” Lan Zhan said sternly, capturing the figure just before it dipped its little arms in the bowl and went on a rampage.

“Ugh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined, flopping over the desk. “This is so boring, how can you stand it? Not even Madam Yu would make me do all this!”

Lan Zhan studied the paper man in the cage of his fingers. This was a chance to learn more, he thought, about Wei Wuxian’s life in Yunmeng. Maybe even about why he did not believe his own brother loved him.

Why do you care? This does not concern you. Lan Zhan mutinously banished the thought and set the paper man free to explore the stack of books on his desk.

Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you like Lotus Pier?”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

Lan Zhan felt the familiar surge of frustration at the deflection; he could never get a straight answer out of Wei Ying, and it was a source of much aggravation.

“You mention punishments at Lotus Pier frequently,” he said instead of pinning Wei Ying to the floor until he got a truthful answer. The image sent a flash of heat through him, and he held himself very, very still until he had control over himself again.

“Eh.” Wei Ying waved a dismissive hand. “I get in trouble everywhere, Lan Zhan, whether I mean to or not.”

Truth.

“Are you punished in similar ways?” Lan Zhan asked, looking pointedly at Wei Ying’s abandoned paper of half-copied rules.

“No one gives punishments like the Lans. Don’t worry, your sect’s reputation is still the most feared of all!”

Not true, because anyone with half a brain knew to be wary of Wen Ruohan. This lie was like a slipped finger on the string of a qin, a short, wavering note that was discordant and vaguely unsettling. An untruth, technically, but said as a joke, as a sort-of truth because both of them knew the statement wasn’t genuine and that they other knew it as well.

Lan Zhan had a headache.

He tried a different track. “You were adopted by Sect Leader Jiang?”

Wei Ying sat up, propping his elbows on his desk and studying him for a moment before grinning. “So many questions, Lan Zhan! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to be friends.”

It was said teasingly, and the lie was held in the latter part of the sentence— Wei Ying did not believe Lan Zhan wanted to be friends. That, combined with the frustration of yet another question avoided, made Lan Zhan say, “It seems you do not know better.”

Embarrassingly, his heart was pounding at the admission. Lan Zhan had never had a friend before, other than his brother, and he certainly did not know how to make them. But he knew that he wanted to spend time with Wei Ying more and more often, even though part of him rebelled at the thought.

It was oddly silent in the library. Lan Zhan knew his ears were flushed red with embarrassment and uncertainty, and he waited with bated breath for Wei Ying to tease him again, to deflect with another laugh or joke that kindly disguised the fact that he did not want to be Lan Zhan’s friend, that Lan Zhan was too stiff and weird and boring to be anyone’s friend.

A little nauseated, Lan Zhan lifted his eyes from his paper and gathered his courage to look at the other boy.

Wei Ying was gaping at him like a fish.

“Friends?” He finally managed. Lan Zhan dropped his eyes back to the desk and said nothing, couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. “You don’t want to be my friend!”

His gaze flickered back towards Wei Ying. The statement was untrue, obviously, but it was a lie that Wei Ying believed to be true, so it sounded like a half-missed note on a flute. Easily corrected, quickly covered, but there nonetheless.

“Says who?” Lan Zhan asked, wondering… hoping…

Wei Ying blinked at him for a moment, visibly stumped. Ridiculously, it made Lan Zhan feel as though he’d won something. Triumph over being the one to shock Wei Ying into uncharacteristic silence for once.

As expected, it didn’t last long.

Traitorous fondness glowed in his chest as Wei Ying planted his hands on the desk and raised himself onto his knees with an indignant expression. His hair fell in disarray around his face, a half-tied red ribbon spilling over his shoulder and against rumpled robes.

“You did!” Wei Ying said, outraged. “I said we should be friends on the first night!”

He’d said a lot of things that first night, Lan Zhan thought with reluctant amusement. Lan Zhan had forgotten most of it thanks to the veil of rage that had overtaken him as he chased a beautiful boy under the moonlight.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan said, dismissive, mostly just to watch Wei Ying’s expression contort into disbelief. “Did you ask?”

Wei Ying spluttered. “Of course I asked!” He said too loudly, and then cocked his head like he’d heard the ring of the lie, too. “Oh. Huh, I guess I didn’t ask, now that I think about it.”

He looked at Lan Zhan with a gleam in his eye. Lan Zhan had only a second to think, uh oh, and then Wei Ying had vaulted over his desk to land on his knees across from him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, leaning in like they were sharing secrets. Lan Zhan’s hear thundered in his ears as Wei Ying grinned conspiratorially at him and leaned in close enough that Lan Zhan could smell the floral scent of his hair oil, the tinge of chili oil that he’d smuggled into the Cloud Recesses and then at some point spilled on his sleeve. “I want to be your friend. Do you want to be friends?”

Lan Zhan savored the silence around his words— I want to be your friend, he’d said, with no single hint of a lie— and tried not to let the mischievous glint in Wei Ying’s eye distract him.

It was too late, though. The seed of mischief had taken root in Lan Zhan, which was why he said with a perfectly straight face, “Hm. I will have to think about it.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squawked with indignation, and then must have caught the tiny curl of Lan Zhan’s mouth because he exploded into laughter a second later. “Were you teasing me just now? Lan Zhan, I can’t believe this.”  

Quietly pleased with himself, Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying laughed until he ran out of air, falling onto his back with his usual exuberant expressiveness. The laughter was a joyous sound, bright and honest, and hearing it in one of his favorite places made Lan Zhan’s chest feel warm and tight.

His mother would have liked him, Lan Zhan thought wistfully. For his humor, his irrepressible love of life, his fearlessness. His heart felt too big for his chest as he listened to Wei Ying laugh, unrestrained emotion where only disciplined constraint had ever been permitted.

He would investigate Wei Ying’s beliefs about his own worth later, he decided. They were friends now, so this was allowed.

For now, though, he let the clear, ringing music of Wei Ying’s laughter fill the room. Basked in the warmth he hadn’t felt since his mother had been alive, and softened enough to smile back at Wei Ying.

[lazylazyhowl]

A work in progress— (sasusaku oneshot)

—because the Sharingan may let him copy a lot of things, but skills of the heart are not amongst them.  [Sasuke. On, accepting himself. And her.]

AO3 Link

—

"Maybe next time."

His words are calculated.

Maybe, he's said, and given himself a way out. Given her a probability that, should the odds fall through later on, he can point at and absolve himself of responsibility. The same shit Itachi pulled when they were younger, really, except he won't apologize for it.

He sees the way her face lights up with hope and feels a mirroring force of optimism inside him that he has to clamp down to keep from bursting through the surface and muddying the reality of what he's doing.

His journey cannot involve her no matter what. He's not ready to be with her in any capacity of the words. Perhaps never. But he also doesn't want his last—but only for a while, he adamantly tells himself—memory of her to be a frown.

She's been burdened enough where he's involved. So he'll let her see him off with a smile, even if it's only self-gratification.

There is no guilt when he leaves her with his own smile and gratitude and goes on his way.

.

.

The day before his departure, she demanded a spar. He was bleary-eyed squinting at her, in her ninja gears, standing in the damp cold of early morning in front of his door, the flush of her cheeks of strange particular interest to him for a moment before he simply nodded.

She cited professional purposes ("I want to make sure you're in proper conditions for travel, Sasuke-kun.") even though he had already agreed. Even though her reason was crap and made no sense whatsoever.

He wondered if that was the only reason she thought he would accept, even if not believe; and if her request the only one she thought he was least likely to turn down.

He wondered if she was right.

Thanks to her he never had to find out. He only had to hurry and leave for the training ground with her, knowing Naruto would appear soon after, demanding the same of him. But not for the same reason. (Whatever that might have been.)

.

.

He helps people during his travel, but otherwise generally stays away from them. It's for both his and their good.

More for his.

People ask too many questions, and even the simplest ones dredge up far more than he's willing to deal with.

"Who are you?" they'd ask. "Just a shinobi," he'd answer.

But he's not just a shinobi. Avenger. Missing nin. Akatsuki. Terrorist. War criminal. The list goes on and he cannot in good conscience cross off any one of the items. Those personas, damned as they are, are still a part of him, and if he closes his eyes, he can recall them all in sickeningly vivid details.

"What's your name?" they'd ask. "Uchiha Sasuke," he'd tell them.

And then it's a coin toss on whether recognition and fear flit past their expressions. For the first few times, he's even considered using an alias, but that would have been such a meaningless thing to do in a journey of redemption.

And cowardly.

He's done with running away.

Or so he tells himself.

.

.

It's a calm, sunny day when he stops at a dango stand in a village near the border between Fire and Rain. The decorative flags caught his eyes, he supposes, but he still can't quite pinpoint what has possessed him to purchase a stick of dango for himself.

Itachi loved these (his chest tightens the way it does whenever he's reminded that he can only refer to his brother in past tense), and maybe that's it. But then what?

He isn't one to waste food (though it's debatable whether this is 'food') so he brings it to his mouth and slides the first ball of dango from the skewer.

And he flinches, not from the taste but from the smile that flashes through the front of his mind, innocent and genuine.

His throat runs dry. Too sweet. He makes it through the second ball of dango before leaving the rest behind on the table.

.

.

The night before his departure, Naruto finagled him into joining the rest of team 7 for ramen as his farewell party. There wasn't just team 7 at the party.

She was there, of course, with same the dark rings beneath her eyes that he'd noticed rather belatedly during their spar in the morning. Those hadn't kept her from giving him a few bruises and grazes, but he'd be a little less bothered by them if she hadn't also healed him up afterwards.

("But you don't like the hospital, Sasuke-kun.")

She was out like a candle before they even got to the main course.

Being enthusiastic neither for the people nor the ramen, he jumped at the opportunity and volunteered to take her home.

As he left the shop with her, Naruto called after him not to try anything funny and the table erupted into laughter and catcalls. He did not dignify any of that with a response.

She was completely malleable in his arms (Susanoo), her warm breaths seeping into the chest of his shirt, and he didn't dash through the air and over the roofs of civilian houses to get to the shinobi side of the residential district.

Abrupt movements could wake her, and she would fight to stay awake again.

Susanoo used enough chakra already and he needed to be conservative for tomorrow.

Reasoning ironed out, he took a leisure stroll to her apartment, occasionally glancing down to ensure her eyes remained peacefully closed.

.

He supposes he did attempt something funny that night. He called upon his Sharingan and committed to memory things that rightfully should be of no consequence to him.

.

.

He enjoys the long stretches of solitude in his travel, even if his voice will croak from disuse once he hits civilization again.

He likes forests best, especially after rain. The musk of earth and tree sap reminds him that clean air exists, and there is no curious gaze on his Rinnegan, no whispering except for the rivers and trees.

A heavy flapping of feathers reaches his ears, and he holds out his arm to receive the messenger falcon.

Letters from his team.

Naruto rambles, illegible at places, about everything and anything that has happened and then some more; and Kakashi includes some personal postscripts after a mission briefing.

He reads hers last, after feeding the bird and sending it away.

He's forgotten if he was the type to save the best or worst for last.

It's the first time she's written to him, and she's surprisingly succinct. Perhaps reserved. A greeting. Comment on the weather. Well-wishing. Her name. And that was all.

But against all logic, he felt her longing for him.

He isn't sure if it's the way the ink seems to tremble at certain strokes, or how the creases where the paper was folded adds a depth to the spaces she's left between the sentences, that seem to be filled with unspoken sentiments. Or if it's just his inflated ego.

He burns every letter he receives, as the information might get into the wrong hands, but can't bring himself to do the same for hers.

Fortunate, then, that she's written nothing that would be of interest to anyone.

(But him.)

.

.

The feeling of her eyes on him was calming, almost spiritual, like a brush of warm smoke at the back of his neck, downy feathers on his skin. He could have pretended sleep forever if she wasn't likely to figure him out the longer he kept up the charade.

.

.

It occurs to him one night, looking out the dirty window of an inn, that he has no idea who he is, if not war criminal, not terrorist or Akatsuki or missing nin; if not an avenger.

He's certainly no hero.

The more people he helps, the less he feels himself. There's a disconnect between what he's doing and what he knows himself to be. More often than not, he'd ask himself—what would Naruto do? What would Sakura do? What would Kakashi do? What would Itachi do—have done? (Damnitdamnitdamnit.)

And whatever he'd think they would do he'd do just that. It makes for surprisingly simple problem-solving.

But at his core he's not selfless like Itachi. Not faithful like Naruto. Not loyal like Kakashi. Not kind like Sakura.

At the end of the day, he still doesn't know what he would do.

He scarcely acknowledges it, but he keeps chasing after the back of these great people. He's running himself ragged trying to catch up, but he's so aggravatingly slow that it's a wonder he hasn't lost sight of them all.

He fears it's only a matter of time. And then he will once again be lost and directionless.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he no longer knows what that means.

.

.

"Oniichan, you suck." This statement is followed by chattering agreements of the other kids crowding around him on the dirt floor of the orphanage.

Children are vicious creatures, he's beginning to learn. He struggles to recall if he was ever this much trouble to Itachi as a kid. They are also incredibly unhygienic, and they incessantly tug at his clothes and hair, poke at the stub of his arm with such disregard that he almost misses the fangirl treatment from way back when in the village.

By the fifth time that they make him redo the voice for the rabbit-dog-cat-looking thing in the story, he's teeteringly close to setting Amaterasu-fire to the worn book in his lap.

His rescue comes in the form of the old matron appearing in the doorway announcing dinner. The children abandon him like one would a sinking ship.

"Thank you for playing with them, Uchiha-san."

He nods noncommittally as he receives his own bowl of food from one of the older kids. It was hardly his choice when the little ones ensnared him within their circle of skin and bones, threatening to cry if he didn't comply, so he thinks her gratitude is therefore unneeded.

None of these is needed. The feeding him, the lodging. He's only sticking around for at most a few more days to take care of the group of mountain bandits that has been harassing the orphanage. He would have been fine setting up camp nearby and not having to deal with the children growing attached (because he knows they will), but the matron insisted.

He's always had this inexplicable soft spot for the elderly, and he wonders if it's not in parts due to the fact that so few in his world get to be old and grey.

.

.

 "So Little Piggy went to ask Mommy Pig."

The matron's lilting voice floats to his ear as he perches atop the roof of the orphanage, miles and miles of moonlit forest spanning out before him.

 "'What is happiness, Mommy?'"

 "'It's your tail, sweetie,' said Mommy Pig, and Little Piggy looked at her wiggling tail."

For the longest time, he's had an idea of what happiness should be.

It was the firmness of Itachi's back. His mother's warm meals, and his father's approving grunts. It was a compound brimming with powerful chakras, and memories of children play-training in the clan's private training grounds; and red tomatoes getting snuck out of his mother's garden.

 "Little Piggy looked at her tail and began to chase it around in circles until she was out of breath. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't catch it at all!"

Happiness was home, when home wasn't yet piles of bodies and dark corridors and slipping on cold blood.

He has no idea what happiness would look like now.

 "'Mommy, how can I ever catch happiness?" asked Little Piggy."

 "'Well, sweetie, your tail will always be there. Why don't you keep walking and let happiness follow you?'"

He closes his eyes and taps into the warm hum of collective chakra inside the orphanage, the tiny sparks flickering dimmer and dimmer as sleep slowly claims the children.

 "And so Little Piggy listened to her mother. She walked forward without worry, for she knew her happiness is always wiggling right behind her. The end."

"Goodnight, my dears."

Matron closes the book and gets up from her squeaky chair to stand by the window right beneath where he is, likely to stare out into the forest.

"Goodnight, Uchiha-san."

If he didn't have his shinobi hearing he never would have caught the whispered words.

He's turned the bandits in to the authorities and said all goodbyes in the afternoon. She doesn't know he's there, and he's all the more puzzled.

He stands guard for the rest of the night and silently slips away from the orphanage's grounds at the break of dawn.

.

.

The weather in Tea is shifting into spring when he arrives at its border. After a few days of travelling in silence, he stumbles upon a cherry blossom tree that has flowered early, its cloud-like plumage colourful in a sea of solemn green; low-hanging branches swaying in invitation.

He tells himself it's as good a resting spot as any, and feels a decided sense of betrayal that the spilling flowers don't smell the way he thinks they should.

.

.

A letter arrives suddenly, informing him of her kidnapping, and he doesn't remember another time that he's been more desperate. She's not someone who'd just let herself be taken, and he fears the worst.

Her letters that he's saved in his pocket weigh like a ball of lead near his heart. He's running as if his life's at stakes. Perhaps it is. For the first time since getting the Rinnegan, he wishes he knew how to control it better.

Then, watching her take down her captors, he learns these:

She's grown so much, has come so far from that little girl she once was and no longer needs to be rescued, least of all by him.

He's the very reason why she's been taken in the first place, her weakness, just that kind of toxic existence to her.

After making sure she will be safe, he leaves and doesn't look back.

.

.

Just as she has been born into this life to love him, he must have been born with the sole purpose of bringing her pain.

He only needs all of two weeks in Konoha to have her crying before him again. The weather is grey as if matching the storm in his heart. They're standing in front of that bench where he's left her once upon a time, and he can't say he doesn't notice how history is dangerously close to repeating itself.

Every muscle in his body is coiled for battle, ready to cite the 'maybe' in his promise and gain the slightest semblance of equal moral grounding with her.

She's chewing on her lip in an attempt to bite back her emotions (probably more for his sake than hers. She needs to stop making things easy for him). The tears haven't spilt yet, but they are there, glazing over jewel-like green eyes.

"I thought this time surely—" She cuts herself off when her voice cracks and chews on her lips some more, breaking eye-contact. "What went wrong, Sasuke-kun?"

.

 Before he could stop himself, he'd already slapped her hand away, shouting at her not to touch him.

She simply smiled, like a mother dealing with the tantrum of a child, and calmly finished changing his bandages while guilt still had him in its vice.

.

He went wrong, but what else was new? With her, he's both a madman and a smitten fool, angry and frustrated and thankful and disgusted and confused and elated and most of all scared. Terrified.

The way she hugs herself and seems to be on the brink of falling apart is nauseating to look at. He's getting worked up over what was supposed to be a simple goodbye. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing's ever simple when she's involved.

"You know that this is your home, right? You've never needed to earn any right to stay in it."

"…I know."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Do you?"

.

It had taken him two years and countless good deeds to finally find the resolve to forgive himself and return to Konoha as someone he thought would be worthy of his friends.

Yet all it took was one smile from her to undo all the confidence that he'd built up like it was a house of cards. He realized immediately that no amount of atonement would ever redeem him enough to be worthy of her.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

 And the worst part was that he wanted to stay regardless.

.

"Don't be annoying, Sakura." And he can see her visibly shrink back like she's been hit. He might as well have. His fist curls at his side, itching to do something just to stop her from further torturing her steadily swelling lip.

Instead of leaving him alone as he expects her to (and how senseless it is to keep expecting something that will never happen), she steps forward and grabs gingerly onto his mantle.

"Are you…unsatisfied in Konoha? With m—with us?"

He doesn't respond, and she seems to take his silence as agreement and starts to cry in true. Big, fat droplets roll down her cheeks as she matches his gaze. The raw hurt in her eyes startles him.

"What will make you happy, Sasuke-kun?" She tightens her grip, pulling him infinitesimally closer, choking on her words. "Please, please tell me how I can make you happy."

"That's not your problem." That's apparently also a wrong thing to say. She looks resigned now, and the sight somehow claws at him even more. The wind picks up suddenly, nearly drowning out her next words.

"Do you even want to be happy?"

He thinks for a length and honestly cannot say for certain he does. He can hardly picture what his happiness would be now that the old one is so drenched in blood, and misery is a lot harder to take away from a person.

It's ironic, then – or perhaps apt – that he would chase after something he doesn't really want. Because he's full of greed and self-gratification.

She once again takes his silence into her own narrative and lets out a long sigh. Meeting his gaze again, her eyes are already dry, red-rimmed, beseeching. Her voice is but a whisper.

"Is there something you want, Sasuke-kun? Anything?"

If she puts it that way, he wants a lot of things, as a greedy man should. Full control over the Rinnegan. Restore his clan. A tomato garden. Her. To name a few.

But he looks at her, her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and bruised lip, and sees that she is all wrong compared to everything he's etched into his memory; and blurts out the single thing that floats up to the forefront of his mind right then.

"I want you to be happy."

It takes her a second to react to his words, her large eyes becoming impossibly larger as her mouth opens only to close again. He's not sure why she's so surprised. Of course, he wishes her happiness, even if that will be independent of his own.

A million emotions seem to flicker past her expression in a second, of which he only identifies disbelief, suspicion, melancholy and finally exasperation before she inexplicably bursts into a short fit of giggles. She lets go of his mantle and, before he can miss the anchoring hold, reaches for his tight fist and brings it up between her palms, squeezing.

"I can do that."

She's smiling that smile that unravels him to his core again, her eyes glittering. And he can blame his carnal desires for overriding all of his faculty, but he finds himself ensorceled.

"How about we work on it together, Sasuke-kun?"

His chest is strangely free of heaviness as he uncurls his fingers, almost in a daze, and encases her callused yet delicate ones.

"Hn."

.

.

A few days before his departure, he asks if she would come with him and she agrees easily, if not a little exasperatedly that he'd waited so long to ask, and he's mystified as to why he's stayed up all night worrying that she wouldn't.

.

.

Three months into their journey together, a newly formed part of him is startlingly assured that she will always have his back, and nothing—nothing can ever change that.

.

It takes a while longer, but the day finally comes that he figures it out.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he means everything to Uchiha Sakura.

—

Notes: I do not own the children story.

[fireemblem3himagines]

Morning Classes [College AU]

Word Count: 1.142 words Pairing: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader Summary: When it’s too early to be alive, who knows what’ll happen.

A/N: Who doesn’t love College AU’s? Also posted here on Ao3!

You were such a miserable morning person.

You actually wanted to physically fight the person who had decided that this class, required to get your degree, was only available early in the morning. So early, that you might not have even gone to sleep the previous night, since the dark hours were when you operated most efficiently. You were even considering starting a petition for night owls such as yourself, midnight classes at university would be a great change; you were sure there’d be a pick up in productivity! Now, the poor professors who had to teach might not be so thrilled, but you were sure someone out there would want the job.

The only reason you seemed to survive was because of a rather cute classmate, one you only shared this one class with. His name was Dimitri, and he was intense, diligent, and just about everything you weren’t in the mornings. He was almost always the first one in class, snagging a table, notes always cleanly written out and open in front of him, he was on top of life in a way you wish you could be. Thankfully, people seemed a bit intimidated by him, and the other seat at his table was always open when you managed to stumble into class five minutes before it started. He didn’t seem to hate sitting next to you, almost seeming surprised the first class you had together that you chose him, of all people, to sit next to; he’d moved his things to the side to make room for you, and had even introduced himself!

The third class you had spent together was where it got mildly awkward.

Your face in the morning consisted mostly of a glare, and it often caused people in your path to dart out of the way or not even try to talk to you. Even the professor seemed to know better than to bother calling on you, and you figured as long as your work is completed, there wouldn’t be any issue with this. But Dimitri noticed, too, and tried to bring it up as casually as possible; he felt a certain kinship with a person who also caused the sea of students to part like they were the next messiah.

Unfortunately, around people he found attractive (and even those he didn’t) he had a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth.

“I have noticed people have been avoiding you, too.” The look on your face must be incredulous because Dimitri’s eyes widen, as though he hadn’t realized what he just said might be taken the wrong way. His next words are stuttered. “I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to… I just meant that, people often avoid me because they assume I’m-”

You think he looks cute trying to rapidly backpedal from his perceived insult, trying to stutter out his reason for bringing the topic up before apologizing and turning to face the front of the class, shoulders stiff. He doesn’t talk to you the rest of the time, and as soon as class ends, he darts out, which is disappointing because now that you were slightly more awake you’d like to actually have a conversation with him. Shrugging your shoulders and deciding you’d bother him about it next class if you remembered, you continue about your day.

When the class reconvenes the next day you see a coffee sitting in front of your seat, and you give it a curious look before sitting down. You’d actually managed to come a bit early that day because you hadn’t slept the night before, and at this point in the semester most people stuck to their seating, so who did this coffee belong to?

“It’s yours.” You glanced over at your table partner who coughs into his hand; he was clearly internally debating whether he should look you in the eye or not, and settles on making eye contact. You could see exactly how someone might find him to be intimidating, the best description for his eyes (aside from beautiful) were piercing. He was a person with a certain intensity to him that the weak-willed would find frightening.

You thought it was kinda hot.

“How did you know what I liked?” You took a sip and instantly feel the stress of the previous night melting away, thankful for the few more hours of energy this would give you. “Oh, damn, this is great.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He’s smiling at you now, “It’s from a small, charming place on campus. Their tea is quite good, too, if you ever wish to branch out.”

“I think I will. Thanks a lot for this, last night was rough. Is there anything I can do to pay you back?”

“Of course not. It was I who insulted you, so it only seemed right to offer up a token of apology.” The tips of his ears turned pink in embarrassment, and you think you liked the flustered look on him even more than his smile.

Class continues on as normal but you feel a bit more awake as usual, and only have to copy a small portion of Dimitri’s notes before the class ends. Before he has the chance to get up, you reach out to stop him from darting out of the room, and he seemed curious to hear what you had to say. Most of the people had filed out, even the professor, so it left the two of you practically alone.

“I would say that I’ll wake up early and get us coffee some time, but you and I both know that’s not going to happen.” Dimitri smiles at you again and damn is it a sight to see, one that actually makes you smile back at him; he noticed, in the moment after your smile graced his eyes, that his heart was beating loudly in his chest. The classroom was too empty and quiet for it to be making that much noise! You would hear if it kept acting up! “But, uh, you know after classes were over for the day, we could always head over there. Just for some more coffee- or tea in your case- to help with that homework that keeps us up to all times of night.”

“Did you just- No, I mean, yes, I would be glad to take you there after classes are done for the day!”

“Glad to hear it. Meet me by that big, obnoxious fountain by the entrance arches around five? Or does Mr. Studious have classes past then?”

“N-no, five works fine for me. I shall meet you there.” You waved goodbye before heading off to your next class, looking slightly more chipper than you usually did in the morning.

Dimitri hoped the day moved quickly, he could hardly wait to see you again.

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 6

Chapter title: Truly Believe

A/n: This entire fic is just me loving Patton and projecting it onto the characters. I just love him a lot??? Also, would you guys like if I released like a separate chapter of just different moments of them in court? I have these small interactions between the group during trials and stuff and I think it would be fun. Let me know! Make sure to leave me some comments, I really appreciate them!!

First | Previous | Next

words: 4483

summary: Logan realizes some of his feelings, Patton has a realization about the case

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, implied abuse, swearing, gun mention, abuse mention, abuse

Ao3 Link  

“I'm so sorry Mr.Tolentino” Reeve rushes in, scattering files everywhere “I didn't mean to be late” Logan adjusts his position on the desk pushing up, sitting straight, he checks his watch scrunching his brows.

“You aren't late Reeve, you're right on time” Logan assures. Reeve gives Logan the same look he had given many a time, critical and very judgy. “Although everyone knows-”

“Early is on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable,” Both Reeve and Logan say in unison. Logan nods at Reeve approvingly, he smiles shyly. Logan gestures to the chair across from his own, Reeve takes it nervously, he was still getting used to Logan. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, something itching his mind.

“Yes, Reeve?” Logan sighs, noticing his erratic movement. Reeve chuckles feeling his palms grow sweaty. He set his things down by his side turning back to Logan, who waits impatiently.

“I have a note from P-Patton for you” Reeve informs, he has never wanted to curl up in a ball as much as he wanted to right now. “It's about the case files, and about...last night” Reeve adds quietly, Logan's eyes grew wide.

“Last night?” He asks cautiously, how much? About the talk, the children, the stars, the kiss on the cheek?

“Yes, about the man and thanking you for helping with the children” Reeve nods handing him the note. He takes it a little harder than he should have from the poor boy's hands, skimming it quickly. He feels a wave of relief hit him as the note goes on. He reads every line of the beautiful handwritten note, the penmanship was remarkable.

Hey Lo!

Just wanted to thank you for your help last night, the kids have not stopped talking about you. You might have to come over for dinner soon :)

I would love to. Logan struggles against his own smile, you really can write as you speak.

For your help, I'm sending Reeve over with some of my notes! And you’ll notice that you can actually read mine.

It was one time Patton, one time. Logan recalls when he and had Patton shared notes on a previous case. Patton had told him ‘He wouldn't need a doctor anymore, by the way, you write, you must be a great one. ‘ Not his best joke, but unfortunately very true.

Anyway, thanks for everything, can’t wait to get this case started.

Love, Patton!

Love Patton indeed. He hands the note back to Reeve who shoves it away scrunching his brows. Without command, he hands Logan a copy of Patton's notes that he had sent. Just as he had promised, his notes were organized, neat and well...extremely helpful.

“Brilliant” Logan mutters to himself, he flips through the notes scribbling down his own thoughts, feeling things fall slowly into place. “Absolutely brilliant, he is a ….” Logan searches for a word the could sum up how he felt. “A genius. Reeve come look at this” He ushers, Reeve, tilts his head, his face growing hot. Logan looks up, he sighs “You're here to learn, I might not be the one directly teaching you but at least you'll be getting something. So come look at these notes” Logan insists, his voice growing excited. Reeve decides to heed his command and goes around toward his side of the desk. He leans over catching up to where Logan was, his own excitement setting in. “What did I tell you, brilliant” Logan admires

“I see why he's so popular, I mean...wow” Reeve marvels watching as the notes dance from one page to another, each making sense, each claim backed up by mountains of evidence. Logan was picking a lock and Patton had given him the key. “What are those” Reeve inquires pointing at a separate file. Logan takes it studying it curiously, he nods as he read.

“Patton's transcripts, from when he first interviewed the client” Logans eyes were glazed over, Reeve swore he could see a sparkle. “Fascinating…amazing...” Reeve was questioning whether he was still talking about the actual files. He studies Logan deciding to put his deductive skills to the test. Logan's eyes were tired, poorly covered up with makeup. His cheeks were redder than usual, clearly burning with a blush. He was smiling, clearly engaging his zygomatic major muscle and his orbicularis oculi muscle, a Duchenne smile. Or, in layman's terms ‘Smizing’.

“Smiling with your eyes” Reeve mumbles softly, not softly enough however as this catches Logan's attention. He turns to face Reeve who scrambles away a little from the desk.

“Pardon?” Logan raises an eyebrow waiting for the boy to answer. He stutters over his words, muttering non-coherent sentences. Logan stands approaching him. “Reeve?”

“The Duchenne smile, more commonly known as ‘smiling with your eyes’” Reeve rushes, practically stumbling over his own words. “That's what you were doing, sir” He adds. He mentally kicks himself for that, preparing for the worst.

“Am I really that scary?” Logan sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sits down calmly, arranging the files on his desk. “Sit please” He mentions to Reeve who wastes no time doing exactly that. “Why did you scramble?” Logan eases, trying to understand. Reeve pauses

“Nothing sir, I apologize”

“No, no, I apologize, perhaps I've been a little intimidating” Logan admits, Reeve listens, a little too scared to move. “Smiling with your eyes…Odd” Reeve smiles, a little more confident now. He adjusts his back in the chair straightening it. “Why did you say it?” Logans asks, clearly, it was bothering him.

“Well, while you were looking through Mr.Hart's notes you seemed to be almost… enamored with them” Reeve explains cautiously, he feels himself clutching on to the sides of the chairs. Logan moves his head back for the first time, he didn't know what to say.

“I'm not infatuated with Patton” Logan retorts, Reeve might have laughed had he not been so scared.

“I didn't say you were ...but now I'm starting to think you are…” He mumbles the last part. Logan pauses, he wasn't really listening. Infatuated? With Patton? He thought back on the past years, even just last night. “Mr.Tolentino?” Logan turns back to Reeve who was watching him now as if prepared to take notes on whatever he did, analyze every movement.

“Let's say, hypothetically, and I mean hypothetically” His tone becomes firm, eyes taking on stern look. Reeve nods.  “If I was…how would I approach...” He shakes his head waving the thought away. “Forget I said anything. You're here to learn what it's like being a lawyer let's get back to that” Reeve debates whether he was going to regret his next words.

“Buy him a coffee and a pastry from the coffee cart,” Reeve says, Logan turned to face Reeve once more.

“Why?” Was all he says, he was curious though. What would a delectable pastry and hot coffee do?

“It's a start, its a conversation starter, it's an excuse to talk to him and...it shows that you care” Reeve explains, he rambles but Logan understands. What he didn't understand is why? Why would he want those things?

“Tell me what went wrong with the ‘Scottsboro Boys’ case,” Logan asks, Reeve, tilts his head before frantically searching his notes. A wave of relief floods him at the subject change. He begins flipping through as Logan turns to his bookshelves. He tracks his fingers across the books skimming for a certain one. He hears light mumbles coming from Reeve behind him. Once he has located the book he turns to the next bookshelf, however, this one was covered in files. Each organized by date, what the trial was and whether it had been successful at carrying out justice, in Logan's professional opinion of course. He pulls the ‘Scottsboro Boys’ case reading through a copy of the original files with his own notes on the side. He hums softly before sitting back at his desk, watching Reeve who was now scribbling down some notes. He finishes quite triumphantly before looking up. “Ready?”

“Ready” And so they begin

Buy him a coffee and a pastry.

Shows that you care

~~~

Roman would be lying if he said that he didn't wish he could wake up this way every morning. And by that, he means having Virgil's Great Dane, Joey, hop onto the couch planting himself on top of Roman, licking his face. Roman felt his eyes open slowly, the light flooding into the room burning his dry eyes. He adjusts quickly to the slobbery mess on his face and the sudden added pressure on his chest. He looks up to find Joey breathing heavily, his paws folded in front of him, as he stares at Roman. He chuckles carefully sitting up petting the dog, Joey bounces, jumping off of him. He watches as the dog stands expectantly at his feet and decides he should probably get up. Wiping his eyes, stretching his arms he stands much to Joey’s delight. He follows as the dog walks happily towards the kitchen and thank god he did. Roman wishes he had a phone to take a picture of this. He watches as Virgil dances softly around the room humming along to the music playing in the background. He watches as Virgil prepares what seems like breakfast, for three. He turns finally spotting Roman and drops his pan.

“Roman!” He scolds, Roman, laughs going to help him clean up the scattered scrambled eggs on the floor. Joey has his own cleaning ideas, trying very hard to lick the floor. Roman holds him back stifling his laugh. “Good morning” He grumbles, picking up the fallen pan.

“It is a good morning indeed!” Roman exclaims happily. “Sorry for spending the night, the little guy tired me out” Roman rubs his neck, Virgil goes to pause his music turning off the stove. He hands Roman a cup of coffee, who having been here plenty of times, went straight for the cream and sugar.

“It's fine, don't worry, thanks for taking care of the kiddo in the first place” Virgil assures, leading the pair over to the table.

“Always and kiddo?” Roman teases

“Patton's rubbing off on me” Virgil jokes back, Roman releases a breathy laugh stirring his coffee. They yawn simultaneously gaining quite comfortable in the presence of each other, silent or not. They hear the light shuffling of feet both preparing for an incoming storm. They watch as little Damian comes scurrying in holding his snake plushie followed by Joey. He runs straight towards Virgil jumping in his dad's arms.

“Hi, Papi!” He squeals nuzzling himself into Virgil, he chuckles adjusting Damian's position on his lap. Roman watches with a smile, Damian fiddles with his plushie.

“Morning Dee” Virgil greets “Did you have fun last night?” Damian waves to Roman nodding.

“He's the best!” Damian exclaims throwing his hands in the air. The men chuckle at the small boy. “Can he always come here?” Damian asks his father, Virgil smiles. Roman folds his hands in his lap awaiting Virgil's answer, he raises his eyebrows. Virgil shakes his head at the judge.

“What do you want for breakfast Dee?” Virgil asks switching the topic, he didn't know the answer and would rather not discuss it at eight forty-six in the morning. Damian struggles in his father's arms making grabby hands at Roman, Virgil sighs at the smirk etching on the judges face. He stands, still holding the boy carefully giving him to Roman. “I will go make you some food” Roman nods completely focused on Damian now. Virgil makes his way back to the kitchen, still reaping the unfortunate egg incident he decides some cereal will do. He watches from afar, Roman and Damian seem to be deep in conversation. He seems to have some kind of idea and bounces off of Romans lap scurrying in the direction of his room. Virgil finishes serving his bowl of cereal and places it in Damian's highchair.

“He's so cute” Roman claims as Virgil sits back down. Roman awaits some kind of quip, but Virgil simply shrugs.

“Hey, no disagreements here.” Roman chuckles fiddling with his empty cups of coffee. “So, big day today. The trial finally begins” Virgil comments, something shifts. Roman exhales a long breath, some things he's been holding in. He doesn't want to discuss the trial, he's not sure why. Roman loves being a judge, serving justice, having total control.

“Yes it is, I have a meeting with Patton and Logan in my chambers in about…” He checks his watch rubbing his eyes. “Two hours” Virgil yawns nodding as Damian returns. How the kid has this much energy in the morning is something Virgil will never understand. Virgil picks him up placing him in his highchair. He instantly starts shoveling down his cereal, making a mess, much to Virgils ‘delight’. Roman watches wanting to stay here, frozen in this frame. Watching Virgil smiling at his enigmatic son. Its something Roman had always thought about, the prospect of a family. He always marveled at Virgil and Patton, their ability to balance a very busy work life and still have time for their children. Still, have the mental capacity to give them love when they go into work every day dealing with awful people. Roman is sentencing someone to punishment, to spend the rest of their days suffering. Do they deserve it? Yes. Does Roman know this? Yes. Does he still feel somewhat guilty every time the sound of the gavel hitting a hard surface echoes throughout the courtroom? Absolutely.

“I'm done!” Damian announces, throwing his hands in the air pridefully. Roman chuckles dryly at the small boy. His only worry in life is whether or not he can sing the alphabet or count to the number ten. Virgil stands, Roman follows, he picks up his son letting him out to play. Damian instantly rushes towards Joey who pounces licking the child. Roman kneels petting Joey softly, Virgil leads Damian to his room disappearing for a while. Roman sits on the ground now simply enjoying Joeys warm head laying in his lap. Virgil returns after a moment holding a now dressed Damian on one side and the boys backpack in the other. “I'm ready!”

“Yes, you are niño” Roman agrees, he stands dusting himself off, Joey whines at the sudden shift. Virgil collects a few more things, while Roman organizes himself.

“Ready to go?” Virgil asks, Roman nods following the detective towards the door. He helps him strap Damian into his seat before taking his place in the passenger's seat. Virgil slides into the driver's seat, Roman watches curiously as he goes through some kind of routine. First, he checks on Damian making sure the young boy is alright, then he checks the mirrors, once that's finished he turns on the car going through each small thing to make sure everything is in working order. Finally, he pulls out of the driveway, Roman leans his head against the window, taking this little time to himself.

~~~

“Morning Mr.Hart!” Jenny calls. Patton looks up waving, giving the sweet woman a polite smile. He hoisters his briefcase trying hard to keep everything from spilling out. This morning had been chaos enough, and the day wasn't going to get better. The twins had decided to pitch a fit about going to school, not even a day ago having wanted to go more than anything, claiming they wanted to hang out with Patton today. Which he knew was code for, ‘We wanna see Mister Logan’. He might have caved in had he not remembered he had a mountain of work to do, and that the trial was beginning this afternoon. So, after fighting for another hour, he finally got the kids to daycare where they now preside perfectly happy with their friends.

“Patton” Patton feels his heart sink, so close. He turns to face Liam who stands leaning by the door. He’s smoking a cigarette huffing away, now Patton's especially happy he didn't bring the kids. Liam puts it out after a moment approaching him. “Good morning” His voice, which once sounded so sweet, now felt like nails on a chalkboard as it tore its way through Patton's ears.

“It's not” Patton replies curtly, he hefts his briefcase some more, why did I pack it so heavy? Liam lets out a nasty laugh, he extends a hand out towards the briefcase. Patton brings it closer to himself, he doesn't need help, he needs to get to his office.

“Patton don't be stubborn, let me help” Liam tries again grabbing the handle, it's a rough touch, always has been. Patton struggles to free his hand, and briefcase for that matter, away from Liam. “Cupcake” His voice darkens, his eyes seeking vengeance. Patton squirms at the nickname, hating the awful taste it leaves.

“You didn't want to help before…” Patton mumbles finally pulling away. His case crashes to the floor with files and loose papers cluttering everywhere. He groans kneeling down frantically trying to gather everything. It was so neat, so perfect. Liam smirks maliciously before kneeling himself, he picks up a few papers reading over them. Patton manages to stuff most everything back into his case. He looks up at Liam expectantly holding out his hand for the final few things. Liam thinks for a moment for simply shaking his head, he continues browsing the files. “Liam, give them back, you're being childish” Patton says, he stands dusting himself off. Liam follows but won't give in.

“I'm being childish? You're the one who keeps ignoring me, won't let me see my kids and your running around with some...man-”

“I am not” Patton states firmly, he's not offended by the assumption. He just doesn't wish to carry on this conversation, and would rather not hear about Liam's thoughts, or Liams anything for that matter. He holds out his hand once more, signaling for him to return the papers. Liam rolls his eyes, shoving them into Patton's chest. “Thank you” He seethes, finally closing his briefcase shut. He turns to make his way towards his office but feels something clutch to his arm pulling him back. Liam digs his nails into Patton, he winces once more struggling in the man's grip. “Liam… “ he whines, his vision becomes blurry. It's not just the nails causing the incoming tears, though that contributes, it's just everything about his former partner. The things he did race through Patton's mind, things he had worked so hard to just shove away.

“You are so weak” Liam scoffs, he remains “You always have been, how you're a lawyer I will never understand” That cuts deep, and Liam knew it would. For years people, family, friends, anybody really, would laugh when Patton shared his dreams. He was much too soft to be a lawyer, he wasn't a shark, he cared too much. The comments continued even after he graduated from Harvard, even after he passed the BAR exam, even today they simply waited until the ball drops and Patton can't do it anymore. Patton tries again to no avail, Liam’s not fighting a losing war. He holds Patton close, if you were just passing by you wouldn't even tell something was wrong.

“Let him go” A stiff voice requests. However, it didn't really sound like a request, more of a command. Patton glances towards the source biting down a smile. Logan stands watching Liam, he holds some kind of hot drink in his hand and a small paper bag in the other. He looks as he always does, prim, proper, neat, and put-together. Except for his eyes, his eyes glare at Liam, Patton swears he can see a fiery pit buried deep in Logan's dark brown eyes. Patton turns back to Liam, but he won't budge, in fact, he digs further. At this point, it's a tug-of-war game and Patton has the unfortunate opportunity to be the rope. After a moment Logan walks towards them, he stands next to Patton still watching Liam. He might not be fighting a losing war but he just lost the battle. Liam pulls away finally releasing Patton from his hold. He grasps his arm massaging it, watching the color slowly return. Patton prepares for an argument but is instead met by a soft hand on his shoulder turning him away from Liam. He looks up to meet Logan's eyes, the fiery pit washed over by a calm wave. “Patton,” He says, Patton understands and they begin walking away.

“Thank you” Logan nods. They walk side by side through the courthouse, reaching a more secluded area Logan stops. Patton does the same, Logan faces Patton examining the be-speckled man. “Lo?” Patton wonders softly, Logan shifts turning his attention towards him. Patton instinctively backs up into the wall, he's not afraid but it's just something left over.

“I brought you coffee and a pastry” Logan informs, Patton tilts his head. He lifts his hands showing that he did indeed buy Patton a pastry and coffee. Patton lets out a small laugh, taking the food happily. “I hope it is satisfactory,” Logan says. Patton giggles smelling the coffee.

“It's great! I forgot to eat this morning so this is perfect” Patton compliments. Logan feels the heat rising in his face, a light tint of pink. They continue walking, Patton opens the bag revealing a vanilla cupcake. He pauses once more, feeling himself space out.

~~~

“Cupcake?” Liam asks, Patton looks up to see his partner returning home. He smiles at him, quickly returning his focus to the baby he cradles in his hand. Remus snores peacefully in his arms, something Patton would come to miss in the coming years. Liam approaches with a look of disdain, eyeing the baby as though it might do something horrible.

“How was work?” Patton asks not looking up from Remus little face. He wishes he could stay like this forever, his perfect angelic face, the way his eyes flutter open every few moments. Liam grunts throwing his stuff on the couch.

“It was fine...I have a stupid project I must do or my boss will fire me” Liam informs, Patton gives him an apologetic look.

“I'm sorry,” Patton says, Liam bites his lips watching Patton with the baby. Patton notices and lifts the baby. “Do you want to hold him?” He inquires softly, Liam stares for a moment before shaking his head.

“I'll just have someone do the project for me,” Liam says completely ignoring Patton's question, he feels his heart sink a bit. “If it sucks they take the fall if it's great I get the credit”

~~~

“Cupcakes aren't pastries” Patton mumbles, his eyes go wide “He didn't do it!” He exclaims, Logan feels Patton grab his shoulders and stare at him with his shining eyes. “He didn't do it! He's taking the fall! Logan, my clients innocent!” As if at this moment, he finally believes it.

~~~

Virgil swore he would never pull his gun on anybody but criminals and lowlife. But at this moment? It was very tempting. His hand flew to his holster as he walks into the courthouse seeing Liam stand by the reception area. The man turns, his eyes falling onto Roman and Virgil who glares back.

“You...son of a beech” Roman mutters, Virgil begins picking at his fingers fidgeting wildly. They walk towards him, Liam smiles mischievously.

“If it isn't Ronan and Virgin” Liam greets, Roman flings his hand towards Virgil holding him back instinctively. Virgil growls deeply at Liam, Roman keeps his hand on him not wanting a scene in his courthouse.  

“You know what? I'm going to arrest him” Virgil declares, Roman makes no comment he simply stares. Virgil wasn't kidding, he removes the handcuffs from his side and gestures for Liam to around. Liam furrows his brows, waiting for the punchline.

“You're abusing your power, detective” Liam comments.

“Like you abused Patton?” Roman blurts, Virgil turns to him eyes wide. Something in Liams expression changes as he turns to face Roman now, he almost looks hurt but that quickly morphs into something beyond anger.

“You s-” He moves forward but Virgils too quick, he places himself in between Roman and Liam.

“One wrong move and I will actually arrest you” Virgil warns. He might be absolutely vibrating on the inside but he meant it. Liam eyes him for a moment before recoiling, Virgil nods. Virgil turns back to Roman who now watches a spot intently on the floor. “You good?” He asks. Roman looks up grounding himself as he focuses on Virgil.

“Fine” He looks over Virgil to Liam “Just would rather not have him here” Roman shuffles uncomfortably. Virgil ponders for a moment before smirking. “What?” Roman huffs, he continues smirking “No, absolutely not”

“Why” Virgil whines “Come on, you want him out of here, I want him out of here, I’m sure Patton wants him out of here”  Virgil pleads, sure enough, Patton appears with Logan by his side.

“Patton wants what?” He asks Roman gives him an encouraging smile. He tilts his head before spotting Liam. “He’s still here?” He sighs.

“Yes, I am,” Liam remarks, he forces himself back into the conversation staring at Patton now. Virgil and Roman become on high alert, barricading themselves, while Logan places a protective hand on Patton's arm. It's delicate, it doesn't hurt. “Patton I would like to speak to you” Liam requests, making a trying effort to not look in the direction of the others.

“Why would he waste his breath talking to you?” Virgil snipes, Liam chuckles his raspy voice echoing through the foyer. Patton exhales sharply.

“I think we are going to go now” Patton informs, Roman and Virgil nod turning towards the now timid lawyer. Logan and Patton share a glance before they begin walking away. But alas, Virgil can't stride away without one final comment.

“Virgil” Roman warns, but Virgils not listening.

“If you ever come near him again” Virgil's voice is orotund. He points an accusing finger at Liam, the man might be taller but Virgil is pissed off. “I will not hesitate to reopen my case on you and put you away, do you understand?” Liam glares but he knows exactly what Virgil means. He takes a step back eyeing Virgil one last time before walking away. The swift bang of the door shutting washes over Virgil in relief.

“You should reopen the case anyway” Roman suggests half-heartedly. Virgil chuckles, before pulling out his phone and showing it to Roman. He marvels at the text smiling approvingly. “How?”

“I was a very secretive texter in school, and Remys always got the case ready to go...just in case” Virgil responds, he's not going to lie, the look of astonishment planted on the judge's face definitely left a sense of pride in the detective.

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Torch - Chapter 2: October

A/N: YES we have gotten this here AND early!!  Enjoy October, HBP style.

Love,

@fightfortherightsofhouseelves

&

@gryffindormischief

Also on FF and Ao3

Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.

______

The Prince’s book has become something of a bed companion to Harry by now, perusing it at length again and again in his free time. The tips of his fingers lightly trace each scribbled note for the hundredth time, his lips whisper spells he’s never heard of.

It’s how Ron finds himself dangling up in the air from a freckly ankle and how, not much later, Harry lets himself be dragged into an ardent debate with Hermione on whether Levicorpus is or isn’t a jinx.

“Of course it’s a jinx,” Hermione scowls as the trio trots through the autumn wind to Hogsmeade, “Nothing benign would serve to levitate people and expose them like that.”

Harry knows she’s vividly reliving that night at the Quidditch World Cup, when Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends had a laugh levitating Muggles in a disgusting demonstration of soft torture. If he’s honest, he’s also thinking about it and it’s vexing enough that he’d simply like to scratch at the back of his head, where those irksome little thoughts like to hide and play, scratch until they bleed away from him.

Yet more dreary musings come to bother him when the three of them happen upon the unlikely duo of Horace Slughorn and Mundungus Fletcher, and the annoying buzz turns into true Harpies’ screeches as Katie Bell is nearly murdered.

Harry doesn’t much remember a day when he felt he needed some peace of mind more than he does now as everything inside him cries and bawls that it has to do with Malfoy . That the Prince is somehow connected to this and not at all evil. That innocent lives are at risk if nobody’ll take him seriously when he says that Draco Malfoy is plotting something sleazy. Because he is and today is nothing but proof.

Unfortunately, nobody does, not even Professor McGonagall. Not like this, not without concrete evidence and Harry knows deep inside that he won’t rest until he finds some. He only hopes it won’t be too late.

______

After Hogsmeade, Katie’s continuing stay in the Hospital Wing, and yet another unsuccessful attempt to convince anyone that Malfoy is plotting something, Harry somewhat glumly seeks solace in his studies - per Hermione’s advice. Which, in reality was more a long rant detailing exactly where he would end up should he forgo his schoolwork in favor of ‘cockeyed notions’ about admittedly morally grey classmates. For someone who punched said ‘morally grey’ classmate not three years ago, she can be a bit high and mighty at times.

So far though, burying himself in schoolwork has succeeded in keeping his mind occupied, at least in part. Besides, who knew if the secret to finally catching Malfoy in the act was - his eyes skimmed the page again - a perfectly executed Orchideous incantation? Perhaps the slimy git’s true weakness is hay-fever.

Harry’s considering whether Skeeter is right and he has gone ‘round the bend when Ron’s patience with studying silently seems to waver.

“What is it about girls anyway?” Ron huffs between the pages of his Transfiguration copy, his mind clearly not anywhere near the subject of their homework.

“What are you going on about?” Harry asks bemused. “Hope it’s not McGonagall prompting those shower thoughts,” he grins from behind his own textbook as Ron grimaces and closes the tome with a loud bang.

“I mean everyone’s a girl or talking about girls,” Ron carries on and sighs. “It’s absolutely mad, I’m telling you.”

Harry laughs wholeheartedly, following Ron’s example and putting a well deserved pause on his study. Well, not that well deserved since they’ve only been studying for about twenty minutes, but it’s late and they had Quidditch practice all day so who can really blame them.

“No, mate, you’re absolutely mad. Now care to offer some context?”

Ron frowns, draws a breath, then takes a moment as if to ruminate on what he wants to say next.

“That git, Dean, he’s dating my sister,” he winces.

It’s Harry’s turn to scowl. “Yeah, noticed that much.”

“And Hermione looks - erm, so much like a girl now, you know? And less like our friend,” Ron elaborates, completely amiss of Harry’s snide remark. Which is all the better for Harry, really. Ron seems to have too much on his emotional plate anyway.

“You understand what I’m trying to say, right?” Ron hurries to add when Harry doesn’t say anything, his cheeks coloring faintly.

“Hmm,” Harry mumbles the best response he can come up with. It’d be rather awkward to admit that Hermione’s mostly the same to him, their best friend and somewhat sister to Harry. As opposed to other sisters he happens to know.

“It’s odd, ‘s all I’m saying. And my baby sister going on dates, probably snogging blokes -”

“Plural?” Harry blurts out before he realises what he’s doing.

Ron throws him an exasperated look. “Dunno, mate. She keeps everything very private but I don’t understand what’s all this sudden fuss ‘bout her. I mean why’s she so popular? Dean seemed alright, what does he see in her?” He shrugs.

“What does she see in him ?” Harry sneers, his lips morphing into a small pout.

“Dean’s a good bloke, I guess,” Ron shrugs again, scratches the back of his head.

“I guess,” replies Harry, rather reluctant.

“And he’s pretty smart, I guess?”

“I guess.”

“And I reckon he draws really well.”

“He does?”

“That’s what I remember. Girls like paintings and stuff. Mum has lots of them hanging on the walls,” Ron’s face lights up as if it all finally makes sense.

But not to Harry. Not if he takes into account the way his insides churn and boil or the way he simply feels a sudden need to shout at his best friend and maybe tell him that somebody else ought to bring Hermione a bloody drawing and then see how he likes it.

But right afterwards Harry feels petty, mumbles something about abandoning homework and sets off to bed, leaving a befuddled Ron behind wondering what he could’ve said wrong.

And by some odd twist of fate - or maybe some divine entity’s really prone on showing Harry that the worst is yet to come - the conversation he walks in on is no better than the one he’s rudely ended. In fact, on a scale from one to detention with Snape, what he’s currently witnessing ranks closer to the latter rather than the former.

Dean discussing his blooming relationship with Ginny.

Dean describing to Seamus the progress he’s making with Ginny.

Dean about to be pushed out the Gryffindor Tower window. By mistake, of course.

Sometimes, Harry muses, there are things he misses about living under the stairs. Well. Not exactly. His bedroom is loads better. But there are benefits to having your own room rather than a dorm full of loud mouthed complaining gits.

The real question is when exactly Dean became so irritating. Harry’s not incapable of tuning out irksome housemates - a certain ickle Diddikins and co. serve as ample evidence - so Dean must really be laying it on thick.

Recently, it seems that if he’s not outlining his ‘ intensive ’ physical fitness routine, he’s giving Seamus advice on the best way to ask out ‘birds’ and extolling the virtues of a certain shoulder slipping move that gets you ‘up close and personal’ with said bird.

Harry does his best to avoid the dorm when awake but it begins to feel like they’re waiting for him to arrive and saving the most obnoxious bits for his personal enjoyment.

It’s rather gross, to be honest, and he feels indignant - in a brotherly way obviously - to hear the highly questionable strategies Dean plans to use to further acquaint himself with Ginny.

Who knew two teenage boys could cluck like gossiping hens this long after lights out? Or talk so loud despite the whisper-like quality of their conversation. Harry sticks his arm out through a split in the curtains and brushes a few Droobles wrappings aside, well past eleven. Plain rude.

With a huff, he shoves the covers back, grabs his dressing gown, blanket, and wand, before storming toward the door. “You two are bloody lucky Ron sleeps like the dead.”

As if confirming, Ron - who’s also given up on studying and fainted rather than fell asleep within less than two seconds since closing the distance between his person and his bed, lets out a loud snore and sighs in his sleep.

Dean and Seamus blink at Harry, the former’s eyes narrowing and mouth opening as if he’s about to toss back some indignant response but Harry’s in no mood. He leaves the dorm with a dramatic swoosh of his blanket and stumbles his way down the staircase, only forgoing a very satisfying door slam in the name of inter-house courtesy. Unlike some people.

The last few steps meet with the unhappy, teen-angst thuds of his feet. All the while, he grumbles to himself in an almost unintelligible but heart-lightening manner so he’s feeling a bit less like dumping a shaker of salt in Dean’s porridge in the morning.

Still, that doesn’t make him any more eager to return to the gossiping hens upstairs and the fire does look rather inviting. Perhaps Dobby anticipated Harry’s midnight flight to the common room.

Or perhaps Harry’s off his rocker and somehow deluded himself into believing this picture perfect, cozy room isn’t quite as abandoned as he first assumed. Instead, a certain red-haired Chaser is tucked up in one of the armchairs closest to the fire, forehead drooping toward the crinkled notes in her lap, socked toes warming in the blaze’s orange glow.

“You’re up late,” Harry tries, testing the responsiveness of his hallucination.

Groaning, Ginny drops her head back on the cushioned chair. “Hermione made me a timetable.”

Harry laughs, claiming the couch closest to Ginny with a dramatic sprawl of his occasionally gangly limbs.

“And presented said timetable to me in front of mum , who thought it was the greatest idea in the history of ideas.”

Ginny twists her neck and stares at him expectantly, which Harry assumes is an indication she wants a response other than gawking at her helplessly. “So now you’re stuck, eh?”

She hums and scrapes her hair up into a messy bun. “Theoretically tonight’s study session should have been through,” she looks at her watch, “yesterday afternoon.”

The words have barely left her lips before laughter bubbles out of both of them, loud and surprising until they muffle their chuckles. Which, of course, only makes things funnier and the stopping that much harder. Ginny’s cheeks are rosy with happiness as Harry pushes his glasses up messily and swipes the tears from his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve been studying for,” he pauses to do the math, “Twenty seven hours.”

“No - yesterday was so lovely - that sunshine on my face,” she sighs, “How could I do anything but go for a fly?”

Harry grins, dragging one foot up underneath him, “True enough - I had a good kip over by that tree. You know the one close enough to the water the firsties are too afraid to go near?”

She nods in recognition and tosses one leg over the side of the armchair, looking as if she’ll melt into oblivion right then and there. “Then I met up with Dean before dinner.”

Unable to bite back the grimace at the mention of his sleep stealing dorm-mate - not that he feels much like sleeping at the moment - Harry delivers some sort of non commital grunt that Ginny pounces on like a starved puma. Her dark eyes consider him from head to toe in a way that makes his cheeks heat. “How are things with Dumbledore, then?”

Harry shrugs, fiddling with the knobby blanket on his lap and feeling like a bit of a ponce for worrying about his loud-mouthed roommate when lives hang in the balance. Then he really does scowl as thoughts of Dumbledore, Death Eaters, Draco and his cronies, and about a thousand other dark things swirl through his mind. “No - no he hasn’t called me for another lesson yet.”

Ginny eyes him for another moment, lips twisted in a thoughtful frown before they quirk in a teasing grin. “Well he’d better get on it if you’re going to be the new Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump. Lest we forget your need for a long, luxurious white beard.”

“I would look damn foxy with a beard and you know it.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it - can you even grow facial hair baby Potter?”

Crossing his arms, Harry puffs out his chest in a show of manliness and narrows his eyes. A show which is slightly lessened by the smile that tickles his lips. “I will have you know I shave every morning.”

“With a big boy razor?” Ginny teases, but she nudges him with her toes, “All seriousness, I’m not sure the Hogwarts student body could handle ruggedly handsome Harry James Potter.”

“Mass hysteria, eh?” Harry laughs, though it’s a bit strangled in the wake of Ginny’s half admission that he could be considered handsome. Even in an entirely hypothetical situation.

Perhaps a beard wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Aye - Dad read all about Beatlemania. Like that, but with magic.”

“I’ll need a bodyguard or two.”

“Not to worry - we’ve got you covered,” Ginny assures him as she collects her things and rises tiredly. “I can’t study anymore. My brain’s turned to mush,” she pauses, “You never said why you’re up.”

“Eh - Dean’s a snorer.”

Ginny’s brows rise, “ Really .”

And Harry can’t seem to drum up a bit of guilt as he frowns darkly and nods.

______

As October progresses, Scotland turns crisp, the air whips at bare cheeks turning them rosy and leaving Harry free to wander the grounds with few interruptions. Between Voldemort’s official return and everything that happened at the Department of Mysteries last year, Harry’s ability to skulk about unnoticed has been lessened somewhat.

It’s not adoring fans begging for autographs like Krum had during the Triwizard - more like quiet stares on some weird spectrum between mute terror and judgmental mutterings.

He is slightly more adept at tuning such things out than during the ‘Potter Stinks’ era, but it’s still nice to escape it and reserve the energy used for ignoring annoyances. Mostly he uses those reserves for lots of internal angst about feelings he definitely doesn’t have.

Nothing clears his head like a nice fly though and a quick check of the pitch schedule reveals an open afternoon. So his daily constitutional turns into a quick jog over to the empty pitch to take to the sky.

Truth be told, he desperately needs a place to simply forget about the current state of events, the feelings of uncertainty, the doubts he’s having as he wonders if the troubles and efforts they put into recreating Riddle’s pre-Voldemort life aren’t wasted.

His second lesson with Dumbledore, recently ended, didn’t do much to alleviate any of those feelings. Back through the Pensieve, to a twelve year old Tom Riddle this time, with a personality grim enough to signal chaos about to come. Can understanding your enemy truly bring you one step closer to defeating him? Harry closes his eyes, one palm lightly passing over the lightning shaped scar slashed across his forehead.

Wind chaps his face, makes his eyes teary as he increases his speed and clears the towers that surround the stadium. Clouds drift by overhead, a slow drag against brilliant blue compared to the streaking of his slim broom.

Clutching the handle tightly with his legs, Harry releases one hand, then the other and twists into a spiral. Once he’s right side up, Harry slows and swirls in lazy circuits until he’s back hovering over the pitch, descending to the sound of a slow clap.

“Nice moves, Potter.”

So much for clearing my head.

“Captain’s got to keep up his skills,” Harry says, easy.

“Didn’t know keeping them up involved so much showing off,” Ginny answers with a smirk, tossing a practice Quaffle high overhead and catching it deftly.

Harry’s feet find the fresh cut grass as he ruffles his hair in a nervous gesture that must be hereditary. “Is it really showing off if nobody’s around?”

“Am I nobody?”

“You weren’t expected.”

She tosses the quaffle again, higher, and catches it without a second glance. “I could just take my Quaffle and go home,” Ginny quirks her brow, “But since this is the Quidditch Pitch and I am looking to actually play Quidditch …”

“Excuse me - are you attempting to argue that flying isn’t a legitimate element of Quidditch?”

“Without balls it’s just a bunch of jocks performing high-flying acrobatics,” Ginny counters, another toss, this time over her shoulder. She catches it with a quick twist that sends her hair fanning behind her.

“And tricks like that aren’t showboating at all,” Harry drawls, “Is this some chaser superiority complex?”

“S’not a complex if it’s true - besides I can play all positions,” Ginny says simply as she drops to the ground, ankles crossed in front of her.

It’s really difficult being around someone so tempting. Since, he has to worry about her all the time, of course. Not because he is tempted in any way, despite what his dreams might indicate.

Blissfully unaware of Harry’s internal monologue, Ginny slides her palms out sideways until she’s fully reclined in the grass. “Speaking of - we are defending Quidditch Cup winners and the fecking Ravenclaw team have their sights set on taking it back.”

“I’m not planning on captaining the team to ruin,” Harry shoots back with a roll of his eyes.

“Have a seat Captain - let’s get strategizing,” Ginny says patting the ground by her side, “Got to protect my interests - Harpies like winners .”

Nudging her ankle with his toe, Harry does as instructed and tosses his broom aside. “That your plan? Go professional?”

Ginny glances up at him. “Oh yeah - though I don’t think I’ve said it to anyone aloud before.”

“That sounds brilliant - you’re uh,” Harry ruffles his hair, “You’re really brilliant.”

She kicks his shoulder. “Thanks.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment until she finally adds, “And as brilliant as it is to be successful as both a Chaser and a Seeker, maybe strategy number one could be you not getting kicked off the team again this year?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Secondarily - we really need a replacement for Katie,” Ginny says, “Not that - well Quidditch isn’t the biggest issue with all this - ”

Harry sighs, flops backward, and tilts his head upward so he can meet her gaze. “Gin - you don’t have to explain - ”

“Thanks,” Ginny tosses her arms overhead and lets her feet slide straight out, “I’d never - well. Anyway. We’re down a Chaser.”

Taking a fortifying breath, Harry reaches across the space between them and brushes the back of her hand with his fingertips. “What about Trenton?”

Ginny snorts. “Nah - have you seen his ‘fake out’ swerve. We’re never going to win with a lazy maneuver like that and I’ll be damned if Malfoy beats us this year.”

“Too bad Hermione can’t fly to save her life,” Harry muses, brain filtering through the rest of their housemates, “We’d have the most organized tactics and training schedule ever.”

“Nope - she’d spend the whole time telling us we should be studying,” Ginny answers as she pushes to her feet with a sigh, “Which reminds me, I’ve got to be off.”

“Timetable?”

“Nah - meeting Dean,” Ginny says easily as she brushes a few blades of grass from her clothes, “Though I’d never have made plans if I knew I’d have to ditch a good ol’ strategy session.”

Harry stands too, feeling as though a fist has clenched around his heart in a strange, painful way. “We - uh. Raincheck?”

“‘Course,” Ginny says with a crooked smile, “See you when I see you?”

He agrees with a quiet nod and mounts his broom, skating across the sky as the sun dips toward the horizon.

______

It’s Monday and there’s less than a week till Saturday, November 2nd. Less than a week until they’re up against Ravenclaw on the pitch. And somehow, Harry doesn’t know why or how, but they’re still one player short.

(Technically, he does know but there’s a long way between knowing and admitting it, isn’t it?)

Now it’s Tuesday and, while Monday was spent focusing more on the greater good of the team and less on his inner turmoil, Harry still hasn’t managed to summon all his remaining will power (that’s not wasted on either Snape or homework or helping Ron and Hermione remain civil in the face of Slug Club party invites) and ask Dean to join the team as a third Chaser.

It’s pretty clear that Katie won’t make an overnight recovery.

It’s common sense to offer the role to someone who’s a decent flyer and is well acquainted with the game.

It’s unreasonable to prolong the task of asking Dean much longer. All things considered.

So Harry spots him enjoying a bite of morning toast with pumpkin juice and perhaps a plate of hot gossip on the side, as Dean’s sat next to Seamus, who Harry has determined are attached at the hip. Sighing long and painful, Harry straightens his posture and prepares for whatever this is, a mantra of “I’m doing this for the team” on a loop at the back of his mind.

“Mornin’, Harry,” Dean greets cheerfully in between two swigs of fresh pumpkin juice. Of course, Seamus’ enthusiasm level lowers as soon as his eyes lock with Harry’s, but he’s starting to get used to it by now.

“Alright, mate? You look troubled,” Dean observes.

Harry waves him off and plows right in with another sigh, “Listen, we’re one Chaser too few on the team -”

“Yeah, I heard Katie’s still in the hospital -”

“Would you like to join?” Harry cuts him off before he can change his mind.

A pause and then both Dean and Seamus blink, confused.

“What?”

“I asked if you’d like to join the team as Chaser? Until Katie recovers, you know,” Harry hurries to add.

It’s Seamus who speaks first, elbow almost sending the porridge rolling off the table.

“Sounds mental to me, you and Ginny on the same team.”

Harry’s senses fire up and he holds his breath, silently urging Seamus to keep talking.

“‘S alright,” Dean shrugs, visibly bothered by his friend’s comment.

“Oh come on, mate,” Seamus grins, “it’s just Harry here. Last night you were going on and on about how she’s always so cheesed off ‘bout everything it makes you feel like you’ve botched every wee thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees weakly as just Harry experiences a violent urge to hurt both of his ‘mates.’ Maybe hit their heads together until they cry or kindly ask Dobby to wet their beds as they sleep.

Unfortunately, he has to shake it all off and attempt to bleach his brain later before he breaks and tells Ron. And the rest of the Weasley clan. Though telling Ginny might solve a good number of his problems - and make him something of a wanker.

“So?” He asks again. “If you agree, you’ll have to clear your schedule anyway. We have practice this evening, all evening,” Harry underlines through gritted teeth.

Dean scratches at the back of his head, muses a bit and then gives his final answer, “Yeah, alright. Can’t let Ravenclaw walk all over us,” he grins and claps Harry on the shoulder.

Harry can’t decide if he’s in a mood to shout at everyone who speaks to him because of Dean’s insolent comments and confidences about his relationship with Ginny or because of his implication that they won’t stand a chance against Ravenclaw if he doesn’t join the team. Either way, Harry takes it personally enough to grunt and snap at people all day.

And Quidditch practice doesn’t make it any better. He’d hoped that it’d offer the right outlet to clear the angst clouding his mind. But of course, he should’ve known by now that counting his chickens before they are hatched is completely useless.

In reality, Harry agrees that this practice session has been the worst so far, so much so that even Ginny looks forlorn and Demelza’s eyes water constantly.

Cursing under his breath, Harry shivers in the cold, biting October air and checks the time. It’s well past ten in the evening and there’s nothing more he can do for this lot than send them inside to a hot shower and a cuppa (or a long sleepless night sprinkled with self-loathing in his case).

He drags his feet next to Ron, uncertain if he’d rather smack him over the head to stop his complaining or to do it to himself. If Harry thinks about it, Ron’s performance seems to depend on his mood and Harry reckons he’s not quite yet recovered from their little Slug Club themed conversation from Herbology class last week. Hermione’d almost managed to invite Ron to join her at the Christmas party when Ron’s fragile ego got in the way.

Harry sighs for the millionth time, rubs at the prickling in his scar.

Perhaps cracking his own skull would represent the desirable option right now, between a best mate whose spirits are below sea level, conflicting feelings for a certain redhead and a probable defeat in the first match he’s ever captained his team to.

And speaking of redheads, there’s Ginny on her way to the castle, hand in hand with Dean. Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting exactly. That Ginny would hang back with him after practice, as she’s done till now? That she won’t talk to Dean or hug him or even kiss him during practice breaks? And why wouldn’t she? He is her boyfriend, even though Harry wouldn’t hurry to crown him boyfriend of the year anytime soon.

And who’s Harry to her? A mate. Her older brother’s best mate. That’s it, yeah. Just a mate. Just Harry.

He’s about to make peace with those thoughts when Ron’s face blanches and he stops dead in his tracks.

Harry has to squint to understand what’s prompted Ron’s reaction and for a moment he fears Viktor Krum’s back to kiss Hermione, tired of waiting for Ron to finally gather his courage and do it. But then the torch hanging over a small annex in the middle of the deserted corridor casts its gentle, quivering light over two people, tightly glued against each other, kissing fervently.

His heart sinks so low the Giant Squid might stumble across it when his eyes adjust to realise they’ve walked in on Ginny and Dean.

Ginny and Dean kissing like he’s never seen someone kiss, their hands in each other’s hair and their bodies pressed hard together. He’d probably blush if not for the growling beast in his chest, demanding that Harry do something fast.

Still Ron reacts faster and him and Ginny are in each other’s faces in less than a heartbeat. Weasley tempers are terrible on a good day and grisly on shite days like this. Harry’s confident they’d start hexing and kicking each other if not for his jumping between them.

It’s ugly and petty on both sides, both siblings pouring salt over open wounds, and Harry’s left to awkwardly say goodbye to Dean like nothing’s happened.

Later, alone in his bed, covers pulled up over his head, he’d have time to think about how he’d tear Dean limb from limb for kissing Ginny like that - or for kissing her at all. Yeah, later he’d have time to plan and imagine and probably work himself into a fit over the image of them tattooed on his brain. Indeed, there’ll be enough time to thoroughly hate himself and the world later.

[let-it-raines]

Second in Command Prompt: Emma finding out she’s pregnant with Linnie.

As always, thank you to you guys who have read all of those crazy words of Second in Command (Tumblr | AO3) and who keep asking for more! You guys mean the world to me for allowing me to keep writing in this same universe! I like this little one-shot a lot and hope you do too. 💙

If AO3 is more your style for reading | here |

-/-

The sun beats down on her skin as she’s stretched out on one of the lounge chairs by the lake. She’ll have to move under the umbrella soon so that she doesn’t get burned, but she’s just so comfortable resting here. Brennan and Allison have been spending more time here now that Brennan isn’t actively working as much as he nears his eighties, so they’ve updated as much of the furniture as they can while still making the place look as elegant as possible because that’s simply what they do (her house is a mess of toys on the ground with a stained couch cushion that’s been flipped over after the grape juice couldn’t be cleaned out, so elegance has never been high on her list of furniture needs) in this family. These lounge chairs with plush cushions may very well be her favorite thing on the property.

Modernity can be a good thing.

And she really likes their bed here. It’s like sleeping on one giant pillow when in reality they have at least fifteen pillows and three fluffy blankets. That’s all good with her, though, even when Andy somehow manages to force himself in there early in the mornings when she’s trying to rest. Going on holiday can be a little stressful when she’s always wrangling kids, but this is so much easier than traveling with them while working. They went to Canada two months ago, and it was an experience.

She’s almost entirely sure that Sutton cried on every plane that they took.

(She might have too.)

“Should we join them in the water?” Abigail asks her from her spot next to her. Emma lifts her brow in response, not bothering to take off her sunglasses to look at Abigail or in the direction of the water.

“It’s far too cold. I’m not entirely sure that the kids aren’t going to come back with pneumonia or something.”

“They’ll be fine. Liam and Killian won’t let them stay in for too long, especially Sutton.”

“Is she swimming or is Killian still holding onto her?”

“Killian’s holding her.”

A sigh passes through her lips before she sits up, having to take a few deep breaths to settle the dizziness that she’s feeling after having laid down for so long. Her eyes scan out to the lake where she sees Alex, Andy, and Lizzie taking turns jumping into the water, each of them doing different kinds of jumps before splashing in the water. It makes her a little nervous for Andy to be copying Alex, especially since he’s so much bigger, but that’s pretty much how things work when they’re all together. Andy doesn’t care about the size or age difference as long as he gets to spend time with his older cousins. They’re pretty good at accommodating him, but sometimes they do leave him behind to run off on their own. That always results in a meltdown, but it always passes.

Kids.

They’re ridiculous.

And exhausting.

She loves them.

“I’ll be back,” she tells Abigail before rising from the seat and stretching her arms above her head, letting the aches fade away as much as they can.

She has felt so under the weather for the past few days, but she’s thinking it’s mostly her body calming down from working so much this summer. She’s been more involved in Kidding a Goal and its new facilities and events, as well as picking up a few more patronages, and it’s been kind of exhausting balancing working, being a mom, wife, daughter, friend, and, frankly, a human being. She loves her life, what she does, but sometimes it’s exhausting trying to put on a happy face and spending her days talking to more people than she can probably count without losing track. It’s so rewarding getting to help people and organizations who need it, but like everything, it can take its toll.

Her life is blessed, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t experience hardships. That’s something Killian really had to help her with when she’d have a hard day and try to excuse it away by saying others had worse days, that she was too privileged to get to have a hard time. It’s true, but it doesn’t make the fact that she had an emotionally or physically exhausting day any less valid.

Right now, she’s mostly physically exhausted. Emotionally, she’s feeling pretty good.

She needed this time with her family. With Killian. God, if there’s anyone who she can spend time with without really needing a break, it’s her husband. That’s not to say that they don’t need time apart or get on each other’s nerves when they spend too much time together because those things most definitely happen, but a lot of the time she simply needs him to sit next to her on the couch in silence as they work on their laptops once the kids are asleep. It’s a comfortable companionship. He makes her feel comfortable when the rest of the world has her walking on a ledge.

Usually in heels.

What she would give to be able to wear jeans and sneakers more often.

Or slippers.

She’s a very old thirty three year old.

(Almost thirty four as Killian likes to remind her.)

“I thought you just said it was too cold.”

“I did,” she laughs, twisting her body and picking up her cover up before wrapping it over her, the thin material barely doing its job, “but Sutton is being clingy when we’re trying to get her to like swimming. It’ll help if I go down there.”

“Make sure my children still have all of their limbs, okay?”

“And if they don’t?”

“I don’t know. Let Liam worry about it.”

She chuckles at that, shaking her head as her feet move from the pavement to the soft grass. It only takes a minute to get to the lake, and no one notices her over the commotion that is Andy, Alex, and Lizzie all jumping off of the dock at the same time. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and wolf whistles, the sound loud enough that Sutton’s head whips toward her, Killian’s following right after.

“Mummy,” she squeals, releasing her arms from Killian’s neck only to grab on more tightly when she realizes that she might fall. She won’t. Killian’s got a good grip on her on top of her floaties. He’s not about to let her down. “Andy did a big jump.”

“Isn’t it so much fun?” she asks as she steps closer to the water, sitting down at the edge so that her feet just miss the lake, the coolness of the water somehow permeating through the air. “Don’t you want to go swimming with Daddy?”

“This little lady refuses,” Killian explains, hoisting her a little higher until she’s sitting on his shoulders, her feet hitting against his chest and the little bit of hair that’s peeking up above the water there. “Tell Mummy why you don’t want to go swimming, Button.”

Killian wades a little closer to her, his body coming out of the water little by little, and at that moment she swears there’s never been anything hotter than her husband soaking wet while he carries their daughter. It’s ridiculous and totally unfair, but she’s not going to complain. That would be dumb on her part.

She’s the one who gets to appreciate him and have him in her life. Forever.

Love and all that jazz.

“There was a fish.”

“A fish?”

“In the water,” she huffs, totally exasperated by the fact that she has to further explain herself. There’s so much sass in that little body, and it’s definitely payback or something for how she and Killian are. It has to be. She’s scared of what she’s going to be like when she gets older. “I don’t like fish.”

“You don’t have to eat it, baby,” she explains, smiling softly at Sutton whose lips are in a little toddler scowl.

She and Killian make some cute kids.

“Uncle Liam said I did.”

“Of course he did.” She turns to say something to Liam only to have him suddenly very interested in swimming away to be closer to the dock and to the rest of the kids who still don’t care that she’s shown up despite her cheering them on with her whistle. But who cares about Mom when there are jumps to be done? “He was just kidding. You don’t have to eat the fish, but wouldn’t it be so fun to get to swim with the fish?”

“Darling, that doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“Hush,” she laughs at Killian’s waggling brows and upturned lips. “Sutton, if Mommy swims will you go swimming with us? You can hold onto me.”

She seems to think about her answer, her nose scrunching up as she debates on whether or not she wants to get into the water.

“No fish?” she questions, her green eyes glancing down at the water as it ripples with each of Killian’s movements.

“No fish,” Emma confirms, nodding her head and smiling while she sheds her cover up from her shoulders, the sunshine hitting her skin once more.

It’s going to be cold, the water. She knows it is. It’s not like it’s summer in Florida. It’s summer in Scotland, which is a whole different ballpark. She didn’t want to do this, but she does a lot of things for her kids that she would never do for anything else. This is probably the least gross or annoying if she’s honest with herself.

Stepping into the water, she lets her toes sink into the mud while her legs slowly disappear under the blue, goosebumps rising over her flesh the further she makes submerges herself. How Killian and Liam have been out here with the kids for an hour, she has no idea.

They must be immune to the cold by now because it’s taking everything in her to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Daddy, I want Mummy.”

“If the lady insists.”

“Come here, kid,” she sighs, reaching her arms out to take Sutton from Killian while she tries not to squirm at the chill in the water. She holds Sutton above the water as much as she can, but it’s difficult with her height, so she lets her toes dangle in the water, slowly but surely dipping her further in while she talks. “You know, one time your daddy made me eat a fish, and it was so gross.”

“He’s silly.”

“Hey now, Poppet,” Killian laughs, wading over to them so that his shoulders rest just above the water, blue eyes staring directly into their daughter’s, “I am not silly.”

He taps Sutton’s nose, and she scrunches it up again. Sutton is a pretty good mix of both of them, but when she does those little facial movements, all Emma can see is herself.

“You are silly,” Sutton insists, releasing her arm from Emma to tap Killian’s nose back. “Like a goose.”

“Do you hear this, love? I’m silly like a goose. I think Sutton is the silliest goose through.”

“Oh no. I definitely think Daddy is the silliest goose. Look at his face.”

“It’s funny,” Sutton giggles while Emma keeps lowering her into water, the kid not at all noticing.

“Funny?” Killian huffs, his face pressing back into his neck while his lips flatten into a straight line, looking about as unamused as possible as Sutton continues to laugh. “My face is not funny. I happen to know that I’m handsome, dashing even. Your mummy tells me so the one time a month that she’s nice to me.”

“Hey,” she scoffs, running her hand through the water and splashing Killian without really thinking about it, the water hitting him in his face, “that is not true, babe. I tell you that at least twice a month.”

“Yeah,” Sutton agrees, not really knowing what she’s agreeing to while her legs kick under the water, Emma’s arm still wrapped around her waist. “You’re pretty, Daddy.”

“Thank you, my little love,” he sighs, wiping the water from his brow before dipping his head down to press his lips against Sutton’s temple. It doesn’t make her heart swell. Not at all.

(It does.)

“You’re pretty too,” he promises, very gently and expertly taking her away from Emma and dragging her though the water in small circles while he continues to talk, “and very, very funny. I’d say you’re smart too and as sweet as one of Gammy’s cakes that we ate after dinner last night. And don’t tell Mummy, but you may very well be my favorite girl in the whole world.”

“The whole world?” she gasps, excitement shining through her eyes while she continues to move around.

“The whole world,” Killian promises, looking over at her and winking, his lips now curved into such a smile that all of the lines on his face are more prominent than before. “Now, tell me all about what you and Indy were doing last night under the dinner table. Indy’s stomach looked very full. Did she eat some of your peas?”

-/-

“They’re asleep,” she sighs later that night, plopping down onto the mattress and sinking into the blankets, a day full of sun and running around making her so exhausted that she doesn’t think she’ll ever move from this bed again. Not unless someone drags her kicking and screaming.

Killian hums from somewhere in the room. She’s sure that he’s close, but her eyes are closed. She doesn’t feel like opening them either. But then there’s the soft press of lips against her jaw, sharp pricks of scruff trailing behind it, and she can feel the familiar radiation of body heat hovering over her. She still doesn’t open her eyes, though. Instead she lets Killian run his mouth over her skin, kissing and nipping in all of the right places that have her sighing in contentment and that have him increasing his efforts. It feels so damn good, and if it were any other night she’d let it keep going and ride him until their limbs feel like jelly, but she’s tired and feeling a little bloated.

And she honestly can’t tell if her boobs feel weird because she’s kind of turned on her if it’s because her period should be starting in a couple of days.

“You are the most beautiful woman,” Killian whispers against her skin, punctuating each word with a kiss on different parts of her face, finally landing on her lips as he gently slides his mouth over hers, the softness overwhelming her. It feels too good to ask him to stop, so she doesn’t. “Today you had on a sinfully small bikini, and it was far too distracting while we were trying to get our daughter to swim.”

She chuckles at that before reaching her arms up and resting her hands on his back, her fingers trailing along the muscles while her eyes finally open, a deep blue gaze staring into her.

“You were most definitely not supposed to be thinking about that. We have children for goodness sakes.”

“How do you think we got those children?”

“Obviously a little stork dropped them off,” she laughs, arching her back up to further press herself into him while her right hand finds itself resting at the base of his neck, fingers toying with his hair. It’s gotten a little too long, but she loves it. He’s got this little section at the front where some strands fall across his forehead, and she’s kind of obsessed with them. He’ll have to cut it before he goes back to work, but she can appreciate it now. It makes him look boyishly handsome when he smiles, and she is forever charmed by him. “We don’t have sex. That’s not a thing that happens.”

“Definitely not. And I’m definitely not trying to do that right now.”

“I think I might be too tired,” she finally admits, flashing him a weak smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms before softly kissing him. “Maybe tomorrow. Today was exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you’re exhausted,” he says before rolling off of her and onto his back, the mattress moving under his weight. She twists to the side and props her head up on her hand so that she can face Killian. “Are you still feeling ill? You probably need to go to the doctor, love.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need to see anyone.”

“You’ve been exhausted for weeks. That’s not normal.”

“Killian, I’m fine.”

He huffs, and she knows he doesn’t believe her. His lips are pressed into a firm line, his brows furrowed together, and she reaches over to him with her free hand so that she can trail her fingers over his chest in an attempt to soothe him.

“I’d just feel better if you were to get checked out. If you’re sick, you need to get some kind of medication.”

“Babe, I’m not sick,” she promises, patting his chest. “It’s nothing. It’ll pass, and then I’ll be full of energy running around chasing Andy and Sutton.”

“If you say so.”

“Killian.”

“What?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

“Because I’m worried about you. I can worry about you, can’t I? Am I not allowed to do that?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she sighs, confusion coursing through her veins at his sudden harsh tone. His jaw is ticking, his eyes looking toward the doorway and not her, and she doesn’t know what’s happening. “Of course you’re allowed to worry about me. I’m just saying that I don’t think there’s anything to worry about it. I mean, at worst, I’m pregnant or something, but I’m definitely not dying.”

A heavy silence falls over them, the only sound the thump of the ceiling fan rotating over them, and her words begin to ruminate in her mind, settling there and settling between them. She’s not pregnant. She can’t be.

Or she can be.

She definitely could be. Her birth control would be super sucky if it’s true, but there’s always that small percentage. And she has forgotten before. She has, and it’s always something that worries her until her period comes along. She should probably get an implant so that she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore, but it might possibly be too late for that.

Pregnant.

Shit.

That’s not at all how she should be thinking about this, but with the way her heart is thumping against her ribcage, a small pulse of heat radiating over her body all the way down to her toes, it’s all she can think. They could have another baby. They could. It’s not like they couldn’t afford it or that they don’t have anyone to help out. They have each other, their parents, friends, Elsa. Of course, they may send Elsa running screaming if they bring another kid into the mix, even if Andy will officially be starting school soon and she won’t watch him as much.

That’s a whole other can of worms that she does not need to be opening now.

She could be pregnant.

Again.

Some of the signs are there. Her fatigue, her sore boobs, her lack of a period. She didn’t even realize that until now, too caught up in…life. She was too caught up in her life and in everything that’s been going on to even truly realize that her body has been more than tired.

She’s done this twice. How the hell could she not have noticed? Or known?

Technically she doesn’t even know now. She’s just speculating. That’s all that it is. It’s a small thought that seems to be festering into something bigger. It could be nothing.

She’s not sure that she wants it to be nothing.

And she has absolutely no idea how Killian feels about. He might not have even gone down this thought path. For all she knows, he’s still pissed at her for brushing off his concerns about her health. She gets it, does the same thing to him, but she knows her own body.

Kind of.

She might be pregnant after all and not have realized it until she told a really bad joke.

At least she’s not nauseous.

Yet.

“Are you?” Killian finally asks, the tepidness of his voice cutting through the tenseness and the silence of the room. He turns his head to face her, blue eyes widened with…something. It might be excitement or trepidation. She can’t tell. “Emma, love, do you think you’re pregnant? That would explain so much about the past few weeks.”

“I don’t know.”

Killian nods his head before reaching his hand over to cup her cheek, rough fingers caressing her skin. His thumb keeps moving back and forth under her eye, and it takes everything in her not close her eyes at how comforting his touch is. But she wants to see the look on his face, the brightness in his eyes, and the small smile that seems to be tugging on the corner of his lips.

She wants.

She thinks she might want this hypothetical baby no matter how terrifying all of this can be and has been in the past. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget holding onto Killian’s hand and chanting over and over again “please let her be okay, please let her be okay, please let her be okay” when she was giving birth to Sutton. It was somehow more terrifying than when she gave birth to Andy, the knowledge and experience making her more anxious, but everything turned out just fine. She knows that it doesn’t always work out like that, and that terrifies her but…she doesn’t want to think about all of that right now.

“Should we go into town and go buy a test?”

“Killian, we cannot go into a pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test.”

“Sure we can.”

He’s obviously lost his mind. Going into a pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test is the absolute last thing that they can do. They have a hard enough time keeping their lives private. This would be walking out of privacy and into publicity.

“First of all, Thomas will never let us. And secondly, someone will see us and there’s bound to be a bunch of reports. I don’t want that because this is no one’s business but ours. And I’m not even entirely sure that I am. I mean, I’ve been pregnant before. Twice. I know how it works. But that doesn’t really mean anything when I - “

“Emma,” he coos, pulling her face a little closer to his. He’s got this look in his eyes, one she’s seen before, where the blue is a little bluer and the wrinkles around them somehow younger, almost resembling when they met thirteen years ago. He’s excited. He’s excited by the possibility that he’s going to be a dad again, that this unplanned thing may turn out okay, and she’s over here having some kind of potential meltdown mixed in with happy thoughts.

It makes sense though. She’s the one who has to be pregnant. All Killian has to do is rub her feet and listen to her bitch about heartburn.

God, the heartburn.

And the weird skin marks. And vomiting. And giant bellies that never quite go back to the way they were before. The birth. Just…everything about the birth.

That epidural stuff is good though.

As are the babies who grow up to be their own people. Andy and Sutton are the greatest, most beautiful thing she’s ever made, and she made them with her body and with the love she and Killian share. They’re so damn difficult sometimes, the uncertainty as to how to deal with crying fits and tempers is terrifying. How she and Killian act and parent them impacts them for the rest of their lives. They’ll already have so much to deal with because of who their dad is, and she just wants them to have good, normal childhoods like she had.

She wants them to be happy.

Because she loves them, would literally, actually die for those little munchkins, and seeing their smiles makes her entire day. Her entire life.

So maybe another baby wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe even good. Great. Fantastic.

Damn it.

She really wants another baby, for real this time, and she isn’t even completely sure if she’s pregnant or not yet.

Hopefully she is. And if she isn’t, maybe they could start trying. Killian wants this. She knows. Gone are his insurmountable fears of being a bad father because his influence was a horrible one for most of his life. Killian’s got to be the greatest dad in existence, probably even more so than her dad, and if he…if they want to do this again, they should get to do this again.

Her mind changed far too quickly, the thoughts all over the place. That’s either a bad thing or maybe a really, really good thing. Maybe it means that this baby, hypothetical or not, is a good thing. Maybe it means that she’s ready.

Maybe it means that one last time, and this will definitely be the last time, she and Killian can go through all of the wonderfully terrifying moments of being parents to a newborn where everything is so small and terrifying and refreshingly innocent.

How things change from when she was younger and never could have imaged her life being like this, could have never imagined wanting this.

Kids are really gross sometimes. Why people want them is still a mystery to her, even if she is one of those people who wants kids.

The things you do for love.

She and Killian make some damn cute babies. Seriously. They’re pretty much the best.

And her oldest baby is almost five and that’s decidedly not a baby anymore.

Nope. She already told herself that she wasn’t going there.

She’s got this kind of nervous energy running over her, an anticipatory buzz, and when she focuses back on Killian and the way his lips are ticked up on the right, his eyebrow raised with them, her skin suddenly feels like a livewire. She’s nervous and scared and a little anxious, but she wants this.

“Emma,” Killian repeats, his thumb still moving against her face, “are you okay?”

“I’m currently thinking about the state of my vagina, but yeah, I’m great.”

Killian snorts before pressing forward and softly kissing her, moving his lips against hers over and over again. “Do you want to go find out? I’m pretty much an expert at hiding out in public so that no one notices us. You’d be surprised what a baseball cap and sunglasses can do.”

“Okay Captain America. We’ll just look like we’re robbing the pharmacy because it’s dark outside.”

“Perfect.”

She’s not entirely that this plan is going to work, and for their entire drive into town, even with Killian’s fingers resting on her thigh the entire time, she wonders just how spectacularly this is going to blow up in their faces. It has to, doesn’t it? She has a lot of good things in her life, but the one thing that she does not have a lot of the time is privacy. For someone who has never wanted a life in the spotlight and who happened to fall in love with someone who was born under those bright lights, it’s all been a bit of a culture shock even so many years later. She’s pretty comfortable with things now, but it’s not like she can wander into a pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test without someone realizing who she is.

Freaking ridiculous.

But that’s exactly what she and Killian do, quickly sliding in and out of the store, using the self check out to buy several tests and a few bags of candy for the two of them.

Okay, really for her.

She’s kind of feeling like stress eating, and if she’s going to be carrying a baby for the next seven to nine months of her life, she can have some damn chocolate.

But only a little. Moderation and all.

“It’s nice out here,” Killian tells her as they walk hand in hand through the streets of the town, her sneakers pressing over the cobblestone. “It’s very…”

“Ancient.”

“Aye, exactly,” he laughs, squeezing her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. How in the world is that so soothing? Seriously. It’s like some kind of weird drug. “I vote that we sneak away from our house and our kids far more often, and that maybe, just maybe, we get up to a few naughty things.”

“Hm, like what?”

“I’ve always wanted to make out with you in an alleyway. That doesn’t seem gross or dangerous at all.”

“We’ve done that.”

“Have we?”

“I am a damn good kisser, baby,” she gasps, turning to look up at him. He’s got his brows furrowed together, all of the lines on his forehead bunching, and she realizes that he’s actually trying to remember this moment. “And I really feel like you should remember me dry humping you in the alleyway behind the pub.”

“I seriously don’t remember, love. How old were we?”

“I…have no idea. All I know is that my parents were working with me that night, and we snuck out the side door for a moment alone because you kept whispering particularly dirty things in my ear whenever I walked by you.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“I know. You never talk like that.”

“Never,” he whispers, leaning down to talk directly in her ear, his scruff brushing against her skin and his teeth biting down on her lobe. “I find I don’t need to when the most alluring woman on the planet has already fallen for my charming ways.”

“You’d do well to keep the most alluring woman on the planet then.”

“Well, I do know that she falls apart under my touch, so I’ve got that going for me. But she also finds me funny and kind and far smarter than I am. I’m also a good father to her children, or so I like to think.”

“You are,” she reassures him, releasing his hand so that she can wrap her arms around his neck as he pushes her back against a storefront, her back hitting a stone wall. “You’ll be a good one to this third one too, if there is a third one.”

“I think we have the means to find out.”

“I thought we were going to make out in this alleyway first.”

He chuckles before dipping his head to kiss her temple, not her lips. “My wife deserves far better than to be kissed against a building.”

“We’ve done it before.”

“You weren’t my wife then.”

“Ha,” she laughs, leaning her head back and looking up at the sparkling blue that’s staring down at her. “So what? I wasn’t as important then?”

“Exactly, my love.”

Killian does kiss her then, and it makes her toes curl in pleasure before he convinces her that they need to go back home and to their suite before anyone realizes that they’re gone, before their kids wake up and need them. She’d somehow almost forgotten the real reason for their little adventure, but the entire ride back she’s a mix of nerves and excitement itching to get back to a bathroom so that she can take one of these tests.

Or probably all of them.

After they get back, she immediately heads to the bathroom, unwrapping the box and taking the test before placing it on the counter and walking the few feet to settle down onto Killian’s lap as he sits on the cushioned bench in the entryway of the bathroom.

“I’m nervous,” she mumbles into his shoulder, holding onto his neck as his hands move up and down her back, nails tracing random patterns into her skin. “Are you nervous?”

“Bloody terrified. We didn’t plan this.”

“We thought about it, though. We just…never decided. We were still in the talks, and they’d decidedly been put on hold.”

“That’s how it happened with Andy, darling.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, pressing her lips into his collarbone, “that’s true. He’s the best.”

“Absolutely. I love him.”

“Sutton too.”

“Of course. She’s going to give me hell one day.”

“One day? It’s not happening now?”

“Not in the way I’m thinking,” he laughs, moving his hand up beneath her shirt, his skin impossibly warm, while she adjusts her legs. She can already feel him messing with her bra. Cheeky bastard. “I’m thinking she’s going to pull a few stunts like we just did.”

“Sneak out to go buy a pregnancy test.”

“God I hope not. I was simply thinking of her trying to sneak out. I bet she’ll move into the bedroom with the trellis outside the window and climb down so that she doesn’t have to walk past our bedroom or use the front door.”

“Security will see her.”

“Most likely. I believe that’s the best perk of having them around. They’ll work out all of the kinks with Andrew.”

“Yeah, he’s our test child.”

“Exactly.” Killian kisses the crown of her head, and she wonders if she could fall asleep right here in his arms. “It’s time to go check.”

“Already?” she whines, pulling back and pouting, knowing that she’s acting a bit pathetic. “I’m not ready.”

“Sure you are,” he promises, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear and tapping his thumb against her cheek three times. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you can handle anything.”

“Charmer.”

Killian’s lips curl into a smirk, eyebrows moving across his forehead. “You did tell me I had to work to keep the most alluring woman on the planet.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

She makes the effort to take a few deep breaths before rising from Killian’s lap and walking over to the counter so that she can see the test. In the twenty seconds that it takes her to look, it’s confidently, finally, officially  settled in her that she wants this, wants this baby, and wants to do this one more time with the love of her life.

The positive sign on the test tells her that she gets to.

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Losing It All-- Gwilym Lee x Reader

Prompt; none this time! twas all concocted in my mind :P

Warnings; angst, miscarriage, specified Fem! Reader

Word Count; 1.6k

Notes; came up with this because of the topics my bio prof was discussing in class one day lol so here have this shitty fic

Read it on AO3

You don't exactly remember when you first met Gwilym. The two of you had different stories. He claims that he bumped into you while in a store, thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, then asked you for your number. You, on the other hand, are almost 100% positive that the two of you met while at a mutual friend's party. Then again, he was pretty drunk. There's a chance he just didn't remember. Anyways, it was true that he asked for your number in a supermarket. The two of you talked pretty much every day for about a week. Gwilym then gathered up the courage to ask you out. The rest is history.

The two of you had been dating for about three years when he decided to propose. If there was one thing you knew for sure about Gwilym, it's that he couldn't keep a secret to save the life of him. He would always leave paper copies of receipts or notes on random scraps of paper lying around. You would just play along as if you weren't suspecting a thing. In the end, he did surprise you. It was your anniversary, and he took you out to a fancy dinner. Throughout the whole evening, you kept waiting for him to pull a little box out of his pocket or pull the "what's that in your champagne" cliche, but it never happened. As the two of you left the restaurant, you were slightly disappointed and wondered if you had misinterpreted all the signs. Gwilym made some remark about how he just remembered that you were out of milk. He claimed that it would be more efficient and time-saving if the two of you stopped by the store on your way home... then proceeded to drive in the complete opposite direction of your shared home. You told him that if you went inside then the two of you would be walking out with at least two different kinds of cookie dough, but he dragged you inside with him anyways. After you spent about five minutes debating on what kind of cookie dough you wanted (and ultimately got both kinds), you turned around to find Gwilym down on one knee. He was proposing to you... in the middle of the supermarket. But not just any supermarket! It was the very one where he first asked you for your number. Mr. Gwilym Lee, ever the romantic.

Of course, you said yes. I mean, who wouldn't?

Being married to an actor was interesting, to say the least. There were times where it was tough, with him being away for so long because of filming. No matter what, Gwilym would always find time to talk to you. FaceTime? Skype? He did it all. He missed you as much as you missed him, if not even more. Gwilym was beyond ecstatic when he found out that he got the role of Brian May in Bohemian Rhapsody. The best part? They would be filming near London, meaning that he would be close to home and able to visit more often. His visits were often at random times, depending on the filming schedule. When he was able to visit... well, let's just say that you made him wish he could stay longer.

The two of you had been wanting to start a family for a while, but you were having trouble getting pregnant. You started taking fertility medications in hopes that, maybe, you could have a little one of your own running around. Looking back, you wish that you would've seen the signs long before it got to the point of no return.

There was some spotting, but you just waved it off as a hormonal imbalance. No big deal.

Then there was a couple of times where you would randomly have a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. Again, you waved it off. It was probably nothing to get worried about.

Then the dam broke, and everything went to hell. Your stomach was killing you. The pain was so intense that you could hardly move, but if you did, then a wave of nausea would wash over your body. You were laying on the floor of the bathroom, trembling. Every time you sat up, you would gag before leaning over the toilet to hack up what you could only assume was stomach acid, as you had eaten nothing all morning. You forced yourself up and stumbled into your bedroom. You pulled your phone off of its charger then crumbled to the floor. You choked back a sob as you dialed for emergency services.

Gwilym was off filming in Surbiton, which was not too terribly far from home. They were filming a scene with one of Freddie Mercury's famous parties. As soon as the cameras were off, he was goofing around with the rest of the cast. Someone shouted his name and held up his cellphone. They told him that there were multiple missed calls from you, and it had been ringing nonstop. The other three boys cracked jokes about how you were probably bored, as you had called him many times whining about that in the past couple of weeks. Gwilym rolled his eyes and thanked the person who handed him his phone. His face hardened when he saw that he had dozens of missed calls and texts. Pressing the phone to his ear, he chewed on his bottom lip. The rest of the cast shifted uncomfortably in their seats, watching Gwilym with worried eyes.

By the time the first responders had arrived, you were passed out. They loaded you into an ambulance and took you to the nearest hospital, where they woke you up with smelling salts. They asked you all the routine questions, and you grumbled out answers between gritted teeth. When you told them that yes, there was a chance you were pregnant and yes, you had been taking fertility medications, the doctors seemed concerned and ordered multiple tests. While you were receiving an ultrasound for the doctors to assess the condition of your uterus and fallopian tubes, your phone started ringing. You saw the name flash across the screen and had one of the nurses answer it.

Gwilym's face paled. "Ectopic pregnancy? What does that mean?"

"When an egg is fertilized, it is supposed to move out of the fallopian tubes and attach itself to the uterus. In ectopic pregnancies, the egg remains in the tube. In your wife's case, the fallopian tubes ruptured and caused internal bleeding."

He stood abruptly and began pacing back and forth. Everyone nearby muttered their concerns. His breath came out shaky, and his lip was starting to bleed from him chewing on it. He thanked the nurse before shoving his phone into his pocket. "I've got to go. Now." Gwilym started to storm out, and everyone threw questions at his back as he ran off. He didn't even bother to stop and take off the wig.

By the time he arrived, you were already in surgery. Gwilym couldn't stay still. Whether he was bouncing his leg or pacing up and down the hall, he was constantly moving. He hated himself for not being around. He hated that he wasn't there for you when you needed him most. Less than an hour passed, and they were wheeling you into recovery. Relief flooded Gwilym's system when the doctors told him that the surgery went smoothly. They explained to him what to expect in the following days and that you should be back on your feet in no time.

Gwilym sat next to your bed, holding your hand. He perked up when you started to stir. You blinked slowly before narrowing your eyes. You pulled your hand away from him. "I'm married," you slurred, clearly still having some anesthesia in your system. When you turned your head away from him, Gwilym couldn't help but laugh. He gently cupped your face, turning you back to look at him.

"It's me, love." A smile crept across your lips.

"Oh, hey, Gwil. You changed hairstyles." Gwilym laughed again, rubbing his eyes to keep himself from crying. He was finally able to relax a bit. You started to laugh along with him but winced, placing a hand over your stomach. Gwilym placed a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room to tell a nurse that you had woken up. They gave you some medicine and told you that the doctor would come by for a final evaluation. When he finally came by, he explained that they had to remove one of your fallopian tubes due to it rupturing and how you needed to be careful in the following weeks while recovering from the surgery.

"So what about... having kids?" Your voice was small, and you figured you already knew the answer.

"It's not impossible to get pregnant, but your chances of having another ectopic pregnancy are very high." You nodded, lip slightly quivering. The doctor ducked out of the room, and tears began to fall.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gwil." Gwilym wrapped you in his arms.

"Sorry for what? Love, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for."

"But I... I know how much you wanted kids, and I can't... I can't.." You trailed off. It tore his heart into a million pieces to see you so upset.

"We'll figure it out later, alright? All that matters is that you're okay."

[seijuurouxryuu]

Little Menace

Title: Little Menace Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: G Pairing: Hibari Kyoya/ Reborn Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Age-Regression/De-ageing | Deity AU Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning

Day 4: Lightning Day

Lambo's bazooka malfunctioned again and Hibari turned into a 5-year-old. And 5-year-old Hibari tried to eat Reborn.

AO3

Reborn's nose scrunched up at Hibari, who was biting at his arm. He tried to dislodge the kid, but his teeth had long lodged into his flesh, drawing blood. It hurt, but not to the point that Reborn couldn't handle. He sighed when the cloud did nothing to relax his jaws and decided to glare at Lambo instead, the damn culprit who was cowering at one of the corners in the room. Lambo's bazooka went off again, and it malfunctioned again. Although kid Hibari was cute and all and Reborn would probably kill everyone in the room and himself should something happen to him, he preferred the older one who he can kiss and fight. Because god damn it, he came back just for the fight and then what did he get? A bite-y five-year-old Hibari. And it has already been five minutes.

"You better go get Shoichi and Giannini to fix that immediately or else I will skin you alive, you stupid cow."

Lambo, knowing better than to challenge Reborn's threat, immediately ran off like something was haunting him, leaving dust behind him.

Reborn sighed again and turned back to Hibari, who was gnawing at his arm instead of trying to chomp it off in one bite like he had initially wanted. He was like a zombie wanting to savour flesh. And he seemed to be sucking up his blood. What even. That was so unhygienic. He knew Hibari had a biting kink but apparently, he had blood kink as well. Actually, if Reborn think about it, it wasn't so surprising to be honest. Hibari had always been very blood thirsty.

"Kyouya." He drawled, eyes glinting as his obsidian eyes met the child's grey ones. "Let go." Hibari's eyes narrowed, very much offended by that. "Or I won't show you lil' birdy." Well, he doubted that the kid would know Hibird's name, so lil’ birdy was suitable. A glimmer and signs of giving up. but then Hibari shook his head and chomped down harder. Reborn grunted and threatened again. "I really won't show you, and you won't be able to pet it."

Hibari started struggling, debating whether he should let go of the piece of delicious meat for small, cute, fluffy animals. Was it worth it? Hibari paused for another minute.

Then he promptly let go.

Reborn pulled his arm, slobbered with saliva and blood and a bite mark, squinted at Hibari. Hibari looked at him in expectant, eyes practically shining. "Bird." Reborn sighed once again and chuckled while shaking his head in exasperation. "Bird." He agreed. He whistled a short, sharp note and soon, Hibird fluttered over and landed on his shoulder. Hibari's eyes widen, in awe. He reached up, grabby hands. "Bird!"

"Yes, yes." Reborn lowered himself and knelt down in front of the chair Hibari was sitting on. Hibari eagerly, but careful and gently, stroked the little yellow canary, who chirped happily at its owner. Reborn smiled slightly at that. Cute. But still, he wanted his Hibari. He huffed and ruffled Hibari's hair, earning a disdained glance before he couldn't be bothered and turned back to the bird. "Hurry up and come back."

A/N= The second one for the fourth day!! Yayyy!!! *slumps* I've nothing for Cloud day and I'm not sure whether the one for the last day is suitable. *sighhhsss* AND I HAVEN'T FINISH TOMORROW'S *cries*

Also I actually wrote this is 15 minutes because of the,,, write or die site. I managed to beat it, but then when the time was up the site started screeching like a banshee with the background turning red and I immediately copied the whole thing and evacuated from the hellsite. I almost died.

*rolls into a ditch*

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[gh03st-writer]

Unforgettable

Summary: Reader comes back to Asgard after a century to attend a banquet at the royal palace. Her past with the Princes haunts her and calls her back to try and right the wrongs she committed. Reader was in a secret relationship with Thor but when the God of Thunder starts to turn his affection on Lady Sif, reader turns her attention to Loki and ends up more tangled up with the Princes than she planned on ever being.

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader

Word count: 7974

Warnings: Implied smut (more like referenced tbh), a little bit of angst

A/N: This can be read as a standalone fic or as a part 2 to “He Can’t Be Replaced”. I didn’t plan on writing any more for this, but you guys inspired me (I got a little carried away >.>) so here it goes, let the drama begin!

Also, your last name will be Valgardsdottir because your father’s name is Valgard.

I inserted a read more link because this got so much longer than I planned on it being and there will be a copy of it on AO3 if that is easier for anyone if tumblr is being weird

*There is a traditional bread made during Ostara and there is a reference where someone breaks the eggs needed for the bread one year

       It had been nearly a century since you had last seen Asgard and walked the gilded halls of the palace; a distant memory that felt like a dream the more you thought about. You could still recall the day you left for Alfheim as if it was just moments ago; you left with very little notice, not wanting to make a scene. The sooner you left, the sooner you could forget, and that was all you wanted. You wanted to forget about all the mistakes you made that led you to leave Asgard, all the pain you had caused without a thought for anyone else but yourself.

           Your time at school in Alfheim taught you to be a world class diplomat, even earning a place among the school staff. After your graduation, the school offered you a position as a Professor of Diplomatic Affairs and you gladly accepted; one more reason not to return to Asgard.

           A few more years passed, and you wondered if anyone even bothered to remember you back home, your family sent you a few letters asking if you had any plans to return but that was all you had heard from anyone in Asgard. You felt a twinge of loneliness as you were handed another letter from your parents, it was hard to learn that your memory might have been nothing more than a passing thought in the minds of those you considered your friends, but it was something you had come to terms with many years before. You moved to open the letter from your parents when the courier stopped you, handing you another, “One more, Professor Valgardsdottir.”

           You hesitantly took the letter, the paper was much finer than your family would have used, “Thank you.”

           You ran your fingers over your name in gold lettering as you flipped it over in your hands, a part of you knew where this letter was from and another part of you wanted to keep wondering. You placed the letter beside you, trying to ignore it while you read the one from your family, partially hoping the strange letter would go away.

           It did not.

           It was hard to focus on the letter your family sent with the other letter siting no more than a foot away. You could barely make it through half the page before you grew frustrated and decided to open the strange letter. Placing your family’s letter down, you picked up the foreign letter and carefully opened it, greeted by an invitation to the royal palace of Asgard. The invitation was nothing short of what you would expect from the royals of Asgard: gold writing, paper finer than the sheets you slept on, and a filigree border that could put most gardens to shame. You ran your fingers over the letters, admiring the work put into making such an invitation as you began to read its contents:

To Lady Y/N Valgardsdottir,

You are hereby invited to the Banquet of Ostara at the royal palace of Asgard as an honored guest and daughter of Valgard, trusted advisor to Odin.

           “What in the nine realms,” you whispered to yourself as a second letter fell out from the envelope as you lifted it to place the invitation back inside. Picking the second letter up, you noticed the hand writing right away, it belonged to none other than Loki Odinson. You hesitated to read the letter, you hadn’t heard from Loki or heard anything about the Prince since you left Asgard.

           Anger.

           Confusion.

           Anger.

           From one emotion to the other, your mind and heart did summersaults as you tried to understand why you would hear from the God of Mischief after a century of silence. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you tried to reason with yourself about reading the letter, whether it would be a heartfelt confession or an anger laced admission, you weren’t sure.

           You decided to go back to reading the letter from your family instead, placing the one from Loki to the side, hoping to take your mind away from the confusion and surprise of hearing from the Prince. The letter was nothing special, the usual gossip of the week along with the wellbeing of everyone. Since your father earned his position as Odin’s advisor last year, your mother sent you a letter every week to discuss the gossip among the noble diplomats and it quickly became repetitive. It offered little in the way of distracting you from the other mail you received today, you wished that your family had more to write you, but it was hard to find something new to write about when they insisted on sending you a letter every week.

           Your eyes continued to stray to Loki’s letter and you finally gave in, deciding that if the letter was truly terrible you could always burn it and pretend you never received it. The letter was light, his message short and to the point:

           Lady Y/N,

I am uncertain if you will read this letter, I understand that it has been a century since you left Asgard with little notice and we have not spoken since the night I asked for your hand in courtship. I was unsure if I should even include this letter when I learned that your name had been included among the names of those invited to The Banquet of Ostara, but I suppose a letter that has taken a century to write is a letter worth sending.

Perhaps I should have begun with pleasantries rather than uncertainty, but none the less, I do hope this letter finds you in good health. Your presence has been greatly missed here, I hope to see you at The Banquet.

           It was neither a heartfelt confession nor an anger laced admission; it was a letter from one old friend to another and it made you miss him more than you would like to admit. Time only turned the pain of memory into background noise that soon became the only thing you could hear as you read Loki’s letter. You missed both the Princes if you were being honest with yourself, but you missed Loki much more than his older brother. Your relationship with Thor was different from your relationship with Loki. Thor was your first everything, someone you can never replace; but Loki is the one you can never forget. It was your late-night conversations with Loki that you missed the most, not the comfort of Thor’s bed. You wondered if your relationship with Loki was something that could be salvaged or something you could start over, his letter gave you a strange sense of hope that maybe he still cared for you. A hope that you were not familiar with, you rejected Loki for his brother the last time you saw him so why hope the younger Prince cared for you, the thought left a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

           A week passed, and you ultimately decided to make an appearance at the banquet of Ostara, deciding that it would be nice to see your family (and Loki). You wrote your family, telling them about your impending arrival and attendance at the banquet, you debated to write Loki as well wondering if he would welcome your reply. In the end, you decided it best to reply to Loki with a letter much like the one he sent you:

           Loki,

Your letter was unexpected but not unwelcome, for a brief moment in time I wondered if you had forgotten about me and I am glad to see that is not the case. There is a century worth of conversations we have missed, I hope we can have at least one when I return.

There is something I need to tell you, but it is not something I can send in a letter, it is something that must be spoken. Something I should have told you before I left Asgard, that I was too young to understand.

I hope that our friendship has not been broken beyond repair, but I understand that may be too much to ask.

I look forward to seeing you at The Banquet.

           You left for Asgard at the end of the month, your mind filled with all the possible outcomes of your trip. The trip was far from relaxing as your mind jumped from conclusion to conclusion, knowing full well that Loki will have gotten your letter long before you made it to Asgard, you wondered what kind of welcome awaited you.

           When you arrived, your mother, father, and younger sister welcomed you with open arms. The four of you talked about what you missed over the past century as well as what was in the many letters your mother sent you. Your sister quickly ushered you into your old room as the four of you reached your family’s home. You laughed as you set your bags down, “What has got you in such a fuss, did you break the eggs* again this year?”

           Your sister huffed, “That was one time!”

           “Sure,” you chuckled as your sister playfully swatted your arm.

           She put her hands on her hips triumphantly, “I know why you’re here.”

           You rolled your eyes, “I was invited to the Banquet of Ostara because of father’s new position as one of Odin’s advisors, it doesn’t take a master strategist to figure it out, little fox.”

           Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, “That’s just what they want you to think, and stop calling me little fox, I’m not a child anymore.”

           “Protest all you want, but you will always be a child to me baby sister,” you smiled, “So tell me, Asa, what is the real reason I was dragged all the way back to Asgard?”

           Asa smirked, “A suitor.”

           You stared at her, any semblance of a smile gone from your features, “Excuse me?”

           “You heard me correctly, a S-U-I-T-O-R,” Asa replied.            It took you a moment to process what Asa was saying, but as soon you realized the weight of her words you immediately stormed out of the room in search of your parents.

           “Mother, father, I just heard the most interesting thing from Asa,” you called out.

           Your mother peeked her head out from the next room, “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

           You walked into the room to find both your mother and father sitting by the fireplace, “Why was I dragged all the way back here?”

           Your mother knit her brows, “You weren’t dragged anywhere, you were invited to-“

           “Yes, I was invited to the Banquet of Ostara, I know,” you interrupted her, “But Asa seems to think otherwise, so correct me if I’m wrong, but are you planning to hand me off to a stranger tomorrow night?”

           “We’re not ‘handing you off’ to anyone, we found a suitor for you to marry,” your mother replied as if it were nothing.

           “Why,” you nearly shouted in reply to your mother’s indifference.

           Your father stepped in, “Watch your tone, our family has done this for generations, and you will be no exception.”

           Your mother placed a calming hand on your father’s arm, “She has every right to ask why,” she looked at you with kind eyes, “For generations our family have been in marriages that were arranged by their parents, I’ve always told both you and your sister that your father and I would make sure you would always be happy and safe.”

           “I didn’t think you meant that you would marry me off to some random lord with a wallet the size of his ego,” you replied as a sigh escaped your lips, “May I, at the very least, know who you will be showing me off to at The Banquet?”

Your parents shared a look, your father being the one to tell you the name of your betrothed, “Fandral.”

You tried hard not to laugh, really hard, but a giggle managed to weasel itself out of your mouth, your parents were not nearly as amused as you were. The look on their faces mirrored each other as your father addressed your amusement, “What is so funny that you can barely contain yourself?”

You weren’t sure where to start, “I’m not sure how I should say this, but Fandral has quite the reputation among women, both on and off Asgard.”

Asa had been listening in on the entire conversation, never able to resist family drama, and made her presence known only by the sound of her laughter, “Mother, father, you must be joking, Fandral of all people!”

You echoed your sister’s sentiment as the both of you started to erupt in a fit of laughter. Your parents weren’t nearly as amused as the two of you were and simply frowned at each of you with disappointment written all over their faces. They echoed each other in agreement as your mother began reprimanding the two of you, “Girls, despite the rumors, I’m certain you both will be absolutely delightful at the banquet, and not incapacitated by laughter by this time tomorrow.”

The two of you did your best to nod between your laughter as you reassured your mother, “Yes, absolutely delightful, we wouldn’t dare disrupt The Banquet with our obnoxious laughter.”

Your mother gave you look that told you to watch what you said as she dismissed the two of you, “You should go rest, tomorrow will be a long day.”

The two of you left with more laughter than silence escaping from your lips. Asa nearly tripped over her own feet as she rushed to shut the bedroom door behind her, “So, what’s the plan?”

You looked at her with confusion written everywhere but on paper, “What are you talking about?”

She huffed and folded her arms in front of her, “C’mon, Y/N, I’ve known you since the day I was born, you can’t tell me you don’t have something bouncing around in that brain of yours that will get you out of this mess.”

You thought about what your sister said, she was right, in your younger days you would have caused a storm of trouble that would embarrass your parents enough that they would think twice before trying to hand you off to someone again. Asa had the same twinkle in her eyes that you used to have, but time has dulled that mischievous spark in your eyes and certain consequences remind you what too much mischief will bring, “Little fox, the days of causing mischief to get out of obligations are over, I have learned that there are some things that you cannot change.”

She sighed, worry creeping into her voice, “What happened to you on Alfheim, before you would have caused such a storm that no one would want to marry you without your verbal permission.”

Asa watched your thought process as memories of your life before Alfheim played through your mind. She took hold of your hand as she realized why you have changed, “Not everything was your fault, Y/N, you can’t carry the burden of others on your shoulders,” her arms surrounded you in a warm embrace as she let go of your hand, “You are no Atlas.”

Your sister was the only one who knew about your past with the Princes and why you left Asgard for Alfheim. You accepted her embrace happily, thankful that there was at least one person you could talk to without judgment and seek some form of comfort, “You’re right, but I certainly could have taken more care with my actions.”

She sighed as the two of you parted, “No one, except Heimdall, can see the future.”

You laughed, “Then he should have at least given me a warning of some sort.”

“Oh, I would pay to see that conversation,” she laughed with you, “Heimdall stops you while you’re slinking through the palace one night to warn you about the consequences of your actions.”

You shook your head, “I’m certain I would have died from embarrassment alone if that happened.”

“I thought so,” she agreed.

Asa began to leave the room and head to her own room for the night as you started to move your bags about the room from where they had been conveniently placed while you were walking in the door when a letter fell out of one of your bags. She picked it up to hand it to you when she noticed the quality of the paper, “Who sent you this?”

You took the letter from her quicker than you would admit to, “No one important, it came with my invitation.”

She raised her eyebrows and stared at you in disbelief, “Wow, I didn’t know a Professor of Diplomatic Affairs could be such a terrible liar, do you teach the students that truth and honesty can conquer anything, is there a separate class for learning how to manipulate the truth?”

You mocked offense, “I’ll have you know, I teach my students to be the best damn debaters and negotiators in the nine realms.”

“Then what the hell was that sorry excuse for a lie you just told me,” she knew you better than anyone, the only person in all the nine realms that you could never lie to.

You took a deep breath before answering her, “Loki sent a letter with my invitation.”

Asa’s eyes nearly fell out of her head as she processed what you told her, she scrambled to get the letter back from you, “By Odin’s beard, you have to let me see that letter.”

You threw it in the top of your shirt in an attempt to keep it from her grasp, “Have I ever told you the story of how mother dropped you on your head as a babe, because you must be crazy if you think I’m going to let you read that letter.”

She placed her hands firmly on her hips and rolled her eyes, “That story must be about you because we both know you sticking it down your shirt won’t stop me.”

“You wouldn’t,” you gasped.

Her eyes narrowed, “You either tell me what’s in the letter or I go bodice diving.”

You sighed and raised your hands in surrender, “Alright, I’ll tell you what’s in the letter.”

She placed herself happily in the center of your bed, her smile smug and her eyes expectant. You pushed her over, making room for yourself, “I said I would tell you about the letter, not give you my bed.”

           She laughed, “The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’ll give your bed back.”

           You sighed, “It isn’t anything scandalous, he simply stated that my presence has been missed and he hopes to see me at The Banquet.”

           Asa looked at you like you had just grown three heads, “There is nothing simple about what you just said to me.”

“Nonsense,” you laughed, “Besides, I don’t want to overthink anything and make assumptions.”

“Sis, I don’t know how to tell you this, but being a professor has turned you into the dumbest woman in all of the nine realms,” Asa stated.

You punched her arm, “I’ve done nothing but care for you and support you since the day you were born, and this is how you speak to me.”

She laughed, “You better hope my arm doesn’t bruise, I’m just telling you the truth.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up, Asa, I just want to be able to try and clear the air a little bit,” you told her.

Asa rolled her eyes, “Yeah, okay,” she replied as she started to get under the covers of your blanket.

You started to pull the blanket out from her grasp, “What are you doing, aren’t you a little old to be sleeping in my bed with me?”

Asa took the blanket back from you, “Not tonight, big sis, we are having a sleepover and getting you mentally, emotionally, and fashionably ready for tomorrow.”

You laughed, “Fine, although is it really a sleepover if we live in the same house?”

She hit you with one of the pillows behind her, “It’s a sleepover if I say it’s a sleepover.”

“Whatever you say,” you agreed with her for the sake of not wanting to argue about nuances as you settled into bed, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to try and get some sleep, enjoy your sleepover by yourself.”

Asa ripped the covers off of you, “Absolutely not, no one in this room will be sleeping until tomorrow has a plan so fool proof that your title will be changed from Professor of Diplomatic Affairs to Professor of Strategy and Execution.”

This bickering went on for another twenty minutes until you gave in to your sister and let her plan out your entire evening tomorrow and rummage through the dresses you had brought with you from Alfheim.

She looked at all two of the dresses you had brought with you to wear and shook her head, “Seriously, you brought two of the plainest pieces of fabric I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not like I exactly went shopping before I left Alfheim,” you replied, “I do have other responsibilities than impressing every noble on Asgard.”

Asa quickly left the room, still shaking her head, and returned with a dress that was much dressier than what you brought, “Try this on, I got it last year as a gift, but it never quite fit me right.”

You sighed and took the dress from her, indulging her, “After this, I’m going to sleep, and we can finish in the morning.”

She barely heard you as she rushed you behind a wall divider, “Fine, just hurry up.”

You tried on the dress and weren’t sure if it was because of how tired you were, but it looked like it was made for you. It hugged every curve of your body like a glove, the gold and green tones brought out the color in your eyes and made it look like you were almost glowing. You stepped out from behind the divider to show Asa, “What do you think?”

Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor, “I think you have a tailor hiding back there, that dress looks amazing on you and if Loki doesn’t notice you the minute you walk in the room then he must be blind because I know everyone else will.”

You felt slightly anxious at the thought of having the eyes of everyone on you, “Asa, are you sure this is necessary, the dresses I brought are nice enough, I don’t need to show off to every noble in the room.”

She slapped your arm playfully, “You must be joking, this dress is absolutely necessary and the only thing anyone will be talking about for the next century.”

“I was hoping to be old news by now,” you replied jokingly.

She motioned for you to change back into your clothes, “You were, but talk about a comeback.”

           You laughed, “Thanks, Asa, I was really shooting for the return of a century when I came back to Asgard.”

           Her voice sounded as smug as she looked, “You’re welcome.”

           The two of you chatted for the rest of the night as you started to fall asleep, Asa did spend the night in your room, The Banquet being the only thing she wanted to talk about. Telling her about the letter Loki sent you were either going to be the best or worst thing that had happened to you since you came back to Asgard.

           The morning came quickly, and The Banquet came even quicker, time seemed to stop and speed up all at once as your family arrived at the royal palace. Asa helped you get ready and argued with you about which shoes to wear for at least an hour before your mother had to interject and ended up choosing the pair you wore.

           Asa was right when she said that your dress would be the talk of the century, more than one noble admired you as you stood by one of the many banquet tables that lined the room. It made you second guess coming back to Asgard at all, but none the less, you were determined to speak with the dark-haired prince before the night’s end.

You were nervous to say the least as your mother took your arm and guided you to a nearby table with more nobles standing around it than you cared to count, “Darling, I know it can be nerve-wracking to meet the person you are told you will spend the rest of your life with, but trust me when I tell you, it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“I’m sure you’re right, I guess I have the pre-engagement nerves,” you laughed, hoping she would take that excuse and not probe you for more information.

She patted your hand that was rest on her arm, “It’s alright, we all get them.”

She believed your excuse and you sighed in relief, how were you going to tell her that the one person you were most nervous about the meeting was not the one you were promised to marry.

The exact person she was walking you over too.

When you realized where she was leading you to, you held your breath for a moment, taking a mental tally of everyone present at the table. There stood the Warriors Three, your father, your sister, and a few other nobles you couldn’t remember the names of. You weren’t sure if it was disappointment or relief that you felt when you saw that neither Prince, but you finally started to breathe regularly again as you reached the table. Your father and the Warriors Three were stuck in a match of who could tell the best battle story and your father was losing, badly. Your mother cleared her throat to announce your arrival but the laughter at the table easily swallowed her attempt at a gentle announcement. She started to laugh with the group softly and touched your father’s arm, “Dear, I’m sure that these men have more stories about triumph in battle than we have time to tell them.”

Your father looked in the direction of your mother and cleared his throat, noticing both of your arrivals, “Of course, I just get so caught up in all the tales of glory that I miss my old warrior days, being the King’s advisor is prestigious but it doesn’t quite measure up to the feeling of being on an open battlefield with your brothers behind you and your enemy staring you down.”

You chimed in, knowing that your father could easily get carried away with the subject, “Yes, but sitting at the table of advisors across from the other advisors can feel like a battlefield, I find.”

           Your father scoffed, “Says the Professor of Diplomatic Affairs.”

           Your mother cleared her throat once again, much louder this time, and your father took the hint, “Yes, well we didn’t come here to discuss old war stories, gentlemen, you already know my wife, I would like to introduce you to my daughter Y/N,” he motioned towards you, “She just returned back from Alfheim where she is an esteemed Professor of Diplomatic Affairs.”

           You curtsied, “It is a pleasure to meet the Warriors Three after all the stories I’ve heard.”

           They paused a moment, and you hoped they did not recognize you, the last thing you needed was your parents finding of your past at a formal banquet from three of the closest people to the crown prince. There was a pleading look in your eyes that they seemed to have caught as each introduced themselves to you, Volstagg and Hogun introduced themselves first, a twinkle of recognition played in their eyes and you were thankful they did not voice it. Fandral took your hand and brought it to his lips, “A pleasure to meet you Lady Y/N, I am Fandral, hopefully, your parents have told you about our engagement.”

           You smiled, laughing lightly, “They have, although a surprise, better to find out before than at a public event and risk embarrassment.”

           Your mother started to reprimand you as Fandral laughed, “That it is, I am sure we will get along wonderfully.”

           Your mother shot you a look that said this was not over, you shot her a look in return that suggested it had only just begun. Fandral offered his arm to you, “I hope your parents do not mind, but I want to get to know more about you without curious ears listening.”

           You hesitantly took his arm, “I’m certain my parents would be more than happy to see you walk away with me, although I’m not sure your fellow Warriors feel the same.”          

           Volstagg and Hogun laughed at your remark as the two of you started to walk away from the table. Fandral leaned slightly closer to you, “In that dress, there are very few men that would be happy to see you walk away with me.”

           “Then I have succeeded in making the entire Banquet either jealous or envious,” you replied.

           He laughed as the two of you walked to the outskirts of the room, near the gardens, “That you have, although it pains me to know that I am not the one you put that dress on for.”

           You smiled and took a glass from one of the nearby tables, “What gave me away?”

           “It took a moment, but I remember you,” he replied, “And green isn’t exactly my color, I prefer purple.”

           You laughed, “So you walked me all the way over here for what, to confirm that I am the woman you thought I was and that my feelings for one, if not both of the Princes, are still very real.”

           He looked off into the garden, “No, I already knew who you were, and I know about the letter that was sent in your invitation.”

           You nearly spit out your drink, “What letter?”

           He smiled smugly, “Don’t act like Loki didn’t send you a letter with your invitation, I saw him sneak it into the envelope, all I had to do was get you over here.”

           “What are you talking about,” you questioned.

           He motioned for you to head into the garden, “For a Professor, you can be awfully dense, Lady Y/N.”

           You knit your brow and started to head into the garden, “Lord Fandral, I swear on Odin’s beard that if this is some sort of weird trick you’re playing at-”

           “Tricks are what I’m known for,” the voice that interrupted you took your breath away. Loki Odinson, God of Mischief, was sitting near the center of the garden. The look on your face must have given away your surprise, the god chuckled, “At a loss for words, I see.”

           You weren’t sure if you were this was all an elaborate dream or not, but you didn’t care, “You could put it that way, I thought I would catch a glimpse of you at The Banquet, but it seems you found a way to sneak off to somewhere away from the crowd,” a small smile played at your lips, “Like always.”

           The words coming out of your mouth weren’t the ones your brain told it say. You brain wanted to ask him a million questions, but your mouth had other ideas, “I remember this garden, its where I used to find you when no one else could.”

           Loki sighed and examined one of the many flowers that were in bloom, “Y/N, I got your letter, what did you need to tell me?”

           You took in a deep breath, not sure if you were ready to tell him everything that needed to be said. You started to look at the various flowers that lined the seating area of the garden, “We’ve missed a century worth of conversations, of all the conversations to have with you first, I don’t know why I didn’t imagine that this is the one we would be having.”

           Loki watched you, confused, “Y/N-“

           “Why aren’t you angry with me,” you interrupted him as tears threatened to make themselves known, “Why did you let them invite me here, is this some elaborate trick to embarrass me once and for all, are these the consequences of my actions that I have dreaded for so long?”

           Those certainly weren’t the words your brain told you to say or the words your mouth wanted to say.

           Your heart was the one pulling the strings, it had taken full control of your decisions from here on out, your brain and mouth were just along for the show.

           The tears that had threatened to come out were starting to trickle down your face, Loki stood from his seat and reached for you, but you rejected his offer of comfort, “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle this, I thought time had eased the pain but it only dulled it.”

           Loki’s looked at you with worry written across his face, “Y/N, please sit down and take a breath,” he motioned for you to sit on a nearby bench, “This is no trick, I only wanted to speak with you away from prying eyes and ears.”

           You wiped the tears from your eyes, “You should be angrier, I led you on and then rejected you for your brother after I told myself I wouldn’t fall for either of you.”

           Loki moved towards you but stopped what he realized what you, “Did you just say, ‘either of you’, as in both of us?”

           You nodded your head, “Yes, that’s what ‘either of you means’, I didn’t mean to have feelings for Thor or you but now I’m stuck with these feelings that I wasn’t able to make sense of before and I can barely make sense of now and I know that this is a lot to drop on you all of a sudden but I had this whole conversation between us planned out in my head and now it’s all gone to pieces and I just-“

           “Y/N, breath,” Loki had taken hold of your shoulders as you started to ramble with no end in sight, “I’ve been waiting a century to speak with you again, a conversation that has waited a century to have can wait a little longer.”

           You laughed as you remembered the letter he sent you, “Just like the letter that took a century to write.”

           He laughed with you, “Yes, and I’m glad I finally did, I had a thousand versions of that letter drafted, some angrier than others, but after rewriting it for the thousandth time, I decided that I missed you more than I was angry with you.”

           You listened to him, not fully believing the words coming from his mouth. These were words you never imagined he would say to you. Both of you stared at each other for a moment before realizing he still had you by the shoulders. The two of you parted with a slight air or embarrassment as you began to laugh. Loki looked at you like you had finally lost your mind, “Y/N, I don’t understand what is so funny.”

           You continued to laugh, “It’s funny in an ironic way, I was supposed to the one with the heartfelt confession, not you,” your laughter began to quiet itself as you started taking deep breaths, “I had a plan, Loki, I was going to tell you everything I was too young to realize when you asked for my hand in courtship and then I was going to listen to you yell at me for leading you on and thinking I could just come back and everything would be okay.”

           Loki ran a hand through his hair, he wanted nothing more than to embrace and comfort you, but he didn’t want to drive you away, “You keep saying you lead me on, stop saying that, you didn’t lead me anywhere, if anything you lead me to believe we were friends.”

           This was the only time, during the entire conversation, that Loki had come close to yelling or being angry. You were shocked at his words, “What are you saying, that I had nothing to do with giving you the idea that you should court me?”

           Loki sighed, frustration starting to get the better of him, “I told you on that night, and I’ll tell you again as many times as you want, but my decision to ask for your hand in courtship was all of my own doing, if anything, it was my own delusions and fantasies that gave me the idea, not you.”

           You listened to him, considering everything he was saying, your heart deciding that now was the perfect time to jump the gun and open your mouth before consulting the rational part of your brain, “I should have said yes.”

           The world around both of you stood still as he listened to your words, “What?”

           You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “I should have said yes, all those years ago, I should have said yes,” you finally took a seat on the bench and stared at a nearby flower, “Loki, it was hard for me to admit that my feelings for you had grown into more than just friendship because I was so infatuated with Thor, but after I left Asgard I couldn’t forget you.”

           It was Loki’s turn to stan in disbelief at the words you were saying, you refused to look at him as you continued to speak, “Thor was my first everything, first love, first time, first kiss, and no one will be able to replace him,” you finally turned your attention to Loki and noticed the look in his eyes of disbelief and even a spot of hope, “But I can’t forget you.”

           Loki stared at you for a moment, taking in everything that you were saying, all the words pouring from your mouth that he had dreamed of hearing you say in one way or another. You watched him, unsure what his silence meant, “Loki, say something because now I’ve laid my heart out in front of you and I just want to know if you’re listening or if this is all some elaborate dream that my brain has cooked up.”

           “What does that mean,” Loki replied.

           You ran your hands down your face, “It means, I guess it means,” a long sigh escaped your mouth as you tried to explain yourself, “It means that Thor might have been my first, but I want you to be my last.”

           Loki stood there a moment, unsure if was hearing you correctly. You rose from the bench and hesitantly placed a comforting hand on his arm, “Loki-”

           The next thing you knew, Loki’s lips were on yours as his hands held your face. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss seemed to go on forever before the two of you parted, out of breath. You smiled and looked up at him as he rested his forehead against your own, a smile playing on his lips as well, “I’ve waited a century to kiss you.”

           You giggled, “A century is a long time to wait, I hope you don’t wait a century for our first night together, I’m not sure I can take a century of teasing.”          

           His eyes darkened, “Well, darling, in that dress you might not make it through the night.”

           “Loki Odinson, I’ll have you know that I am a decent woman and do not let any man into my bed on the first night,” you playfully reprimanded him.

           His smile widened wickedly, “That’s alright, my bed is big enough for two.”

           You gasped and laughed, untwining yourself from the mischievous god, “Before we end in either bed, we need to take care of my very recent and very unexpected engagement to Fandral.”

           Loki took your arm and linked it with his, “I’m already way ahead of you, in fact, Fandral lost a bet to me and owes me a favor.”

           You looked at Loki with an eyebrow raised, “What kind of favor?”

           Mischief played in his eyes as he led you back into the banquet hall, “The kind that will solve your engagement problem.”

           Your jaw nearly touched the floor as you took in the scene before you: Fandral dramatically kissing your sister in front of the entire banquet hall.

           Loki chuckled as you rushed over to your parents who stood just as shocked as you were, “What is going on?!”

           Your mother looked as mad as you should have been if you actually cared about your engagement with Fandral, “Y/N, don’t worry, your father is going to take care of this,” she looked pointedly at your father, “Right, dear?”

           Your father nodded and walked over to the kissing pair, “Show’s over,” he pulled your sister from Fandral’s reach, “So is your engagement to my daughter!”

           You tried to reach your father before things got out of hand, “Father, there’s something I have to tell you and mother…”

           Fandral barely looked phased by your father as he called out to what appeared to be no one, “Alright Loki, you heard the man, the show’s over.”

           You father looked more confused than you had been all night as Loki made his appearance known to the banquet hall, “Thank you, Fandral, although that might have been a little too dramatic, even for me.”

           Fandral winked at your sister as he left to talk with the rest of the Warriors Three, “It was my pleasure.”

           Your father suddenly straightened himself at the appearance of the young prince, jostling your sister that was just managing to get away from him. You held your head in your hand as Loki came to stand behind you, “You could have just told him to verbally break the engagement, ya know?”

           “Where is the fun in that,” Loki replied, obviously pleased with himself about the mischief he was able to cause.

           Your mother stared at the two of you, “Is there something you want to tell us, Y/N?”

           You turned your attention to her, guilt written in your features, “Mother, there is so much I’ve been wanting to tell you, but let’s start with right now and then I promise to tell you everything.”

           Asa rushed herself to your side, excitement bouncing off of her, “I told you the dress would work!”

           Loki snaked a hand around your waist, “Yes, the dress certainly helped.”

           Your father chimed in before your sister could say any more, “Apologies, your highness, but I have to ask what the meaning of all this is.”

           Loki moved to offer your father his hand, “I understand you are one of my father’s advisor, allow me to formally ask for your daughter’s hand in courtship.”

           Your father had very few words after that, he accepted Loki’s hand, “Well, I can’t imagine saying anything less than of course.”

           You laughed at your father’s words, “I’m so glad that the two of you have found common ground and are able to get along.”

           Loki’s hand found its way back around your waist as your father found his place next to your mother as she addressed you, “Y/N, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you were able to find someone you actually like to be your suitor, but I am rather displeased with how it was brought to our attention.”

           You look at your mother apologetically, “Mother, I’m sorry but trust me when I tell you that it will all make so much more sense when I tell you everything.”

           The rest of The Banquet went off without a hitch, your parents were mingling with nobles from every family. Thor and Lady Sif made their appearance with Freya and Odin soon to follow. You nudged Loki curiously, “Why were you the only Odinson here this whole time?”

           “I had someone special to meet,” he replied.

           You rolled your eyes playfully as the banquet hall welcomed the royal family. The night went smoothly, even when you met with Thor again. It was awkward at first, but if the century away from Asgard did anything, it had certainly eased the pain and feelings you had related to the crown prince, much to Loki’s satisfaction.

           You spent the rest of your time split between the company of the young prince and the company of your family. Your time back on Asgard felt like it got away from you before you were needed back on Alfheim to finish teaching future nobles how to be diplomatic with others. Loki was more than reluctant to see you go, “Do you really need to go?”

           You smiled, “Yes, I have responsibilities and students that are expecting me, I’ll be back after the school year is over.”

           Loki frowned, “You make it sound like it’s a weekend away and not at least another four months.”            

           You started to double check that you had all the bag you came with, “We could always, I don’t know, write each other letters.”

           Loki wrapped his arms around you, “Hmm, maybe, or you could just not go.”

           You turned around to face him, “You make a compelling case, but I have to see the rest of the school year through, I owe it to my students.”

           Loki sighed, “Fine, at least promise me you won’t get engaged to anyone while we’re apart.”

           You laughed, “As if I was the one who proposed to Fandral and cried about it later.”

           “That’s how I remember it,” Loki teased you.

           Your trip back to Alfheim was as bittersweet as you expected, but for a completely different reason.

           Months passed and Loki did write you letters, and you wrote him back. The courier noticed your increase in letters and who they were from, offering you nothing more than a knowing look at each weekly delivery. You were convinced that the courier read the letters before they were handed off to you, but you never had any proof.

           At the end of the school year, you handed in your resignation, much to the disappointment of the students, and happily packed your things to head back to Asgard.

           Your welcome back to Asgard was much more festive than your first. Your family, Loki, and an entourage of people you don’t quite remember but look familiar were waiting for you on the other side of the Bifrost. You were surprised by the large group of people welcoming you, Loki was the first to step forward, “Welcome home, love.”

           The two of you embraced and it was like that night at The Banquet all over again, you missed him during those months back at the school and the letters only made you miss him more. You parted from Loki to greet your family and wave to the large entourage of people. You looked at Loki and pointed to the group of people you didn’t exactly recognize, “Who are all these people?”

           Loki smiled, “They’re here for the big announcement.”

           “What announcement,” you asked.

           Loki pulled you in close and dug a ring out of his pocket, “Y/N Valgardsdottir, will you marry me?”

           You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry, maybe a little bit of both, “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

           He kissed you and slipped the ring on your hand, “I knew you’d say that.”

           “So why the fanfare,” you asked.

           He chuckled, “It was this or a parade organized by none other than my brother.”

           You nodded, “I’ll take the fanfare.”

           The two of you laughed as your family congratulated you and the large entourage of people behind them cheered. The years to come were a mystery to you but you knew that the only thing left for you to regret is not saying “yes” sooner.

Tags: @fire-in-her-veinz

[darkhymns-fic]

Out In the Cold

When visiting Dirk's house during a winter storm, both Lloyd and Colette find themselves stuck there in the meantime, unable to go back to their city apartment. But staying a few days out in the winter countryside might not be so bad.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Dirk, Noishe Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: For @colloydweek Day 5: Snow. Based off a modern AU with @frayed-symphony​! 

Lloyd turned the key in the ignition over and over again, but no matter how much willpower he used, the truck just wouldn’t start.

“Man…” He laid back against the seat and sighed. The cold mist of his breath formed in the air before him, all while he watched the falling snow slowly bury the windshield. Guess they were staying over again.

“Lloyd, don’t force it.” Dirk tapped against the half-open car door with the edge of his knuckles. How his dad could walk around in sub-freezing temperatures in just his casual clothes, Lloyd had never figured out. He was garbed in basically two of his jackets himself, the interior of the truck barely giving him much warmth. “The engine’s not gonna work in this weather.”

“Gaah, but if I can just…” Lloyd reached for the key again, the truck sputtering and gurgling each and every time he turned it. “If I can just turn it on and let it warm up a little!”

“That doesn’t actually do anything, you know.”

“What? Yes it does!” Lloyd turned the key an extra time to prove his point. The truck then gave a bit of violent-sounding cough that made Lloyd jump. “Uh, never mind.”

Though a bit worried that his son would somehow break his vehicle, he only chuckled. With each passing moment, his thick beard caught more and more snowflakes, flecking it with specks of white. Even through all his frustration, Lloyd mused how his dad could pass off as Santa Claus with the right clothes and laugh. He’d look just like the guy that played as Santa when he was younger, the one who would come to the house when Genis would stay over and Raine would watch them, and when Dirk always had a last-minute commission to finish up so he couldn’t be around for the presents and… wait a second.

Dirk bellowed a laugh that also sounded really familiar suddenly, but then opened the car door wider, letting in the biting wind. “Come on, I can check on the engine. Why don’t you go to Colette in the meantime? Give her something to do on a snowy day.”

“U-um, yeah. You’re right.” Lloyd unconsciously huddled in his double jackets as he got out of the truck. He was immediately up to his lower calves in the snow, his boots saving him from his socks getting soaked. Winter out here was always brutal. His dad was, meanwhile, waist deep in it, and of course didn’t seem to be bothered.

The house was already covered in white wherever it could reach, his balcony drenched in snow, hopefully not too much that it would break. He’d have to remember not to go up there and slip again… Opening the front door with a bit of difficulty (already the lock was freezing up!), he was met with a wave of heat from the fireplace in the further living room. He was about to shrug off his jackets when he heard a happy whuff from the side.

“Noishe!” he greeted, thankful to put his freezing hands against the dog’s thick and fluffy fur. But where there was a dog, there should have been… “Uh, where’s Colette?” Last time, she had been seated at the dinner table by the fireplace.

Had she gone upstairs? Or to the other room? But then Noishe circled around him, snout pointed towards the door where Lloyd just came in through. “She’s outside?”

Whether Noishe could understand was up for debate, but he answered Lloyd with another whuff.

“Agh, but it’s so cold!” Lloyd was a little put out that he would already be leaving the warmth of the home. But if Colette had gone, he had to follow. Hopefully she hadn’t gone far… but where would she go? There was one place, maybe –

A soft buzzing in his pants pocket. Lloyd reached for his phone, the small flip model very scuffed all around its edges. Someday he’d get a new one, maybe. Opening it up, he already knew who the text was from.

Hi, Lloyd! ^_^ Sorry for leaving so suddenly… But I wanted to explore! I’m waiting for you at our favorite place!’ This was then followed by a string of heart emojis, a few stars, and some doggy paw pads, too. Lloyd was always astounded at the cuteness of her texts.

He heard a soft sound of something brewing in the kitchen next to him, a familiar smell that was comforting and already gave him ideas.

Well, at least he wouldn’t go to her empty-handed.

----

He found Colette underneath one of the tall, overarching trees, just by the path within the woods. Out before her, there was a lake, its surface frozen, reflecting the sun brighter than ever before.

It hadn’t taken long to find her, Lloyd already seeing her deep footsteps on the pathway, and a few places where the snow was disturbed the most – a sign of her tripping.

Rushing up to her, his breath coming out in puffs in the air, he saw that she had her arms spread out in the snows, looking straight above.

 “…Uh, you okay?” he called out, hoping that Colette hadn’t tripped onto the deep snowbanks here and couldn’t get up. Because if it hadn’t been for the flash of red from one of his spare jackets that she wore as he walked by, just peeking at the edge of sunken snow, he might have missed her completely.

At his words, a head streaked with snow-covered blonde hair raised up. She turned to him, her cheeks red from the cold, probably so numb – but it didn’t stem down her smile.

“I’m good!” she told him. “I was just waiting for you until we were ready to go.”

“Yeah, but… out here? It’s freezing!” And with that, he walked up to her, handing her another jacket that was identical to the one she wore, and the ones he wore, too! He owned a few copies of the same set, but that meant he had plenty to give to Colette when she wanted some. “Here, I don’t think just one is enough.”

She took the jacket gratefully, decked out with several silver buttons, the collar decorated with white strips sewn into the seam. She always looked so happy when she gave him his things to wear. “Oh yeah, and I made sure it’s clean, too!” He really had to stop giving her the ones he was just wearing…

But that wasn’t all! “Here!” he said as he handed her one of the bright red thermostats he carried, grinning. “It’s hot coffee.”

Colette took the thermostat in gloved hands, their color a bright fuzzy pink with those little pom poms stitched to the side of them. She even had a matching scarf to go with it, which Lloyd thought was pretty handy. “Thanks, Lloyd!” Though as she held it, she paused. “Hm, or is it cold?”

“Hey, I made sure it was hot this time!”

“Hehe, I’m just teasing you!” She settled on the snows, not minding at all that it covered up to her knees. “Is the truck okay?”

“Nah, the engine’s all messed up. Or the battery or… something.” Lloyd didn’t really know much about cars. “I think we’re going to have to stay for the night again.”

Colette didn’t look at all disappointed. “That happens a lot whenever we visit your dad, doesn’t it?”

“You know, it does! I wonder if he has something to do with it…” Dirk always liked having them over so maybe… but then again he doubted his dad could suddenly control the weather. “I didn’t think the snow would be this bad though. Sorry.”

She shook her head. “That’s okay! It’s… I like the winter here. In the city, the snow always gets all dirty with the cars. And then they clean it up the next day before you can do anything in it.” She said this while putting on the second jacket, brushing out the snow from her hair.

Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing just now anyway?”

Unfastening the top of the thermostat, Colette took a careful sip of the coffee. She closed her eyes as she did so, and then lowered the thermostat from her chin to look at Lloyd with a wide smile. “Making a snow angel!”

That was the cutest thing he ever heard. He could only grin and laugh, the cold suddenly seeming not so much of a problem anymore. “You’re such a dork.”

By then, he was seated next to her on the snowbanks, overlooking the lake with its frozen sheen. They were close enough for their shoulders to touch, eager to get any warmth they could. “Did Noishe not want to come?” Colette asked.

“Nah, he’s scared of the cold. Don’t ask me how though.” Lloyd took a sip from his own thermostat, pleased to know that the coffee was actually hot! He had worried for a moment there. “Hey, how come you went out all the way here?” It wasn’t a long walk, but with the heavy snow that blanketed both sight and sound, the path wasn’t the easiest to tread anymore.

Colette fiddled with one of the jacket buttons on the side, it still being so big on her, draping her shoulders like a cape, but enough to keep her warm. “I wanted to see if we could swim in the lake again,” she said with a shy smile.

“Wh- But it’s freezing!” He felt like he said this before. “And, also, the lake is actually frozen.”

“Yeah, and it’s so pretty looking too. Maybe we can ice skate on it!”

“I think the ice is kinda fragile…”

Colette looked down at her huddled knees. Both had really gotten close to the other, the snowflakes still drifting over them. Lloyd felt them on his cheeks, on his hand that had reached out for Colette’s, feeling her warmth even through their gloved hands - her yarn-stitched mittens against his thick sports gloves.

“It’s like our special place now, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve come over here every time we visited.”

Lloyd gripped her hand tight, remembering the first day out in the early summer sun, Noishe paddling in the lake and getting their clothes wet with a furious shaking out of his fur. “Yeah… I like it better though when it’s sunny.”

Colette pouted a little. “The snow is nice… We can do other fun things that we can’t do back home!”

“Huh? Like what?” Living out in their city apartment, he supposed it wasn’t easy to have the usual snow fun like snowball fights and snow angels. Maybe that was what she wanted? “If you wanted to play snowball, just know I’m the best at it!”

But before he could keep gloating, she leaned into him for a kiss.

The tip of her nose brushed against his own as she kissed him, cold from the chilly air. It contrasted with the heat of her lips over his, a hint of her breath leaving into the air in the form of already dissipating mist. He kissed her back just as much, the action natural, right and so very warm. There wasn’t much sound from the woods, the snow muffling most of it, but he could hear the soft gasp she gave when she kissed him, and the pulse of his own heart in his ears.

When she pulled away, Lloyd stared at her with a bit of confusion. “…Can’t we do that anytime?” he asked. Not that he didn’t mind it…

“Hm, maybe,” she said, but then her smile turned into a grin. “But not this!” Suddenly an avalanche of snow from Colette’s hands showered onto the top of his head. She must have gathered that up during the kiss.

“C-c-cold!” He flinched from the sudden chill, where bits of the compacted snow slid into the back of his jacket. Colette laughed at his ordeal, which only sparked a competitiveness that overtook him suddenly. “I have to pay you back, you know!” And with maybe too much enthusiasm, he gently tackled her to the soft snows, getting it everywhere on them. Both thermostats were thrown to the ground, the coffee now indeed, getting quite cold.

“Ah! Lloyd!” she protested, but had already wrapped her arms around him as they embraced in the snow.

One day, they’d get to curl up together on the couch back at their apartment, draped in multiple blankets and sipping hot chocolate. But Colette was right though, they probably wouldn’t be able to do these fun things except for right here, so they might as well make the most of it.

[peachylixir]

Burn, Blush, Blaze (a Todomomo fanfic)

Summary: A series of moments with Yaoyorozu that show Todoroki a different side to his least favorite color. Rating: T | Word Count: 4,325 Read on AO3 or continue reading below the cut

Todoroki is the first to change into his hero costume. The glowing red eyepiece is tacky, but overall, he’s satisfied with the way the ice side completely covers his left half. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms, awaiting the rest of his classmates.

Not thirty seconds pass before the girls’ locker room door opens, and Yaoyorozu steps out. Her costume is something he’d expect more from an R-rated hero like Midnight and not so much the sophisticated Yaoyorozu heiress. Her back is ramrod straight, posture ostensibly firm and confident, but there’s a bashfulness in the way she starts to cross her arms over her chest before dropping them again. Despite knowing this is her meant to be her public hero costume, he feels the need to give her privacy, so he looks away. He hears the stretch of fabric as she tugs at it. “Your costume is quite creative, Todoroki-san,” she remarks, drawing his eyes back towards her. She’s forcing herself to smile, but there’s an twitch in her cheek that belies her discomfort. “Did they not design yours the way you wanted?” he asks bluntly, because really, it’s almost painful to watch someone as poised as her fidget in a costume like that. She grimaces and attempts to wave away the notion with her hand and a polite chuckle. “Ah, well…” She trails off, looking down at the ground for a second before jerking her head back up. She keeps her chin up as she speaks. “I admittedly did not give them much to go by. I clarified the nature of my quirk and added small preferences, such as the color, but I thought it best to defer to the judgment of the professionals in regards to the costume design itself.” He snorts. “You should send it back if you don’t like it. I’m sure you can afford to make some modifications.” She shakes her head. “No, I… There’s nothing wrong with it. It fits the needs of my quirk.” By now, he can hear the voices of his classmates as they approach the locker room door. He considers telling Yaoyorozu that just because she can tolerate it doesn’t mean she should. Or that it’s foolish to make herself uncomfortable in battle, thereby compromising herself, just because she’s too passive to cause a scene. It all feels like too much effort though, and so he doesn’t bother. Instead, he pushes himself off the wall and tells her, “Red is an ugly color though.” He doesn’t wait to hear her rebuttal, instead mingling with the crowd of 1-A students as they journey down the tunnel to meet All Might. --- Exam season at U-A is no joke. Every teacher goes all out, demanding end of semester projects, exams, and presentations. While Todoroki isn’t particularly worried about his grades, it doesn’t change the fact that it is in fact a heavy workload that keeps him up later than usual doing schoolwork. As if all that isn’t bad enough, Present Mic-sensei just had to go and make the English presentations a partnered assignment. Each pair was supposed to come up with a five minute conversation, on any plausible topic, entirely in English. He’d be grading them on grammar, of course, but also pronunciation and fluidity of the conversation. Todoroki typically dreads groupwork, but even he’s aware he lucked out in getting paired with the top student in the class, Yaoyorozu. When he arrives at her home that same weekend to work on the assignment together, she greets him at the door in English. “Welcome to my home!” He replies in Japanese. “Where should I put my stuff?” “Ah, um, right this way.” After he’s taken off his shoes, she guides him through several long hallways to what looks like a spacious, Western-style dining room, complete with a polished wood table large enough to seat most of their class. There’s a stack of notebooks in front of one seat, so Todoroki settles into the one across from it. Yaoyorozu hovers in the entryway. “What kind of tea do you like? We have Darjeeling, Ceylon, Assam, Rooibos, Gyokuro, Chai, Sencha- ” “Sencha is fine,” he says, cutting her off before she can go any further. Then, because he feels bad for interrupting her, he adds, “Thanks.” He takes the opportunity while she’s off preparing the tea to begin outlining his idea for their presentation. It is a bit boring to go the route of a transfer student asking a current student about his new school, but it would serve the purpose well as he could ask a bunch of mundane questions that Yaoyorozu would answer with ease. It’d be easy to drag it out for the full time, and it was a relevant topic, given that they are indeed students. That should satisfy the teacher. By the time she returns, he’s already written out a good third of their lines. At this rate, they’d be done in no time. His scribbling is interrupted by the gentle clink of a teacup and saucer being placed in front of him. Steam rises from the ornate porcelain, bringing with it the delicate scent of green tea. “Oh, you’ve already started?” she asks, bringing a second teacup over to her side of the table. If Todoroki had been paying more attention, he might have noticed the disappointment in her voice. Instead, he just lets out a grunt, glancing over his work thus far. “It’s a little simple, but it should do for the purposes of the assignment. I just need you to memorize your part once I’m done.” “Yes, of course,” Yaoyorozu says hurriedly, pulling a white notebook towards her and flipping through the pages. She doesn’t get very far before she lets out a noise of frustration and slams the book shut, reaching for another one instead. This one is apparently the right one because she continues to turn through it until she’s somewhere in the middle. A quick glance across the table shows him that the pages contains lists of English idioms and colloquial phrases. “How silly of me,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes at herself in a self-deprecating fashion. “How could I mix them up? English is obviously purple.” “What?” All of his notebooks are black. She doesn’t glance up from her notes as she recites, “English is purple, history is red, science is green, classical Japanese is yellow, and math is white. Some are more flexible than others, like when you get to the nuances of the different sciences, but for the most part, I think that’s the most accurate subject to color matchup.” He shakes his head. “What does that even matter?” She flushes, looking a little embarrassed, but doesn’t let her posture slouch as she explains. “Studies have shown that color coordinating while note-taking helps you retain the information better. Plus, every subject has a different feeling, so it helps to match them to their respective color.” He trusts what Yaoyorozu is saying to be true, but the twinkle in her eyes makes him think that maybe she does it just for fun; honestly, it just seems like a waste of time to him. He looks down at his own monochrome notebooks, lips pressed together in a thin line. Yaoyorozu seems to be waiting for a response from him though, so he bites back a sigh and meets her expectant gaze. “In that case, you’ve got it wrong,” he says, “English is yellow. And science is black.” She tuts at him disapprovingly, but fails to hide her smile. “And what makes you say that?” He thinks to their English teacher, the resident Voice Hero; he thinks of American TV shows, action-packed Hollywood films. “Yellow is… loud, so it’s most like English. Black is straightforward. Factual. Like science.” “I see,” she says, nodding sagely. “I can understand why you might think that, but science is actually a lot more mutable than people believe. With every new thing we discover, our facts change. That’s why I think it’s actually green. Our well of scientific knowledge is constantly growing.” He blinks in surprise; she had clearly given this topic a lot of thought. Whether or not the topic actually warranted that much consideration was up for debate, but he couldn’t deny that her logic was sound. “I’ll give you that one,” he says begrudgingly. “And the history one, too.” She claps her hands together, excited. “Yes! I’m glad we can agree on that much. History is just so… rich and steady. There’s so much there just waiting for us to learn from the past.” “What?” Todoroki stares at her as if she had just used her quirk to grow an extra head. “That’s not why.” “Well then, what do you-” “History is ugly.” His voice is as hard as his gaze. “It’s full of awful mistakes, turmoil and anguish. There’s bloodshed, revolution. The stories we hear are never how things actually happened.” “That’s true, b-” He shakes his head. “Let’s get back to the assignment.” Yaoyorozu hesitates, looking for a moment as if she’ll argue further, but once Todoroki redirects his gaze to his notebook, her face falls and she sighs. “Of course. Let me help.” Despite the shift in conversation, the topic lingers in Todoroki’s mind. It’s hard for it not to when the Yaoyorozu home is steeped in the color: the polished wood of the bookcases is a warm maroon, the detailing on his teacup crimson on ivory, and even the cardigan Yaoyorozu has draped over the back of her chair is a vibrant, eye-catching red. It’s a little frustrating how inescapable the color is. And yet, the words “rich and steady” stick with him, painting the scene surrounding him. He tries to see it through her eyes, and for a split second, he thinks he almost understands it. Her home is warm, comforting, and no doubt full of endless opportunities for her. Nothing at all like the hardships and loneliness of his own childhood. So as much as he disagrees, he can’t bring himself to want to taint the beauty of it for her any more than he already has. He stays silent, working steadily through their assignment until he has it all written out in his notebook. He waits for her to copy it down, ignoring how frantically she scribbles, the hushed apologies she mutters for her slow pace. They don’t really converse again after that until it’s time for him to leave. She escorts him to the door, cardigan wrapped tightly around herself. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. For a second she looks like she might be on the brink of saying something, but she bites her lip and pushes a smile toward him instead. “Right. See you around.” Her expression confuses him, but he leaves without giving it a second thought. It isn’t until the end of the week, when he’s bound by their teacher’s capture weapon, suspended over the caltrops Aizawa laid out that he realizes maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge a book by its cover. --- The dinner roster says it’s his turn to cook, along with Iida, Ashido, and Yaoyorozu. It only takes a few minutes to realize why that’s a terrible combination, as none of them are particularly good cooks. The class reps assure him that they can follow a recipe easily enough, so he and Mina are delegated to chopping up vegetables. It’s a simple task that they finish in no time, even with Ashido pausing every now and then to peer over at the fragrant pan sizzling in front of Todoroki. “Ashido-san, please,” Iida scolds, standing between them to bodily prevent her from getting too close to the hot pan. “As your class president, I would feel responsible if you were to get burned on my watch.” “Boo, you’re no fun,” she complains, but returns dutifully to her task of scooping all the chopped veggies into a bowl and passing it over. Before she can make another attempt at the pork, Iida assigns her the next task of setting the table with him. The sound of her whining is easy to hear even as they transition into the dining room. Yaoyorozu sighs. “Those two can be quite the handful,” she says fondly. Todoroki silently agrees. The timer dings, and a quick glance at the pork confirms that it is indeed cooked through. He turns off the heat. There’s a large tray set aside on the counter for him, so he dumps the pork onto the platter. He moves to the sink. “Yaoyorozu, I finished the-” He cuts himself off with a hiss as his finger strays too close to the hot metal of the pan. He drops it into the sink with a loud clatter and brings his finger up to inspect. There’s no visible mark yet, but he can tell from the throbbing that a welt will soon form on his skin. “Are you okay?” she asks, hands fluttering anxiously in front of him. “Did you burn yourself?” “Yeah, but it’s fine. I’ll just ice it,” he explains as frost travels down his shoulder. The icy trail is interrupted by a warm hand snatching his own. “Wait, don’t!” Yaoyorozu squeezes his hand in a way that causes his whole arm to tingle. The ice dissipates. “What are you doing?” Todoroki asks, watching warily as she turns on the tap. With a gentle tug, she runs his fingers under the cool water and begins to explain. “Most people think ice is the best thing for a burn because it brings the temperature down, but the thing is, ice is actually too cold for the skin, resulting in damage or in some cases, even frostbite.” The cool water feels pleasant enough on his skin that he doesn’t reply right away. Plus, there’s something about the sight of her slender fingers wrapped around his own that he finds he likes a little too much. A minute passes before he finally speaks. “I can self-regulate my body temperature, so I don’t think frostbite is a possibility for me here.” Her fingers tighten the slightest bit. “Y-Yes, well, tissue damage is still a possibility. Better to be safe than sorry.” “Okay.” He can almost see the loading bar above her head as the reality of her actions sink in for her. She hastily drops his hand and steps back, sending water drops scattering. “Well! I think you can take care of it from here. You know where the first aid kid is, right? Dry it properly, put some ointment on it before bandaging. I’m going to call everyone down for dinner.” Yaoyorozu is out of the room before he can reply, but he tries anyway. “Thank you.” The door is already swinging shut behind her. He shuts off the water and wraps a dish towel around his fingers, noting the welt blooming on his skin. It still stung, but not nearly as much as did before, a ruddy pink instead of the angry red he was accustomed to seeing from his burns. Had he glanced in the mirror when he bandaged up his injury, he would have seen that his cheeks were reddened to match. --- “Oh dear, you kids really got banged up back there! You really should be more careful.” Todoroki tunes out the rest of Recovery Girl’s lecture. He feels drained after the spar against Midoriya and Tokoyami, and Recovery Girl’s quirk only exhausted him even more. He sneaks a glance to his left, where Midoriya and Yaoyorozu are nodding fervently, listening attentively out of respect for the elderly hero. To his right, Tokoyami’s head is bowed and his eyes are closed, though whether he’s dozing or listening is hard to say. After another minute or two of scolding, Recovery Girl takes pity on them and plucks a clear container off her desk. She pops off the lid and offers the contents to each of them in turn. “Don’t think I’m rewarding you for careless behavior,” she warns, waving the jar of lollipops at them. “This is just a little treat for being good students.” “Thank you, ma’am,” Midoriya says respectfully, grinning as he picks a bright yellow lollipop from the assortment. “Yes, thank you,” Yaoyorozu echoes, picking one up at random. She and Midoriya exchange tired, but content, smiles. Tokoyami stands and bows before Todoroki has even made his own selection. “None for me, thank you. I’m trying to cut back on my sugar intake. I think I’ll go back home and rest, if you don’t mind.” “Go right ahead, dear,” she says, waving him goodbye. He shuts the door quietly. She turns back to Todoroki expectantly. “Well, young man?” “Ah.” He grabs the first one he sees, which ends up being cherry flavored. Of course. “Thanks,” he says anyway because it’s not Recovery Girl’s fault he ended up picking his least favorite kind. The three of them slide off their seats and head for the door, exhaustion weighing them down. Yaoyorozu is opening the door and stepping out into the hall, but before Todoroki can follow suit, Recovery Girl calls out to him one last time. “Ah, close the door behind you, Todoroki-kun. I need to speak to Midoriya-kun about something for a minute.” With a shrug, Todoroki does as she asks, quietly closing the door to the infirmary behind him. He turns, surprised to see Yaoyorozu apparently waiting for him in the hall. When he begins the walk back towards the classroom, she falls into step beside him. “I was doing some reflection on the battle and I think I’ve pinpointed some areas of improvement,” she begins, nodding to herself resolutely. She proceeds to explain in-depth what moves really won them the fight, the flaws of all involved parties, and how she plans to improve. Unlike Recovery Girl’s lecture, Todoroki actually makes a point to listen to it all. He even interjects with his own points every now and then, going so far as to ask for her thoughts on his fighting style. He respects her insight, and if their fight against Aizawa taught him anything, it’s that sometimes she needs to be shown that. “Even though I know Recovery Girl is right about us being careless, a part of me is still proud of us for winning the fight. Going up against Tokoyami-san again, I couldn’t help but feel like… like it was a second try from the sports festival. Like I’m finally redeeming myself.” She says the last part with a self-conscious laugh, but Todoroki only gives her a curious look. She did that a lot, he noticed. Undermine her own ambitions, her own accomplishments as if they were absurd for her to even consider. Even now, she misinterprets his gaze and scrambles to amend her statement. “Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you. Your quick reflexes came in handy as such a pivotal moment that I’m certain-” “Yaoyorozu.” He stops just short of the empty classroom, forcing her to stop and face him. He pulls the red lollipop out of his pocket and stares down at it pensively for a moment before holding it out to her. She looks down at the proffered sweet in confusion. “As thanks for your strategy during the fight. You did a good job today.” She seems torn, but behind the hesitance, he can see the glimmer of pride flicker in her eyes. “But that one is yours. Recovery Girl already gave me one.” “I don’t like cherry,” he says simply, “Besides, red’s your favorite color, isn’t it?” “Todoroki-kun.” Surprise flits over her face, only to be replaced with a brilliant smile. “Thank you.” She accepts it, fingers brushing against his. Before he can think about the weird feeling that shoots up his spine, Yaoyorozu is reaching into her pocket and thrusting a green lollipop in his direction. “As thanks for being such a good partner today,” she explains. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he accepts the candy from her; he always liked the sourness of green apple. Still, as he watches her unwrap her candy with barely disguised delight and pop it between her smiling lips, he can’t help but think that red has never looked quite so vibrant nor cherry quite so tasty. --- The music is uncomfortably loud, but somehow the squealing of the Class 1-A’s girls is even louder. Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother Todoroki. It’s hard to be upset when everyone is in such high spirits. The girls are effusive in their praise for each other, and even the guys exchange a few sincere compliments in between good natured ribbing. He supposes it must be something about a school dance that just puts people in a good mood, but he hasn’t pinpointed what it is yet. A nudge draws him out of his thoughts. When he turns, he Midoriya is standing beside him in an oversized green suit. He hands Todoroki a glass of punch. “It’s all pretty cool, right? Even UA’s dances are incredible,” he remarks, gesturing to the room at large. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.” “It’s… loud,” Todoroki replies, grimacing as Present Mic screeches into the microphone. His eyes drift over to the clusters of students chatting happily. “But everyone is having fun, so I guess it’s nice.” Midoriya follows his gaze, eyes lingering where Uraraka stands alongside Asui, Jirou, and Yaoyorozu. He adjusts his tie, looking nervous. “What’s wrong?” Midoriya jumps, narrowly avoiding spilling his own punch. “Nothing!” he blurts, scratching the back of his head and laughing too loudly to be natural. Todoroki only stares at him. Midoriya deflates. “Well, I was thinking of asking Uraraka to dance with me, but I’m not a very good dancer, so I don’t want to embarrass either of us. Maybe she’d have more fun dancing with Ashido or Hagakure.” “I think she would appreciate dancing with you anyway,” he tells his friend honestly. “You two get along well. I don’t think she’d care if you’re bad at dancing.” “You’re right… I’d rather ask than not do it and regretting it. Thanks, Todoroki!” Midoriya takes a deep breath, downs the rest of his punch, and tosses the cup into a nearby trashcan. “Wish me luck.” “Good luck.”Midoriya is only a few steps away before he pauses and over his shoulder, says, “Ah, Todoroki-kun, you should follow your own advice and ask Yaoyorozu to dance. I think she’d like that.” Todoroki blinks in surprise. “What?” he says dumbly, but Midoriya is already gone. With Uraraka off on the dancefloor, Todoroki has a slightly better view of Yaoyorozu, standing in between Asui and Jirou, looking positively regal in her shimmery red dress. There’s always been a poise to her that didn’t come as easily to the other girls, a result of her polished upbringing no doubt, and lately Todoroki has found himself noticing her charm more and more. He thinks that maybe Midoriya had the right idea. He’s moving before he consciously decide to and by the time his brain catches up to what the rest of his body has decided, he’s standing in front of the trio of girls who look at him with curious, but expectant gazes. It takes him a few seconds of staring blankly back at them before he remembers he needs to speak. “Ah, Yaoyorozu, do you want to dance with me?” Her eyes widen and she brings a hand up to her cheek, looking down with a bashful smile. “Well, I...” “Of course she does, right, Yaomomo?” Jirou says, giving her friend a push forward. She stumbles forward, but Todoroki catches her hand, keeping her upright. She quietly thanks him before clearing her throat and declaring more assuredly that she would indeed like to dance with him. The slow song playing is already well underway, so it takes them a few seconds to orient themselves, listening carefully to the beat. “Oh, I should probably warn you that I’ve never danced before,” he tells her, somewhat belatedly. “That’s okay. I can teach you,” she says kindly. “Just follow my instructions. Step left, back, one, two...” They lapse into a comfortable dance of giving and taking, taking cues from each other as needed. It’s not as graceful as he’s sure she would be had she been dancing with literally anyone else, but the way she’s giggling satisfies him. The music fades into another song, but the tempo suits the pace they’ve set and so they remain in each other’s arms, moving about the dancefloor. The flush that paints her cheeks is gorgeous. Todoroki forces himself to avert his gaze, but his eyes quickly find their way back to her figure. “That color suits you,” he murmurs, and even he isn’t sure whether he’s referring to her dress or her ruddiness. Both leave him breathless. Yaoyorozu’s eyes flash in surprise, and he can feel her initial hesitance return in the form of a stilted step in the wrong direction, throwing them off rhythm. “I thought red was an ugly color,” she says softly, eyebrows drawn together. He thinks of fire and of lollipops, blood and satin; he imagines an ugly red scar being kissed away by cherry chapstick. “You changed my mind.” He sees more than hears her soft gasp, and he probably would have missed her next words had he not already been staring at her lips. “I didn’t realize… I had that much sway over you.” “Yaoyorozu, you could tell me to do almost anything and I would do it,” he says in a serious voice. He needs her to understand just how sincere he is. “I’ve told you how much I value your input.” “Anything?” He risks dipping her and is rewarded with her starry eyed gaze when it succeeds. “Anything.” Something fiery and bright burns in her eyes. Red-hot determination. “Then go out with me.” He smiles, soft and sweet. “Gladly.”