#first of all its infantalizing and makes you look like a fool. second of all. thats nothing

[toonfinatic]

People calling men that are barely below average height "short kings" are WEAK and will not survive the winter much less any season... instead start calling men under 5 foot short kings or die by my blade!!!!!

[itsbubbleteataro]

Hehe inspiration is fun

I'm kinda in the mood for some angst so let's get to it! I ended up getting inspired by one of my favorite songs by my favorite band.

Please enjoy!

Pairing; human!Alastor x human!fem!reader

Warning; Alastor being Alastor, death, gore, murder, cannibalism 

Six feet under the stars

Summer of 1932 in New Orleans

You and Alastor had been living together for quite some time now. You moved in with him around two years ago and have been engaged for a little over two months now.

Tonight was a rare night where Alastor had gone out again for both a hunt and a surprise for you. Yes, you knew about his hunts and to be honest you didn't mind them. I mean you yourself had been doing something similar.

You were the daughter of a tea salesman and were well versed in the art of tea. Sometimes when dealing with a rather rude customer as you worked at your father's shop, you snuck a little something extra into the teabag, just a pinch of arsenic. Okay well maybe not just a pinch but enough to kill a man.

Anyways you looked at yourself in the mirror checking your appearance once more in the mirror. You wore a simple sundress as it's the summer and summer in the bayou can get quite hot and swampy.

You looked at the paper on the dining room table double checking where it said to meet Alastor. You laced up your boots with the heels before you stepped outside, walking down to Thames street where your lover wait for you.

*******

When you approached your fiancé you saw that he had changed out of his hunting clothes, he must have stopped at home while you were busy getting yourself ready.

With a hum the two of you linked arms and walked towards the outskirts of a different part of the bayou. Don't get me wrong, Alastor still knew this part very well and you trusted him in every way shape and form and in turn he trusted you. Trusted you enough to see him covered in blood, eating human hearts, even his hair in its naturally curly state.

Alastor lead you over to a waiting blanket and picnic basket, taking your hand he brought you to sit down.

"I was hoping we could have a lovely picnic this fair evening baby" 

His eyes shown in the low lighting. You swooned. He was always doing sweet things like this for you. You helped him set up the food, your matching engagement rings sparkling in the starlight. He had picked out matching rings himself, the main stone in yours being a ruby with small diamonds around it. A blood red stone, fitting choice for two serial killers.

About halfway through your evening you both had finished the food. It was one of the rare occasions that you too indulged in the taste of human flesh. Your head was against his shoulder as you watched the fireflies dance in the distance, taking in each others peace when you felt Alastor stiffen.

You were pulling your head back to ask what was the matter when you felt it, a scorching, red hot, searing pain in your shoulder. Your hand flies to your shoulder as a scream is ripping from your throat. Alastor's eyes widen and for the first time in a long time he feels terror make its way into his heart.

You, his love, had been shot by a clumsy hunter who had mistaken the two of you for a pair of bobcats out of all things.

You hunched over, eyes full of tears as you even try to process of what happened when a second shot rings out, this one hitting your torso.

Alastor was furious, quickly confronting the hunter who had yet to realize that he had infant shot a person. All you could hear was the hunters scream as Alastor quite literally ripped him apart with his blade.

He first cut the tendons in the hunters legs so he couldn't run, then sliced the ones in his hands so he can't fight back. Then he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, stopping only after he had plunged his blade between the fools eyes and twisted it.

By the time he had finished with the hunter he turned to you. Quickly going down to you he held you in his arms. His hands were shaking and he was covered in both your blood and the hunters blood.

You were losing blood fast and you both knew it.

"I should have known better than to call you out tonight-"

"Oh hush up love"

You cut him off. You didn't want him blaming himself for your death. You knew you were going to die when you felt your fingers starting to tingle from blood loss.

Alastor gripped your face with one of his hands,

"My dear, I fear that if you're gone I won't be able to hold back. I may just tear this place apart."

Alastor choked out, feeling tears well in his eyes. You took a shaking breath, leaning into his touch.

"Then tear the world apart if you so desire. Just as long as you promise to meet me again someday"

Alastor nodded his head, his heart breaking in two as your voice became weaker and weaker.

"I love you Alastor"

You reached a hand up to his cheek, rubbing it gently.

"I love you too (y/n)"

Upon hearing such words you know that your body won't be long for this world. You let a gentle smile rest upon your lips, pulling his cheek weakly in an attempt for him to do the same.

He gets the message and forces himself to smile as tears rundown his cheeks. With one last breath your eyes flutter shut, your hand slipping from his face and your soul plummeting straight down to hell.

He holds your body close and sobs. The smile never leaving his face as he does. He sits back up, packing up the picnic and stuffing it all in the basket, blanket it and all. He pushes his arm through the loop of the basket so he can pick up your lifeless body.

He makes his way back to your shared cabin walking through the bayou as he didn't want anyone thinking he had killed you, his precious lover.

He knew he would have to give you the best burial money could buy, so he did just that. Your tombstone was made of marble, your name engraved as "(y/n) Hartfelt".

The day he buried you was one of the worst days of his life, right up when he had buried his mother. He visited your grave daily, telling you about his day. His never stopped grieving.

Fall of 1933

Alastor had been shot burying a body. He had gotten sloppy after your death, his hunts becoming more erratic as he worked through his loss. A hunter had mistaken him for a deer.

First his love had been mistaken for a bobcat and now him a deer, how fate has a way of working.

He welcomed his death, being found with a smile etched on his face for he knew that he could finally reunite with his lover as his soul plummeted down to hell.

He had a matching tombstone to yours, it being placed in the grave yard next to yours. As his coffin was lowered down into the ground and the dirt piled on, he rest easy.

As the two of you could finally be reunited,

Six feet under the stars



[muzzlemouths]

Totally normal question (apologies if it has been asked before) do the DMD au boys have different love languages?

What would an act of love look like to them or from them if I may be so bold 👀

Moon’s love language is Quality Time. 

This may sound uncharacteristic of the Moon we’ve seen in Dead Mall Dare thus far, but I assure you he wants nothing more than to be in someone’s company.

He spent more time than necessary with the customers and was familiar, or made it his goal to become familiar, with each and every one of them — until The Event, that is, where all of that changed practically overnight.

Sure, Sun misses the customers, too, but he can still pretend. He’s good at pretending they’re still around, good at pretending that each sale is between himself and a stranger rather than a shuffle between his own hands, good at pretending to be alright with all of this. Moon isn’t so self-convincing, and he can’t bring himself to do what feels like slow torture to him. He needs the contact, the real companionship of it all. Someone to laugh at his jokes, to tell him about their day, to be there in the moment with him not just as a customer but as someone he can consider a friend. Trapped in a mall he can never hope to step foot outside of, how else is he meant to achieve that? Similar to Sun, there was a point where he attempted to fool himself into thinking that anyone breaking into the mall after its closing was just another customer. But they’re not. They are taggers, looters, thieves, only there to destroy what remained of their home, and it makes him terribly bitter. He denies needing companionship if only in the bleak hope that it will make him stop wanting it.

He's touch starved, conversation starved, companionship starved. He wants your time. He has to believe someone still wants his.

You may think Sun’s love language is Physical Touch or Words of Affirmation. After all, he’s handsy to a fault with Y/N right off the bat, and has already used no less than four different pet names by the end of the chapter. He’s very generous with his compliments and lays his affections on thick. That being said, his love language is actually Acts of Service.

Always considered the prettier of the two mascots by the average customer, Sun is used to his sense of worth being attached to his appearance. No matter how hard he tries, he will always be looked at for his charm first and everything else, second. He values compliments about his strength, his smarts, his ability to tackle almost any goal, but what he loves most is the chance to prove it.

So when it comes to his love language, he is all about doing anything and everything in his power to bear the weight, to an almost obsessive degree. He'll patch up that broken window by the afternoon, will cook up a four course dinner even if it means an evening of keeping his nose buried in an unfamiliar cookbook, will run from one department and back before you have the time to sneeze if you left something behind, and will spend all day attempting to repair Moon's projector despite knowing nothing about its mechanics just for the slim chance of seeing him smile.

If you allow him the chance to do just about anything for you he will be giddy for the rest of the day. Your stomach growls? Now you’re suddenly being ushered into a booth while he brings you every fruit he can hold with two hands. Need to change but your wardrobe is dirty? Now the laundry is done and he’s already picked out that week’s outfits in advance, so you don’t have to! Tell him your feet are sore? Now you’re in his arms, and he’s not taking no for an answer.

He can get…a little overbearing, admittedly. What starts as a way to show affection soon becomes overwhelming, and you might start to feel infantized or belittled, but he means well. He wants to be helpful, he wants to feel useful, and he’ll do anything to accomplish that.

[cyanide-latte]

TWSTfic: little grave flower

Summary: How Chrysanthos Shroud got his name

Word count: 1881

Warnings: just family fluff (don't let the title fool you)

I referenced this character detail in this post and I'd already had this ficlet written last week so I thought I'd deliver. Also yes, if enough people are curious I'll make a post just about Ilias and Kallisto to explain them a bit and their relationship.

—————

The baby was awake.

Ilias sat up in bed at once, blearily trying to rub his eyes. He hadn't heard crying or fussing, just sounds he knew were coming from the basinet and indicated his son wasn't asleep any more. Taking a second to collect himself, he glanced at his wife and was relieved to see that though she was starting to stir, she wasn't awake yet.

A smile stole over his face in the low light of their room. Reaching over, he brushed flyaway strands of hair from Kallisto’s face as gently as he could. Maybe she could get a little more sleep if he was able to quiet the kid. Whispering a soft “I love you”, he drew away and slid out of bed to make his way to the basinet. And despite his tiredness, despite adjusting to being a first-time dad, Ilias felt wrapped in a peaceful sense of bliss. Perhaps when people talked about “treasuring the little moments”, they were referring to things like this, where the world was at rest as he soothed the two people in his life he loved more than anything.

As he drew nearer, he spied the gentle blue glow coming from the basinet, the telltale sign of the Shroud family hair his child had inherited. At times, Ilias felt wretched when he looked at the baby; he'd hoped and prayed that perhaps his son would be spared the family curse, that maybe the burden and the generational trauma would pass by for once. Kallisto deserved it for all the joy she'd brought him, and their son deserved it as well, because he was innocent. But fate could be cruel. Few knew that better than Ilias.

All the same, in this moment, he was happy and he continued to smile as he bent down over the basinet to look at the baby. They still hadn't figured out a name for him—Kallisto’s grandmother, Thalia, had actually encouraged them letting the right name come in its own time instead of rushing to name the baby—but that was alright by Ilias. They had plenty of time to figure it out and they never ran out of terms of endearment to refer to him with in the meantime. And given that Kallisto had put him in one of those outfits for bed that more closely resembled a pillowcase—according to Thalia, the sense of having his limbs safely contained in a small space would be familiar and comforting and make it easier for the little guy to sleep through the night—Ilias knew exactly which term of endearment it brought to mind.

“Hey, little starfish,” he whispered.

The baby had been glancing all around while he'd cooed, taking in everything he could see, but when he heard his father speak to him, he immediately looked to him. He blinked dark blue eyes so perfectly like his mother's as recognition dawned, and then, to Ilias’s astonishment and delight, there was a smile. The first smile, followed immediately by a delighted babble.

And without warning, the baby’s hair changed.

By default, all Shroud family members had hair like blue flames. It was vaguely translucent at the ends and warm to the touch, and usually had already manifested at birth. When angry, the hair would turn a vibrant, alarming red-orange and give off waves of heat, looking and acting more like true fire and just as capable of burning anyone who got too close. And, when bashful or expressing feelings of love and adoration, the strands of hair began to glow a gentle, beautiful pink color from the ends inward to the roots.

That his son’s hair would change colors was something Ilias had expected and wasn't bothered by.

But what hit him and left him gaping in shock was that the baby’s hair turned a bright yellow-gold.

For a second, the infant made another happy babble, smile growing bigger as he kicked and flailed his limbs. Then he seemed to realize that his father was no longer smiling but making an odd, open-mouthed expression, and he blinked again, his own smile dropping into a look of puzzlement as his hair turned back to a normal blue.

Ilias, who had only been a father for roughly two months but had spent most of his life well-read, was given to having long philosophical debates, and had his own special magic the family suspected was passed along that once had originated with the oracles of the Age of the Gods, expressed in all his wisdom the single sentiment that came to mind.

“Huh??”

His son, evidently as baffled by his behavior, echoed the sentiment in his own way with a small but emphatic sound. Ilias struggled to get the gears in his head turning again, frowned ponderously, then held up a single finger at the baby.

“One sec, kiddo,” he said, before straightening up and half-twisting as he looked back to the bed, raising his voice to just slightly above normal volume. “Honey…?”

Kallisto let out a groan, turned over, and managed to croak a drowsy, “Mmwhatizzit…?”

“Well, uh…” he paused for a second, looking back down into the basinet at the curious blue eyes watching him. The baby let out another coo at getting some attention back, and Ilias went on, “Something, er, happened? With our little butterball here?”

“Don't call him a butterball, I was called butterball my entire childhood going into middle school,” she said, still sounding foggy and out of it.

“Our little pumpkin then, our peach dumpling, the tater-tot, whatever you wanna call him,” he amended quickly, waving his hand as if it could dissipate the issue. “Something happened just now, something very…not normal.”

There was a rustle behind him as Kallisto sat up in bed and when she spoke again, she sounded more alert, a young mother worried for her child. “Is he alright? What is it? Bring him to me.”

Reaching down, Ilias scooped up their baby. His newfound confusion wasn't improving, but the utter and total trust in those huge blue eyes spurred a need to be worthy of such trust.

“Come on buddy,” he murmured, bringing his son up to rest against his shoulder. “Let's go see Mom.”

Arms wrapped carefully around the squirming, precious bundle he carried, Ilias crossed back to the bed, catching his wife's gaze as she watched them. She was sitting up straighter, and lifted her arms as he reached the edge of the bed and propped up one of his knees on it.

“Hey,” he said to the baby, gently adjusting his grip so he could turn him to see Kallisto. “Look. You see Mom? You wanna go to Mom?”

“Hi, sweetie,” Kallisto spoke in her “baby” voice, smiling as she picked up the vibe. “Come to Mommy?”

The baby turned at the sound of her voice, but Ilias didn't need to see his face; the sudden shriek of delight and the flailing arms was enough. He watched as Kallisto’s face lit up with sudden wonder and joy, and knew this was the second smile.

And then that little head of hair immediately turned yellow-gold again as he squirmed to try to reach his mother, letting out another excited little shriek.

To her credit, Kallisto readily took their son in her arms, though she did let out a very stunned “oh”. The baby didn't seem bothered; he nuzzled against her shoulder and neck, hair still glowing like a small midmorning sun.

“You got him?” Ilias asked, sliding back into the bed next to her.

Kallisto nodded, looking dazed, one of her hands absently stroking their son’s bright hair. “It's- it's yellow.” She stared at Ilias, mouth working soundlessly for a moment, before she finally asked, “This isn't…normal? For a Shroud?”

He shook his head. “I've never heard of our hair turning that color before. Didn't even know it could.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Kallisto continued to hold the baby like she was trying to soothe him, until he turned in her arms and spotted Ilias again. Immediately he began swinging his arms and straining to get to his father, and Ilias took him almost automatically, tucking him against his shoulder again. That small head nestled close and there was a tiny, contented little sigh as he settled.

“Guess we'll figure this out as we go along,” he said, to reassure himself as much as anything.

“Isn't that what we've been doing~?” Kallisto asked, her tone lightly teasing as she flashed him that coy smile that even now still made his heart thud hard against his ribcage. She inched a little closer and her expression softened to one of loving amazement as she reached out and stroked the baby's hair again. “He's beautiful,” she said, not for the first time and definitely not for the last. “Look at him, Ilias. Our boy.” She hummed in thought for a moment, then remarked, “He almost looks like chrysanthemums.”

Her fingers stilled in the baby's hair almost the moment the words left her mouth and Ilias went rigid. At once they looked at each other and a single shared thought shot between them like a bolt of lightning striking home, the same thing coming out of both their mouths.

“Chrysanthos!”

The baby squirmed a little, likely a bit startled by the dual exclamation, his hair briefly flickering with wisps of blue.

“Ilias, that's it!” Kallisto said breathlessly, her eyes bright, not even a hint of tiredness showing. “That's his name!”

Ilias lifted his son off his shoulder and slightly up above his head. He craned his neck back so he could look up and he smiled. “How ‘bout it, buddy?” he crooned. “Are you Chrys? Our little flower boy?”

The baby smiled again and this time managed to get one of his chubby, swaddled fists up to his mouth, kicking his legs. His mother reached up, standing on her knees, and tenderly gathered him into her arms from behind, holding him close.

“Chrysanthos,” she said, as if somehow she could make up for weeks of him not being named by saying it with all the love and intent she held now. “It feels fitting, doesn't it?”

Ilias fought back a sudden urge to shed tears of gratitude and happiness. He knew what she meant, that their son should be named for a flower associated with death and funerary customs, a respectful deference to being born into the Shroud family. How many people would see the beauty in it from the start? He wasn't sure, but he doubted if he would ever have found another partner like her. Watching her hold their child—Chrysanthos—he felt another overwhelming surge of love for them both, for this little moment he might have missed had he not woken and checked on Chrys when he did. It was so overwhelming it was a wonder he didn't drown in the feeling, though he knew he would do so happily. They were his entire world. What better thing could there be to lose himself in?

He leaned over, wrapping his arms around them both despite Chrys's immediate tiny grumble at being caught in the middle, and pressed his lips against his wife’s forehead in a slow kiss, closing his eyes.

“It's perfect,” he answered. “So is he.”

———————

Taglist: @ramshacklerumble @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @inmateofthemind @blithesharem @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter (if you want to be added to my taglist lmk!)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 11080

A kimo sequence

               First Stanza

My mothers of the sea and thrice as well a day! That they go. Junked up with more would rejoicing.

               Second Stanza

Let that blessed spot will let me entwine hoverings over a shout rose to night. To comforting!

               Third Stanza

I did not wring his hands, now your hurt invades my calm white seal. To himself and a continent.

               Fourth Stanza

But crowded in that sentence to unsay. Wanton musick, for the soul revolves, that things of death?

               Fifth Stanza

In springtime, the more she could so mine idle life? Nor discredit you: zooks, are in hers, are wet!

               Sixth Stanza

Soon maun be my Dear, my Philly! Of any spirit in my head knocks against a rocky shore.

               Seventh Stanza

The flocke, my little tract. She comes clear. Yon centinel stars; and here and abroad me joy, folioed.

               Eighth Stanza

But so with equal emulations Act: the flying a dead infant, slain by the human words!

               Ninth Stanza

Now am I haunted. A liquid broideries of flowers, and wilt not mind the fool confined.

               Tenth Stanza

‘Or death, the door attends thee safely fedde. To the mountaineer! Thy state, can never make up dead.

               Eleventh Stanza

With generous world I would be double day revealed, while with showers above, but by thy side.

               Twelfth Stanza

But here I find it, although it faded, and saves the cricket cap was once more sad, more besides.

               Thirteenth Stanza

I wake or sleep awhile, and wonder, breathe a prayers; and like a king, but was it yesterday?

               Fourteenth Stanza

With arts. My fancye eke from my side, we’re stands the subjected to with rayne? A strangers walk with Tears!

               Fifteenth Stanza

Great pittie is, he be in your ear. It is time, surcharg’d with rains, and with spent light, and heaving breast!

               Sixteenth Stanza

Of that the Fool’s Parade! And all’s come thy faith is me the day. That nurse the sail than thou art named.

               Seventeenth Stanza

Young beneath a fading gaunt and blind Orion hungry sands. Give us no more amongst them?

               Eighteenth Stanza

Of social wrong; all through the damned grotesques made nullity! I’d rather courtly carriage.

               Nineteenth Stanza

A gallant fight: I arise from his slomber broke? Thus far brought my hand unsmooth behaviour soft.

               Twentieth Stanza

Which once he seeke the tree fell at a time of Growth, and golden bowers there are colonnades.

               Twenty-first Stanza

The iron stain that! Much toil, ’twould break and all too many Crescent Moons a Full; and that wasn’t it.

               Twenty-second Stanza

Its mistress’ nod will slime the rear, with an eye-guess toward another in one short adieu. This way!

               Twenty-third Stanza

And thus far that sometime may bloom nor want of worth. She never will strew on the world. Fixed the stared.

               Twenty-fourth Stanza

They won’t you made. The grass; I feele most rich of shame, and would burst the Incomprehensible!

               Twenty-fifth Stanza

—Thou lonely heart sorrow places. To give thou art, in royall aray: and eke tenne thousand pea!

               Twenty-sixth Stanza

The coward blow, whether Laws be right foot, go a doubled coronals. They are thee, my Philly?

               Twenty-seventh Stanza

And look upon her bed. Eight years old and images of love is upon misprision grow cold.

               Twenty-eighth Stanza

With which their massive air—let me slake them bemone that took the which him to much rebuke and payne.

               Twenty-ninth Stanza

Voice as well nigh pass’d, and lions’ manes, from thy bloom well in which they despised, whilst they cried, ah, stay!

               Thirtieth Stanza

See, where she cannon-bullet rust on thine? Them selues that looked so wistfully at their excell.

               Thirty-first Stanza

Young Semele such pierlesse plains; a three chains by the Eye love may be. ’Ve fallen to grow.

[pit-of-maggots]

young-botanical-genius:

The young man, though still wary of the creature before him, stiffened at the sound of its pained yelp. Then, it began to cry... and all at once, he felt absolutely terrible about what he was doing.

Oh no... He lowered the broom a bit, feeling an ache form within his chest as the pitiful sobs rang off the walls of the shop and into his ears. The noise tugged at his tender heartstrings, almost making him want to start crying right along with it.

"...H-hey..." he murmured, voice small and shaky. After a breath, he took a small step forward, keeping one hand tightly wrapped around the handle of the broom just in case he ended up still needing to use it. "...I-It's okay..."

He wasn't sure if he was comfortable touching the thing just yet, but watching it do nothing but cry so helplessly made him feel obligated to do something to atone for his actions; if only to try and soothe it the way one might've soothed a fussy baby. Cautiously, he reached his free hand outwards, only to hesitate and pull it back close to his chest only a few seconds later, the sight of the creature's teeth making him unwilling to commit to the action.

"...Shhh....it's okay..." he opted to speak softly, hoping that hushing the maggotlike entity would help to calm it down. Hopefully, it wasn't in too much pain. "...It's okay...I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry....I didn't mean to hurt you...Shhh...It's okay..."

After a moment's worth of more hesitation, he took another step even closer to it, blinking curiously as his eyes scanned over its insectoid body. ...If it wasn't so horrifying, it might've been something he would've liked to take a closer look at.

"...Where did you even come from...?" he asked breathlessly, despite knowing he most likely wasn't going to get an answer.

The insectoid infant's cries remained loud and clear for a short while, thankfully Seymour's wording seemed to be doing some soothing. That, or the creature's stinging sensation in it's eye was dissipating THAT quick and he was just making a fool out of himself.

It still sobbed for a while as it tried re-opening it's eye, now slightly red and blinking more frequently than the other. Thankfully it wasn't anything too bad, and noticeably got better on it's own; it's sobs came to a halt and the creature kind of just remained there, now with a blank expression accompanied by it's permanent puppy eyes, now that it no longer seemed to be in distress, it seemed to be very busy trying to formulate it's first thought (?). Whether it succeeded or not was a mystery never to be revealed since the thing couldn't talk. Some drool dribbled from it's mouth.

It looked around the room again, this time the bed caught it's interest- beginning it's journey happily towards it, babbling incoherently. It didn't take a genius to figure out it likely wanted to sleep on there, but the way it seemed to just have completely forgotten the previous exchange that just happened, or the fact that the owner of that bed was standing right there, was impressive.

While it's focus wasn't on him for the time being, regardless of the new 'bed bug' problem that this would arouse... if he wanted some form of answer (hopefully) to his question, perhaps he better check out that basket this thing came in with a little in-depth... obviously this had been intentionally done by.. someone. Maybe it was some sort of 'accident'? Like wrong shipping address?

STARTER FOR @young-botanical-genius 🌼🐛

It was the dead of night... two cloaked figures walked the streets of Skid Row until they reached the closed front entrance to the botanic shop they've been observing a while.

"I'm not positive I agree with using my children as guinea pigs, Beatrice." The High Priest hissed under his breath as the woman gently placed the basket, it's contents neatly hidden by the fluffy pink blanket inside it, in front of the door of the little shop.

The idea of one of his children potentially being killed, or worse, being poor looked after- infuriated the fly-man. And he wasn't fond of treating his spawns as if they were disposable objects.

"It is not a guinea pig, so you better watch your tongue before you question my actions, Concetto." The woman spat back with indignance in her voice, although it was quiet whispering- her words were still piercing. The man remained quiet, he and the woman had a staring contest for what felt like an eternity as if they were fighting eachother via who could give a more accusatory stare at the other.

Finally, Beata Maria spoke again: "I have kept my eye on the boy that... resides here. He will care for the youngin like he cares for the plants."

"And if he doesn't?"

With that insinuation that she was wrong, she remained silent, once again staring daggers at her co-leader. She inched close to the man until they were face to face, furiously staring at one another as they (quietly) fought verbally about who was righteous.

" Vedremo. ( ' We'll see. ' ) " She simply said, before one of her arms stretched out, adapting the form of a long, black tentacle and proceeding to... 'knock' on the door of the shop, calling it knocking was putting it lightly- the tentacle practically slammed against the door twice so hard it probably scared awake nearby homes, it was a miracle the door didn't break down. Concetto quickly went to hug the little basket, giving one last good bye, before he and his companion vanished into the shadows.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑫𝒂𝒅! 𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛: 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝑾𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝑪𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

"What is it? You wanna come out of confinement?"

Hongjoong picked up his baby son and held him for a few seconds.

"I know. You must be bored to death in that thing."

Hongjoong was surprised when he started crying even harder than before. He gently rocked the boy in his arms.

"Are you hungry? Want me to get your bottle?"

Hongjoong quickly dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle. He tried feeding it to him, but the baby swatted the bottle away with such force, it ended up spilling all over the floor. Hongjoong groaned in frustration as he tried to calm the crying baby down.

"Y/N.......please get here already..." He whined, a small pout on his face.

Sighing he went back inside the living room and put the baby back in his play pen, which of course made him whine and wriggle more. Hongjoong went over to the piano on the corner. It was the last idea he had so he began playing a soft lullaby on the piano. As soon as the baby heard the first notes, his crying ceased and instead he made low guttural sounds as he began calming down from his crying fit.

Hongjoong kept playing 2 more songs until he looked over and saw that his son was already fast asleep. He finished the last song and walked over to see his son sleeping like a little angel, a fond smile on his face.

"Who would have thought you loved music just like me?"

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

You were whining at this point.

"Sweetheart please! Just eat the food."

Your baby daughter once again refused to open her mouth as you placed the spoonful of puree in front of her. With a loud squeal she slapped it out of your hand, tossing the spoon and the mushy content onto the table in front of you both. You let out a groan as your hands clutched your head, feeling like you were about to break down like her at any minute.

As if on cue, Seonghwa came in and immediately rushed over to the kitchen when he heard your daughter's crying.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he scanned her all over.

"I don't know! She won't eat her food and I'm just tired at this point!" You didn't mean to come off so angry, but you were beyond frustrated.

Seonghwa understood and simply helped you up. He gave your nose a tender kiss and hugged you briefly.

"Here. Let me try."

He took the space you previously occupied and looked at your daughter. He smiled at her and began doing cutesy signs at her, varying from hearts to bunny ears. Once he began using his aegyo voice, the baby began calming down, now only sniffling softly. Seeing an opportunity, Seonghwa picked up the spoon and scooping up more puree, he successfully managed to get her to start eating.

"Seriously?!" You were indignated but Seonghwa chuckled.

"I told you she would be daddy's girl."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Although his son was crying on the top of his lungs for several minutes now, Yunho still had a smile plastered on his face.

"There there. Calm down kiddo. Mommy will be here soon."

That answer didn't seem to satisfy the infant, who only began crying harder, making Yunho pout.

"Well dang, do you really miss her that much?"

Taking a peek out the window and seeing that it was not cloudy, Yunho picked up the baby bag and grabbed his keys. Making sure to lock the door, he carried his son all the way into the car and strapped him into the baby seat in the back. As soon as Yunho started the car, the baby stopped screaming, although he kept spilling out tears. Once they were further on in the road, he stopped crying and his eyes struggled to keep open. Yunho looked at him from the rearview mirror and chuckled.

"Maybe that documentary I watched was correct. Babies do fall asleep in car rides."

Yunho decided to turn on the radio for a little while, which only helped to make the baby fully fall asleep in no time. Even after he had parked in front of the office building, the baby still stayed asleep. When you came out, Yunho immediately got out of the car and opened the back door.

"Did you get here early?" You asked.

Yunho sighed softly before getting the sleeping baby out.

"Well if I didn't, he would have continued crying his eyes out from missing you too much."

He carefully handed you the baby, who squirmed around before opening his eyes. The instant he saw you, his eyes lit up and he stretched his arms out to touch your face, making you giggle at how adorable your baby was.

"Mommy missed you too." You kissed his tiny nose.

Yunho frowned.

"I missed you too. Where's my kiss?"

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

You were both woken up when your baby daughter started crying.

"Yeosang." You called out.

"Mmmm?" He mumbled.

"It's your turn." You said.

He merely let out an inaudible groan.

"I took care of her yesterday. It's your turn."

Realizing he was right, you got up and went over to the adjoining room to yours. Picking up your daughter, first you made sure her diaper didn't need changing. Then you held her up to your chest, thinking she was hungry. But it was none of them since she kept crying and crying. You gently rocked her in your arms, even singing a soft lullaby to her, but she just began wailing even harder.

"Yeosang!" You cried out.

Huffing softly, he sat up and made his way to the nursery with slow, tired steps.

"Ok give me her. Let's see what's wrong."

He cooed at her softly and as soon as the little girl was in her father's arms and heard his voice, she immediately stopped crying.

"That was easy." He smiled proudly.

He tried setting her back down on her crib, but just as soon as she felt his hands off her, her crying resumed, this time harder than before.

"Ok! That's not going to work."

Picking her up again, once more she stopped crying and instead nestled herself in Yeosang's embrace. You both looked at each other in disbelief. Yeosang couldn't help but snort.

"She loves me better than you."

Not in the mood or headspace for his jokes, you lifted your hand up to hit him but immediately put it down.

"Let's just go back to sleep."

You both crawled back into bed, Yeosang being a little more careful as he adjusted himself so the baby could properly sleep in his arms.

"This better not become a daily thing." You said as you closed your eyes.

Not missing the opportunity even in his exhausted state, Yeosang teased:

"If you don't like it, you could always sleep on the couch."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San waved the rattle in front of the crying baby's face.

"Look! It makes noise! Don't you wanna play with it?"

The baby only smacked it with his hand, making San step back.

"Well damn son, a simple no would have sufficed."

Not about to give up, he picked up a cat headband and placed it on his hand before shamelessly doing aegyo in front of his son.

"Would you please stop crying for your dad? It makes him sad to see you cry."

When the baby continued crying, San began to whine loudly.

"What's wrong?! Speak to me! What do you want?! What will it take for you to stop crying?!"

Unable to take anymore noise, Byeol woke up and sauntered over to where all the commotion was. Her tiny paw latched onto San's pant leg as she began meowing at him.

"Not now Byeol. I'll feed you once I calm him down."

San was busy making funny faces to hopefully get his son to laugh that he didn't realize Byeol had climbed into a play pen until she jumped right next to the crying baby.

"Whoah! What the- Byeol! Get out of there immediately!"

The feline however ignored him and began rubbing her body against the baby, her soft purring and silky fur proving in aiding to help the baby calm down. The baby wrapped its tiny arms around her neck and Byeol didn't mind when he began cuddling her like one of his plushies, instead placing a paw on his tiny hand to keep him from squeezing too hard. San was stunned though as he watched them slowly drift off to sleep in each other's arms.

"You mean a cat knows how to take better care of my own son than me?"

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi was on the verge of breaking down.

"I've fed you, I've changed your diaper and even made a fool of myself by doing aegyo, what more do you want from me?!"

Mingi poked his bottom lip out as he held his crying daughter up, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He then gasped.

"Oh my god! What if you're sick?!"

Mingi quickly rushed over to the bathroom to look for the thermometer. He let out a scream when he couldn't find it that only served to agitate the baby more, causing her to start crying harder.

You quickly ran towards the sound of the crying once you came back from work.

"What did you do?!" You yelled causing Mingi to whimper.

"I swear I did nothing! She just won't stop crying! I didn't mean to break our baby!"

You sighed and quickly took the baby from him. Noticing how the baby kept shaking her head and her hands were flying in all directions, you guessed something was bothering her. You took a chance and opted for taking off the beanie she was wearing. Once your daughter felt the beanie taken off, she stopped screaming, although now she just sniffed slightly.

"Oh my poor baby. Was your hat too tight on that not so tiny head of yours?"

Mingi was stunned that a stupid article of clothing was the whole reason for the ordeal to drag on. You gently placed kisses on the top of your daughter's head, trying to soothe her pain. Then you turned your attention to Mingi who had a look of disappointment and sadness in his eyes.

"Hey come on now. It's a learning process. She is our first child after all." You reminded him.

Mingi nodded and accepted when you handed the baby over to him so you could go get changed and wash up. Mingi began making funny faces at his daughter, who immediately began squealing and giggling at him.

"That's what I like to see. A happy babygirl who loves her daddy so much."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

Wooyoung grunted as he once again went back to the living room to go attend to his son who was in his baby blue jumperoo.

"Ok what now?" Wooyoung asked the crying infant.

Contrary to what most people expected, Wooyoung's son definitely cried a lot, but he never screamed or full on wailed. He mostly just whimpered or let out tiny sobs whenever he was upset. Wooyoung sighed.

"Buddy, I know you can't actually talk, but I need you to help me out here."

Wooyoung spun and shook some of the toys surrounding the jumperoo in an effort to make his son stop crying, but it didn't work. The little boy just kept looking up at his father with teary eyes and pouty lips.

"Don't give me those sad eyes, please! What is it you want?"

Wooyoung leaned his face in, looking straight in his son's eyes. Stretching his arms out, the baby began making grabby hands towards Wooyoung's face.

"Ohh....I get it now."

Wooyoung immediately picked up the baby and held him. Placing a kiss on his head, he went back to the kitchen to check on the food. Although he had trouble maneuvering himself while holding a baby, he nonetheless managed to make sure the food didn't burn or turn out gross.

"No, unfortunately you can't eat some of my delicious food yet." Wooyoung said when his son pointed to the pot on the stove.

Wooyoung decided to have a tiny conversation with his son as he finished cooking, of course the baby didn't reply or made any sign that he was actually listening to him. The only sound he made was a tiny squeak when he saw you come in, making Wooyoung turn to see you.

"Welcome home Mrs. Jung. Care to join us this evening for supper?"

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

Jongho came in the house, surprised to see that you were still awake.

"Baby? What are you doing up?"

When you turned to him and he saw the weeping baby in your hands, he let out a soft 'oh.'

"How long has she been crying?" He asked.

"10 minutes. I don't know what to do. She's fed, changed and she simply won't go to bed."

Noticing how you looked exhausted, Jongho took the girl from your care.

"Go to bed honey. I'll take care of her."

Jongho gently rocked her in his arms, shushing her slightly before opting for a new method. He began singing a lullaby to her, his sweet honey voice helping her relax and cease her crying. Slowly, her eyes began to shut and open before eventually drifting off to sleep. Carefully, Jongho placed her inside her crib, tucking her under her pink blanket. He chuckled before poking her nose.

"Good night my little princess."

He went inside your room and noticed that you too were fast asleep. Going over to your side, he kissed your forehead.

"And good night my beautiful queen."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[oigimi]

. owlet .

. mozart and baby oc . found family . 1.9k words .

here’s a found family fic that’s been in my head for awhile now! i really hope you like it. mozart seems like the kind of guy to have a daughter

A cry filled the mansion’s halls, piercing the ears of all who heard it. It was relatively late at night, and everyone was gathered at the front door, staring at quite the unusual package. Gifts and shipments would grace the mansion’s front doors often, but this… this was something entirely different. Rather than a case of Rouge or Blanc, or a bouquet of roses or anything in the ordinary, the residents of le Comte’s mansion stood in front of a baby girl in a basket, with a tag attached reading, “My name is Asuka. Please take care of me.”

“Asuka… Just like- Ah, never mind,” Sebastian started, waving his hand. He bent down to pick the screaming infant up, only to have her screech even louder, and swat her hands around in an angry little tornado.

“Sebas, you’re holding her wrong! You need to-” Arthur’s attempts at calming Asuka were even more fruitless, with her fighting to wriggle out of his arms. He passed her on to Theo, who scared her. She was given to Comte, then Leonardo, then eventually everyone in the room before being returned to her basket.

Vincent looked downwards, his mouth tugged downwards in a frown. “What do we do? I feel so bad for her, she won’t even stop crying. Poor little baby…”

“Broer, she tried to bite you!”

“She’s just little and scared! You were like that too once, Theo.”

As the younger brother clammed up, a final face showed itself that hadn’t been present before.

“What’s all this noise? Whatever you’re all doing, can you wrap it up soon? Or perhaps be a little quieter?” Mozart hissed, marching right up to his roommates and their new problem. He caught sight of Asuka and wrinkled his nose. “Arthur, did one of your little flings catch up with you?”

“No! She’s just a darling little thing that showed up on our porch and we simply can’t get her to stop crying. If you want to get her to be quiet, why not try and hold her?”

Mozart looked at the screeching infant, whose face was reaching a color as hot and fiery as her hair. “No,” he simply said. Babies were messy and loud and provided everything he didn’t want in his life. But, Arthur was right. If there was any way he could try and fix the problem, it was to try and hold this thing. Mozart took a deep breath and took the baby out from the basket, shaking his head and awkwardly cradling her in his arms. “There… there. I suppose.”

“You’re supposed to bounce her,” Vincent chuckled, guiding Mozart into rocking Asuka to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Just like that.” They looked down, and everyone’s faces melted into shock when Asuka finally stopped crying. Her big, glossy blue eyes were coated with tears, but she stared up in wonder at Mozart, or rather the feather in his jacket. She reached her tiny hand out to grab it.

“No. You’re just going to put it in your mouth and get sick.”

Asuka scrunched her face and pouted, reaching a little harder for the feather. She fussed, to which Mozart simply scoffed.

“No.”

“No!” she echoed, shaking her head. “No, no!”

“She’s already learning to speak like him,” Arthur snickered. “Oh, isn’t that just precious?”

Mozart glared at him as he tried to keep the baby away from his feather. He sat down on the couch, holding Asuka away from his body as if she carried a disease. “How long do I have to hold this thing?”

“Until she goes to sleep. Mozart, can’t you take care of this baby for just one night until we can figure out what to do with her?” Comte asked, tilting his head to the side. “It would mean you can get to your music faster, anyway.”

He looked at Asuka, who was still making fruitless attempts to obtain Mozart’s jacket feather, scowling in contempt at her. “Fine. But only for one night.”

“We all know how ‘just for tonight’ goes. You’ll be with her on her wedding day now!” Dazai mused, earning another deep scowl.

“I am not fathering this child.”

Asuka began to fuss, wriggling around and squirming in Mozart’s arms. He moved his arms so that she was gently pressed against him. “There… I suppose.” He swayed his body to the rhythm Vincent showed him, slowly patting her back. Before he knew it, she was yawning and her grabbing began to stop. “Hm. I’m putting her down to bed. Then I’m going back to my music.”

“Are you sure you should leave her alone? I think she’s gotten quite fond of you!” Arthur chuckled. “You might just wake her up if you leave.”

“Are you serious?” He groaned and looked down at the baby. “I guess I’m going to go to sleep too. The sooner I sleep the sooner time moves forward. Goodnight.”

Without another word, Mozart made a quick stop in the kitchen to warm up some milk. He swiped some chocolate, and glanced down at Asuka. She looked so… relaxed. So cute, even. Mozart couldn’t deny that he didn’t like babies, but the child he held in his arms felt a little different. He didn’t like her very much, but he couldn’t let anyone else take care of her. For some reason, it felt warm in his chest when she would only relax in his arms. As if he was meant to be her father in some way.

He grabbed a second, little cup with this in mind.

When he got to his room, Mozart made a tiny bed on the carpet with layers and layers of blankets and pillows, and laid Asuka down in it. She stirred, and made little cries in her sleep. Was she upset that Mozart had set her down? Could she even tell? It didn’t matter, he still felt a little bad for her. “We’ll get you a proper bed tomorrow. I couldn’t put you in a drawer or in your small basket,” he sighed. “You’re annoying and I don’t like you, but you’ll get a crib tomorrow. Goodnight, owlet.”

------

The next morning was full of diapers, crying, hissy fits, and screaming. Sebastian had run to pick up some basic supplies, but it ultimately did very little in the vampires’ battle against a fussy baby. She didn’t like peas, she didn’t like corn, and Vincent had to learn that babies can’t eat pancakes. What could she eat that would make her happy?

“Warm milk,” Mozart huffed, taking some off the stove. He poured some in the little cup he’d carried and let it cool off to a safe temperature. With some strict, yet gentle coercion, he managed to bring the cup to Asuka’s lips and help her drink as much as her tiny stomach could handle. “What was so hard? Babies like milk.” He grumbled a bit and cleaned out the cup. “Morons.”

“Well well well! You really are like a natural father to her!” Dazai chuckled. “What did we predict?”

“Nothing. I’m just not a fool,” Mozart snapped back, lifting Asuka out of the chair and burping her. “The plan today is to get some more supplies. But I am shopping for them.”

“Are you sure you do not want anyone to help carry anything?” Jean mumbled. “I can hold items at the store for you and help take them home.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Jean’s workplace ended up with a bit more than he expected, with a nice crib and mobile and a lot of bottles and sippy cups. The Frenchman blinked at the juxtaposition between the baby supplies and the items of war he sold in the shop. Mozart mentioned only taking care of Asuka for a few days. The abundance of furniture seemed like overkill.

At a nearby store, Mozart stood next to a stroller with his fussy responsibility inside. He scanned the shelves for toys, putting a set of blocks, paints, and a few stuffed animals inside. He stopped, however, when he laid eyes upon a stuffed snowy owl. “Just like Schelm…” he chuckled. He took the toy off the shelf and held it to Asuka. “Do you want an owl? An owl for the owlet?”

“Ow,” she replied, reaching out for the toy. “Ow!”

“Is that your way of saying ‘owl’? Alright, here you go. Be nice to it.” He paid for the toys and found himself looking in the stroller at the baby. She was cuddling her new toy and inspecting its wings and rubbing it, inspecting it for anything of interest. “It’s just a stuffed animal. Silly,” he chuckled. “Let’s get you home now. I have a feeling you’ll start screaming here in a moment.”

By the time night had arrived, the crib, bookshelf, mobile, and toys were all set up. Asuka was shaking a rattle on the floor when Mozart picked her up. “Alright, it’s time for bed. Come on.”

“Noooo!” she cried. “Nooooooo!”

“Yes. Come on.”

She fussed and began to cry, reaching down at the floor for her rattle.

“No rattles in bed,” Mozart huffed. “Here, I have something you can take in bed.” He reached down on the floor and handed her the stuffed owl. “Here. Your owl.”

“Ow.”

“That’s right. Your ow,” Mozart chuckled, setting Asuka down in the crib with her stuffed toy. “Goodnight, Asuka. You’re a silly little owlet who needs plenty of sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, he wound up a music box and turned off the lights.

------

“Papa, can I get the first slice?” Asuka asked, beaming wide at a large cake in the kitchen. “Better yet, I want the whole thing!”

“You can’t have the whole cake because you’ll get sick. You have my sweet tooth.” Mozart finished moving the cake to the table and sighed, “I can’t believe you’re sixteen years old now.”

“Old enough to get a boyfriend!”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“But you said when I turned sixteen I could!! Papa, you’re being unfair.”

Mozart chuckled and ruffled his daughter’s hair. “Alright, go sit down at the table.”

She did as she was told and grinned, admiring all the presents everyone in the mansion had bought for her. From personalized books from Uncle Arthur to a paint set from Uncle Vincent to expensive clothes from rich Uncle Comte, Asuka was surrounded with so many luxuries given to her by the people who loved her. She was adopted into the greatest family she could imagine, and by the best father she could ever want. Sure, Asuka had a bit of an attitude sometimes, but she always knew when the important things needed to be said.

“I love you Papa,” she murmured, getting up and hugging Mozart. “Thanks for taking care of me, and thanks for all the birthday gifts.”

He smiled, embracing his daughter tightly in his arms. “I love you too. I love you so, so much, Asuka. You gave my life and music meaning like no other… Are you crying?”

“N-no! I don’t cry!”

“Okay.” He kissed his daughter’s forehead and sat down at the table. “No matter how old you get, whether you’re sixteen or sixty, you’ll always be my little owlet. I love you so much, and happy birthday.”

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

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12

Word Count: 1992

    The pile of clothes at the end of the bed seems impossible to sort as Amaris searches for her shirt. Her hands shake, and her mind yells at her. She said it would only be once, so why has she been in Tom's bed every day for the last week?

    "Here, your shirt," Tom says as he hands Amaris her ripped Metallica shirt. She didn't listen to the band much anymore; they were a little too heavy for her. She thanks him with a small smile and throws it on, finding her blue shorts quickly after. "You know, you don't have to leave so fast," Tom states, leaning against his bedpost. He hated seeing her leave so quickly after; it sent dread and sadness throughout his body. "We're still friends."

    Amaris can't help the heavy sigh that passes her lips. "Are we Tom? We haven't done friendly things since we started this mess. All we do is fuck," She bites, making her way out of his bedroom. It felt suffocating in there. Like all her evil deeds were ganging up to end her then and there. She didn't mean for the words to sound bitter, but it was true.

    Tom follows her out. "Then let's do something today. It's only noon. We have the whole day. Let's go bowling or something. Let's hang out, Mari. Let me show you we're still friends." Tom begs. He didn't want to lose her as a friend, which is why he hid these feelings for so long. It felt like his worst nightmare was happening before his eyes, and it had only been a week into the affair.

    He knew she was still with Armel, but he didn't care. He had her too, and he didn't mind sharing when she came to him to finish the job Armel couldn't. However, the jealously was nagging at him, and he had to continuously remind himself that this was what he wanted.

    "Fine. Armel and Juno are in classes, and I don't feel like dealing with Danny's drama." Tom smiles, stepping forward to kiss Amaris. She puts her hand up as a shield. "Strictly friends, Thomas." He sighs and chooses to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a friendly hug.

    "Deal. So bowling?" He asks. "Museum? I have no preference." Amaris thinks what the least romantic option would be.

    "Bowling," She states, pulling out of Tom's hug. It was public and loud, not a typically romantic place. She eyes him up and down, lingering on his shirtless torso a second longer than was platonic. "But I think you'll need to put a shirt on." She giggles as Tom flexes in typical bodybuilder poses.

    "What? Think you'd get too distracted by these guns?" He teases, flexing his biceps.

    "More like blinded by your pale skin," Amaris quips back. Tom fakes shock but can't hide the laugh bubbling in his belly. It felt good to joke around as friends again. Amaris could almost forget that she was slowly breaking Armel's heart. Almost.

    Tom holds the door to the bowling alley open for Amaris. The drive to the destination was full of jokes, singing, and everything they used to do when strictly friends. Amaris stays behind Tom, looking around for any fame hogs to steer clear of.

    Wherever Amaris went, she had to worry about someone using her to get famous or selling photos to the press. Of course, her being out with Tom wasn't anything new. The tabloids knew they were friends from a young age. But now that she's secretly sleeping with him, she continued to shift from foot to foot, heart pumping with exhilaration. She was out in public with her sideman, and no one knew but them.

    The pair sit in front of their lane, tying up their bowling shoes. "You still bowl with a ten, right?" Tom asks, standing up from his seat. Amaris confirms and goes to set their names in the tracker. She puts Tom under Tommy and hers under Mari. She wasn't the most creative when it came to nicknames.

    The first few rounds go by quickly, both adults focusing on dusting off their bowling skills. They used to bowl together a lot when Amaris was younger. This is the place he would take Amaris when she couldn't stand being a daughter of a millionaire much longer. Bowling was one of the few activities she had that made her feel like an average person again. At least for the duration of the game.

    "Take that, Maria," Tom jokes, finally getting a strike. He doesn't know where the nickname Maria came from, but it's only said during bowling. Amaris flips her friend off and gets set for her next bowl. When all pins are set up, she gets into her stance, focusing all her energy on trying to beat Tom.

    She pulls her arm back, about to let go when Tom's foot collides with her butt, throwing her off balance. The ball slowly rolls into the gutter. Amaris turns around to yell at Tom, stepping back when he's closer than expected. "That's a party foul," She whines.

    "Oh well," Tom says, walking back to his chair smugly. His roguish smile plastered on his perfect face as he takes a seat, leaving Amaris flustered.

    "You're an asshole, Hiddleston," She pouts, going back to the ball return. Tom chuckles and crosses one leg over the other. He felt proud of his actions. Amaris was a better bowler than he was, so he plays dirty when he can. It was also a mild excuse to touch her ass in public. It was the little wins for him.

    The joke was on Tom, though. After his little stunt, Amaris set out to obliterate the man and scored nothing but strikes and spares from then out. Tom steps up to the lines with an exaggerated pout. It was his last bowl, and he had to get a spare with split pins if he was going to try to make the embarrassing difference slightly less embarrassing.

    Amaris falls into a fit of giggles when Tom's ball ends in the gutter, hitting neither pin. Tom stalks over, not offended but feeling a swell of pride at the fact that he made her laugh this hard, all on his own. "Think something's funny, do you, Mari?" He asks hands on hips. The teasing was his favorite part of their dynamic, and he's thankful to all things good that it's back.

    "You bowl like an infant," Amaris continues to giggle, clutching her stomach. The last time she laughed this hard was when Juno slipped off their barstool after one glass too much and could only mumble an incoherent sentence about the 'stupid stool moving when I need it.' Amaris may have been tipsy as well. "I could bowl better from the womb," She continues.

    They both knew the joking and berating was good fun. It's just how Tom and Amaris were. They teased and fool around with each other until one cracks and gushes about loving the other. As friends, of course.

    Tom plops down in the seat beside her, crossing his arms. He could never be mad at her. Especially when she's laughing so hard she has to cover her mouth to muffle snorts. Those were Tom's favorite sounds. Sure, having Amaris scream his name was heavenly, but her snorts meant she felt safe and happy in her surroundings. He can't help but feel his smile widen at the fact that he's her safe spot.

    Amaris lays her head on his shoulder after her laughter dies down. "I'm pretty sure you find yourself funnier than you find me," Tom laughs, resting his arm across her shoulders. She nods, falling into another small fit of giggles.

    "'from the womb,'" She quotes herself. Amaris clears her throat as she sits straighter to look at Tom. "You know I love you, Tom," The words were so innocent, and she's said them to him before, so why did it feel different this time? Her cheeks burn, and her ears ring as if the words rang a bell right in her ear. "But please never take up professional bowling."

    "What do you mean? I could be the comparison person. 'And here we have average Joe to show you exactly how hard this dreaded spot, that's not really a sport, is,'" Tom jokes. Amaris giggles again, shaking her head to the man. "Keep laughing, and I'll throw you down the lane," Tom threatens lightly.

    "Don't threaten me with a good time, Tom," Amaris says, smiling widely at her best friend. It felt like all the guilt and troubles she's felt since Armel came to New York continue to fade into background noise when she's with Tom. He made everything feel brighter and lighter for her. Amaris felt like she could breathe for the first time when she's with him.

    "What? Sliding down the alley?" Tom asks, shifting to look at her better. She was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Amaris's blonde hair was sticking to her face caused by the sweat, her smile was brighter than a thousand suns, and her eyes were like nothing he's seen before. They held so much joy that Tom forgot what sorrow was. Amaris nods. "Why not?" Tom asks, standing up from his spot, offering a hand to Amaris.

    "What?" Amaris asks in shock. She didn't think Tom would want to do something so juvenile with her, especially in public where anyone could see them making fools of themselves. Tom pulls her out of her seat.

    "Life's not fun if you take yourself too serious, Mari," Tom says, backing towards the lane. "You said you wanted to do this, so let's do it. I'll even go first."

    "Are you peer pressuring me?" Amaris asks, crossing her arms. The smirk she wears gives away that she was going to go after Tom anyways.

    Tom nods, a mockingly serious expression on his face. "Absolutely. Is it working?" Tom asks, waiting for Amaris's cue to embarrass himself in front of everyone. Not that he genuinely cared. They'd be a page story for one print, and everyone would forget.

    "You know I crack under pressure," Amaris says. Tom takes that as a yes and turns towards the lane. He takes a running start and maneuvers to slide down the alley on his belly.

    The disappointment he felt when he doesn't slide far makes its way onto his features. His feet weren't past the black line of the lane. Amaris stands behind him, giggling up a storm.

    Tom shuffles over to her, shoulders slumped, and head hung low. "Good luck," He wishes, patting Amaris on the back. She starts running from where she's at and makes it only an inch further than Tom did.

    Amaris jogs over to him, already seeing the staff discussing what to do about them. "That was extremely disappointing, and I think we're about to get kicked out," She laughs, gesturing to the staff. Tom laughs and hurries to sit down, taking off his bowling shoes. Amaris follows suit.

    This was one of the best days she's had since being home. It felt freeing to be out with Tom and not worry about anyone else but him. Her cheeks were growing sore from all the joy showing itself on her face. But the smile was only the tip of the iceberg. Her heart was pumping, and she felt like she was vibrating and needed an outlet for all the emotion. It was almost too much for her small frame to handle.

    Tom felt similar. He enjoyed spending alone time with Amaris. He didn't have to worry about business or what he hadn't done. Amaris helped Tom focus on what he is doing. And what he is doing is having the time of his life sliding down alleyways with the woman he loved with all his heart. As a friend, of course.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​ @kingtwhiddleston​ @cynic-spirit​

[belit0]

Burned Love

Anonymous:

That fic with Itachi taking care of his s/o was so cute! X3 Can you do a short fic like that but with Izuna? Thank you!

Rating: G

Pairing: [Uchiha Izuna / Reader]

Tw: none!

Additional Characters: [Uchiha Shisui] [Uchiha Madara]

For the past two weeks, Izuna has been caught between clan issues and Madara’s temper. Due to his responsibilities, the time spent on his relationship with you has been strictly cut, bordering on nullity. Being a dedicated and loving boyfriend, the Uchiha is overflowing with guilt about the situation, and at the first opportunity to free himself, he intends to compensate you in the best way he can think of.

Cooking for you.

But you do remember that Izuna can’t actually cook, right? …

Good luck!

“What should we put first? Rice or water?”

“Why are you asking me? I called you to help me, not to make it more difficult Shisui.”

“I told you I had no idea what to do in a kitchen and you insisted…

"Yeah well, nobody else was available, so shut up and… I don’t know, Do something?”

“How long do we have until [Y/N] arrives?”

“Let me see… about half an hour, yep."

"WHAT?! HOW DUMB ARE YOU TO THINK WE CAN PULL THIS OFF IZUNA?!”

“What’s the problem? Our kitchen guy has our food ready in less time…”

“And why don’t we call him? You’re a fool if you think anything good is going to come of the two of us doing this.”

“Because that wouldn’t be romantic Shisui, use your brain. Tiger mind, tiger mind.”

“I’m only going along with this because you’re my favorite cousin, you know… whatever, let’s do it.”

“Yeah bro, let me turn on the… what’s it called… the thing that throws fire? And it’s for warmth? I can swear we have one…”

“An oven, Izuna. A fucking oven.”

“Are you reading my mind? So… how do you turn it on?”

“Well, I guess with fire in -”

“ Say no more, little cousin, we are Uchihas, remember?”

With all the unfounded confidence in the world, Izuna felt ready. Directing his body to the kitchen artifact, he made the hand seals of the most powerful Katon in the clan, and without any hesitation, fired his expert Jutsu into the oven. Within a minisecond, the entire wall of the kitchen was on fire, and the two Uchihas understood the future that lay ahead if they did not solve the problem.

“ARE YOU INSANE?! HOW CAN YOU THINK OF USING THAT TECHNIQUE INSIDE THE HOUSE, YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH!”

“I THOUGHT IT WOULD SPEED UP THE PROCESS, OKAY? MY BAD! WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES! IT CAN HAPPEN TO ALL OF US! DON’T YOU KNOW SOME KIND OF SUITON TO TURN IT OFF?”

“OF COURSE NOT! WHAT ABOUT YOU?! DIDN’T YOU LEARN ANYTHING FROM THAT TOBIRAMA RIVALRY?!”

“WATCH YOUR MOUTH YOU FUCKING IDIOT, I WOULD NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS TO LEARN THE SAME STYLE AS MY ENEMY. WAIT HERE.”

“IZUNA! WHAT THE FUCK! GET BACK HERE BEFORE THE HOUSE FALLS DOWN!”

In the midst of the fire, ashes and heat, Izuna walked as if nothing was happening until he was outside the house, analyzing the street. Quickly, he scanned the surroundings of the Uchiha territory, until he found a group of children playing with enthusiasm at some distance from the obvious chaos. At a steady pace, he walked up to them, and spoke in the sweetest, most childlike tone, perfectly trained for the youngest members of his family.

“What’s up, boys!”

“Izuna-Sama!” they all shouted in unison with great smiles.

“I have a very important question to ask you. Do you think you can answer it for me?”

Different answers were cheered in the air, all positive and excited. The group of young people was always happy to receive Izuna’s attention.

“That’s the way I like it! Now, listen carefully. Madara-Sama gave me a very veeery difficult mission that I could not complete… So I need help from some brave Shinobi to take my place! Tell me, have any of you already learned Suiton’s techniques at the academy?”

Two young kids, almost teenagers, shouted with courage and pride a strong “yes”.

“Very good! Follow me, gentlemen, it’s time to perform your first official mission.”

In more of a hurry to get back to the source of the flames, Izuna pressed on, followed by the children who would save his home. From the short distance, a column of smoke could be seen rising into the sky, and several curious heads were walking by and slowing more than necessary to take a look.

When they reached the door, the Uchiha showed the way to the boys inside. Addressing the small crowd he exclaimed.

“ There is nothing to see. It is a small mission drill, Madara-Sama’s orders. Please disperse, thank you very much. Have a good day!”

His friendly smile disappeared along with all the spectators, and a great concern attacked the features of the irresponsible Izuna. If Madara found out that he was spreading false orders in his name, or that he had set the house on fire, things would end up badly for him.

Without dissimulation, he ran to the kitchen, where Shisui, useless and perplexed by the new company of the infants, looked at them without understanding their presence. In his hand he held a long blanket that was completely burned, while his entire face and clothes were covered in black ash.

"This is the mission, boys. Show your water techniques and kill the fire!”

“Yes ¡Izuna-Sama!”

In order to please and make their superior proud, both children shot large amounts of water from their mouths into the burning wall. Their seals were quick and accurate, and both adult Uchihas were impressed with the future generation of Shinobis their clan had produced.

After the fire was extinguished, smoke took its place, and covered the entire house. The smell of burning was unmistakable and undeniable. The colour black scattered throughout the room was evidence of the facts.

“Good job, kids! Don’t tell Madara-Sama, the report must come only from me for being a bad Shinobi and not being able to complete his mission…”

“Don’t worry, Izuna-Sama, we’ll keep your secret!”

The two children ran out of the house with happiness and joy, feeling fulfilled as Ninjas for being able to help someone important in the clan.

“You set the house on fire, lied to two innocent babies, and involved me in all this, do you really expect Madara not to find out?”

“Shut up you idiot, I don’t plan to be here when my big brother arrives. Clean this up, will you?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Look at me, L.O.O.K.A.T.M.E., I’m covered in ashes, dust and dirt, I smell bad, and removing traces of this is impossible without the help of another ninja. With all my love for you Izuna, I gotta say: fuck you. See you later”.

With anger and speed, Shisui left the ruined kitchen. After a few seconds, a slamming sound was heard at the front door. A knot formed in Izuna’s throat as he knew he would leave that monstrous scene in the hands of the first Uchiha to set foot in the house.

After taking a shower to eliminate the fact of his person, he heard the second victim arrive. He came down the stairs ready to leave as quickly as possible, and spoke without leaving room for answers when he came across another of his small cousins.

“Little Sasuke! Look I’m really in a hurry and I really have to go. In the kitchen there is a really huge mess that I couldn’t take care of and I really don’t know where it came from. You would really do me a huge favour if you could clean it up, ok? I really love you, bye.”

Passing by a stunned Sasuke who was coming home from training, he managed to slip out of the household without problems. By the time the Uchiha who was left in charge of his mess shouted in anger at finding out the truth, Izuna was too far away from the district to hear him.

With no stops or delays, he headed straight for your house, where he knew you would be preparing to meet him. When he reached the property, he knocked twice on the door with his special knock, the one that characterizes his presence in your home, and he was a little bit reassured to be received by you. Dressed in your house clothes, but with a towel holding your wet hair, a sign that you had just come out of the shower.

“Zuna? I thought it was at your house today… I must really be overdoing it to get confused like this”.

“Yeah, it WAS, at my house [Y/N], but… you know… Uchihas and their intensity… surprises… whatever. Can we stay here?”

Nodding your head as a mocking smile assaulted your face, you allowed him into your home. One of the most entertaining things about the Uchiha family was indeed the intensity of it, and the consequences it ended up creating.

Izuna sat down on the armchair, and when he was comfortable, you placed yourself on his lap in a familiar way.

“What happened this time?”

“I may have set something on fire… and I may have used children to fix it…”

“How long do you think we have until your brother shows up here claiming your head?”

“A full dinner. He was with Hashirama.”

Both laughing, and joining their lips in a soft kiss full of love. You stroked his neck, the back of his head, and ran your fingers through the hair of his ponytail. You noticed that it was poorly tied and somewhat uncombed, and it didn’t take you long to realize that it was thanks to the haste with which Izuna escaped the scene of his crime.

“Come here, you couldn’t even brush your hair Zuna.”

“Well, you know [Y/N], when most of your kitchen is destroyed and your house is full of smoke, there’s not much time to tie your hair.”

Getting off his lap, you sat on his back, where you proceeded to style it calmly. Taking your time and enjoying the beautiful silky feel of his hair in your hands, you tied his ponytail as it would normally look.

“You in the kitchen? And not to steal food before dinner time? What were you trying to do?”

“I… don’t want to explain.”

“Izuna… come on, it’s me. What could be so terrible?”

“I’m ashamed, I don’t want to, okay? Leave me alone.”

A slight shade of red attacked his cheeks, while his arms crossed over his chest just like his brother would, and his gaze went down to the ground.

“Pleaaaaaase?”

“[Y/N]…”

“Please Zuna…”

“Agh, well. I was… I… IwastryingtocoocksomethingforyoubecauseI'vebeenashittyboyfriendlately.”

“I can’t understand when you talk so fast…”

“ You’ re mean.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes, I do. I was trying to cook something for you because I’ve been a shitty boyfriend lately.”

“…Uchiha Izuna… you make me the happiest person in the world every day. Just because you have a job that can’t wait doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. Come here.”

So, the Uchiha turned to face you, and you joined in a kissing session that lasted a few long minutes. Between caresses and affection, you realized that your ideal place was next to the man who accidentally set his house on fire for you, trying to outdo himself to impress you.

“If you were trying to prepare dinner for me, we should eat to honour your great attempt.”

“Sounds awfully good.”

You both got up and headed to the kitchen. You didn’t let Izuna do much, just as you didn’t let him go near the fire or flammable things. Cutting vegetables and controlling the boiling of some ingredients, the Uchiha felt useful next to you. When your dishes were ready, both of you sat down at your table and devoured what you had prepared together.

After a long hour of chatting, while you were serving dessert for the two of you, a knock on the door brought you out of your bubble of happiness. Three frighteningly loud knocks, which caused the walls to rumble, slammed into your home.

“IZUNAAAAAA! GET OUT OF THERE THIS INSTANT AND COME HERE NOW.”

Madara’s voice was full of anger, rage and violence. Even if your boyfriend’s older brother respected and liked you as his sister-in-law, you were aware that if you did not open the door for him immediately, the man would knock it down, without mercy or care. Reluctantly, you got up without looking at Izuna, and went to your main entrance.

The elder Uchiha must have felt your footsteps approaching, for no more banging was heard. Before opening, you could feel your partner hiding in one of the rooms of your house, hoping that any corner would save him from his brother’s fury.

As you opened, Madara looked at you with a bright Sharingan and an intimidating height. His hair was bristly, and his muscles contracted under the tension.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Good night, Madara. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This is not against you [Y/N], just tell me where he is and -”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Madara, now if you’ll excuse me, my ice cream is melting.”

You were closing the door in his face when a giant hand came in your way and opened it wide. Gently pushing you aside, the Uchiha entered and went inside your house as if it were his own. It did not take him long to find his younger brother and drag him out of hiding by the neck using his arm, without applying more force than necessary.

“Aghgggg [Y/N]! I-M SS-SORRY-Y”

“Shut up and walk, Cassanova, you’ll have a chance to make up the lost time with your partner. After you repair the fucking kitchen.”

Thus, Izuna and Madara disappeared in the night, one brother dragging the other by the neck to the Uchiha district. With a sigh, you closed the door.

“Well… more ice cream for me.”

[let-the-dream-begin]

Hogmanay Hauntings: A Christmas Carol Crossover

Chapter 1 -- Past: Creideamh

Read on AO3

“No.”

It was a grunt, a growl, a snarl, perhaps all three.

“For Christ’s sake, brother, ye didna even let me finish,” Jenny huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“I didna need ye to,” he snapped. “I’m no’ going.”

“And why no’? If no one is in danger, can ye even think of another reason to no’ go?”

“Ye canna guarantee safety, and ye ken it.”

“Jamie, it’s been four years since Culloden. We havena had any visitors in a year! The villagers said the harassment has lightened considerably,” she reasoned. “The tenants miss their Laird, Jamie.”

“I’m not their Laird.”

Jenny flinched a bit at the coldness. “Aye, I ken. But they do still see ye as such. Ye’re their hero whether ye like it or not.” She paused, moving her hands from her hips and crossing her arms over her chest. “And the tenants arena the only people that feel that way.”

“What d’ye mean?” He was still staring at the dirt between his feet, still refusing to look at her.

“The lad,” she said, her voice softening. “Your lad.”

Your adopted boy.

She had called him that.

“He’s...no,” Jamie said hoarsely. “He isna mine.”

I have no children.

“Christ, Jamie,” her voice regained the bite it had lost. “Try telling that to him.”

“What d’ye mean by such?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Ye’re no’ the only one that lost her.”

He stood up abruptly, propelled by boiling rage exploding in his blood.

“I’ll no’ be intimidated by yer pathetic excuse fer a towering bear.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Claire was — ”

“Don’t say her name.”

“ — the only mother the lad ever knew. And ye ken it well,” she went on as if uninterrupted. “There was no need fer him to be orphaned entirely. Yet here we are.”

Jamie growled with rage, shoving over one of his piles of books, sending them flying all about. He should not have been surprised that Jenny would turn asking about Hogmanay into throwing her into his face.

“Fine,” Jenny said calmly, unaffected by his tantrum. “Suit yourself.” She hiked up her skirts and made to leave, but paused at the entrance of the cave, turning around again. “Christ, Jamie...I ken ye have sorrow. And I only wanted to bring ye a bit of happiness. I ken how much the holiday meant to ye when we were bairns. And it’s the grandest party we can afford since the rising.”

Jamie was momentarily seized by guilt, remembering the sad holiday they’d had last year. After Caitlin. Jenny had been grief stricken nearly to the point of no return, and Ian had suggested they not have a party at all. But she’d picked herself back up and thrown together whatever they could afford at the last minute. For the children, perhaps; they’d already lost enough. But for herself, as well. It had always been important to her, too, Hogmanay. And Jamie knew it.

“I just...I miss my brother. This…” She gestured to his hunched, ragged form, the cramped quarters of his cave, “isna my brother.”

“This,” Jamie bit back bitterly, “exists to keep the rest of ye safe.”

“One night, Jamie. That’s all. But if ye canna bring yerself to quit yer wallowing...suit yourself.” She turned again, and then she was gone.

He stood still for a moment, allowing his sister’s enormous presence to truly leave the cave, his chest tight, his fists clenched.

No, he would not go. Not only was it a threat to their safety, no matter how Jenny insisted that she’d insured there would be protection, but his presence was a blight. He would not bring misery to those he loved by dampening their joy on a night meant for rebirth and celebration. 

He had nothing to celebrate, nothing to look forward to in the new year, or any year thereafter.

His future was gone. All that existed was his present, these dark walls, the quiet forest on days where he hunted. And pain. Such...pain.

His future...her future.

For the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her. He thought of them. Four years...his bairn would be four years old. Running around with Jenny’s bairns, a child now, not an infant anymore. Claire would struggle to pick up the child, especially if it grew like a Fraser.

It. He’d never know what to call it.

The months he’d spent in the Bastille, not knowing the fate of his wife or child, trapped in his own mind as much as in his cell...he was living there again. Except this time, nobody would come to his rescue, nobody would enlighten him about his child, tell him it was a beautiful girl, what she looked like…

Ah, my sweet Faith.

And for the hundredth time in just that day, he thought of her, too.

Claire and the bairn were not dead, not really. But their loss had felt just as acute as that of his wee lost daughter.

I have no children.

A small scuttling sound jolted him from his reverie, and he sniffled, swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

“Uncle Jamie?”

Christ! How had the bairn…?

“Milord?”

Ah.

The smaller voice belonged to the head of strawberry blonde that bobbed into the cave, blue eyes wide.

“Are ye really no’ coming to Hogmanay, Uncle?” she said, her lips full and drawn into a sad frown.

Jamie was always sinfully grateful for the isolation of his cave. It physically pained him to look at the children. Especially wee Maggie. The red hues of her hair, always accentuated in firelight, were far too much like the copper hair he saw in his dreams, copper hair that only Claire had really seen. He couldn’t bear to look at her, at any of the lasses, and think that Faith would have played their wee games with them, and perhaps so would the new bairn, were she a lass. Were he a lad, he’d be traipsing around wee Jamie and Michael.

If he had his own bairn with him, if he had its mother with him...perhaps it would be different.

But that hair, those eyes, that sweet frown...it was too much.

“No. I’m not.”

His voice was far too short and harsh. She was only seven years old.

“But Kitty and I made ye a gift to give ye at midnight.” She twisted her apron in her hands, swaying a bit.

“Yer Ma will give it to me. Dinna come back here, it isna safe.” His eyes flicked up to Fergus, who’d been hanging back to allow this conversation to unfold. “Ye’re a fool to bring her here.”

“She will not remember,” Fergus said. “She was crying, Milord. I thought — ”

“Ye thought wrong. Quit my sight.”

The wee girl sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. He was wracked with guilt at the sound, at the sight. For a split second, he almost fell to his knees and pulled her into him, whispered into her hair, rocked her.

No, he’d fall apart if he did that, and he’d never be able to put himself back together. He’d never be able to let her go.

“Now, Fergus,” Jamie snarled. He couldn’t bear to listen to her anymore. He couldn’t bear to be confronted with the knowledge that he was incapable of bringing a child comfort. Because all of his children had been stolen from him.

“You are a heartless beast,” Fergus said with great disdain. “I do not want you at Hogmanay anyway.” He stepped forward and took Maggie’s hand. “Come, petit.”

And they were gone.

Aye, lad. I am a heartless beast.

His heart had been gone for four years. Never to return.

——

Jamie was in a deep, heavy sleep. Ian had come by with whisky, not to try and persuade him to come — quite the opposite in fact. He’d essentially encouraged Jamie to get piss drunk alone in the cave, and that was exactly what he’d done. His head had hit the pillow like a stone, and he’d passed out.

A gushing wind roared inside the cave, and it roused him immediately, like a bucket of icy water poured on his head. His eyes shot open just in time to see his singular candle knocked over by the gust, blowing the light out. He lay there in silence for a moment, waiting for the deafening wind to stop. When it did, he counted a few breaths, swallowing thickly.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a deeply ingrained sense of foreboding and dread.

He got up then to re-light the candle; though it was night, sleeping without the light of the moon had always been difficult, even after four years. A candle was a poor substitute, but it had to do.

As he fumbled around blindly, he was aware of something glowing behind him, as if someone had suddenly lit a fire. Yet the color was different, as if the fire were ignited by the moon itself. Brow furrowing, he turned around, and he staggered back at what he saw.

It was a child. A wee lass, barely even reaching the height of his waist. Barely bigger than wee Janet. But she was glowing, like her tiny slip of a nightgown was sewn from strands of moonlight. If Jamie didn’t know any better, he’d say that above her head was a flickering flame. Or maybe it was just her hair...fiery red. Like his.

And her eyes, how they glowed.

Like amber in front of a flame.

Like whisky.

“Hallo.”

She spoke, and her voice sounded like music underwater, like ringing bells in an echoing cave. Far away, yet right in his ear. He jumped at the sound, staggering back again, stumbling until he landed on his rear in his makeshift bed.

“W...what d’ye want…?” Jamie stammered, his eyes frozen and unblinking on the ethereal being. “Are ye...a spirit?”

“Aye,” she said calmly, a placid, gentle smile on her cherubic face. “I was sent to ye.”

“Sent...to me?”

“Aye.” She giggled, and it made his head spin. She was so...sweet. So lovely. Her hair was floating above and around her, never resting on her shoulders or back, like it was floating in water behind her. For the first time, he noticed the wreath of holly she wore atop her little head.

“By who?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He was a devout man; he’d not be tempted by one of Satan’s visions, sweet bairn or no. Yet, there was a lingering paganism in him, the part of him that believed his dreams of Claire were not makings of his own fevered imagination.

“By the Ghost of Hogmanay past,” she said proudly, as if reciting a poem taught to her in her lessons. She smiled, giggling again, and Jamie was overwhelmed by how small her glowing white teeth were.

“The...the what…?”

“She’s a little girl spirit like me,” the wee thing explained. “She gave me this crown of holly berries so I could do her job fer tonight.”

Jamie blinked dumbly, not at all understanding.

“It’s a very rare thing fer the spirits to appear,” she said, again like reciting lessons. “And even rarer that the honor be given to someone else. Like me.”

Jamie swallowed against a painfully dry throat, wracking his brain for what to say. “Why...why’ve they given ye the honor this time?”

She giggled again, and he swore he could feel it fluttering his heart. “Because the mortal they needed to reach was my Da.”

Something pricked him on the skull between his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

“Da…?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

She nodded, her fiery tendrils bobbing midair, that flame that may or may not be atop her head flickering. She smiled sweetly, beatifically. “It’s me, Da.”

He thought he might faint. Copper hair, her mother’s eyes —

“It’s Faith.”

He lost vision completely for several seconds, but still glowed behind his eyelids, burned into his mind.

Faith.

His eyes opened again, burning and watery. The tears slipped out, unabashed, and a sob tore through him.

“Faith…?” he stammered, making to stand, but falling to his knees on the stone. “My...my Faith…?”

She was still smiling, twirling back and forth like any mortal wee lass, oblivious as to the effect she had on her father.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” he wept, inching forward toward her on the floor. “Christ, ye’re beautiful...I never even dared dream of ye...and here ye are...so bonny…”

She was now in arm’s reach, and he made a desperate grab for her, meaning to gather her in his strong arms and cradle her to his chest, rock her there for hours, never let her go.

But his hands met nothing but thin air, white-hot air, and he fell forward, his palms slapping the stones.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

She said it like she’d been caught eating too many bannocks or tormenting the chickens.

He heaved with shuddering breath, unable to look up at her again just yet after having his heart broken like that. He watched as his tears dotted the stone beneath her glowing feet.

“Mortals canna touch spirits.”

He bit back another sob, swallowing hard. Spirit or no, his daughter deserved better than to see her father completely unravel like this.

“It’s…” He sniffled. “It’s alright, lass.” He picked his head up, daring to look at her again. “It’s enough to...to see ye. To hear yer sweet wee voice.” He sniffled again, breaking out into a smile against his will. “I’ve...I’ve always loved ye, though I never saw ye. D’ye ken that?”

“Aye.” She nodded sweetly. “I ken. And I always loved ye, too.”

He was wracked by another sob, overwhelmed.

“Yer...yer mother…” he stammered. “Have ye…”

“No,” she said lightly. “Ma doesna need me.”

His brow furrowed. It was incomprehensible. How could Claire not need this? How could some powers-that-be decide that a mother need not see her child?

 “Doesna need ye…?”

“I ken she misses me. But that’s no’ the same as needing me. That’s what the Ghost of Hogmanay Past said.”

“And why is it that I...need ye? And what’s all this about a Ghost of Hogmanay…?”

“It’s my job to show ye things ye need to see,” she said, that sweet, youthful pride pouring out of her again. “Hogmanay’s past.”

“I...I dinna understand…”

“It’s alright, Da. I’ll just show ye.”

She stooped down, reaching for his hand, and Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Perhaps he couldn’t touch her, but she could touch him. The thought almost had him weeping again.

But then there was fiery heat in his left hand, and his guts were in his mouth as the world dissolved around him. He cried out in fright, but there was no sound to be heard above the roaring wind.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and Faith was no longer holding his hand. He didn’t even see her at first, and the panic that that created was enough to make him completely unaware of his surroundings.

“Faith, mo chridhe? Where are ye? Come back, please…”

He whirled around and was met with a rowdy pair of children running headlong for him, and it was far too late to move out of their way. Much to Jamie’s horror, they ran right through him, as his hands had gone right through Faith.

Christ! Am I dead?

A small giggle.

He whirled around, and there she was, floating, flaming hair, glowing white skin and all.

“Ye’re no’ dead,” she said, shaking her head at his foolishness. “Ye’re...a visitor. But ye’re no’ really here. Everything here has already happened. Ye ken?”

His brow furrowed, and he finally took in his surroundings. He was...home?

But he wasn’t just inside the main house. No...something was different.

The parlor was decked out as Jenny always had it for Hogmanay when they could afford it, but it was far more extravagant than as far back as Jamie could remember. The greenery and the holly and the wreaths and the candles were simply beautiful. It was like stepping into a magical woodland castle, the air drugged with joy and high spirits.

And then he saw them.

“Da? Mam…?” His voice was no more than a choked whisper, and he found his feet bringing him closer to them before he even willed it.

They were whirling around the dance floor, and Jamie sidestepped other couples in vain. It didn’t matter anyway; they danced and twirled right through him. His mother was radiant. He’d forgotten, forgotten how beautiful she’d been, how full of life. And his father...he looked at his mother like he was holding the entire world in his arms. Jamie had forgotten what it was like to look at two people so in love, knowing that he had come from that love, however abstractly he’d known it at that age.

They were both laughing, red in the face from exertion. Jamie could not even keep up with them in following them around the room. He felt inexplicable giddiness bubbling in his chest. He used to watch them whirl around the floor all night, lost in the music of the fiddler accompanied by the laughter of love. Mam used to blow kisses at him and wink, sometimes Da would throw him up on his shoulders, or Jenny, or even both at once, tossing them both over each shoulder like sacks of grain.

“Willie! Lemme! Lemme!”

A piercing, chillingly familiar voice stood out among the throng. Jamie whirled around and completely froze.

That’s me.

Little Jamie was standing there, the tips of his ears red, his face twisted in a ridiculous scowl. He was watching two other children dancing clumsily, a little girl twirling around the finger of her partner.

“Willie…” Jamie breathed reverently, coming closer to the cloister of three children, unblinking, hardly daring to breathe.

“I want tae dance!” Little Jamie protested, stamping his foot. “Lemme!”

“Haud yer whisht!” Little Jenny scolded. “If ye dinna quit yer scowling, I’ll tell Mother to hide yer presents!”

“Jenny,” Willie interrupted. “He’s just a wee lad. Let him dance wi’ us.”

“He’s clumsy!” she protested, little nose wrinkling beneath mirthful, cunning blue eyes.

“He’ll never learn if he doesna get to try.”

Jamie crouched down nearby, watching and listening in awe. There Willie was, protesting about his brother being a wee lad, when he himself was only ten years old. He was wee as anything to Jamie.

And he’d be dead in a year.

“This must’ve been our last Hogmanay all together,” Jamie whispered before he realized he was saying it aloud. He didn’t need to look to know that Faith was standing beside him; he could feel the heat of her fiery presence, could see her glowing from the corner of his eye.

The little Jamie he was looking at was no older than five, Jenny was about seven. Willie would be eleven and dead soon, and his mother would follow in three more years. This was the last time everything had been truly magical during Hogmanay.

“This was...the last time,” Jamie said, unable to elaborate so that his tiny daughter would understand.

Willie finally convinced Jenny to allow Little Jamie to hold one of each of their hands, and they twirled and skipped in a circle. Little Jamie’s scowl seemed to transfer to his sister’s face, apparently unhappy that her nagging wee brother had gotten his way, but before long, all three children were laughing and squealing, tripping over each other in glee.

“The last time what, Da?” Jamie could not tell if his daughter was genuinely asking, or if she was wiser than she seemed and was trying to get him to reveal the contents of his weary soul.

“The last time we were...together. Happy.” Tears stung his eyes. “Willie was my very best friend, ye ken? I was so young when I lost him that I...I dinna even remember what it was like. But look at me....I’m looking at him like he hung the stars.”

And he was, Little Jamie. He adored his big brother. So did Jenny.

The fiddler ceased that particular tune, and everyone paused to applaud wildly, whooping and cheering. Da made his way over to his trio of wee Frasers. Jenny began hounding him to allow her to dance with him instead of Ma, Jamie began demanding to be sat on his shoulders. To compensate, he reached down with a great playful growl, scooping them up and tossing them over his shoulders as the fiddler started in again. Little Jamie and Jenny squealed their wee heads off as Da fully performed a jig with two bairns on his back, and Ma laughed her head off, taking Willie’s hands and swinging their arms between them.

Before long, the rest of the room took notice of Brian’s absurdity and was cheering him on, and then both of his wee children were sitting atop his shoulders, clinging to each other over his head as he danced. The jig finished and the room erupted again. Eyes leaking with tears of laughter, Ellen took Little Jamie into her arms, kissing his temple and rustling his wild hair as Jenny settled on Brian’s hip. His parents kissed, sweet and chaste and beautiful, and Jamie’s heart felt full and empty all at once.

“This truly was the last joyful holiday we had,” Jamie said with a sense of finality. He could live in this memory forever, forget the suffering that was to come, the fate of his poor brother and mother, the fate of himself all those years later. He wanted to fold himself into that loving embrace of that family of five, to meld himself with his five year old soul and live this night forever and ever.

“It wasna the last one, Da,” Faith said gently.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a tiny, delicate hand grasping his again, and before he could speak the panicked protest on his lips into existence, his family was melting away in a whir of color, and the deafening wind was back. Jamie’s frightened cry made no sound, lost to the howling wind.

Colors began leaking back in around them, dimly lit and getting brighter by the second. It was like watching a painting being created right before his eyes, all around him. Then the parlor was back, the Hogmanay decorations all in their place, but just the slightest bit different. Jamie frantically whipped his head around, completely disoriented. His eyes took in a crowd gathered around a dancing couple, and he weaved in and out of them, apparently forgetting that he could just walk right through them if he wished. His heart soared, ready to find his mother and father again, but his breath was taken away at what he saw instead.

Jenny was grown now, hair long and flowing and tied back with a bow, her face bright and beaming, hands clasped with…

Ian.

He was laughing just as heartily, twirling and skipping and dancing right in step with Jenny.

Both of his legs.

Jenny was a young woman, clearly in love with the man that would be her husband, so this must have been…

“The last holiday before...” Jamie breathed reverently. “Before…everything.”

Before Fort William, before Da, before Ian’s leg was taken.

Before Claire.

“Mhmm.” Faith nodded in confirmation, swaying ethereally to the music. “Auntie is very bonny, aye?”

It took Jamie a moment to register her words, entranced as he was by the sight of his sister’s joy. So much had been lost, her brother, her mother. She’d become the woman of the house before she could even see over a washtub. Far too young. Yet, here she was, glowing, radiant.

She’s already stronger than I’ll ever be.

He smiled then, nodding. “Aye, lass. She’s bonny.”

He’d been so blind! How on earth hadn’t he seen the way his sister looked at his best friend? Where was he now that he hadn’t seen this, hadn’t heard the crowd whispering about what a bonny match they’d make someday?

A whooping roar sounded behind him, and Jamie whirled around, following the sound into the dining room, where he laughed out loud at what he saw.

Murtagh and his father were tossing back mugs of whisky and so was…

Himself.

It was not the same as looking at himself as a bairn; it was much stranger. It was so clearly him, yet it wasn’t at all. He was so young, this Jamie. So foolish; present Jamie could tell. He had that stupid glint in his eye, like he was seconds away from doing something foolish at any given time. The crowd roared again as the three men — or, rather, two men and the lad — slammed their mugs down. A drinking game of sorts.

“Aye, I remember,” Jamie breathed, laughing. “Da is about to drink me under the table!”

He’d passed out that night, so hell-bent on drinking more than his father and godfather that he hadn’t taken into account exactly how much he’d been consuming.

“I was sick as a bloody dog the next day,” Jamie went on, still laughing to Faith. “Da wouldna let it go fer weeks. Jenny didna even seem to notice, didna nag me as she would ha’ to see me in such a state. Her mind was elsewhere, I reckon.”

Jamie threw a look over his shoulder into the parlor, finding Jenny still bounding about the room with Ian, joined now by other couples. Jamie looked back again, watched as his father slapped younger Jamie’s back ruthlessly, causing him to sway, and causing the crowd to laugh raucously.

Then there was Da, beaming bright as young-and-in-love Jenny was.

Jamie had seen with his own two eyes how much losing his mother had crumbled his father. They were the loves of each other’s lives, there was no getting around it. Brian lost a piece of his heart when Ellen died, after having already buried a piece of it with Willie. Jamie knew the pain of losing a child, and he knew the pain of losing his wife.

And yet there he was, his father.

None could deny that there was always a quiet sadness about him after Willie, after Ma. But then he tossed his head back, howling with laughter as his son stumbled again, and Jamie’s heart twisted.

He carried on.

He looked back at Jenny again upon hearing her laugh, a shrill, shrieking sound that he’d always hated as a lad, but that now brought him such aching joy.

Certainly growing up too quickly had hardened her; it was unavoidable. And the horrors to come, Randall harming her, the rising and its aftermath, losing her own child...they’d all make her harder still. Jamie could see it in their present.

But she carried on.

Jamie did a visual sweep of the dining room, practically overflowing with food and decoration, every painstaking detail in place to give joy. He was certain that Jenny had done her best to recreate such a thing in her present day, for her children, for Fergus.

For him.

The way his Da had carried on and continued to make each holiday special after losing pieces of his heart had instilled itself into his daughter as well.

And it had missed Jamie himself.

Jamie was overwhelmed with crushing shame, tears stinging his eyes. His eyes bore into his father, so full of life, into himself so full of life. So young.

“Da...I…” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “I’ve failed ye. I have. I’ve failed Jenny, and Ma. I ken ye’d be disappointed in the man I’ve let myself become.”

How far had he fallen that such strength had eluded him? What was so bloody pathetic about him that he could not carry on as his father had set the example for his entire life?

“D’ye see, Da?” A little voice jolted him out of his reverie of self pity, and he finally tore his eyes away from the pillar of a man that he still loved fiercely, still missed with a painful ache. 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Aye, lass...I see. I see that I’m a...a bloody coward. A puir excuse fer a son.”

“Oh, Da,” Faith’s wee voice was tinged with sympathy, as if she were coddling one of her dollies.

Jamie sniffled, then turned to look down at his beautiful wee daughter. “The spirits sent ye to humble me, then?” he said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice for her sake. “To remind me how far I’ve fallen from this time of great joy?”

“Aye...I think so.”

Had he not felt sick to his stomach, Jamie might have laughed at her sweet innocence.

“But,” she went on, “all is not lost.”

She grasped his hand again, and Jamie threw a desperate glance back at his father, tossing his head back in laughter again; the last time he’d ever see him until the Eternal Kingdom.

The lights, the music, the laughter, and the joy all faded away like melting wax until the cave molded back into existence around them. His candle was still turned over, the only light in the room Faith’s glowing essence. Jamie’s head was spinning, so much so that he nearly forgot what Faith had just said:

All is not lost.

“What...what did ye mean, mo chridhe…? What isna lost?”

She giggled. “All!”

He laughed despite himself, his heart straining in his chest. He knelt down in front of his daughter, his hands physically aching with the need to reach out and touch her, and his heart splitting upon remembering that he couldn’t.

 “Cheeky wee thing,” he said softly, his eyes glistening.

“It’ll be alright, Da,” Faith said sweetly. “The other spirits will help ye understand.”

“Others?”

“Aye, I only showed ye the past. The spirits said ye must see the present and future as well.”

“But what...what good’ll it do…?”

She smiled, reaching out to ghost a white hot finger over his nose. “It’ll do all the good in the world, Da. I promise.”

Jamie leaned into her touch, but was met with nothing but air.

“Can ye promise me ye’ll keep yer heart open?” Faith asked, and the room suddenly seemed to get darker.

Her light is fading.

“Faith? Faith, mo chridhe, what’s happening?”

“Promise, Da. Promise that what I showed ye has opened yer heart fer the next spirits.”

She’s leaving.

“Please, lass, dinna leave me…”

“Promise,” she begged, fading dimmer and dimmer.

“Aye,” Jamie choked, a sob wracking through his body. “Aye, my sweet babe...I promise.”

Faith sighed with relief, smiling brightly. “Thank ye, Da.”

“Wait…!”

“I love you, Da.”

And she was gone.

Jamie fell forward onto his hands and knees, sobbing gutturally, every inch of his body alight with the horrible pain of losing her again.

“I...I love you too, Faith.”

The room was entirely black, black as his heart felt now that she was gone. He didn’t bother to light the candle, didn’t even move from his hands and knees as he wept for his lost brother, parents, his poor daughter, and the mother that would never be given such a gift as he had to see her and hear her voice.

Then there was light again; he could see it behind his burning eyelids. He looked behind him. The candle was still turned over, unlit. He turned back around, sitting on his haunches and beholding the next glowing spirit to grace his presence.

He almost fainted.

“...Sassenach?”

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act IV

Introduction

Cast

Act I

Act II

Act III

Act V

Act IV

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, murder, guns, knives, weapons, foul language, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

“I don’t see anything.”

Jeno decided to further poke at whatever he was looking at. They were currently on the boardwalk near Han river, where the very first gruesome incident had occurred.

“Shut up and keep looking.”

They had yet to find anything suspicious, or anything “monster” related, the dock just seemed normal to them. No signs of tragedy even. They had been wandering around the docks for hours now, and the two were getting bored. Jeno, however, persisted.

“Ya Jeno. Jeno-ya. Jeno Lee–”

“For fuck’s sake what?! What is it Jaemin? If you don’t stop, I will not hesitate to throw you in this river right now.”

Jeno turned around to see a crouching Jaemin, obviously wanting to go home. If they weren’t at the docks right now going on a search, Jaemin would sure be enjoying painting whatever it was on his mind. Jeno couldn’t go home without anything to present his father, he could already imagine the look on his face, disappointed yet again. Earlier this morning, Lord Lee had met Jeno just before he left. He gripped Jeno’s shoulder while muttering the words: “Don’t let me down, son.”

To a passerby, the scene was normal, just a father and son having a conversation, but Lord Lee had actually gripped Jeno’s shoulder a little bit too hard, causing a red and almost bruised grip mark to form. Thinking about it made him touch his shoulder again. The word son actually felt more like a threat to him, rather than a word of affection.

He was too lost in thought only to be brought back by the sound of Jaemin groaning,

“You know you volunteered to go with us, right? You were even so excited to go on what you call a ‘mystery hunt’” Jeno said, causing Jaemin to look up at him.

“That was because I thought this case would be interesting, we’ve been here for hours looking for nothing! This is starting to feel like a game of hide-and-seek where everyone was already inside while the person was still counting to a 100,” Jaemin huffed as he stood up, now maintaining eye contact with Jeno.

“All too familiar with that situation, are we?” Haechan decided to butt in their conversation after hearing what Jaemin had said causing Jeno to barely hold back his laughter.

Back when they were kids, all the Lee children decided to play hide and seek, with Jaemin being the person to find them. They agreed upon this since he wasn’t a Lee, so he should be it. Jaemin started to count to ten, only to hear Haechan scream that he should repeat it and count to 100, and so he did. What Jaemin didn’t know was that Haechan had silently told everyone to go back inside to their respective rooms, and only show up until it was time for dinner. Let’s just say that Jaemin spent the whole night crying because he was so stupid, he even refused to eat dinner, he was so sure that he would be met with Haechan’s teasing nonstop. That is until a very thoughtful Jeno had brought food up to his room, and apologized on Haechan’s behalf.

“Shut up before I throw you into this river.” Jaemin said, challenging Haechan only for the latter to just shrug and continue his search.

“Christ it reeks in here.” Jaemin further complained, “At least it smells like rotten fish, not like rotten bodies.” Jeno countered. Jaemin stopped in his tracks to look at his best friend, “Is there a difference?”

“Jeno,” Haechan called and waved for him to come closer,

“What? Did you find something?” Jeno immediately went to his cousin’s direction.

“Of course not.” With that, Jeno smacked his cousin right on the head.

“Look, I don’t think there are any more places we could search. I mean we searched this place top to bottom already, I don’t think we missed anything.” Haechan said, looking up at his cousin.

Well technically, even if they did manage to find something, what would they do with it? There was no one to question, no one to blame, no suspects to interrogate, this was a tragedy caused by the victims themselves. The people who had died were the only suspects.

“People say that there was another attack here last night.” Haechan added as he stood up, Jeno tearing his gaze away from the waters of Han river and back to his cousin.

“Well then that’s great!” Jaemin exclaimed quite too enthusiastically. This only caused the Lee cousins to look at him as if he was the craziest man alive. Jaemin on the other hand, had just realized what he had said, he didn’t mean it that way.

“I mean– the new location, not the attack… Sorry ‘bout that. Let’s move along to the new crime scene shall we?” Jaemin finally exclaimed, fully ready to get going. He was already making his way towards the alleged crime scene when he was pulled back by Jeno.

“We can’t, it happened in Viper territory.” This only caused Jaemin and Haechan to look at each other then back at Jeno.

“And how did you know exactly where it had happened?” Jaemin asked, crossing his arms, Haechan just eyed him suspiciously, “My father had sent me to obtain any information they had regarding the very first attack. The second attack happened in the Poculum, a man suddenly collapsed and… well you know what happens next.”

“Well? Was any information obtained?” Haechan asked, his turn to cross his arms. Jeno only shook his head no. “She said they knew nothing.” A moment had passed in confused silence,

“She? She knew nothing?” Haechan echoed, Jaemin tilting his head rather very confused. “Who’s this ‘she’ we’re talking about?” Jaemin decided to also question Jeno. Jeno looked at the two of them, only to turn his gaze towards the murky waters of Han river. “Yeji Hwang,” He answered rather quietly. The two could only blink at Jeno, then suddenly a loud bang could be heard all throughout the dock, Haechan had accidentally knocked over the crates he was leaning on.

“Yeji?!” Haechan exclaimed,

“Yeji is back?!” Jaemin decided to add as well.

Jeno could only keep his gaze on the water. A sudden sharpness towards his chest, made its way to his head. The feeling did not go away no matter how hard he tried, hearing her name out loud definitely did not help. It hurt to even say her name.

Actually, not too far from here is where he had first met her. They were both still just kids, hoping to get away from their respective households. Jeno had decided to take a break from riding his bike to stop and sit by the Han river. Back then, it was much more clean and much more fresh. A very shocking contrast to the polluted and dirty water now. It was funny how the water, just like them, turned darker and darker over time. It was a symbol of how unclean and impure the water was, just like them. As time went on, the more bad things they had done. Causing their souls to get tainted. If people were all born with pure white souls, theirs would have been pitch black by now. Dark as the water in Han river.

Yeji just so happened to lose her balance right in front of him, cliche they know. Thankfully, a very sweet Jeno had helped her get back up. Ever since that day, they would meet everyday to just play and bike around. They were not Lees nor Hwangs, but simply just kids who played.

“Yeah, she is.” Jeno confirmed as his fists were balled against his sides. He let out a shaky breath as he stood up.

He had heard rumors of what Yeji had done, all the lives she took, crimes committed causing the people of Seoul to become terrified of the heiress. He had hoped that maybe those were just rumors, nothing but lies to scare enemies away, but when they confronted each other last night and had looked each other in the eyes, he knew that they were all true.

She was a killer, a criminal, violent, callous, and ruthless– that is what she was now.

He felt sorry for her, he didn’t want to, but he did. He couldn’t help the fact that the Yeji he knew way back was slowly disappearing now. If not, had completely disappeared. It didn’t settle nicely to him knowing that he was the cause of the sudden change of heart in her. In those 4 years she was gone, Jeno had still dreamed about her. In those 4 years, who couldn’t help but miss her. Her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her everything.

But he does not regret what he has done.

“What in the animal planet is this?” Haechan said as he crouched down to pick up the crates he had previously knocked over, only to find mysterious looking objects scattered on the floor.

At first glance, the mysterious objects looked like scattered peppercorns on the ground, maybe a merchant had unfortunately dropped their spices and refused to clean the mess up. But at further inspection, the so-called “peppercorns” had tiny legs and with dysmorphic bodies the size of an infant’s fingernail. It was pitch black and shiny as well. Haechan, realizing what he was holding were in fact, dead insects, had instantly dropped the insects on the floor with a loud yelp. The insects fell on the floor similar to how grains of rice were if they had been dropped.

Hearing Haechan suddenly yelp in disgust immediately alerted Jeno and Jaemin to head toward his way. When they reached the sight, all three were silent. The mysterious insects scattered on the ground were nothing like what they had seen before.

“Are those… dead flies?” Jaemin asked, unsure of himself.

“How are those dead flies when they can’t even fly? They don’t have wings,” Jeno said while he pointed to the closest insect near him. “Jaem check the other crates and Haechan give me your bag.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Jeno only glared at him as he extended his arm out in order for Haechan to give him his bag. “But I just got this and it’s limited edition and I had to search–”

“Haechan,” Jeno warned, “Give me your bag.”

With a disgusted look on Haechan’s face, he gave Jeno his bag. He watched as his cousin scooped a handful of the insects and put them all in his bag. “Why couldn’t you just put them in your pockets for Christ’s sake.” Haechan complained as he was given his bag full of unidentified insects, “They would get squished obviously. Plus my pants are new.” Jeno said, giving Haechan a playful wink,this only caused Haechan’s eye to twitch.

“There’s nothing here,” Jaemin said as he was carefully putting the crates back in place, the two Lees were already making their way towards Jaemin when they heard voices of merchants coming their way. There was no sight of any Neo-owned fishing boat, that only meant they were in the vicinity of the Vipers.

“Perfect timing, might I add.” Haechan said as he looked at a panicking Jeno and Jaemin, and before the two could react, Haechan already gave them both a rough push. Soon enough, all three of them were quickly submerged in the polluted water of the Han river. They swam underneath the boardwalk in hopes of not getting seen by the incoming merchants. They heard distant voices quickly fading out in the background. As soon as the coast was clear, Jaemin grabbed a fistful of Haechan’s hair and submerged his head in the water.

“Ya! You didn’t have to push me! We could have just opted to hide behind the boats stupid-ass.” Jaemin said, as he released Haechan. “They were walking towards the boats smart-ass.” Haechan retorted as he splashed water towards Jaemin’s direction. While the two were arguing back and forth on what they should and should not have done, Jeno was busy scanning the whole area. Suddenly, a floating shoe had caught his attention. Leaving the two behind, Jeno swiftly swam to the said object. Upon further inspection, the shoe was what he thought it was.

“Oy!” He quickly called out, causing the two to stop and turn their attention to him. “Do you know who this belonged to?” The other two tilted their heads. “A stingy man who decided to take a swim here in Han river who managed to forget his shoe?” Jaemin asked sarcastically.

Haechan could no longer stand any more of their current situation so he started to swim towards the land while the two were quick to follow suit. As soon as they were back on their feet, Jeno called for the attention of the two.

“This belonged to the man who clawed himself to death last night, the man who died in the Poculum.” He grabbed Haechan’s bag as he started to walk away fast. “This means that the man was here too. Let’s go, we need to take this to Doyoung and Kun.”

“Can’t we at least change into some dry clothes?” Haechan said as he squeezed his polo shirt. Jeno only turned back and rolled his eyes, “You’ll be dry by the time you get–”

“Oy,” Jaemin suddenly interrupted, he suddenly narrowed his eyes at the water they were previously submerged in. “Did.. did you see that?”

When the two looked at the water, all they saw were their silly reflections staring back at them. They looked at Jaemin as if he was a mad man, but when they saw the look of confusion and disbelief on his face, something told them that Jaemin wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Are you trying to be funny right now, Jaem?” Haechan asked, quite annoyed causing Jaemin to look back at them. There was something on his dead-serious face that caused an uneasy feeling to settle in their guts. “Never..never mind. I thought I saw eyes in the water, holy shit I need to lay off drinking too much espressos.” He said, scrubbing his eyes.

“Where?” Jeno asked as he scooted towards Jaemin. “In the water, but it could have been just my imagination,” Jaemin said as he looked at Jeno.

“But why would you imagine eyes in the water?” Jeno asked as he grabbed Jaemin, a sign to get going.

“You’ve heard the whispers right?” Haechan asked, only causing the three of them to halt, yet again.

“A monster.”

Only then, when said out loud, did Jeno realize how unbelievable it was. A monster? Running loose in the city? Only for it to jump in the river? In broad daylight? Jasmine was right, it did remind him of all the scary stories he would tell her when they were younger. Jeno then beckoned his friends to start moving.

“You can’t seriously believe that, can you?” Jeno asked Haechan, picking up his pace.

“Hey you never know, you know? For all I care this madness could have been from the river or something like that.” Haechan said as he tried to match Jeno’s awfully fast pace. “Whatever, let’s just keep moving.”

By the time they arrived back near the Neo mansion, they had already been completely dried. Jeno had stopped abruptly in front of their lab, panting trying to catch his breath. This caused Haechan to accidentally topple and collide with Jeno. Jaemin in the meanwhile, lost his balance and was now holding on to Jeno’s arm like a lost child.

“Sorry, tripped on this.” Jaemin said as he regained his balance. It was a flyer from the rovers, aka the people who didn’t side with neither the Vipers nor the Neos. It had this written in big bold red letters: SAVE YOURSELVES FROM THE MADNESS, GET VACCINATED!

“Give me that,” Jeno demanded as he snatched the flyer from Jaemin, he quickly folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. “Come on, they should be closing up by now.”

As they entered the building, no Neo employee bothered to tell them off. No one should be entering the lab at this hour, especially now since they were all excited to head home. But of course, Jeno Lee was above all laws, he was the Neo heir after all. The only reason these employees were even getting some sort of pay was because of him.

“Doyoung? Kun? Are you still here?” Jeno asked as they reached the second floor of the lab. The second floor was for the more trusted scientists such as Doyoung and Kun. They were the ones responsible for making powerful weapons that could bomb a whole house down.

“Up here!” A voice had exclaimed, Jeno immediately following the said voice in a quick motion. Jaemin and Haechan were already on the verge of collapsing, but they still followed him.

Upon their arrival, Kun could only furrow his brows. It was usually only just Jasmine or Jeno, he didn’t expect for other people to arrive. Nonetheless, guessing they were with Jeno, they were of high ranks as well.

“What brings you here today hmm?” Kun asked as he set down the tablecloth he had just used to wipe his counter. His part of the lab was much more organized and clean than what was presented downstairs. He and Doyoung would always fight on who had a cleaner workspace, only for Jasmine to mess both up. “If you’re here for the cartel, we’re not yet quite finished with that.”

Jeno could only wince. Of course Kun had assumed that Jeno was there to follow up on the drugs, what else could he be there for? Just before Kun could answer, his attention was already on Haechan and Jaemin, but more of the latter.

“Ah, Jaemin Na, at your service.” Jaemin said as he extended a hand, Kun had paused since he wasn’t used to none-Lees visiting, but he still accepted. He then turned his attention to Haechan.

“What?” Haechan asked, did he expect him to introduce himself? But he was a Lee, was he not? Surely he knew me, Haechan thought. Jaemin nudged Haechan by the rib causing him to extend his hand as well. “Lee. Haechan Lee.” Kun only stared at him for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter. The three boys looked at each other, then looked at Kun. “I know.”

Haechan’s brow never twitched higher, causing Jaemin to laugh as well.

“We’re not here to nag you about the cartel, we need your opinion.” Jeno said as he set down his cousin’s bag, causing Haechan to grimace since he remembered what Jeno had placed inside. Jaemin also had a look of disgust on his face since they could hear the dead insects rattle inside.

“My opinion? Opinion on what?” Kun asked, a tad bit perplexed. “On this.”

Jeno dumped out all the contents inside the bag causing the insects to scatter all over Kun’s table. With no hesitation, Kun started poking and touching the insects, no sanitary measures whatsoever. This caused Jaemin to silently gag, and for Haechan to step back. “What is this exactly?” He asked, picking an insect up causing Haechan to further step back.

“We found them at the crime scene, where the first attack had happened.” Kun only looked at the insect closer. “So is this what you think may have caused the madness?”

Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan could only look at each other.

You never know, you know? The words from his cousin suddenly echoed in Jeno’s head.

“I don’t know, I was hoping you could tell us.” Jeno admitted, “It was the only evidence present anyways,”

“Or maybe a monster from the Han river had resurrected and decided to start this contagion.” Kun looked at Jaemin in a very, very, bored way. “Stop talking.” Haechan whispered to Jaemin, making him immediately shut up.

“That’s...interesting.” Kun suddenly said. The three thought that he was referring to Jaemin’s suggestion, turns out, he was referring to the insects.

“What’s interesting?” Jeno asked coming closer, beckoning Jaemin and Haechan to do so as well. Haechan had to shove Jaemin since he did not want anything to do with those mysterious looking peppercorns.

“I’ll show you.” Kun grabbed a lighter and lit one on fire. When the insect he had lit on fire started moving, so did the others left on the table. For a mere moment there, they thought that the insects were still alive. But when Kun put out the fire, the insect had stopped, and so did the ones on the table. “Whatever this thing is, it’s definitely not acting alone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeno had asked, hoping that he had not.

“It follows something. Whatever that something commands.”

Oh this was definitely not a work of nature.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, facialteeth!

For @facialteeth <3

When your soulmate loses something it gets sent to you and vice versa. For almost 400 years Magnus thought he would never have a soulmate until one day a pacifier shows up in his loft.

Read On AO3

*****

Who Are You Really?

Magnus stares at the pacifier in his hand. He doesn’t recall anyone bringing a baby to his loft recently. He doesn’t take in as many clients due to his position as High Warlock. He’s pretty sure he would remember a baby being in his home.

Thinking nothing of it, he sets it down on the side table in his living room and goes back to work. The Circle may be disbanding and shadowhunters are getting arrested, but there are still attacks happening in New York and the Institute has asked for his help in tracking the remaining Circle members.

Magnus snorts at his own phrasing. The Institute more so demanded that he help them. He of course made sure to set his price high for what he expected in return. The new Heads weren’t going to make him bend the knee to their every request. He was going to make life extremely difficult for the Lightwoods. They may have been forgiven by the Clave, but Magnus will never forget what they did. 

Without looking up from his cauldron, he reaches for an ingredient on his shelf, and instead of touching the vial he knows is there, a soft fabric brushes his hands. He whips his head up from the cauldron and stares at the blanket draped over the shelf. Not just any blanket, a child’s blanket- no an infant’s blanket. 

Magnus stares at the cloth for so long that his brewing potion is now ruined. He doesn’t care though, not when there’s something more important to focus on. With a shaky breath and hand, he grasps the blanket. It’s so incredibly soft in his hands, the fabric is perfectly suitable for a baby. Not just any baby though Magnus realizes, his soulmate’s. His soulmate must have just turned two, when most soulmates start to receive their partner’s lost items.

A sob escapes his lips and he presses the blanket to his face. 

Four hundred years, it took four hundred years for his soulmate to be born. Magnus had lost hope such a long time ago of ever getting one. Each year that passed with nothing showing up around had him made him lose hope. And after everything Camile did to him, the manipulation, the gaslighting, stealing his items, and pretending that they were soulmates, Magnus swore to never open his heart again.

Now here is this pacifier and blanket in his loft, letting him know that love will not be lost to him. That there is someone out there that is made for him. He scrunches his face at that thought. His soulmate is a baby, he shouldn’t be thinking like that, not yet. He still has many years to go, but Magnus will gladly wait as long as it takes to meet them.

“Oh god my soulmate is a baby and I’m a warlock,” he says out loud to no one. He glances in horror at the state of his apothecary. Everything is everywhere, the minute he forgets one thing it’s going to teleport to a baby. 

Potion forgotten, Magnus starts to clean his apothecary with precision, making sure that everything is labeled and in a proper place that is easy to find. The last thing he needs is to kill a baby, let alone his soulmate. 

“You better not die because of me,” he demands, glaring at the pacifier and blanket now resting in a case in his bedroom.

The first six years are filled with anxiety on Magnus’ end. His friends made fun of him at first, thinking he had finally gone mad. When he showed them the items, they rightly shut up and even occasionally helped him if he was looking for something for a potion. None of them wanting to be responsible for the death of his soulmate. This is the happiest they have seen him in a long time, if it means portaling at ungodly hours of the night to help him find something before it disappears then so be it.

Magnus did have fun “accidentally” losing toys for his soulmate to have and play with. He has no idea if his soulmate actually uses anything that he finds, he hopes that he does. While Magnus is sure that his soulmate’s parents spoiled their child to no end, Magnus was never one to not spoil someone important to him.

Somehow Magnus knew that the exciting thrill was never going to last. His soulmate would be eight now. He glances at the calendar on the wall, a big red circle around September 12th. Magnus had made sure to mark the date after he got a hold of his emotions all those years ago. 

He’s debating on what to send an eight year old child on their birthday. He’s been good about getting gender neutral toys for his soulmate, not knowing if they are a boy or girl. He’s going through a catalog on his phone when he spots a piece of paper on the coffee table. It's flipped upside down but Magnus can see some dark ink on the other side of the paper.

His soulmate must be doodling or drawing and forgotten something they made for their birthday. Magnus reaches out and grabs the paper flipping it over to inspect the drawing.

The paper bursts into flames by his magic.

No that- that can’t be right. Magnus just saw the paper wrong, he must have. There’s no possible way that was what he thought it was. He gets a second chance to see when another paper appears on his coffee table. He feels himself starting to fall apart as he reaches for the sheet and flips it over. He recognizes the marking anywhere.

Iratze

The paper once again catches fire from his barely contained magic. Magnus feels his throat tighten and his breath getting shorter. Shadowhunter. His soulmate is a shadowhunter, his mind provides. He feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. Of all the people living on this earth, his soulmate had to be of the people who have hunted and killed his kind for hundreds of years. 

Magnus barks out a wet laugh, immediately summoning a drink from his cart and downing it in one go. The glass is already refilled as he watches more papers appear on the table, more runes scribble on them. He doesn’t know how many times he refills his glass, but he got the desired effect he wanted: numbness. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s stared at those papers, drinking his pain away. He can barely sit up at this point with the alcohol flowing through his system. He can’t remember the last time he got this drunk. He’s been better since Camille, not wanting to go that far again. He hears the door to his loft open. Was he expecting guests? He doesn’t remember, doesn’t care. The intruder could rob him for all he cared.

“Well you look awfully dreadful,” a familiar British voice says. “Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls and I had to take the long way in?” 

“Ragnor,” Magnus slurs, he tilts his head towards his friend. The small movement makes him nauseous, it takes everything in not to immediately stumble to the bathroom to throw up.

“What is it this time?” His friend sighs dramatically. Ragnor glances around the room, glaring at something out of his field of view. “Obviously something has upset you enough to drink almost your entire cart. Did Camille try and reach out to you?”

“No,” he says too quietly. He can already feel the emotions he’s tried to lock down start to bubble up. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Ragnor, his friend doesn’t need to worry about him. The man always has more important things to deal with than him. Still, his arm has a mind of its own and points to the coffee table.

“What, you were studying runes and decided that getting drunk would be easier?” Oh, he truly loves Ragnor, the old fool knows how to make him laugh even at his lowest of lows. 

“Not mine,” he manages to get out before tears start to fall. 

“Oh, old friend,” Ragnor whispers. He’s happy that he doesn’t have to explain more, his friend understanding what the papers mean. 

The couch dips beside him and an arm wraps around his shoulders. Magnus doesn’t even try to resist, he’s just so tired. He rests his head on Ragnor’s shoulder and cries. Damn the universe for dealing him this deck of cards. 

As his soulmate grows older, the less stuff they seem to misplace. Magnus would find it strange that he’s practically getting nothing, but at this point, he doesn’t care what the shadowhunter does with their life. 

He does, though, care about the number of arrows he’s been finding in his loft. 

Magnus glares at the vase he designated for arrow disposal and sees that it’s full. He has five more wrapped in a cloth in his hands. With a sigh he snaps his fingers and summons another vase, tossing them in. He doesn’t know why he’s keeping them, there’s really no point except to dump them at the Shadowhunter’s feet when they meet. Maybe even throw a few at them, he considers. 

There’s nothing on them so he figures that the shadowhunter is training. Though Magnus almost shudders at the thought that a child is already practicing how to use a weapon. His soulmate is only ten years old, surely Nephilim society would wait until their children are at least thirteen before making them train for hunting. 

“Stupid Nephilim, not keeping track of his arrows,” Magnus grumbles. “That’s almost thirty arrows in the past two months! I would like to think that a shadowhunter would at least know how to put arrows away after training and not leave them everywhere.”

“Do go easy on them, Magnus,” Ragnor snorts from the other room. “It’s not like they had a choice in what family and life they were born into.”

“They still have the option to run away,” he grumbles, knowing he’s being irrational.

“Surely you don’t want them to be homeless at ten years old?” Ragnor says, entering the room with two cocktails, handing one off to Magnus before plopping down on a chair. 

“Maybe,” Magnus whispers, he looks over at his friend and sees the raised brow. He rolls his eyes, “Okay I don’t, not really.”

Magnus knows he’s being unkind to his soulmate. But after everything in recent years with the Uprising and the Circle, it’s hard not to associate all shadowhunters into the same category especially when so many members of the Circle turned tail and came crawling back to the Clave. And the Clave willingly brought them back into their ranks with a slap on the wrist. Magnus rolls his eyes at the thought of Robert and Maryse Lightwood being allowed to look over the New York Institute as their punishment. Those two should have been put behind bars for all that they did for the Circle.

“Don’t you think you are being a bit dramatic?” Ragnor asks as Magnus takes the seat across from him. 

“Me? Dramatic? Hardly, my dear Cabbage,” he says dramatically, hand on his heart. 

“Right,” Ragnor snorts. “Just a gentle reminder that you are getting upset at a child for being born into a life he had no power over just like you with Asmo-”

“Don’t,” Magnus snaps, his glamor flickering for a moment. “Don’t ever compare my upbringing to that of a shadowhunter.”

Ragnor doesn’t say anything else which he kinda feels bad about. His friend also knows better than to talk about his father in such a casual way. The two fall into a tense silence as they go through the books scattered on the table. He sighs, glancing over at the two vases of arrows that he’s put in his library. Ragnor is probably right, but he’s not going to tell that to the old fool’s face.

Magnus will apologize later, right now he wants to focus on the spell they’re working on and not about the shadowhunter.

The day they do meet is not by fate, no, more so Clarissa Fairchild, who Magnus had almost forgotten about. It’s been a couple of years since her mother brought the frightened child to his doorsteps to wipe her memories. Seems the girl has fallen into shadowhunter hands after her mother goes missing. He wouldn’t put it past the rogue Circle members that were in his club a few nights ago to be the reason.

As he examines the ruby necklace, a memento of another time in his life, a shout echoes across the basement and something whistles past his ear. Turning around he sees a Circle member fall to the ground dead with an arrow to the heart. 

Magnus feels his own heart stop as he turns to watch the archer descend the staircase and make his way to the corpse, to search for life. Magnus feels his skin turn warm and start to tingle, like a lego piece snapping into place. A whisper of a no slips past his lips. The shadowhunter must feel the same as he stands from checking the body he stands straight. Hazel meets brown as the man, the shadowhunter, stares at him in shock.

It’s him.

Magnus doesn’t wait for the man to reach him. He summons a portal, ignoring Clary’s cry to wait, and steps back into his loft. His breathing is erratic and it feels like his heart is about to explode. 

His soulmate is here, in New York. What is Magnus going to do? He can’t leave his post as High Warlock, not with Circle members making a reappearance. His people need him to protect them. Over the blood pulsing in his ears, he hears a cry, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. Reaching out with his magic he feels that his hideout has been infiltrated. Dammit, he shouldn’t have left this place for that girl. 

Magnus can worry about the ache in his chest later, his people need his help. 

He doesn’t even wait for the Circle members to notice him, magic blasts out of his hands attacking any person who dares to enter this safe haven. When he finds out who leaked the location, he’s going to ban them from New York. He doesn’t have use for someone who would rat out his own people. 

“Your magic is strong, warlock,” the Circle member taunts. “Much stronger than that horned warlock I killed this morning.”

“Elias,” he says solemnly. He throws a ball of fire at the man who easily dodges it. They circle around each other, the man’s grin never leaving.

“So that was his name, lucky he sold you out before I took his warlock mark,” the man laughs.

Magnus knows he shouldn’t let his anger get the best of him, but he still finds himself lashing out at the Circle member, trying to disarm him. The man's grin turns even more sinister and something in his stomach tightens.

“Cats eyes,” he points out. Magnus didn’t even realize his glamor had dropped. “Would be a nice addition to my collection.”

Before Magnus can reply an arrow sings past him and lands in the man’s leg making him stumble. Magnus doesn’t wait for him to recover and deals a finishing blow. The Circle member collapses on the fallen bookshelf and Magnus feels like he’s frozen. That feeling in his stomach wasn’t from the Circle member, it was from him.

Magnus spins and sees the same shadowhunter from the club stand there, bow still raised, panic in his eyes. The man releases a breath and lowers his bow, eyes rake over the Circle member’s body before turning to Magnus. Magnus steps back, magic sparking at his hands ready to fight. 

The man opens and closes his mouth, trying to say something but nothing comes out. His eyes show only concern and worry, but that can’t be right, no shadowhunter would ever look at him like that. He glances at Magnus’ hands and the look disappears to something more neutral, closed off but not before Magnus catches a glimpse of pain.

“Alec!” A male voice shouts from down the hall, Alec glances behind him taking his eyes off of Magnus. The man must have a death wish for taking his eyes off of him. Magnus could easily take him out now, but his body won’t let him. “That’s the last of them.”

The shadowhunter, or Alec, nods his head and turns towards Magnus again, “We should go join the others.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Shadowhunter,” he bites back, hoping to get a reaction out of the man, but Alec doesn’t even flinch, just nods his head again.

“Apologies,” Alec says, turning around and leaving the library but halts, looking at something on his left. Magnus follows his gaze and realizes he’s looking at the multiple vases of arrows he’s kept over the years. Alec’s face stays blank but the grip on his bow tightens before he continues his way out of the living room.

Strange, Magnus thinks. He thought the shadowhunter would have demanded Magnus listen to him or even drag him to where everyone else is. Instead he’s letting Magnus choose to go with him, giving him the option to run tail if he wanted. 

Of course, Magnus won’t do that, he realizes with a sigh. He doesn’t know how many of his people made it out alive, all of them probably scattering the second the Circle members entered the hideout. He’ll need to notify friends and any families of the fallen here. 

With a wave of his hand, Magnus rids the loft of any dead circle members and teleports their bodies to the ocean. Let the sharks have their fun with them, he doesn’t care. In another wave, he teleports the bodies of the fallen warlocks to another safe haven he has in New York and a fire message to Catarina about what happened and where she needs to go.

When Magnus enters his living room he catches Alec with his head down and a girl with long dark hair rubbing a hand up and down his arm looking at him with concern. Something in his chest aches and presses a hand to his heart. Is that what Alec is feeling? He hates it. He doesn’t want to feel what the shadowhunter is feeling. 

He must be projecting his emotions because Alec flinches, pressing a hand to his chest and looks up at him. Again the pain that he sees disappears by that blank look. The girl catches Alec’s change and looks over at him and sends Magnus the most heated glare he’s ever received. 

He doesn’t have time to deal with that. He puts on his High Warlock persona and makes a show of his magic. Clary, to no surprise, is as stubborn as her mother and refuses to leave without getting her memories back. So he tells them what they all have to do to get them back. None of them argue to his surprise, though the blonde boy tries but is stopped by Alec with a hand on the shoulder. 

The summoning goes off without a problem. All of the shadowhunters listen to his explanation of how the ritual works and that they must not let go of each other’s hands. When Magnus explains that they must hold hands, the sister, Isabelle, moves into a position that forces Alec and him to hold hands. Magnus tries not to let his frustration show and accepts the positions. 

The second he and Alec’s hands touch, it’s like the final piece of their connection is sealed. He hears Alec let out a gasp and the hand in his grips tight before loosening. Magnus looks at Alec and the shadowhunter is not even glancing at him, he continues to stare at the wall opposite of him. Magnus feels an incredible sorrow fill his chest that makes him want to curl up and cry. 

Alec shows no outward sign of what he’s really feeling and something pokes at his heart that this is not the first time that Alec has had to mask his emotions. He shakes off the feeling, looking away from Alec to see everyone else staring at him waiting, though Isabelle is still glaring at him. 

The demon asks for a memory of the ones they love the most. Of course, his is Ragnor, his oldest and closest friend. Jace, who he finds out is Alec’s parabatai, and Isabelle’s are of Alec, which warms his heart or well maybe not his, he looks over at Alec and sees the soft smile on his face as the shadowhunter sees himself reflected in the tornado of smoke in the center. He doesn’t even catch what Clary’s memory was, too enraptured by the kindness shining in his soulmate’s eyes.

When the summoning is over, Clary collapses and is caught by Jace. He scoops the unconscious girl and leads her out of the loft with Isabelle, a quiet thanks as they pass him, leaving Alec and Magnus alone in the room. Alec hasn’t looked up from his hands since they let go, rubbing the hand that was entwined with his.

“Thank you for helping us,” Alec speaks softly. 

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says.

“I know.” Alec finally looks up from his hands and there’s a small smile on his face. “I’ll let you be. Have a good night, Magnus.”

The shadowhunter doesn’t wait for his response and rushes out the room to catch up with his family leaving Magnus alone. 

Alone.

Something that Magnus has been used to for decades now. His heart had been protected under a lock and key for so long and then Alec, this shadowhunter, his soulmate had to barge in and rip the lock off the cage. 

Magnus doesn’t want to feel like this. He liked it better when he was alone and didn’t have a soulmate, when he didn’t feel this much in his chest. The people he knows who have met their soulmates have told him about how they felt butterflies the first time they met their other half. That it felt like they were whole for the first time. Magnus doesn’t feel whole, he feels rage at the universe for giving him a shadowhunter as his soulmate.

Magnus doesn’t care how kind Alec may or may not be.

He will never fall in love with a shadowhunter.

Of course, that wouldn’t be the last time he saw Alec. He made it clear that he was not interested in getting to know the shadowhunter and thankfully Alec respected that. Again throwing Magnus off about his view of shadowhunters. 

Now Jace definitely fits that shadowhunter personality. Brash, rude, demanding, following red heads around like a lost puppy. Magnus rolls his eyes as the blonde’s gaze never leaves Clary’s as she word vomits in his living room fretting over Luke. Luke, who is in the state he’s in because of Clary, and Simon who couldn’t listen to simple orders. 

One would think that the girl would take her time to recover after getting all of her memories back. It seems that when she discovered the location of the cup, she snuck out of the Institute and met up with Sherman only to get kidnapped which led to a fight between a Beta and an Alpha werewolf which led to a new leader to the New York pack and-

Lilith, Magnus needs a drink.

He sends Simon and Jace off to fetch ingredients for him to help with the potion that would save Luke. Which leaves him and Clary to wait for them to return. Magnus focuses on the potion to make sure it doesn’t turn sour.

“So,” Clary says. “You and Alec, huh?”

Magnus almost drops a vial in the cauldron. “I beg your pardon?”

“You two are soulmates right?”

“And what gave you that idea?” He grits. 

“The stuff in Alec’s room,” she shrugs, wandering around the apothecary. “He has a whole bookshelf full of trinkets and vials exactly like the ones in here.” Clary pokes at the vials on his shelves, he almost snaps at her to stop. “It’s really incredible, you can tell he took great care of them all.”

“Is that so?” 

Clary nods, smiling as she picks up a vial off his table, inspecting it. “Yeah, he got really upset with me when I tried to pick up one of the items. Even went as far to wipe my finger prints off the thing. You can easily tell they’re his greatest treasure.” Clary’s smile turns to a frown. “Though last time I went to talk to him, he had put a bed sheet over the shelf.”

Oh. That information does something to his heart, like something has a vice grip around it now. Magnus shakes his head, clearing himself of the feeling, and goes back to the potion.

“Maybe he’s upset that he realized I’m a warlock,” he snorts.

“No, that wasn’t it. When I first saw it, he had this soft, delighted smile on his face. He had said that he hadn’t met the warlock who was his soulmate yet, but that he was eager to meet them. Said that he hoped his runes wouldn’t scare you away and that he could prove that he would care for you the way he cared for the items he got from you through your connection.” 

The vial that was in his hand drops to the table. Clary jumps at the sudden sound and turns to him in surprise.

Surely Alec didn’t think that way about him. He was an abomination with demon blood, Alec was a shadowhunter with angel blood. There’s no possible way they would work and yet, Alec knew his soulmate was a warlock before he even laid eyes on Magnus. Had a bookshelf full of the items he had lost over the years.

“Why?” He mutters quietly. “He’s a shadowhunter whose soulmate is a warlock. We’re not exactly the perfect match.”

“Why should that matter?” Clary asks. “It is clear that Alec doesn’t care that you’re a warlock. His mother is a different story though.” Clary rubs her arms up and down her arms like a shiver passed through her. The accurate reaction when talking about that woman. “I don’t understand how he just stands there while she speaks to him like that.”

“Like what?” His mouth feels dry, the blank face from a few days ago makes sense now. With a mother like Maryse Lightwood, finding out your son has a warlock soulmate probably didn’t go over well. He’s positive that Alec’s other siblings didn’t get that treatment, especially Clary and Jace who discovered they were soulmates. 

“Like he’s inferior for having a warlock as a soulmate. The first thing she did when she stopped by his room was berate him for still having that bookshelf, like he should be ashamed of himself for displaying who his soulmate was so openly and that she thought she told him to toss out anything that wasn’t useful.”

Magnus feels like there’s no air in the room. He leans forward on the table and stares into the bubbling concoction. 

With each new thing he learns about Alec, the less his view of him is so harsh. 

“That’s when he had covered the bookshelf,” Clary whispers, biting her lip. “Ever since their mother came back to the Institute that spark in Alec’s eye is gone.”

“Maryse does have the personality of a brick,” he chimes in hoping to lighten the mood. 

Clary doesn’t take the bait and instead looks at him with sympathy. “I don’t remember much about when we came here last, my memories are still a bit jumbled, but I know that when I woke up, no one knew where Alec went. Jace said to let it go, that he gets that way sometimes, but I couldn’t help feeling like something wasn’t right. When I found him he was on the roof, shooting arrows, one after the other until his hands were bleeding.”

“Why are you telling me this,” he rasps. His heart is beating out of control. Was Alec that hurt by his rejection? He was a shadowhunter, he should be relieved that his warlock of a soulmate doesn’t want to be with him. It wasn’t like Magnus would be upset if Alec left. Something about that thought makes his heart stop. 

“Because you both deserve happiness,” she says. “And I think Alec at least deserves a chance before you kick him to the curb.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to say to that. What could he say to that? For centuries he’s kept away from shadowhunters as much as possible and now he was fatefully connected to one. Why should he be the one to make that step? It wasn’t like Alec was taking the first step.

That’s because you rejected him before he could, his mind unkindly reminds him.

Magnus doesn’t get the time to ask more questions about Alec as Luke starts to seizure on the couch. He tells Clary what still needs to be done with the potion as he rushes over to Luke and pour his magic into the werewolf’s body to slow the spread of the poison. 

He loses track of time, just focusing on making sure that Luke makes it through this process. Just as he starts to feel his magic flicker, the door to his home bursts open and there’s a warm body catching him as he falls back.

Magnus huddles closer to the warmth, clasping his hand around the one that takes his. 

“Use my strength,” a voice whispers in his ear. “Take what you need.”

Magnus doesn't waste a second, siphoning magic from the person behind him. It’s like being shot with adrenaline, the other person’s energy practically shoving its way into his body. It’s definitely a first for him. Anytime Magnus has asked to share strength with someone, there is always a tug from the other person, not fully trusting Magnus to not abuse the power the other is giving him. Magnus feels no resistance from whoever he’s taking magic from. For someone to trust him that openly and blindly that they just give him their very essence brings tears to his eyes.

He’s going to have to thank whoever it is once he’s sure that Luke won’t die on him. Maybe even take them out to dinner as a thank you. As if they heard his thoughts, Jace and Simon rush through the living room and hand over the last ingredient to Clary who tosses it in the cauldron. Moments later, the trio are rushing over to the couch and pouring the potion down Luke’s throat.

The reaction is practically instant. Luke is no longer seizing on the couch and the dark veins around his wounds are receding. Magnus stops his constant flow of magic and drops. Or would have dropped, if the person behind him hadn’t caught him preventing him from making a fool of himself.

He just settles into the person’s arms and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He used more magic than he had planned tonight and he feels exhausted. Not as exhausted as he thought he would be he realizes. That’s when he feels the hand still in his squeeze down and rub the back of his hand with their thumb. The person he’s leaning against begins to speak to Jace.

He jolts at the person’s voice, realizing just exactly who he is resting against. He opens his eyes and whips his head to Alec’s. Alec who is staring down at him with concern and worry that makes his heart ache. Magnus hurriedly lets go of their entwined hands and finds the strength to stand up. He doesn’t look back at Alec.

He asks Jace and Simon to help carry Luke to the guest room, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and the quick beatings of his heart. He hastily follows the men into the bedroom, making sure Luke is comfortable. He’s not ready to address that whole situation waiting for him in the living room.

As he gets Luke comfortable, his mind wanders back to Alec. He wonders if one of the others called Alec for help, but no, there would be no reason for them to notify Alec that he would need assistance. None of them but Clary knew about Luke’s deteriorating state and she was too busy making sure the potion was good to go when the others returned with the missing ingredient. 

He pauses fluffing Luke’s pillow and presses a hand to his chest as it aches. He had been so focused on healing Luke that he didn’t even notice his connection to Alec was so open. He doesn't feel much from Alec, but he understands now, why Alec knew to come to the loft. Magnus must have called out to him and Alec came running to help.

He doesn’t understand the Shadowhunter. Magnus couldn’t have made it more clear that he wasn’t interested in getting to know him. Yet, he still showed up, saved his life twice, helped Clary get her memories back and even assisted him in saving Luke, all without Magnus asking him to. He held Magnus close to his chest and let him practically drain him of his Nephilim energy to save Luke. The part of him that he kept under lock and key for so long slowly pours out and a warmth spreads through him at the fact that someone would do that for him without him asking, begging them to do so. It’s what he always wanted in a partner.

Why should the fact that him being a shadowhunter change that? Clary’s words from before also ring in his head, that Alec kept everything he lost and displayed them proudly in his room and told others about him, other shadowhunters. 

He’s hit with a yearning in his chest that makes him want to try. To maybe get to know Alec a bit and see what the shadowhunter is like. He’s never given Magnus a reason to think that he’s hostile. If anything, Alec has been giving him the space he’s asked for and was only dismissed when Magnus told him off. It’s Magnus who’s the one that’s been hostile. He should fix that, go talk to Alec. He should start by saying thank you.

Magnus excuses himself from the room and goes back out to the living room. Millions of thoughts race in his head, wondering what he should say, how he should say it. But when he reaches the living room, Alec is nowhere to be seen. Magnus steps towards the couch and looks at the entrance to his loft and doesn’t see the shadowhunter. 

His foot hits something on the floor. Magnus’ breath catches as he finds a small trash bin filled with bloody rags. He looks at his couch and sees that the blood stains are gone. 

Alec cleaned up the mess for him. Alec probably felt how depleted of magic he was and didn’t want him to exert himself anymore. The smell of lavender waffs through his living room, getting rid of the metallic smell of blood and decay.

He doesn’t know why that makes his eyes water. Alec did all of this without being asked to. He was being kind again, like he has been since he and Magnus first crossed paths. Magnus was just too stuck in his past to realize it. 

Not anymore, he decides, clenching his fists. He’s not going to let his past dictate his happiness anymore. He has a chance to be happy with the man who the universe has chosen to be his soulmate and he’s going to make the most of it.

Magnus is going to make this right, he has to.

[miqojak]

Wish

(( In which @ketsuchikotetsu​ inspired a bevy of emotions Jak doesn’t really know how to process, so of course she handled it in the weirdest/kind of endearing way possible.))

His words sting - though, perhaps, not for the reasons he wants them to - I’ve touched a wound, and it’s only natural that he’d snarl and snap. I don’t know, really, how the topic came about, but we end up here, again. The way he speaks of himself hurts me, though - it’s like a gut-punch that takes my breath away. He’d rather forgo any attempt at happiness, and moving forward, and just...stagnate until death claims him. He’d rather sit and punish himself for matters long since beyond his control, than even attempt a single step forward, at risk of having it all stripped away yet again.

It hurts me...and yet, who knows that feeling better than I do?

It’s not as though I don’t know the taste of his grief; I may never have held a lover as close as he held his late wife - after all, it’s not like I’ve had that many - but I lost all of my immediate family, save one, at the hands of the Garleans. Slowly, and painfully, at that. I know what it is to spend every single day punishing yourself; I know what it is to beg death to take you next; to demand of the world to know why you lived, and not them; to devote yourself to your family...and have absolutely nothing left to show for it in the end as they’re ripped away from you.

But I also know that...he helped me drag my head above water, and see that there’s more than just pain...if I let myself do so. The twisted irony of it is coming to care for the man who won’t let me care for him - who refuses to live, in the shadow of death.

We have to try, don’t we? To live, because the others didn’t get to.

He leaves me reeling - working hard to steady my breath, with an oncoming headache from the slammed door, and withheld grief that stings my eyes. I’m not much better off emotionally, than he is. I’m just...afraid of wasting a life that I feel like I only have at the expense of others. If they died, and I lived, I have the responsibility to do something with it, right?

I don’t know what to do with myself, and my chest hurts - I’m angry. I’m mad at him, for refusing to take even the first step. I’m mad at her, for leaving him - strange as it may sound, for one who’s grown to care for him as much as I have. I’m mad at me, for not knowing what to do for him; at the sheep, who sleep soundly in their pens knowing nothing of the grief that the two of us wrestle with every moment of every day.

I find myself on the doorstep of a flower shop, in the Lavender Beds - it’s what he and his wife had planned on, right? Settling down into something like this, before that flame of hers flickered out too soon. I don’t know...why, but I just...it seemed right. I don’t even know her name, but I don’t need to, really. She meant everything to him, and still does - and the genuine sorrow writ on his features when he speaks of her death...

I don’t know what to do with this grief...for me, or for him. So I fumble around the shop, feeling more the fool with every second that passes...I hate flowers, really. They’ve never been my thing - beautiful for a heartbeat, but they’re wilted and dead before a day is out.

It’s not really about me, right now, though.

I’m a bit overwhelmed - by the colors, the smells, and the variety of flowers in all shapes and sizes. The Lalafell that runs the shop asks if I need any help, and I stare down at her blankly - the silence stretching on a bit too long, and I begin to feel more and more as though I don’t belong here. I feel like this little woman can tell I don’t belong in this place, like an ugly, red blemish. I can likewise tell that this compulsory grief won’t give me long, so I mutter something vague and tell her it’s fine - I’ll take these purple ones here, and it’s okay, I can get them myself. It’s a spur of the moment decision...but purple seems right. It’s his color, after all. She’d probably appreciate that...but who knows? It’s the thought, right? I hurriedly pay the little woman, red in the face the whole while, and carry the bouquet from the shop as if it were an infant - carefully, gently...awkwardly, as if I might crush it if I’m not hyper-aware of its existence in my grip.

It takes some time to find a suitable spot - the moon high overhead before I settle in beneath half a towering, over-turned log. It’s heavy, grief. Heavy enough that even my paranoia, and fear of the forest, is forgotten, this night. 

“I was going to go to the burial mounds, but...that seems too...clean. Too boring for you or me.” I feel small, here - with the night sky full of diamonds, stretching on forever, alongside towering trees that would make even a Roe feel like an ant. I feel a bit silly, talking to no one, but from what he’s told me...and from what I’ve gathered from her decor left behind in his home...she’d have liked it around here. It’s peaceful - even a desert-dweller like me can admit to a serenity that steals over you in the night’s chorus of insects, burbling of water, and the general ambient sounds a forest makes as parts of it fall asleep, and other parts only just begin to awaken.

“I don’t really know what to do for him...or me, if I’m honest. It’s hard to argue with him, and tell him he’s wrong for not wanting to have such a hurt again; for refusing to budge from the bottom of such a deep well of grief. How can I, who’s not even out of the same seemingly bottomless pit, hope to shine a light in darkness that feels like it goes on forever? He helped me up, but won’t take a hand up, himself, so what is there to do?”

No response comes, save for the far away crack of wood, as the forest settles in for the night.

“I miss my mother’s strength, and my father’s wisdom. I miss my sisters’ laughter. I miss racing across the desert sands, and laughing in the heat of a bonfire.” It’s a crushing weight, and one that bows my back even here. I drop my head into my hand, as its twin continues to cradle those purple and white blossoms, “I suppose his grief has become mine, as well, by virtue of proximity and affection alike. I hate that he hurts for you. I hate that you’ve left him so hollow. I love that he smiles, however, when he speaks of you, at times...I just wish that...” My visions blurs, but I turn my eyes to the stars anyways, and the twisting nebulas that paint the dark canvas of the sky. Wishes are for fools, just as much as flowers are.

“I wish that he cared about himself even a fraction of as much as either of us have, and do. I wish he smiled - for real - more often.” I shift those flowers in my lap, and trace the pad of a finger over the velvet of one of those indigo petals. “I don’t know if it’s true, that some piece of us lingers on, in the lifestream, semi-aware of the world - but if so, I find that I hope it doesn’t hurt you, to see him so, as it does me. I find that I...admire the specter of you, as much as I resent that he seems to cut himself on the memory of you. The way he speaks of you, I almost wish I’d known you, even.” 

For a time, I simply watch that little purple flower spin and drift away, before it’s lost behind a rock, tugged towards that bottleneck that will carry it into the heart of the forest, “I don’t expect him to stop hurting, or stop thinking of you. I just wish he could learn to live with that grief, and accept that he’s allowed to be happy. Honestly, I’m working on that too, even if I don’t really know how to be happy. But there’s something like it, with him.”

I slide off the mossy stone, pluck a purple flower from the bouquet, and leave the rest of them atop the rock on which I perched; I then take that flower, and squat next to the nearby pool that leads back, and away, into another creek that joins yet another river - there’s something to it that makes me think of the lifestream, and the souls adrift in it. “I’m trying, I suppose, to take care of him, in my way. But he’s stubborn...and I’m pretty bad at it, honestly - I feel I failed my family the same way he feels he failed you. Realistically, I know neither of us are failures - life is simply chaotic, and beyond our control. Death is a force beyond any of us. By his own logic, we both waste time in blaming ourselves for things long past that were never within our control to begin with...but it stands that no matter how hard I’ve tried, no matter how much I’ve loved...it’s never enough, really. I fail, and I fail, and I fail. The people around me that I’ve held close either die, or leave of their own volition.”

I let myself enjoy the little flower’s scent briefly, before I set it adrift, to be gently pulled back, and away, where it will join with the rest of this forest’s lifeblood. “I think...I think I love him, - ” It gives me goosebumps, to say it out loud...and just the twinge of a bellyache, “ - and I hope that’s okay with you, at least. I don’t think either of us want to look it in the eye, but it doesn’t change anything. I won’t let him die, though, if it’s within my power to prevent as much. I guess I’ll promise you that much. He’d probably hate me, if I gave my life for his, whether or not he actually gives a shit about me. But I’ll protect him, hm?” I dust myself off, and re-claim my legs, “As much as a man like him needs protecting, anyways. He’d scoff at me, for that one...but no one is immortal.” 

When I look at the stars, it’s my family I think of - how these are the same stars we looked upon years ago, in a desert far, far from here; how these stars existed then, and now, and will continue to wink down at the Spoken long after I’m gone.

No matter how many calamities, this star of our own keeps spinning - so why can’t we?

“I’d bend the laws of magic - the laws of life and death itself - if it’d light his own fire again...but I’ll have to settle for what these little hands can do on their own, I’m afraid.” I look at them, for a quiet moment - hands that have stitched wounds, torn out throats, and traced his every scar. They’re capable of much...but perhaps they’ve met their match, in one just as hard-headed, and broken as I am.

It’s never stopped me before, though - I’ll simply have to keep trying.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE LOST PROPHECY

Lily watched Harry come back inside and flop morosely down at the table, burying his head into his arms and looking so exhausted she wouldn't be surprised if he'd simply fallen over asleep. Still keeping Hickory wrapped in her arms for that deep purring noise keeping her together instead of what she really wanted but determined to keep her infant upstairs, she sat down next to him and ran her nails through his hair, smiling slightly when he tilted his head towards her touch.

"They'll get through this, they always have," Lily promised.

"Exactly how many times has some kid come plopping down into their life to tell them in detail how you lot were going to die?" Harry demanded, his words muffled and all the more grateful he couldn't see the look he knew would be on her face for that.

He was right not to look, he decided, when her voice came out so strained but still as sure as ever. "Doesn't change what I said, they're the most resilient lot I've ever known in my life. They'll bounce back from this just because that's who they are."

When Harry didn't respond to this, she instead tried, "Remus will forgive you, the man can't seem to hold a grudge anymore than he can avoid laughing at his mates," except towards himself she mentally finished with a pained wince for the poor dear.

Harry peaked up at her then, whispering, "I'm killing you all, why should any of you forgive me?"

Lily swapped to smacking him on the forehead, across his scar, and he went cross-eyed for a moment but his stricken expression didn't change. "You are doing no such thing," Lily snapped. "Even if we could, we wouldn't change our own past! I'd fall in love with James again, I'd have you as my first child all over again, I wouldn't change a thing that's happened in my life because of everything it's gifted me. Can you really say you wouldn't come here and meet us if you had the choice right now?"

Harry met her eyes, and felt worse than ever he would deny no such thing. Did that really make him a terrible person though, just to meet his parents, to have his chance again to see Sirius? He'd kept struggling with this the more he cared for is own friends, when had they switched to being his family? Now they were all he had left from that time, he wouldn't ever want to live without them, but could he give that up for being with his new one?

He was saved from having to answer that now by Sirius stomping back in and kicking Harry's chair.

  "What did I do now?" Harry asked as he looked up at him, still sounding more exhausted than anything, though not entirely able to cover his awe he was still able to just look at his godfather, still just have a casual conversation with him.

"Since when did I need a reason to get your attention?" Sirius demanded back, before tapping him on the forehead with the book. "It's your turn by the way, think you can manage that without causing another storm?"

It was spoken as a jest, but Harry managed something resembling a smile at Sirius still looking out for him, his every indication saying he'd keep going if Harry couldn't. He'd been a fool, of course this was still his Sirius, Azkaban may have changed him, but nothing could really take him away.

He took it and followed James and Remus still muttering to each other into the living room, the two sitting down on the double seater while Harry still felt heavy with guilt for what he'd said, it was saying something Remus would still be in the same room with him as he sat down between his mother and Sirius to try and start.

They didn't know, and they didn't care what came next, whatever hellish thing was set to end Harry's fifth year. It wasn't going to mean much except Harry still walking those halls, truly the only thing they could stand hearing about at this point.

Harry landed in Dumbledore's office, which had magically repaired itself to its former glory.

Sirius tried in vain for a giggle, sharing with the others his instant idea of Dumbledore just waltzing into the school just to repair his office.

James countered with McGonagall might have done it, and the two may well have turned the whole thing into a debate of who was more likely to have done that under Umbridge's nose if Lily hadn't kept their attention. Harry was only just keeping himself pulled together, his voice still shook with every word and he was all but glued to Sirius' side while remembering a grief he'd only just suffered through in here, and though watching the two avidly, it would only hurt him more the longer that had to linger in his mind. The two quickly realized all of this and shut themselves up as soon as she'd cleared her throat.

His breathing was rapid, he tried not to think, but there was nothing to stop it. It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault.

Harry could feel the protest boiling around him, but he had to get this out, he didn't want to hear any false securities right now, venting as loud as he could.

If Harry had not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, he'd still be alive, if only he'd listened to Hermione.

"No, no, no, and extra no!" Sirius still managed to speak over him. "Harry, how could you blame yourself for something you had no clue of at the time!?"

"Everyone was warning me this would-"

"No one told you shit!" Sirius barked back, keeping one eye on Harry's bleak face and the other on his mates who were both breathing rather heavily again as well as if stopping themselves from screaming.

"Hermione did," Harry breathed, and though nestled right beside his godfather, there was still that dark hole that may have grown smaller with time, but seemed open fresh and wide now Harry could not shake off, the thoughts still plaguing him all these years later if he'd only listened...

"Then blame her," Sirius seemed to conclude, even as he watched Harry with a small little smirk and knowing what to expect.

He got exactly that, Harry looked at him utterly affronted, "it was my fault for not listening to her, not her job to force me to!" He didn't look like hew was going to start crying anymore.

"You did listen to her," Sirius agreed as much to soothe that temper as make Harry hear what he was saying.

"Even when none of us would, you wouldn't let us yell at her for doing so," James uneasily agreed, now wishing he'd thought more of that at the time as well.

"Then Kreacher did some twisted mess, and Umbridge got in the way, and you had no reason to think otherwise," Sirius' face couldn't help but cloud at the end himself, how the world seemed stacked against Harry like that.

"Yeah, what was with that," Remus snarled quietly under his breath. "Why did Kreacher lie then of all times?"

"Doesn't particularly feel like he chose then to grow a sense of shitliss humor," James agreed foully.

They didn't actually have an answer for that, and now the one person who could have forced him to say what had been going through that deranged elf's mind was no longer around to do so...

Sirius swallowed hard when he realized his own words had backfired, and for a moment he let Harry keep going just to keep himself collected. He enjoyed hearing about this no more than them, honestly hated himself more than anyone ever could, for doing what he'd done to Harry, leaving him like that, failing James and Lily and his godson for his stupid arse getting caught and leaving the last of his family alone. If he thought about that too long he'd see red again, the only thing keeping himself in check was making absolutely sure Harry would always know the real truth, it wasn't his fault.

It was unbearable, this hollow feeling growing in him where Sirius should have been, he could not be alone with it.

Lily made a keening noise as she reached out for her child, could no more let him be alone with this than let her infant go without food. Harry leaned into her touch, knowing he wasn't alone now as he had been during the worst moment of his life then. Lily carded her fingers through his hair as gently as she could while her mind viciously demanded what had Dumbledore been thinking putting him back in there all alone, where was Remus or the rest of the Order, someone?!

The portraits around him, which had actually been sleeping, began to stir as dawn crept into the office, Phineas being the first to spot him and asking if Dumbledore had sent him to give another useless message to his worthless great-grandson?

The page snapped out of place as if it were Phineas' face. He couldn't help it, no matter the stupid petty insult it was, no one was ever going to talk about Sirius like that!

Lily quickly reached over and fixed it, smoothing it back into place while keeping worried eyes on him, but he hardly acknowledged her look, continuing like nothing had happened, though they could feel by the second something was churning in him, just waiting for a release.

Harry couldn't respond, to say the words aloud would make them irreversible.

Harry had to breathe carefully through his nose or that was going to end on a sob again. He'd had his moment, pouring his past out that way onto his godfather now, he wouldn't just keep breaking down and crying like some child every time it was mentioned now!

He couldn't just stay here and be scrutinized by these paints, so he tried to leave, but the door would not open. Another ignored this attempt entirely and asked if Dumbledore would be back soon, it had been very dull around here.

"That school has never been anything remotely dull," Remus muttered, though there was no inflection in his voice, they were still reeling from too many emotions to feel something simple like a joking tone right now.

Harry started to panic as he couldn't get the door open. He couldn't just stay here, where the feeling was rising in him like a wave leaving him ready to crash, he could not stay here!

A flash of green behind him, and Harry turned to see Dumbledore appear in his fireplace. He stepped out carefully, and avoided looking at Harry

"Oh, this again!" Lily burst out in frustration so loud everyone around her jumped and her cat ruffled and glared up at her.

"I swear if that man doesn't do some explaining, I'm going to-" Sirius cut himself off before he'd let his stupid threat pass through his lips. He'd been fixing to say haunt him, but even he knew he couldn't get away with that without Harry breaking down again in his lap and his mates possibly murdering him here and now.

as he stepped over and deposited the tiny baby Fawkes into his usual perch before sitting at his desk, telling Harry none of his fellow students would have permanent damage from the nights events.

"Good," Harry sighed in relief, though he'd winced heavily while saying so as he'd hardly spared a thought for them while hounding after Bellatrix. He already couldn't really forgive himself for what had happened to Sirius, he'd have wasted away to nothing if the same had befallen his friends because of him as well.

Madam Pomfrey was patching everyone up now. Nymphadora Tonks may have to spend some time in St. Mungos, but everyone would make a full recovery.

Sirius made a little rumbling noise of concern, he'd loved hearing of how his little cousin had turned out and didn't like imagining what Bellatrix had done to her.

Harry tried to say this was good, but the word escaped him.

Dumbledore next said he knew how Harry was feeling, and Harry at once said he had no clue!

Lily sighed deeply, her hand still a comfort on him. Dumbledore was only trying to say what many would in that instance, they weren't naive in thinking he'd never lost anyone as surely the man had parents or some such at some time in his life, but what Harry needed most now was the one thing he'd just been denied for the rest of his life, and no sympathy on anyone's part would make that better.

Phineas laughed at this, saying he'd told Dumbledore already never to try and sympathize with the students. Harry ignored this and turned away to the window. The Quidditch pitch could be seen in the distance, where Harry had once seen Sirius as a black dog watching his game, he'd never asked why...

"I thought that was implied," James said through a thick throat, his voice cracking at the end anyways, that was not a memory he wanted to be reminded of right now! His whole body shook, he could have fallen over in that moment from too much loss, but then like he had so many times for Sirius, Remus leaned over and whispered something in his ear. James muttered something back, and while he still seemed to be having trouble breathing, he desperately waved on anyone who would change the bleeding subject.

Dumbledore continued that there was no shame in what Harry was feeling, on the contrary, this pain was his strength.

Harry felt a white-hot anger lick at him, leaving him with the desire to hurt back Dumbledore's calm words.

James could sympathize, he'd feel the same way of anyone who walked in right now, almost wished for it as he needed someone to take all this out on, he just couldn't even imagine doing so to those around him.

Dumbledore just kept going though, saying Harry's suffering proved he was still human-

"That's not helping!" Remus said lowly, fighting shaking limbs himself just to keep upright, and now took back his own thought. Did Dumbledore know nothing of comforting someone in pain?

In all honesty there was no comfort for this, but that certainly hadn't been a way to go!

Harry roared back he didn't want to be human! He picked up the nearest thing, one of Dumbledore's silver instruments, and threw it against the wall.

Sirius swallowed hard as Harry managed to shout all of that with the same intensity, that anger from before bleeding right through back into him now.

Several of the portraits gasped in surprise, but Harry kept going at the same volume he didn't care, he'd had enough, he didn't want anymore, all the while chucking the things around him until he ran out so he flipped the table to.

None dared to stop his tirade, letting him vent and yell all that out and honestly wanting to join in. It felt like too much, he just kept losing everything, and they no longer had the will to promise it would get any better, not after this.

Dumbledore had not made a single move to stop him, in fact still watching with that maddening calm as he said Harry did care, he cared so much the pain left him feeling as if he'd bleed out from it.

Lily watched Harry steadily even as she vaguely registered Dumbledore's words. There was what they'd been looking for, that truly did make it sound as if Dumbledore did know what Harry was feeling, he did know what loss was...

Harry now senselessly screamed he didn't, shaking in place and wanting to rush at Dumbledore now, to break him to, so he'd feel just an instant of his own horror.

That violent streak, though not a surprise, worried them the most. They'd seen that play out in here, and didn't want to know what Dumbledore would do if Harry acted on that in there.

Dumbledore just kept at his calm, saying oh yes Harry did, he'd now lost his mother, father, and the closest thing he'd had to a parent. Of course he cared.

"Still not helping," Remus said again through gritted teeth. Constantly feeling on the verge of crying and refusing to act on it made him feel as if he were suffocating, but he refused to let himself. If Harry punched him again than so be it, but the only thing keeping him listening was watching Sirius, knowing this hadn't happened to him, it wasn't going to, so he would not cry!

Harry tried to keep shouting, but words were no longer enough, smashing things wasn't helping. He just wanted to run, keep running and not look back.*

Sirius inhaled sharply as he understood that all to well. He'd felt that twice in his life, in very short amount of times. Once after what he'd done to Remus, he hadn't come out of the Forest for days and no one had even noticed his friends had all been so furious with him, he almost hadn't come back but finally guilt had triumphed over his own self loathing and so he'd returned. That very summer, after that night his parents had kicked him out, turned on him as no mother and father ever should to a child, and there was a reason it had taken him some time to make it to James's place in the state he was, he'd simply ran all the way there. Those two stuck vividly in his mind, and he couldn't breath for a moment knowing Harry had to feel the same and it was still worse for him.

Harry went back to the door, which was still locked, and commanded to be let out.

Dumbledore simply said no.

Harry tried to make a threat, but Dumbledore was not impressed, saying Harry may continue doing as he pleased with his possessions, he did have to many.

"Is he trying to be funny!" Lily said near hysterics now, feeling a wild mess herself at how alone her child was, how it felt like he could never have a single reprieve! She kept flashing back to what he'd seen witnessing this happening to Cedric, but then Sirius had been there for him! Now he'd never have that again, and a few more tears traced down her cheeks for this future.

Harry commanded in a cold, calm voice just like Dumbledore's to be let out, but again, Dumbledore simply said no, not until he was heard.

Harry was back to shouting he didn't care what Dumbledore had to say!

Dumbledore said he would. Harry was not yet nearly as angry as he should have been, for it was his fault Sirius had died.

James went utterly still, like a wild animal that had just scented its prey.

Though he would not be arrogant as to claim the whole, Sirius was a brave, energetic man who would not have simply sat by while others were in danger. Yet Dumbledore should have been honest from the beginning, that Voldemort may have tried to lead Harry there and this could very well have been a result, therefore, the blame lay with him.

"You are kidding me." James stated, and there was not a trace left of sorrow, though his face was still a blotchy red. "He knew-"

"James," Remus tried, honest fear galloping so hard through him his words still shook. "Prongs, he-"

"Shut up Remus!" James snapped right back, his eyes laser focused on Harry now. If Dumbledore was actually saying what James mind insisted he'd just heard, that man wasn't going to live, and Remus nor anyone was going to stop him!

Harry was still shaking by the doorknob as he watched Dumbledore, who asked he please sit down.

It was not a command, but a request, and Harry threw himself into the chair as violently as he could.

Phineas interrupted to ask that the last of the Blacks were dead?

Dumbledore said yes, and Phineas said he didn't believe it, walking out of his portrait.

Harry couldn't say that properly, he still didn't want to believe it even as he'd had no choice.

Harry could imagine him appearing in Grimmauld Place, how he'd hop from portrait to portrait shouting for Sirius who would never again answer...

Lily felt that catch in the back of her throat, her hand shaking in place upon Harry and he covered hers with his for a moment, but unable to look up, away from an answer he only wished he'd had at the beginning.

Dumbledore continued he owed Harry much, to start with an apology of an old man's mistake. He'd forgotten what it was to be young.

James felt a rushing noise in his ear, a fire that he still wanted to act on, but he'd hear Dumbledore out, know in detail if that man had really done the unthinkable regarding his family.

So Dumbledore began with Harry's scar, saying he'd suspected those fifteen years ago the connection it could hold to Voldemort, and much more recently when he'd gotten his body back, how this may progress. This became apparent on the night Mr. Weasley was attacked.

Harry said Snape had told him this, but Dumbledore corrected Professor Snape.

"No!" James snapped so sharply the cat hissed at him. "He's done nothing to earn that, and you need to keep your priorities right now!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably under such a quelling gaze, it helped nothing to remind him his father wasn't looking at him with that acquisitory look, but Dumbledore...right?

When Harry ignored this Dumbledore kept going, asking Harry had he not wondered why he hadn't been teaching Occlumency, why in fact he hadn't so much as looked at Harry for months?

"A damn fool would wonder that, clearly except the man doing it," Lily hissed.

It was because he'd feared Voldemort would soon learn of this connection as well, and that he'd use it through Harry to spy. Dumbledore had feared if he looked Harry in the eye, he'd see the shadow of a snake stirring, and he'd been right.

Harry's skin crawled, no matter the explanation that feeling still residing of how tainted he was, and now he had absolute proof of how true it was. He suddenly expected those around him to pull away, his errant thought from before festering into a sickening fear he could not shake. They should hate him, blame him for this happening to Sirius, Voldemort had been using him this whole time and now it was no longer just a thought but a fact, Voldemort had possessed him, was inside of him, maybe even now-

"It's alright Harry," Lily breathed in his ear, all of them had sensed the change jumping through Harry, his anger switching to something new and it wasn't the loss Sirius could help with, that was an expression none could stand to see on his face, he was back to feeling guilty and maybe something more.

She tried to take the book away from him, she couldn't stand to watch him suffer through this twice and though whatever idea that was in his head would continue, at least she could hopefully keep his attention on one problem she could fix, but Harry's grip only tightened around the binding, he wouldn't let it go. If he did, they could realize the same as him, and he couldn't lose them now, he just couldn't!

Harry vividly remembered those times where he'd felt like a snake ready to strike, and watched Dumbledore avidly now as he continued to explain that Voldemort's aim of possessing him would have meant destruction as he'd tried tonight, to sacrifice Harry in hopes Dumbledore would try to end them both.

Then he made a desperate noise, every joint feeling like it was going to pop out of his body.

"Harry," James watched him in surprise, the only thing able to pull him away, to distract him from what he'd felt for Dumbledore and Sirius, but his son.

Harry wouldn't though, he wouldn't look at him, couldn't look at any of them, he knew what he'd see, what should have been there. Anger, hate, how could they not after what he'd done?

Dumbledore sighed then, and Harry cared nothing. He would have wanted to know all of this less than twenty four hours ago, but now it felt meaningless.

It all slide away with one brush of Sirius' hand. Just like every time Harry had needed him, Sirius was there now, making a little tisk noise and telling Harry, "alright, deep breaths there, I have proof now I'm not the center of the universe and I may need some comfort here soon."

He tried for a pleasant tone of voice. Harry just watched him with a feeling he knew he'd had until this moment, which vanished in a flash. Sirius didn't blame him, didn't hate him, even knowing Harry's part in this. He kept looking to his parents and back to him, and for a moment he didn't know what to do with this.

Sirius chuckled in surprise when Harry hugged him, but he took it in stride and just let him cling until he pulled back. Sirius wasn't even quite sure what that had been, but the deep warmth he felt that he'd helped Harry figure it out wasn't comparable.

Sirius had told Dumbledore Harry had felt Voldemort inside of him the night Arthur was attacked, and Dumbledore had only known that his fear was correct, Voldemort now knew of this connection, which was why it was so important he learn Occlumency.

James still felt that heat all across him, two levels as some part of him still wanted to murder Dumbledore on the spot for a full explanation of what exactly had been done to others lives, but also a feeling of peace he'd already accepted and now got to almost blissfully watch. It would never not burn he couldn't be there for Harry, but at least he had the one here who did.

He paused, and the whole world felt like it should have been suspended in silence, but it wasn't. The portraits around him were still shuffling or clearing throats, Fawkes was cawing behind him, the sun was creating dazzling images off of the sparkling broken glass around like dew in the carpet.

Remus fidgeted uneasily Harry had an audience for this, as well as one in here. It was different for sure, but truly the boy had never had an alone moment in his life when he really needed one, as opposed to such a lonely childhood all he'd ever wanted was the one thing now gone.

Then of course Harry had pieced together the rest, understood that something was hidden in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Only those who had a prophecy ordained about them could lift one from such a place or suffer madness, and the urge to learn Occlumency had become of even greater importance.

"Would it have killed the bloody man to say that?" James said for only Remus, he was afraid if he spoke any louder he'd only hurt the others but he couldn't keep this bottled up. "So Voldemort would know Dumbledore was trying to stop Harry seeing these things, I don't see the flaw in that!"

Remus couldn't either, he had no defense for his old idol, and he couldn't even think of him as that anymore, not after what he'd just confessed to doing.

Harry reminded he hadn't, though everyone had warned him, but if he had Voldemort couldn't have shown him, and Sirius-

Sirius now realized what he'd just saved Harry from thinking as his godson further leaned into him. He continued to look worriedly down at him, but his voice was trying hard not to keep that heavy tone, so Sirius must have convinced him this wasn't his fault.

The explanation burst out of him he'd tried to find him first at Grimmauld Place, but Kreacher had said-

Dumbledore explained Kreacher had lied. Not being his master,

Harry was so lost in his own mind, the tiny nudge of contradiction on his conciseness meant nothing to him right now.

Kreacher could lie without even punishing himself while he intended for Harry to go to the Ministry of Magic.

"He what?" Lily began poisonously.

Harry gaped he was sent there on purpose, and Dumbledore explained Kreacher had been serving a new master for months.

Sirius had felt betrayal, he knew he'd never feel something so deep again as when his mind flickered to a certain rat, but this was something new. An insulted pride for something he couldn't have called, his mouth hanging open and just waiting for a punchline he was sure was coming, because this was a sick joke, right?

Dumbledore had Kreacher explain to him that shortly after Christmas, after Sirius had commanded he 'get out,' Kreacher took him at word and went to the only other family he had, Narcissa Malfoy.

"No." Sirius said the one word in a flat, cold tone that chilled Harry to the bone. "He did not, he could not- what did I do..." he trailed off though and Harry shivered harder than ever, wondering if he'd just heard Sirius beyond the veil.

"That, that vile, that-" Remus spluttered, beyond words now. He'd never even meet Sirius' elf, and that was probably a good thing right now, his mind didn't need any more fuel for the burning mental images playing through.

Harry shushed them though, as unwilling to let Sirius think he'd done something stupid as Sirius always did for him. This was not his fault, something more was going on there...

Harry asked how he knew, and Dumbledore went back a bit and explained that when Snape had gotten Harry's message, he had contacted the Order. Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Lupin and Sirius had all been at Headquarters at the time.

"You have got to be kidding!" Lily hissed, feeling all of this spin through her mind sickeningly fast now. "All of them were there, and not one of them heard Harry shouting in the kitchen! Came down to see what Kreacher was laughing at! What, how-"

There was something twisted up inside of Remus, a snarled thread of reminder he was one of those, and Lily seemed to realize this at the same time and stopped protesting how the world was out to kill everything that mattered to her.

Sirius was supposed to stay behind and tell Dumbledore everything, but Sirius had delegated this to Kreacher. So when he'd arrived the elf had done as told while laughing.

That part hadn't surprised Sirius, the wretched little thing it was always laughed at misery of any kind, especially his, and to know the feeling he'd have hearing of Harry like this, Kreacher would be ecstatic.

While Kreacher hadn't been able to give up any Order secrets as Sirius had explicitly forbade this, he was able to pass on something vital enough Voldemort could use that Sirius hadn't deemed worth banning. The person Sirius cared about most in the world was Harry, and the feeling was shared as Harry was coming to regard Sirius as mixture of brother and father.

Sirius couldn't imagine hiding that fact from anyone, he'd wear it proud on his shoulders just like he would his little pup some day when he was big enough. It couldn't be though, something like that couldn't get you killed, the world wasn't such a cruel place something like that could exist!

While Voldemort may have known this already, through Kreacher's information it became clear to Voldemort how he could use this.

Harry's lips were numb and cold.

Harry could feel that now, remember that vividly as it tried to cut through his words, but Harry wouldn't let them stop him, he had to hear all of this while he still had the breath.

He realized that Sirius had been there yesterday, Dumbledore confirming as much that Sirius had been upstairs tending to Buckbeak. Kreacher had been instructed to keep Sirius as away from others as possible in case someone came to check on him when Harry received his vision, and so the elf had injured the hippogriff, which Sirius was tending to while Harry was there.

Sirius made a strangled noise, his eyes fit to pop out of his head, his hands twitching maddeningly. That elf had hurt his hippogriff to keep him away from Harry, had been the cause of all this! James could do what he liked to Dumbledore for withholding all this from Harry, but Sirius was very soon fixing to be without a servant the moment he stepped out of here!

Harry still couldn't believe Kreacher had said all of this, while laughing. Hermione had told them to be nice to him!

Dumbledore had not found it surprising, he had warned Sirius to show more kindness and respect for Kreacher as well.

James spluttered something that may have been forced laughter. He just couldn't believe Dumbledore was still saying this, even now! That f'ing thing should have been put out of its misery rather than what it had ultimately done to his brother!

He'd warned Kreacher could be dangerous, but Sirius had not taken him seriously,

Sirius felt a funny tugging feeling inside him, he never would have thought saying his own name as a joke would ever hurt, but for the first time in his life he questioned whether he even should. He'd never once done it around Harry in his time, and though he lived to do it for his friends never ending annoyance, it somehow didn't feel right now that the idea was firmly set in stone he may not get to do it again some day.

Then he glanced at Harry, and he knew he'd never regret saying, "I always take things Siriusly."

There was a heart stopping beat, like now that Harry was told his godfather had passed he'd somehow lost the nerve to laugh at all for anything relating to him. It was proven untrue the moment Harry chuckled and looked to him with a happy shake to his head, muttering, "that's never going to get old."

Sirius smirked and straightened up in his seat, absolutely in agreement with his godson.

or that he'd even seen Kreacher's feelings as acute as a humans.

"Now you see why!" Remus snarled, his hand itching to go for his wand and slit someone's throat out for this. "That, that- no human could do this and laugh!"

Harry was back on his feet without remembering how he got there, rage nearly constricting his words as he told Dumbledore not to talk about Sirius like that!

Dumbledore gave this no notice as he continued that Kreacher, much like Dobby, was how he was because of how wizard kind treated him. To be pitied, a miserable existence.

"Then he should have been released like I wanted him to be!" Sirius howled in frustration, finding yet another mark to chalk against that aged old man. "I never wanted him there! If I'd had my way he'd have crawled into a grave and none of this would have happened!"

Being forced to do Sirius' bidding while enslaved, he'd had no loyalty, and Sirius had never done anything to make this easier-

"He went too easy on that thing!" James said in pure disgust, "by not ripping its eyes out!"

Lily watched all of them get whipped into a frenzy over Kreacher, and her arms tightened around her cat, her hair falling across her face in a bit of shame she didn't feel the same. She still pitied Kreacher more than anything, seeing the manipulation that must have gone on there. Sirius had never said a kind word to him in his life, had only made his being there more unbearable, and even now it seemed they couldn't see their own mistake.

Harry shouted not to talk about Sirius like that! Dumbledore didn't understand how much Sirius had suffered!

Sirius just huffed and wouldn't look at anyone for that. He didn't want to think about that right now, how shitty his life was after the next Halloween, or that feeling was going to overwhelm him all over again they'd never find a way to change it.

Harry tried to force him to change onto Snape, he wanted to hear the blame on him! When Harry had told him about this he'd sneered as usual!

Dumbledore kindly reminded what was he to do in front of Umbridge? He could not take Harry seriously,

"Now he's just doing it on purpose," Remus muttered into the oddly deadly silence. Sirius hadn't even seemed to have heard Harry that time, his wide green eyes watching his godfather with worry like all of them were for the lack of comment.

Sirius had to drag himself back around and see why they were all staring at him, then he fixed a smile into place but just waved Harry on without comment.

or she would have been aware as well. Yet the moment he was away he'd made others aware of the situation, he'd also been the one to prescribe Umbridge with fake Veritaserum when she'd gone to interrogate Harry earlier this year.

"That makes all his behavior okay then!" James spluttered in outrage. "All his taunts, his complete lack of any human emotion when trying to help Harry when it should have been that old cod who couldn't give you the time of day for fear it would ruin his own plans!" James was so close to shouting by then the cat finally had enough and slinked restlessly out of Lily's arms. She watched him flit from the room tail in the air and honestly felt like following, she couldn't hear much more of this without having her own breakdown. She could already see where this was going, how much Harry and all of them hated Snape and so his part, or lack of it during this instance would not go through quietly.

Harry ignored him and kept going, feeling a savage pleasure in blaming Snape for this guilt, and he wanted to hear Dumbledore agree with him.

Lily tucked her hand more firmly around Harry, her nails digging in a bit as she was well aware no matter what Dumbledore said, nothing would satisfy him right now, but she understood. It was only human this, she just couldn't imagine doing this herself, blaming all these problems on one man.

He stammered how Snape had goaded Sirius about staying in that house, calling him a coward.

Sirius tried to ruffle himself up, to eye Harry and bring up an old argument, "you think I let something like what that man said to me do anything to me?" It didn't come off like he meant it, his voice still too heavy, Harry's reality crashing down on all of them more every second, this future no one person should live through.

Dumbledore reminded Sirius was too old and clever to let such feeble taunts get to him.

Then Sirius winced for repeating Dumbledore at a time like this, chancing a glance at James who just shook his head for his best mate always seeming to get the last word, even through Dumbledore.

Harry viciously reminded right back Snape had thrown him from his office, stopped giving him Occlumency lessons!

"Which is all the more loathsome now that we have the full understanding for that," Remus said quietly but with such a promise of violence none would be surprised to see his wand appear. None disagreed either, what Snape had done in that moment was like what he'd done to Lily all over again. He'd left Harry to deal with Voldemort all on his own, instead of treating this like one should have, pushing his childhood problems aside and focusing on why Harry needed him.

Dumbledore agreed, that was his mistake as well, he'd been sure at the time nothing was more dangerous than himself teaching Harry for fear Voldemort would use the connection to spy while in his presence.

"Conceded old birk!" James said flatly. "The man's the best one for the job of that happening when it did, the only one who could have found some way to explain to Harry why it was instead of getting Snape of all people to farce some explanation about this!" James was breathing heavily, he couldn't decide who he was most angry at anymore, Dumbledore, Kreacher, Snape, all three could have dropped dead in front of him this second and he wouldn't bat an eye, would probably be tucking his own wand away after doing it himself!

Harry threw out what Ron had once said, that his scar always hurt more after dealing with Snape, that Snape was probably helping Voldemort all along!

"You can't convince me otherwise," Sirius seethed, hearing Kreacher's part of the plan put it together easily in his head, how many around Harry had set this up, and he didn't believe for a second Snape had done anything to help. That bat had dragged his feet in telling everyone, taken his bloody precious time informing of the situation, and then wasted time puttering around 'looking' for the kids after they'd long gone. Harry could have died before the Order had reached them, and Sirius would never forgive that.

Dumbledore simply disagreed, stating he trusted Severus Snape with his life. He'd thought the man would rise above a childhood grudge against James Potter in helping Harry, but he had been wrong, but this did not put Snape in any way responsible. The blame entirely laid with him.

"Oh, it can admit when it's wrong!" James said through gritted teeth, "f'ing too late!" Dumbledore seemed to have been at fault for everything that had happened to Sirius!

Harry seethed that was okay then? Snape could hate his dad, but Sirius couldn't Kreacher?

Dumbledore corrected Sirius did not hate Kreacher,

"That man doesn't know me at all, though that was made perfectly clear," Sirius snapped with pure loathing, Dumbledore speaking for him at a time like this.

he'd simply regarded him as lesser, of no importance. Wizards had mistreated and abused others for too long, and now they were reaping their rewards.

Harry shouted back Sirius didn't deserve this!

Dumbledore agreed that was not what he meant, nor would he ever say such a thing. Sirius was no cruel man, but kind to house-elves in general. Yet he had no love for Kreacher, being the reminder of the home Sirius hated.

Sirius blinked slowly, as at least that was true, but there was a coppery taste in his mouth for Dumbledore having to speak for him, a taint that wouldn't leave he'd never have the chance to speak to Harry again...

Harry's voice was starting to crack as he agreed with that, he had hated that place, and Dumbledore had made him stay in there, that's why he'd gone out last night!

"No Harry," Sirius softly whispered, he'd never let Harry forget this one. "I came to get you out of there, just like I always would. Doesn't matter if I was on the opposite side of the planet free as a bird, I'd still show up there for you."

While Harry had known that to be true, it didn't exactly make him feel much better about the end results.

Dumbledore couldn't just lock people up like he'd done to Harry last summer as well!

Sirius shivered while Harry gave a heavy sigh, neither appreciating that.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face away, and Harry's anger only grew. Dumbledore should not be showing signs of weakness when Harry was raging at him.

James fingers were digging furiously into his palms, he quite agreed with Harry but as his son worked all of this out from his past James didn't have that same release, had no one he could properly vent at and that just kept building inside him.

When he looked up again, Dumbledore asked that Harry sit back down, it was time he was told everything.

Lily couldn't help but scoff a bit in disgust. "Oh yes, tell him all the answers now when he's sick with grief and wants nothing to do with you!"

"Twisted bit of sense that, Harry's angry at something else and can't snap at Dumbledore for the more important detail," Sirius muttered.

After that, he would not stop Harry from doing whatever he felt he needed.

It took every bit of concentration for Harry to just retake his seat, and Dumbledore stared at him for a long time before stating that five years ago, Harry had arrived here safe and whole just as he'd planned.

Harry heard four deeply disgusted noises around him for that.

Dumbledore corrected himself not quite whole, he had suffered. He'd known what he was condemning him to leaving him on his aunt and uncle's doorsteps all those years ago, a dark and difficult youth ahead.

"He knew!" Harry heard the splutter of outrage around him, knew he should have felt something for that as well, but honestly when he looked up he saw Dumbledore's timing had been perfect.

They were so drained, exhausted, and hurt from having to live through Sirius' death that no matter how much they wanted to rage for this as well, it would not erupt. It was simmering below each of them, Harry could feel it himself as he could already count the days again of when he'd be going back, but for now, talking would keep the fire back.

If Harry were to ask why had he not been left with any numerous wizarding families who would have taken him in, Dumbledore would have responded same as he did to anyone at the time. It was too dangerous. Voldemort would return, and though he had not been sure how long that would take, it would happen. In the meantime, Death Eaters had still roamed free, hungry for revenge against the Boy Who Lived.

Remus still had enough of himself to shake his head in disgust. He still couldn't believe that was Dumbledore's decision to make! Lily would never leave Harry to Petunia, she knew well her sisters feelings for her. Clearly Sirius and...the other weren't an option at the time, and he wouldn't be able to...so then there was truly no one left but a bystander family. It still should have been their decision. Dumbledore was begin vain in saying no one would realize that taking in this particular infant was dangerous, but at least it would have been by choice, not something Dumbledore should have made for anyone!

In killing his mother, Voldemort had gifted Harry with the most powerful enchantment that could be enacted. So long as Harry lived with blood, his mother's sacrifice would remain.

"It wasn't worth it," Lily said at once, her face growing more ghastly by the moment as she still felt responsible for her child's terrible fate because of her blood. "Anything else could have been done, and he still would have grown up with more love and care than the absolute nothing he got."

Harry agreed, he'd wished more than once he had grown up in some kind of foster system, anything other than the neglect he'd had.

Harry at once said Petunia didn't love him, but Dumbledore corrected she'd taken him in. Grudgingly, bitterly, she'd given him room in the house which enacted the strongest shield Dumbledore could give.

"I don't believe that!" Sirius said in pure disgust. "Of all the magic in the world the man can do, that was the best he got? He himself admitted it would only be a temporary fix, it's not a long term solution, and so he still put you through his own admittance of suffering for nothing!"

This was not what Harry had been hoping to focus on, as if flipping from one fresh torture to an old festering wound.

While he called the place where his mother's blood dwelled home, Voldemort could not touch him.

"But he doesn't think of that as his home!" Remus dissected, trying anything like he was chatting with Dumbledore about this now. "He refers to Hogwarts, even the Burrow as more his home than, than that place!"

He need only return there once a year to be safe.

"That's not-" Remus tried again, but Harry couldn't hear anymore. He was on the verge of something again, whether anger, sorrow, or something else he did not know, but he just couldn't hear this now.

His aunt was aware of this, he'd left her a note detailing this when she'd found him on her stoop. Petunia Dursley was aware that sharing houseroom with him had kept him alive the past fifteen years.

"He didn't even have a room!" James bitterly protested his word choice. "He lived in a bloody cupboard the first ten years! They only changed that after they realized someone else knew! No, that doesn't make what they did okay!"

"What about the Death Eaters anyways, he said that's the reason he didn't offer you to another family, they'd be attacked sooner than even Voldemort's return," Harry whispered miserably. He wished more than them this hadn't happened, but he'd never wish the circumstances of his life on anyone else either, considering everyone around him suffered because of it.

"Clearly the protection runs against anyone who would do you harm, otherwise you'd be right in saying that should have happened," Lily bitterly pointed out.

Harry realized he was not going to get even a small bit of understanding from any of them.

Something clicked inside Harry as he watched his headmaster, stating in surprise Dumbledore had sent that howler, it had been his voice shouting to remember the last.

Dumbledore agreed he had thought she'd need reminding of his last correspondence, of the pact she'd sealed in taking him in.

Harry's heart thudded painfully in his chest as he realized this, the snarky comment flying through his mind of how Dumbledore had even sent Petunia more mail than him over that summer.

"That utter arse," James blinked in stunned disbelief. "He, I didn't thing Dumbledore was capable of sending a-"

"Honestly that just makes the whole thing all the more confusing," Lily seethed. "Why care whatever Dumbledore bloody says, it shouldn't have changed anything, they clearly don't care what happens to you in the house! Why not abandon you the first time they could, they wouldn't care!" Lily jerked with the force of her own shouts, face ablaze with hatred for the thing that should have held the responsibility of her child but instead had treated him like scum.

He'd suspected the dementor attack may make her aware of the dangers of having him as a surrogate son.

"How dare he even pretend to call it that!" Lily spat in disgust. "Those, those ruddy-"

"He choked our child!" James snarled, his hands still fisting up for that reminder. That hadn't even been the only occurrence, the constant insults, the frying pan, instant after instant of questioning the humanity of them, the legality part wasn't even in debate if someone looked at it for even a moment! And it was all Dumbledore's fault!

It had been one thing for him to leave Harry there and pretend it was okay, it was a wholly other for the implication the man knew of it all! Had even anticipated such a thing and gone through with it anyways!

Both were sitting forward in their seats, their grief was quickly slipping into murderous anger again, both wanted to crack Dumbledore's head open for putting Harry through this suffering just as he'd done to Sirius, when they still blamed half the mess of him winding up in Azkaban on the old man as well! It didn't feel right, how could he have done this? Who was he to decide this for their child!?

"What the bloody hell would Dumbledore have done if they'd killed him?" Sirius demanded, his teeth bared, eyes wild. "They came bloody close to starving him, glory knows how much they really hurt him!"

"Stop," Harry finally pleaded before they could go full blast with this, of listing every single thing he'd mentioned and what they'd pulled together themselves. "I know okay, it's just...wouldn't you rather hear the rest than yelling about this?"

"Can't we do both?" Remus demanded snidely, but Harry ignored them and kept going more quietly than he needed to in hopes they really would stop.

Dumbledore got back on track then, saying five years ago he'd arrived at school alive.

Harry heard it again, that deep throated noise all around him promising no one thought this excusable or at all okay.

He had not been a pampered child, but as normal a boy as the circumstances could have.

"The man's damn lucky you even made it there," James snarled. "Considering they tried to stamp out your magic to begin with!"

Harry shivered at the reminder but was clearly still determinedly ignoring them.

So his plan had been working, and even in his first year he'd faced challenges and rose magnificently against them.

"There should never have been a challenge!" Lily seethed in protest, all her fears of Harry's first year ultimately confirmed right then. "He set you up! He wanted that bloody Stone there, he wanted to see how you'd handle it!"

Then he'd found himself again face to face with Voldemort, and survived. Dumbledore had been prouder than words could say.

Remus felt nothing for that like he would have thought. There was a time where Dumbledore's word meant everything to him, but that feeling was getting harder to recall the more he heard.

Harry should have been honored to have such a thing, but after all he'd been through because of their old headmasters decision, it felt more like the man should be begging forgiveness than showing off pride.

It was also then Dumbledore had foreseen a flaw in his plan.

"His plan," Lily bitterly repeated, not caring one damn bit about anything of his plan right now, she wanted Harry as far away from that man as Voldemort.

Harry still had no clue what he meant, so Dumbledore continued, reminding that while Harry had asked at the time, Dumbledore had denied the answer of why Harry carried that scar. He should have, but eleven had been much to young.

So he recounted the rest of Harry's years, his triumphs and life, how he'd been matched more closely and carefully than Harry even realized, and still Dumbledore's flaw in his plan grew as he delayed in telling Harry. He'd cared too much.

Harry felt that deep, soothing feeling of why he hadn't been as angry as those around him, like he'd been expecting a warm hug and had received just that.

He chanced a look at the others and saw they didn't share the same feeling.

"Cared my arse," James muttered, his face still set in a hard line of frustration as he watched his child, still imagining his crying infant with no comfort to come. "What that man put you through doesn't at all sound like he gave a damn."

Harry winced and kept going anyways.

He'd cared more for Harry's happiness than placing the burden on him of what was to come, wanted Harry's future to seem more than it had been no matter what it was costing countless lives in not sharing with Harry sooner what he needed to know.

"He can't say one thing while doing another," Lily said with pure ice. "He can not just say he cared about you above others while leaving you to go back there against your wishes!"

Remus caught Sirius' eye though, and they felt a tiny niggle of understanding for just a moment. Were they any better? If Harry had to go there right now to protect the rest of the world from falling under Voldemort's reign...and they couldn't do it. No matter how terrible that made them, they still couldn't bring themselves to accept this as their fate, they'd just have to find some other answer, there had to be one!

Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to add another after all the boy had been through, the greatest one of all.

James couldn't breath. He wanted to keep screaming, threatening Dumbledore and promising this was never going to actually happen to his child, but here finally was the answer for that. The truth of why it had happened at all...so he caught Lily's eyes and finally managed to still her as well, a deathly calm settling over them for the one thing that would stop the retribution against the Dursley's and anyone, what had happened to make this their future?

Now he saw he had no choice. Voldemort had set out to kill Harry because of a prophecy made shortly before his birth. Voldemort had only heard a part of it, and had set out only to gift this baby and fulfill the prophecy himself, leading to the backfire, Voldemort's own downfall. The record of all this had been in the Hall of Prophecy. Since his return Voldemort had been determined to hear it in its entirety, to know where he'd gone wrong.

Harry could feel it, like a rubber band fixing to snap into place somehow helping all of this to make sense, and he worried his words would come out to jumbled for them to make sense even as he kept going.

This was the weapon he'd been seeking, the knowledge of how to kill Harry.

"Bloody hell," James was the first to speak in the echoing silence, and it wasn't even that coherent.

"That, is, insane," Lily spoke this clearly in fear anyone would misunderstand. "Voldemort, is out to kill Harry, because of a prophecy!"

"But, but those things-" Remus kept blinking spastically, but no new words popped up to prove he wasn't hearing things. "They're, they're a farce, a whim at best to tell you-"

"But they're not, are they," Sirius whispered, his face haggard. "They're bloody real, and somehow Voldemort knows it."

"I-" James couldn't keep going, none of them could. Their future was in ruins because of a Seer!

Harry only kept going from the will of having to know everything, the answer right on the tips of his fingers though those around him still sat like gaping fish at this news.

Harry blankly recalled that no one could know, it had broken.

Dumbledore mostly agreed, only one person left knew it, and that was who the prophecy had been ordained to, himself. Sixteen years ago in the Hog's Head inn.

"Sixteen years!" Lily repeated with hissed fury. Her shock wore off fast enough to latch onto this bit of information. "The Order knows about this, Dumbledore knows about this right now!"

"But, he hasn't, we haven't-" James tried to protest this. Yet it was there. Harry was only fifteen during this, which meant this had happened while Lily was still pregnant. "He hasn't told us!"

James got angry again as well, shock switching to all but shouting again at once. "Is this why he even let us into the Order! To keep an eye on-"

"I'm going to kill him," Lily snarled in disgust, there was no more question about this, and no one said otherwise.

Harry still twitched uneasily, though there wasn't a trace of any of them showing they didn't mean it, Harry still kept plowing on, though at this point even he wasn't sure why, it still only managed to keep getting worse.

He briefly explained he'd gone to see a teacher for the post of Divination, and while not keen on allowing the subject in school, he'd respect that the woman applying had been the ancestor of a renowned Seer. Dumbledore went to get his Pensive and set it between them, then he plucked a memory from his mind and set it inside. After a moment, Sybill Trelawney materialized before them,

Harry's mind floundered for just a moment, but a squeak of protest informed him this shocking moment held no more care than a fly on the wall, not now.

When she spoke it was not in her mystic voice, but the harsh tones Harry had only heard once before;

Insert the Prophecy

Sirius could still remember the last prophecy seared into his memory, every word had convinced him it had been his undoing, and it had been completely wrong. Now he finally understood this had been what made Voldemort come after Harry! Something so entirely vague it could have applied to a dozen people, and Voldemort had chosen his best mate! His godson! It didn't feel real! Like nothing else before since this mayhem had started with Harry landing in their kitchen, Sirius felt like he was dreaming, a nightmare though, that in such a short amount of time lives would end all because of-

James couldn't help it, he breathed in relief. "This is ridiculous!"

"James, I know you don't like them, but you can't deny now," Remus tried to calmly say to a clearly irrational father-

"No, no!" James insisted, a smile edging at his features that held a slight tint of detached humor, but his eyes were edging for complete disregard of this world. "It has nothing at all to do with- that's why Dumbledore hasn't told us! Don't you see! It's not..." but he trailed off as he blinked again, the world snapped back into sharp focus, and he looked at Harry. From that very first day he'd convinced himself he'd somehow brought Voldemort down on his family, that he was the reason his son's life was the way it was. Now it was all because of a stupid prophecy gifted by Sybill Trelawney! In the most deranged way there was, he was almost happy again!

Then he'd realized the rest, that somehow, Voldemort had decided that nonsense was his son.

"How did he know?" The tone was such a shift they all watched him with even more worry, his voice now bleak and hollow. "Trelawney couldn't have told Voldemort about this, Dumbledore didn't! How did Voldemort get a hold of this thing long enough to decide- why us!"

Lily had no answer for him, none of them did. There had to be any number of people out there who that prophecy spoke of, why was Harry alone left with this burden?

Harry couldn't even find it in himself to keep going, like the final nail in the coffin. The why didn't matter, it truly was his being alive that had cursed this family, Voldemort had chosen him and now everyone he knew suffered because of it. He wanted to snap the book shut, to walk right out of here and no one could stop him, why would they? He'd be leaving for good, he'd find Voldemort now and make sure he got exactly what he wanted...but he couldn't move. The idea was crystal clear in his mind, but his fingers wouldn't do the simple job of putting this all away, his feet seemed glued rather than the fierce energy driving him out. Why? The question that just kept coming up again and again for him, what more had he to learn from this that excused his existence, his infestation in their lives?

He realized why he couldn't bolster that anger at Dumbledore then, because he was just as bad as him. He wouldn't leave them, because he cared too much about them. He wanted to stay here as long as he could, until he had no other choice, still childishly clinging to that hope of something, an answer that would make all of this okay. The prophecy hadn't done that...so was there more?

There had to be, everything he felt believed in that, so amidst all of their still whispering panics and mutters, Harry still kept going, that was all he could do.

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.

Sirius growled still more loudly over Harry, "I have a solution, let's just kill this one and be done with it! I'm sick of her ruining our lives!"

Harry was much more sure Sirius didn't mean that one, he was still speaking out of besotted anger he did deserve. What were the odds the same woman would do this twice to him in such a short amount of time?

Harry just gaped, tried to recall the words, and then gave up and asked what that meant.

Dumbledore explained in simpler terms Voldemort would be conquered by a child born at the end of July, whose parents had defied Voldemort three times.

Harry fidgeted with the page, still feeling his parents words, honestly wishing for the same, that Voldemort had not decided his family was the one this meant...but if not him, then it would have been someone else, and did they deserved this any more or less than him?

Suddenly Harry was finding breathing difficult, even as Dumbledore acquitted that it very possibly could not not have meant Harry at all at the time.

"Exactly, that's what I was-" James mutinously tried to keep going.

Two boys could have been the likely child of the prophecy, the other was Neville.

Lily felt her heart still in her chest, eyes narrowing as her mind flew with that information, well aware of how true that was...and she gave a deep, broken sob. "Oh, oh this is-" she couldn't keep going, raking her nails through her hair with fury at what her mind was showing her.

"Lily," James whispered, wanting to hold her tight to him and never let go, but she was not to be comforted right now.

"Don't you see, we were fooling ourselves! Of course Voldemort didn't pick just one and go with that! The attack on Alice and Frank, Voldemort probably has a list of families like ours! He has Death Eater's going to every one of them to, to silence and make sure-" It had been said the attack on their friends had happened shortly after Voldemort's downfall, but how shortly? The story had been spread the Death Eaters had been torturing the Longbottoms for information, but what if they'd simply been having some fun before moving onto their goal, the infant. Was it possible they hadn't even heard word of what had happened to their master yet and been acting out his orders still?

"That doesn't make this unavoidable," Remus said flatly, his hand on James shoulder and watching her with absolution. "We figure that out as well! I'll bet you anything that's why Dumbledore hasn't told you lot about this yet! He's deciding who Voldemort is going to pick as well, probably got his own list of family's! We get them as well, we make sure Voldemort can't take this out on anyone!"

Harry watched them agree, the fight bolstering back in them that he couldn't quite feel. It all still felt inevitable to him, but he tried to blame that on his scar, that it had already happened to him. For them, this was still a concept, something they were going to fix, and if this was one of the ways Harry wasn't going to be the one to stop them even if he couldn't find the hope it would work.

Harry wasn't even sure what was in his own voice when he asked that it could be Neville?

Dumbledore corrected could have been, but no longer was. There was no doubt this was now meant for Harry.

James still snarled in outrage, Dumbledore couldn't let them just have one moment of peace! That man just had to ruin whatever life they tried to have, as if he wanted this to happen! There must be some other way to defeat Voldemort than what some bloody Seer said, there had to be!

Voldemort had fulfilled his half of the prophecy by marking Harry, who was now his equal, Neville bore no scar that was both a blessing and a curse to its bearer.

"More one than the other," Harry muttered as he took pause for a moment to rub at it, as if they'd forgotten.

Harry protested Voldemort could have chosen wrong!

Sirius did as he always would, he started wondering aloud any errant thought flitting across his mind to chat to the others about. "Could Neville have taken the Prophecy? If it's meant for the person who it was spoken of, and Neville and Harry were both candidates-"

"No, I don't think so. Dumbledore said it himself, he made me the child." Harry reminded, his voice much calmer than the others would have guessed for this topic, but clearly as they weren't discussing his past about Sirius and his living arrangements, he was almost back to normal.

"Sirius, you are a wonder," Lily said flatly, meaning to scold for trying to jump off topic, but he just smiled when she couldn't really get that tone.

Dumbledore had no more clue than anyone, Voldemort had made his choice. He had not picked the pure-blood child, but the one he'd seen himself in, the half-blood.

James was still riled up with disgust. "How dare he! My son- nothing like him-" but his furious mutterings weren't cutting into Harry now, he could see the end in sight, and more than ever before, he just wanted to be done with his part. He wished it hadn't been so just as much, but their terse mutters changed nothing, only action did that, and Harry had to act on his.

Harry didn't understand why Voldemort hadn't waited, to see which child would have been more dangerous to him.

Dumbledore agreed that may well have been the correct course of action, if he'd heard the whole thing. Instead they'd been interrupted, much as Harry himself had learned. The person listening had been thrown out before hearing the whole thing, and so had only reported the part that set Voldemort on his way, not knowing what he was creating in the process, giving Harry powers the Dark Lord knew not-

Harry's pulse quickened at the new tirade of insults around him, but as always he could feel the importance of that without knowing why. It was some scum Death Eater, he realized the same as the others, some information carried on by a careless person who gave not a thought for the consequences of what they were sharing. So why then did Harry feel no want for a death he should have, that ultimately made his parents?

Harry protested he hadn't anything of the sort!

"I don't know Harry, that look you give me sometimes is something I'm sure Voldemort never could," Sirius told him with an attempt at his chipper tone, the constant anger and fear around him feeling suffocating.

Harry gave him that exact look, watching his godfather in pure exasperation for a moment before shaking his head and continuing while Sirius smirked at the others who continued to look at him as if for his health, but it had worked for just a moment, they were all fighting back a smile as well for him.

Dumbledore ignored this and derailed back to talking of the Department of Mysteries. Of the room that was always locked inside, because the power it held, what they were studying was one that was more powerful than any source available, it resided in his body, it was the reason Voldemort could not possess him when he'd tried. His heart saved him.

Harry gazed down at that for a long time before he looked again at his mother. It hurt to even take his eyes off her, the woman he'd wanted most to meet in his entire life. He craved to know about his father, but through Sirius even for the briefest second he'd had just that. There had been no one for her though, not Molly or anyone could ever cause him to feel like he was watching her brush at her hair, eyes meeting in the way only theirs could. He still didn't understand, not really. He loved her, he loved all of them, but why then was that all it took to defeat someone as powerful as Voldemort, when he knocked such things as love aside like they were nothing? James had loved them, but he had been tossed out of the way without so much as a glance. Yet Lily's love for him had saved his life. Where was the key to this answer, that Voldemort somehow bestowed upon him?

They could gain no answer for this. Somehow, again, Dumbledore's answer felt like no answer, but finally, they could not hold that against him. He could only speak of what he knew, and perhaps even Dumbledore didn't know this as the answer, but was only speaking more speculation. Finally then, they felt they knew all he did, and they'd just have to work out the rest for themselves.

Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died . . .

"As endless a cycle as Hermione's time-turner," Sirius softly returned. "You should have known all along not to come, if you had than none of this would have happened, if and if, we can go back as far as you want Harry, but that makes nothing your fault. You couldn't change your past no matter how many possibilities there were."

Harry still kept searching his gaze and finally seemed to find what he was looking for, though it had been there all along. His voice was not steady, but at long last he knew without any regrets why this had happened, and he couldn't hate the fact that he'd loved his godfather enough to do this to him.

To stave off that, Harry whispered the last of the lines, concluding for himself this meant that one of them had to kill the other?

Dumbledore simply said yes.

Harry waited then, vividly remembering their reaction to his using one lone Unforgivable curse against someone who had inexplicably deserved it. He waited for them to finally be afraid of him, convinced if this hadn't done it than perhaps his family was truly mad.

Then James scoffed and muttered, "why do I get the feeling there's some stupid catch to that as well?"

"Because this whole thing has been one long gotcha'," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I'm just so glad Dumbledore thinks he's got this prophecy all worked out," Remus agreed bitterly.

Lily seemed no more able to believe it, leaning over Harry's shoulder and hoping he was done soon, trying to completely disregard the fact that Dumbledore had just told her child he had to be a murder. As if that man hadn't done enough to Harry's life.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of them, but while he forced himself to try and finish with some sense of ease they weren't disgusted with him, it helped nothing to ease his mind of the rest to come.

For a long time neither of them spoke again. Harry's mind was back on Sirius, and he was still convinced if he'd pulled that curtain aside his godfather would have stepped back out, smiling as always at the sight of Harry, maybe greeting him with that laughter like a bark.

Sirius tried to do that now, just to prove he still could it seemed, but the effort only offered a sharp noise like a kicked puppy.

It went unmocked, but it made the sharp sting return to all eyes. This just could not be it, they refused to accept this as the end to their Padfoot. They'd find a way to save him as much as James and Lily.

Dumbledore broke the silence by telling Harry he owed him one more explanation.

"Not another one, I can't take much more of these," James whispered.

If Harry had been wondering why he hadn't been made prefect, it was because Dumbledore had felt he'd had enough responsibility to be getting on with.

Sirius blinked once, twice, and then it came through, his bark like laughter filling the room. He just couldn't believe his ears, after all that, Dumbledore had decided to say the one thing that had been on no one's mind!

Lily watched him throw his head back with that carefree laugh of his. In school, the noise had been maddening, like a braying donkey. Now she honestly considered it one of the most cheerful noises that could be, right along with her baby's giggling and James soft chuckle. It was something that still made them all smile, that infectious noise they all knew they would never see end.

Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard.

Sirius shook himself slightly in pity for laughing so hard when Dumbledore was reduced to tears, something none of them had ever envisioned was possible. Sirius had laughed his way through much of life, seeming to find the only way to make others hear you was to start with something as attention grabbing as a good laugh. That's how he'd gained his friends, it's how he'd lived through his summers, laughing off everything he could. Apparently that's how he was going to die as well.

HPHPHPHPHP

I've never been subtle in showing I don't particularly like Dumbledore's character, he was a man given too much power and decided too many fates he shouldn't have, which was all proven in this very chapter. Yet like with everybody, the man gets his redemption's in the next two books. Like with Snape, Harry very clearly forgave Dumbledore for this and everything, so if you think thinks got to heated in this, remember to wait till the end. I love you all!

*I sympathize with this a lot. Whenever the world feels too much to me, I go on long walks with my dog, this line echoes in my head, I can't imagine what Dumbledore did to Harry really is okay. The guy just needed to get away for a moment before he was talked to. This isn't like last year where I can see Dumbledore's side in needing to hear everything. It wouldn't have been a kindness for Harry to have a break before sharing all that. This time though Dumbledore didn't need information, Harry should have been allowed to just flat run and not look back until he chose to, but I guess that's just a personal opinion.

[sol-tinyrayofsun]

Zutara Week Day 2 - Counterpart: Complementary Parenting

Title: Complementary Parenting

Rating: G

Summary:  It’s a rainy Sunday at the Royal Palace, and baby Kya tends to get bored during these days. Much to her delight, Katara and Zuko decide to see which one of them can entertain their daughter the most.

---------

The rain pitter-pattered on the Royal Palace’s rooftop. The sound of the raindrops was muffled by soft giggling.

“Someone’s bored, huh?” Katara asked, putting down the book she was reading.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Zuko replied, holding baby Kya in his arms. “She definitely wants to go outside. I don’t think we can keep her entertained for much longer.”

The Fire Lady got up from the loveseat she had been resting on. She headed to the bed where the other two were playing.

Sundays were the quieter days for the pair of first-time parents. Between running an entire Nation and dealing with South Pole´s businesses, raising a little one took up most of their time. They loved it that way, making sure their girl got all the attention she deserved. Weekends were almost exclusively reserved for her. Kya adored spending most of her afternoons by the turtleduck pond. But rainy days meant staying inside for at least a while. And the tiny princess wasn't exactly a fan of it.

Sitting down next to her husband and their daughter, Katara softly poked the little girl’s nose.

“You just wanted mommy’s attention, didn’t you?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Kya giggled some more.

“Hey!” The Fire Lord exclaimed. “She’s having the time of her life with me.”

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing you,” she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

Zuko gifted her a tender smile in return. “How was your reading session?” he asked.

“Good, but I was already missing you two.”

He held Kya as he glided her through the air, her soft laughter brightening up the entire room. “Well, I think it’s safe to say we’ve both missed you too.”

“You know, for a future waterbender, she doesn’t seem to love the rain that much.”

“Keep dreaming about it,” Zuko laughed. “This little troublemaker has ‘firebender’ written all over.”

Katara gently took the baby from his arms, giving her a warm hug. Kya was smiling from ear to ear, clearly loving the way her parents bickered for her attention.

“You know Sokka is almost rooting for her to be a non-bender, right? He wants to get his chance to teach her how to use a boomerang, fan, and sword.”

“I’m not surprised, he and Suki are the coolest yet craziest uncles ever. But trust me, my gut says she’ll be one unstoppable firebender. Look at her cute little fiery eyes.”

“Mmm, we’ll see about that,” Katara replied. “I can’t believe her first birthday is only about a month and a half away.”

“She’s grown too fast. Don’t even get me started on what my mom and Kiyi have already planned for the party.”

“We shouldn’t sleep on the invitations, by the way, I’m sure Suki and Sokka would love to choose their greatest outfits in advance.”

“Oh, Agni. Wait until Azula realizes Kiyi was looking forward to getting matching dresses with her. That should be fun to watch.”

Little Kya seemed to have her own ideas for the birthday party, as she interrupted them with some opinionated babbling.

“Alright, alright, sweetie, we hear you,” Katara said. “We know you’re bored inside.”

“See? She had us both right here and still complains,” Zuko remarked with a playful smirk.

“You know, I think I might have an idea.” She put the girl back into her father’s arms.

Zuko simply smiled, a curious frown framing his face as he held his daughter.

“Look, Kya, check out what mommy can do,” Katara said as she bent a tad of water out of the glass that rested on her nightstand.

The little girl’s eyes widened as she watched her mom form a tiny water heart in the air, only to disassemble it and have the stream of liquid do a full circle around her before going back to its place. Kya even clapped a bit, giggling and extending her hands to Katara. Her mother took her back into her arms, giving her a little bunny kiss.

“Well, that seemed to entertain her enough,” Zuko cheered. “Though it’s not fair, you know I can’t just firebend around like that.”

“I sense some jealousy there, Kya. Daddy’s afraid I’m going to be your absolute favorite after today.”

The princess mumbled in response, trying to get her hands into her mother’s hair loops. They were one of her favorite things to hold into her little fingers. Always catching her attention and causing Katara to try and convince her to please give her poor hair a break.

“Oh, come on! You know I’m her favorite,” Zuko complained, chuckling. “Let’s see what I can do.”

“Heard that, Kya? I’ve got a competition now!” Katara laughed, sitting the baby on her lap. “Come on, darling, your ladies are waiting.”

“Alright, don’t you two get your hopes too up. It’s going to be the simplest trick in history,” Zuko said as he grabbed a nearby candle.

He held it in his hands, standing up at a cautious distance from the girls. When they were both looking, he put off the flame only to ignite it again a couple of seconds later. He repeated the move a few times, calling Kya’s attention.

“Princess, look here!” he exclaimed. “Where’s the flame? Did it disappear? Nop! Here it is!”

Their daughter just kept giggling, eyes wide open as she watched the flame come and go, softly clapping from her mom’s lap. Zuko wore a bright grin on his face, Kya was his ultimate weak spot. Well, along with his wife, of course. He couldn’t be happier with the little family they had forged together.

“Your trick wasn’t so bad!” Katara exclaimed once he was finished. “My water heart was just a million times cuter, that’s all.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved me,” Zuko raised a brow. “Oh, what a fool.”

“Shut up, you know I do.” Katara rolled her eyes as she made a playful smile.

“Kya, please know your father does love your mom. It’s not my fault she doesn’t feel the same way,” he joked as he kneeled onto the bed, leaning onto his elbows to stick his tongue out to his wife.

“Oh Agni, what has fatherhood done to this man?” Katara swooned. “I love you, silly.”

Making sure to have Kya firmly secured into her arms, she leaned up to him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. The two young parents maintained eye contact for a tender moment after it. Everything about the gesture was utterly affectionate.

“I love you too,” Zuko replied. “That’s much better, I think I even have the strength to outdo you with one final trick,” he said as he got back on his feet.

“And the Fire Lord strikes again!” Katara laughed.

He took a couple of extra steps back before igniting a tiny flame on one of his hands. Smirking, he did the same thing on the other. Then, he started juggling the two flames, adding a third one once he felt more confident. Kya’s eyes reflected the light from the small flames as she cheered on her dad with some graceful babbling.

“Wow, wow, getting competitive, huh?” The Fire Lady teased.

With a simple wrist movement, she redirected the water from the glass to put out the flames Zuko was juggling with.

“That’s cheating,” he complained, plummeting to the bed and poking Kya’s nose. “Come here, princess, give your poor dad some love.”

The little girl answered with some loud giggling, eager to nestle into her father’s arms.

“Alright, I think I know how to settle this once and for all,” Katara stated, giving Zuko a pinch on his cheek. “I’ll have to warn you, though, I’m definitely winning this funny little contest we’ve got going on.”

“Katara, sometimes I do wonder which one of us is more competitive,” he said as he made a sarcastic smirk.

“Both. I think both is your best bet,” she replied. “So, ready to be defeated?”

“Defeated in entertaining our infant daughter? Yeah, I think I can live with it.”

“Great, then get up. We need to be closer to the window.”

“Got that, little one?” Zuko said to Kya as he stood up, holding her in his arms. “Mommy is going to put on a show for us.”

Once the three of them were by the window, Katara opened it. The smell of rain invaded the room. It was a cloudy day outside, with the rainwater still pouring down all over the garden.

“Sweetie you pay attention to mom, alright? I´m gonna show you waterbending is the best.”

“Sh, Kya, don’t let her tricks convince you.” Zuko grinned.

Katara stuck her hands out the window, a light frown caused by her concentration made its way to her face. Smiling, she tilted her head to make the other two look outside.

It had ceased raining around them, a thousand little raindrops rested static in the air, stopped by her will.

Kya started clapping, extending her arms to point to the outside. She was loving it. Babbling, she seemed to ask if it meant they would finally go outside.

“No, no, princess,” Katara laughed, allowing the rain to keep falling back from the sky. “It’s a waterbending move, it hasn’t actually stopped raining.”

The little girl pouted at the negative, clearly eager to be able to play by the pond.

As she closed the window, Katara gave Zuko a triumphant smile.

“I won, right?” she asked.

Sitting down on the bed, with Kya back on his lap, the Fire Lord let out a soft laugh.

“You win, my lady,” he replied. “Now come here and let me hug you, you know my firebending is handy when it comes to keeping you warm. We don’t want you catching a cold, don’t we?” A playful smirk framed his face.

“Fine, if you insist,” Katara complied, cuddling in bed with the two of them. “But you know I entertained Kya the most.”

“We all know that. Stopping the rain was a dream come true for her,” he said as he placed a tender kiss on her lips.

All that bending had left the two young parents in the mood for a nap. Placing the baby princess in the middle of them, they played with her until she finally fell asleep. Once they were sure she wouldn’t wake up from the sound of the rain, they resolved to let their eyes fall heavy too. Not before sharing an exhausted yet loving look. They had succeeded at entertaining their little one.

The three of them stayed in bed for most of what remained of the stormy evening. In the end, little Kya had been the actual winner. With her parent’s efforts to amuse her with their little bending competition, spending an afternoon inside hadn’t been boring at all. It was a fact, Sundays were becoming her favorite.

------- Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little tooth-roothing piece <3 

@zutaraweek