#grey streak from when that boy held the SKY

[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (I)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 1,645

CW: childbirth, Aegon being Aegon, Bullying, child abuse, fear of the dark, refrences to torture, loving parents, oc is described to have brown hair, streaked with silver and purple eyes

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire charecters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all charecters are his  except for my OC          

When Rhaenyra fell pregnant for a second time, she knew it would be different.

For the birth of Jacaerys, her pregnancy was followed with mass celebrations, house Veleryon showering her with gifts, proud that a child with Velaryon blood would sit on the iron throne. But after his birth, the celebrations ceased. Whispers swept through the court, questioning his birth. But after a few months, many came to the agreement it was his grandmother Rhaenys Baratheon’s blood shining through, she once looked more Baratheon than Targeryen and the child was merely taking after her.

But then she fell pregnant again, and though she was once more greeted with celebrations, the court held its breath.

One child born with the Baratheon looks was one thing, genetics was a mystery and it was pure chance he had brown hair and eyes.

But if this child too had the ‘Baratheon looks’ then it would all but confirm the rumours queen Alicent spun.

But that was not why Rhaenyra felt this pregnancy to be different, unlike her first pregnancy, she had different symptoms, morning skinniness, new cravings, and where before she had always had clear skin she was getting pimples and spots. She hoped for a girl, having always wanted a little sister, and now she would have a daughter. She had only ever imagined having girls, and though she was not disappointed at having a boy when the masters spoke of their predictions of it being a girl, she got a little jump in her step.

So, when she went into labour, whilst the court held its breath waiting for the legitimacy of her children to be confirmed, she held her excitement over having a daughter.

The day of her labour was not cheerful, the skies were grey and cloudy and when her contractions began rain fell from the sky, a storm from Stormsend having reached KingsLanding.

With the wind rattling against the windows, and thunder striking down from the sky, the family waiting outside, Viserys pacing the halls. Alicent biting her nails. This labour was tough, though Jacaerys birth had been easy, this had taken double the time his had, her screams, louder than even the storm raging outside. And when it all stopped the family feared the worse.

The young prince Aemond, only eighteen moons old had awoken, screaming insisting he is with his mother. Only to arrive just in time to hear his niece's screams and his eldest sister's laughter.

He rushed into her room, not even allowing time for his father to check on his daughter, before jumping up (as well as a toddler could) and sitting next to his sister insisting on holding his niece. Tired from the labour Rhaenyra agreed.

When her father and Alicent finally entered, they were quick to approach. Alicent caught a glimpse of black hair streaked with silver.

“A girl?” Viserys questioned, smiling down at the babe in Aemonds arms.

Nodding, Rhaenyra smiled “Aemma” she declared, causing a delighted laugh to leave Viserys mouth.

“She looks just like her, the Arryn genes are strong with her it seems, she even has your mother’s eyes.” And she did, Arryn blue eyes, not violet, as she had dreamed, but perfect.

She had attempted to take Aemma back from  Aemond, but he had not let go, simply smiling and babbling to his niece, his Aemma.

As the years went by Aemond continued to stay with Aemma, scarcely letting her stray from his sight, his hand always holding hers. Where one was, the other was always near. Being the only two without a dragon, his never hatching, and her own destroyed along following the storm on the day of her birth, they had the same lessons, with no dragon lessons, they were very rarely apart.

Aemma had grown into a sweet, beautiful, and intelligent girl. Her looks compared to that of her great-grandmother, Daella, alongside her sweet nature. She had an innocence around her, being the middle child and only girl of her mother, her mother wished to preserve the child-like wonder for her daughter, wishing to grant her daughter the childhood of being the heir and the only child of a king stolen from her. Aemond was all too pleased to keep her like this, wanting to preserve her wonder, her need for him. Though book smart, the sheltered life she lived kept her from the real world. She was even protected from rumours, though they still were whispered, all desired to keep her from them.

She was a kind girl and underserving of the cruelty of court, but even that did not protect her from her family. Alicent had always been fond of her, always allowing her near her children, being kind, braiding her hair and even commissioning gifts for her. She was close to Heleana, the pair, whenever Aemond left her alone, often found each other’s company. Aemma was one the few people to share her interest in insects, even going out of her way to collect any that she thought Heleana might enjoy. But Aegon and her brothers were another story. Aegon was a jealous person, envying his niece for the kindness his mother never found him, so he took it out on her.

When Jacaerys let slip Aemma’s fear of the dark, an idea struck him.

The black cells.

Aemma rarely slept alone, with Aemond often sneaking in and sleeping with her, hating the moments apart even when they sleep. When he was sick, they often slept apart, his fear of catching his illness, however little or contagious it was. And her chambers always had candles lit for when she did sleep, a reassurance that whatever lurked in the dark was stopped by the glow of a candle.

Aegon waited for Aemond to fall ill, for a time he knew she would be alone. And snuck into her chambers, her brothers by his side.

It was the dead of night, the boys aged 9 and 6 tired but willing to please their uncle, snuck into her rooms and carried her through the keep down to the third level of black cells.

Being a deep sleeper, she didn’t wake once, not even flinch when Aegon picked her up and then dumped her in the cells.

They had run off giggling, thinking it a brilliant prank, and a way to cure her of her fear, as Aegon put it.

They had thought it would be overcome morning, that she would wake in the dark before finding the door and leaving.

None of them expected her to be locked in there for a week, they did not know the doors were locked and only opened from the outside.

The keep was in disarray searching for her, neither boy spoke up, fear of their punishment keeping them.

Aemond was driving everyone mad, ordering and screaming for her to be found. He was normally a shy quiet boy, unsure of himself. But with his Aemma missing all that was left of him was a madman.

The rest of the keep was in disarray. All guards were on the lookout for the princess, searching high and low. She had completely disappeared, without a trace.

The boys were growing nervous, they couldn’t admit to what had been done and they feared the black cells too much to return and retrieve her.

Aemma had woken in complete darkness, she could even see her hand it was so dark.

She could hear screaming as if they were her own, but she didn’t notice, she didn’t even notice as she crawled forward in her small cell and pounded on the door, begging to be let out. Or as she threw her guts up after hours of screaming and pounding.

She did notice when it all went quiet. When even her screams stopped when the screams of the criminals being tortured turned quiet.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, there was no way to tell day from night.

She slept when she collapsed, her tears lulling her into a tormented sleep, her stomach empty and churning.

She had no food nor water, the dungeon master had no clue she was down here, and no one did.

 Not until a week had passed and Aemond dreamt of the black cells. She had refused to rest till she was found, but collapsing from exhaustion lead to his dream, leading his startling awake, and his racing to the cells. Ser Criston Cole was quick to follow him, though he did not care for the girl he still had a duty as a kingsguard. She was found after three hours of searching, three hours of Aemond shouting and ordering guards to search every cell on every level.

Ser Harwin Strong found her, he and her mother had, like Aemond, not stopped, fearing the worse, had not rested. When he found her she was sitting in the corner, head between her legs, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face. She was thin, with chapped lips, her face red and puffed with her never-ending tears.

She screamed when the light poured in, shuffling back into her corner.

“Aemma” Harwin breathed, before alerting the rest of the guard, Aemond came running over, taking her into his arms.

“Aemma” he cooed, taking her hand, she had flinched back from Harwin when he took her hand, but with Aemond she took it, and jumped in his arms, tears falling from her eyes once more. “it’s ok…it’s ok… your safe now” he spoke softly, stroking her hair.

Maesters were quick to attend to her, she was weak and dehydrated. And her mind was still in a panic. She refused to let go of Aemond, using him as a shield when her brothers and Aegon paid her a visit.

She never said who had done it, but her distance and new timid nature around her brothers and uncle was proof enough for Aemond.

But he couldn’t do anything, he was a victim of their bullying. Though they never did something similar or remotely as cruel again, Aemonds crazed state was enough for them to leave Aemma and him alone, at least until the pink dread.

a/n more of an intro chapter, half edited

next part

[raayllum]

Rayla and Callum re: possession plot line + all foreshadowing (s1-s5, supplementary material)

“An assassin doesn’t decide right and wrong. Only life and death.” Rayla parroted the mantra Runaan had so often repeated. She did not know if she was reciting the words to convince the prince that his fate was sealed, or to convince herself to seal it.

(Book One: Sky novelization; 1x02, and 1x04)

“Wow. So they look identical, but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said. “Exactly. Just like me…” Rayla smiled.

One more, she thought. Just one more win. A human stepped into the pit. His armor, a weather-beaten but familiar silver-grey with a red collar, told a grim tale: an exile from Katolis. He’d likely fled deeper into Xadia after the battle at the Storm Spire. He was barely taller than Rayla herself, and couldn’t have been older than— —what would he look like now, she wondered? Nearly two years older, a few inches taller— The human’s sword flashed towards her. Rayla sprang away, and the crowd bellowed. [...] The human kicked dirt at her, and Rayla scraped at her eyes, angry—infuriated, even. Humans were frustrating. Humans were clever. Humans could do anything, they could be anything, they could take their own fates and change them— When she blinked her eyes back open, Rayla saw several things at once. In the pit, the human charged forward, sword aloft. And in the crowd behind him, a flash of red. A scarf. For a moment Rayla was somewhere else, far away and safe and warm, following that red scarf instead of turning her back on it— —and then the human’s fist struck her jaw. She shouted in pain. One blade rose instinctively to block another blow, but the human grabbed her wrist and twisted so hard she dropped it. Then he swept a leg under her, catching her by the heels, and before she could breathe again Rayla was on her back in the dirt, staring up at the wooden bones of the ceiling. “Rayla! Wake up, come on! We’re gonna be okay—!” The human stood over her and tapped his blade to her chest. Rayla craned her neck, looking around. The sound came back into the world, and the crowd’s cheering had turned from raucous support to mocking, shrieking laughter. Groaning, she let her head fall back to the dirt. “You win,” she said. [...]

“What was that?! You beat yourself!” Back in Redfeather’s little hovel, Rayla sat in the hammock, arms tight across her chest. Stella, who had been told to stay behind for her own safety, snuggled against her neck and cooed. Rayla fiddled with a little wooden token someone had shoved into her hands as a consolation prize for her victories in the pit. Her fingers traced a carving of a hermit crab on one side and the stark profile of a Tidebound elf on the other. “What happened? Why didn’t you keep fighting?” Rayla took a deep breath. Her ribs ached. “I got distracted.” Redfeather gave a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t they teach you to avoid that kind of thing when you become an assassin?” “That’s different,” she protested, even though her heart knew it wasn’t. It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask. 

Chasing Shadows, part 2

Rayla pulled the chest back, out of reach, and pressed the curve of one blade to his neck— —and held it there. The human froze, meeting her eyes. He looked afraid. Rayla wanted to hate him, this young Neolandian boy, she wanted to hate him like she hated Viren. She could almost see Viren’s face in his: the white streaks of his hair, the sickly pallor of his skin, the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. Was he not the same? But what if it was true? A plague, an illness, a wound— “Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.” [...] Rayla looked at the driftwood floor. “Because I messed up. He got away with the rest.” Redfeather sighed. “You hesitated. Like in the Bone Pit.” It stung. She was right, of course. Rayla caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a glass bottle and scowled at herself: the face glowering back at her was not the face of an assassin, and it never would be. [...] Redfeather nodded. “I like you, but you’re still trying to be the person they’ll welcome back home. You’re a Ghost. You can’t be that elf ever again. You have to decide who you are going to be instead. So—who are you?” Rayla balked at her. It was an awful question. She wasn’t an assassin, she wasn’t an elf of the Silvergrove, she wasn’t anything at all, she was just— —“Rayla.” That voice again. Rayla pushed away, trying to focus on Redfeather. “I’m—” “—selfless, strong, and caring—” He persisted, as he always did, and his voice took her far, far away. 

Chasing Shadows, part 3

She has made the princes her best friends and gone on a journey to free every elf and human from such terrible fates.

Rayla's Tales of Xadia bio

[lovinggreeniehours]

sunsets over water.

↳ arion × five

↳ 1.4k words

↳ (revised version of an old fic "horizons"!) a brief study of these two before Everything. they don't meet here but. well, they will <3 five's half takes place in 1996, ari's half takes place in 2012; also references to arifive both being trans. ari discovers that much later than five does, resulting in wonky pronouns

"In three.."

Number Five clenched his fists at his sides. His powers churned in the pit of his stomach— a great, impatient force, bubbling beneath the skin, itching to run free. It took all his willpower not to do a spatial jump before his father's cue. He couldn't mess this up. Especially not with the little mouse forced to tag along with him. The handle to its cage was held tight in his little fist.

"Two.." His father continued, stern gaze flitting between his pocket watch and the child.

Number Five sucked in a breath. He could feel his siblings' anxious gazes in his periphery.

"One."

And in a flash of electric blue, he was gone. He really hoped the mouse didn't die.

—

He reappeared on the roof, his jump perfectly calculated as ever. It was a routine spot for training his spatial jumps, as dictated by Sir Hargreeves's rigorous training routine for him. Next was the kitchen, followed by various other locations in the house that he could blink into easily. What his father wanted from this, specifically, was speed.

On that particular day, however, there was a small exception, and that was the bug-eyed rodent in Number Five's clutches. He had never practiced his jumps with other people before, much less with animals. This was, as his father said, starting off small. He'd master that aspect of his powers in time.

Carefully raising the cage, Number Five squinted curiously at his little passenger. As expected, the poor thing was a blur of grey; it ran terrified circles around its cell. But it was whole and unharmed. That was enough. A victorious grin grew on Five's face.

"Did it." The boy declared smugly. "Hey there, little fella."

This would be his first spatial jump with another living being— of course, a natural success. Pride widened his grin and puffed out his chest. And to think it only took, what? Seven years of spatial jumping experience. Not bad, considering that was his entire life. He never rested. Never stopped. And there he was, leagues ahead of his siblings. At this point, what would bragging do but state the obvious?

Number Five glanced down at the watch on his wrist, debating with himself whether or not he'd have extra time if he went quickly enough. No doubt, when he'd get back, he'd have to deal with his rowdy gaggle of siblings. Maybe he deserved a few minutes of solitude as celebration.

So there he sat, by the ledge of the building's chalky cement roof (he made a note to dust off his shorts before returning). He left the cage on his lap, hoping the mouse would come to calm down on its own. Sitting crisscrossed, he scooted away from the ledge. Just enough to avoid the cameras lining the sidewalk, of which he knew there were many.

In front of him was a radiant sunset, like a canvas filled with the acrylic paints his sister Allison liked so much these days. Muted oranges and rose gold hues splattered across the sky. Sunset. The rotation of the Earth around the sun, in unison with the moon's rotation around the Earth. He wondered how something so simplistic ended up being so.. pretty. He supposed he would learn. Eventually. He always did.

As streaks of vibrant red began to bleed over the clouds, the breeze picked up. Unevenly chopped strands of hair floated over his eyes, which he found annoying. Maybe he'd have to ask Klaus for another haircut.

To distract himself, Five's gaze strayed downward to the apartment across the street. The third floor appeared unoccupied; barren of both curtains and furniture, leaving only the plain, cream-colored rooms within. His father, Sir Reginald Hargreeves, bought the entire block and converted it into a mansion. The space was always appreciated, but still. It didn't leave any room for neighbors, and Five and his siblings often wondered what it would've been like to have them. If they were allowed to meet them anyway.

They've snuck out of the house before. Maybe when someone finally got to move in, they'd sneak out to meet them too. Maybe someone their age. Someone without superpowers like them. Five wondered what their life would be like, and if he'd find anything interesting about it. He wondered if they'd find him interesting back. They were always left wondering things like that. Dad never let them ask.

Number Five glanced back down at his watch. He needed to get a move on. With a sigh, he picked up the mouse cage and stood.

He brushed back his hair behind his ear, eyeing the mouse thoughtfully. "Do you know what it's like to have friends?"

Then he let out a hollow laugh, suddenly feeling uncharacteristic. He really shouldn't be talking to the mouse. Dad was going to kill it after it served its purpose anyways.

With one last look into the empty apartment, he jumped forward, and was gone in a flash of blue.

.

In winter of 2004, a couple and their newborn baby moved into the third floor of the apartment across the Hargreeves mansion. That was eight years ago. Even then, Number Five hadn't been there to see it.

A few buildings eastward from the apartment was a small store, decorated from top to bottom in Christmas trinkets and lights. Outside, the world was caked in glittering white.

Inside the store, a now-single mother bustled about as she shopped. Meanwhile, her eight-year-old child walked boredly along the children's aisle.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the ridiculously expensive dolls they couldn't have. They had a budget, according to mom, or whatever that meant. And she didn't want to take too long.

The child flipped her hair in an annoyed, exaggerated way only eight-year-olds would ever do. She flitted over to the halfway mark of the toy aisle, where the number of dolls began to dwindle, making way for comic books and collectible figurines.

Despite her thorough annoyance at her financial limitations, a smile began to curve her lips. Her dark brown eyes lifted towards the shop window, where not too far away, she could see the edge of the block previously housing The Umbrella Academy. Before they disbanded, at least. She always found it funny that their next door neighbors had their own merchandise.

Unfortunately, as she sifted through the numerous issues of their comic series, she began to realize that she might've already bought copies of them all.

"Sweetheart, did you pick anything yet?" Mom piped up from the other side of the store. "I'm gonna pay soon."

"Almost!" A reflex response to stall. As children do.

She had no idea what to get for Christmas. And this was for herself. But she couldn't leave empty-handed now, could she? Then coming to the store at all would've been a huge waste of time. Not to mention, how her mother seemed capable of making a backhanded comment for just about anything. At least, if she picked something, she'd have something nice to help her ignore it.

So comics were out. The only thing left in the aisle that they could afford were the cheaper figurines.

Spaceboy. The Kraken. The Rumor. The Seance. The Boy. The Horror. Every codename she remembered by heart, in order of their numbered ranks. A faint burst of pride lifted their spirits.

"Chi?"

The voice was so close— her mother was coming around the bend to check on her. Before she could, she jerked forward and grabbed the first figurine her fingers could reach.

"I'm done!"

Mom quirked up an amused eyebrow at the result. "The Umbrellas again?"

Her cheeks flared in embarrassment. She shrugged, not knowing how to respond.

Mom laughed. "Alright. Come on, let's pay for that."

"Okay." She mumbled.

As soon as she was out of sight, she looked down to check. Neat dark brown hair, hands fisted and surrounded by a blue aura. Nice paint job. Like most of his promotional material, The Boy— Number Five— was in a running position. Like how Five ran from home several years ago.

Heat flooded the child's cheeks. Verifiable information about The Boy was elusive. The media didn't care about him much, but oddly enough, it seemed to make Number Five all the more interesting to her. Just what was going on in that house that the best of them had to leave in such a hurry?

With an absentminded smile, she casted another glance out the window at the mansion, suddenly excited to comb through more theories when she arrives home. Maybe one day someone would find out. When that day came, she hoped she'd be the first to hear about it.

[ghost-town-story]

Find the Word Tag

Got a couple of tags here from @oh-no-another-idea. Thanks for the tags!

Before this gets too long, I’ll tag @dogmomwrites, @loopyhoopywrites, @lunafioreauthor, and whoever else wants to! Your words will be turn, study, burst, vengeance, and noise.

Words: Loss, super, proud, arrogant, sparkle, necklace, gun, handkerchief, metal, shrug

Loss (Astral Part 1)

Nashira held him for a few more moments, then she let go and took a few steps back. Will couldn’t help but stagger a little at the sudden loss of his support. He must have been more tired than he thought, to so quickly relax and come undone.

“Come with me,” Nashira said, then she turned on her heel and started off along the path between the tents.

Will blinked for a moment, his brain churning to catch up, then he stumbled into motion. 

Super (Stars)

Antonio laughs softly, but before I can pull my hand back he reaches out to take it in his. “Tying to touch a star?” he teases.

I hope he’s not looking at me, or that the low lighting will hide how my face is red from his teasing. “I know I can’t,” I defend myself.

Antonio laughs again, bringing our hands back down. My hand ends up on his chest. I can feel his heart beat, feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

“I mean, Mamma kinda turned me into an astronomy nerd, so I know they’re super hot and I doubt we could even get close in a ship, this ship at least, I don’t know the specifications, maybe a really insulated one—” I realize I’m flustered and rambling, and I press my free hand to my mouth to stop the words from tumbling out.

Proud (Nova)

“Why did you come home?” It was their mother.

“Felt like it.” And that was, surprisingly, the truth. “I’m going to walk James to school once he gets back down here.”

“James—”

“Is going to go whether you allow him or not, so get over it,” Myles cut her off. Secretly, he was proud that James had almost as much of a rebellious streak as he did.

“There’s no need for him to put himself at risk.”

Myles shooed his little sister off to the kitchen. She didn’t need to, couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

“You and I both know he’ll be a risk one day,” he said lowly.

Arrogant (Nova)

By lunch time, even more rumors were flying about James’s doppelganger. The most prevalent of them, and therefore the ones Summer would be most inclined to believe, painted him as an arrogant asshole who quickly got pissed off when people compared him to James.

Sparkle (Astral Part 1)

Aiden pulled the vial of blue-grey glitter out of his pocket. “Just who are you, Rose?” he whispered, watching the contents sparkle in the sunlight.

Necklace (Astral Part 1)

Aiden kept his eyes on Rose as she unfastened a chain from around her neck. “One of the last times we met the princess’s guardian, he gave us this.”

Aiden held out his hand, and Rose gently deposited the necklace there for him to examine.

“He said that, when we’re ready to fight Maddox and need the princess, that this will call them.”

Aiden moved the chain to examine the pendant. It looked like it was made out of stained glass, a dusty pink rose set against a blue sky and surrounded by gold.

Gun (Nova)

Jay saw a flash of blue light illuminate the buildings next to him. In one move, he whirled around and unholstered his gun, aiming it at the source. He found himself looking down the street at a boy standing underneath the nearest streetlight.

Jay quickly sized him up. The boy’s t-shirt and pajama pants did nothing to protect him from the rain that quickly soaked him, and he was soon shivering under the harsh glare of the streetlight. But even his impression of a drowned kitten wasn’t enough to override the warning bells going off in Jay’s brain at the sight of the boy’s blue-lensed tech goggles or the bandages wrapped around his left arm.

Handkerchief didn’t have so Napkin (Nova AU)

Aydan reached up and tugged at the white streak in Jay’s hair. “Look at you, you distinguished old gentleman,” she teased.

“Oh, I’ll show you distinguished old gentleman,” Jay retorted, his arm going around Aydan’s waist.

Basil gave a pointed little cough. Jay smirked and licked Aydan’s cheek before going back to his lunch.

“Gross,” Aydan complained, accepting the napkin Basil handed her to wipe off her cheek.

Metal (Astral Part 1)

“No,” Yavin said decisively. “She may be useful. You see, Maddox, my sister and I have discovered another of our siblings’ plans, one that could prove quite the hinderance to both our ambitions.”

Yavin rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands on Maddox’s desk, revealing cuffs around his wrists. They were made of some silvery-blue metal that was heavily streaked with rust and covered in engravings that Danielle didn’t immediately recognize.

“When our siblings decided to lock us in that prison,” Yavin said, his voice low, “they not only prevented the use of magic within our cell, but also decided to lock away mine and Europa’s magic, via these handy little cuffs.” He lifted a hand and shook his wrist briefly.

Shrug (Astral Part 1)

“Who is Vernize?”

“I’m… not too sure,” Aiden admitted. “He said he was once the prince of Astral—still might be, depending on who you ask, but Maddox keeps him locked up in the dungeon.”

Even in the greenish light, Aiden saw Finn’s face go pale. “Jake?” he whispered.

Aiden shrugged.

Jared gave Finn a strange look. “Do you really think…?”

Finn ignored the question. “He didn’t give you any other name?” he asked Aiden.

“He couldn’t,” Aiden explained. “He said Maddox took most of his name.”

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 06 JON I (pages 84-96)

Sam tries to make Jon understand how cool libraries are, new recruits begin training, and Mormont drops some lore and philosophy on Jon in preparation for the Big Northern Road Trip. (Now with extra Northwardness.)

-

Sam yawned. "Maester Aemon sent me to find maps for the Lord Commander. I never thought... Jon, the books, have you ever seen their like? There are thousands!" He gazed about him. "The library at Winterfell has more than a hundred. Did you find the maps?"

It's an easy thing to forget, my local satellite library has thousands of books, easily, maybe even over ten thousand. A big city library? could fit a few hundred thousand, maybe more. Maybe millions. Though there are places where a library of one hundred books would seem like a vast amount.

For a place like Westeros, this is probably one of the largest and oldest collections outside of Old Town if Winterfell's library can be counted at 'more than a hundred.' And Sam's no peasant either, he was a lord's heir, for him to be in awe at the scale of the library, says a lot about the availability of books in general. Even amongst the noble class.

"An inventory," Sam said, "or perhaps a bill of sale." "Who cares how much pickled cod they ate six hundred years ago?" Jon wondered. "I would." Sam carefully replaced the scroll in the bin from which Jon had plucked it. "You can learn so much from ledgers like that, truly you can. It can tell you how many men were in the Night's Watch then, how they lived, what they ate..." "They ate food," said Jon, "and they lived as we live." "You'd be surprised. This vault is a treasure, Jon." "If you say so." Jon was doubtful. Treasure meant gold, silver, and jewels, not dust, spiders, and rotting leather.

Well someone's clearly never seen MacGyver Lost Treasure of Atlantis. "This is the treasure! Knowledge!!"

The vault opened onto one of the tunnels the brothers called the wormwalks, winding subterranean passages that linked the keeps and towers of Castle Black under the earth. In summer the wormwalks were seldom used, save by rats and other vermin, but winter was a different matter. When the snows drifted forty or fifty feet high and the ice winds came howling out of the north, the tunnels were all that held Castle Black together.

Ohhh, good world building, very sensible given the weather and conditions. I do like these little details about the architecture and buildings, the practicalities of it all. The bits that show GRRM thought about things for more than two minutes and went beyond "how cool would a giant ice wall be?!"

(Very cool, freezing in fact, it's basically an artificial glacier with a permanent address.)

The morning sky was streaked by thin grey clouds, but the pale red line was there behind them. The black brother's had dubbed it Mormont's Torch, saying (only half in jest) that the gods must have sent it to light the old man's way through the haunted forest.

Haha, the gods lighting directional beacons... they can't even pick up the phone and take a message correctly.

mmm, but there we have another interpretation of the comet, and again, it's localised, very 'how does this relate back to us and our world view and current events.'

The sept tempted him no more than the brothel; his own gods kept their temples in the wild places, where the weirwoods spread their bone-white branches. The Seven have no power beyond the Wall, he thought, but my gods will be waiting.

Well that's neither creepy nor ominous...🙃 (concerned sarcasm)

"What do you make of them, Snow?" ... "They smell of summer," Jon said as Ser Endrew bullrushed his foe and knocked him sprawling. "Where did Conwy find them?" "A lord's dungeon near Gulltown," the smith replied. "A brigand, a barber, a beggar, two orphans, and a boy whore. With such do we defend the realms of men." "They'll do." Jon gave Sam a private smile. "We did."

You know what that is? Growth. And also Satin? (Who I have not met before? yay! welcome to the team!)

It's a good moment of character growth though, for Jon. A quiet one, but a good one, that he can recognise potential in others, and also that he himself was not as good as he had believed, that he also has grown into a better man and brother of the Watch.

"These are old," Mormont complained, and his raven echoed him with a sharp cry of "Old, old." "The villages may come and go, but the hills and rivers will be in the same places," Jon pointed out.

... Jon. Sweetheart. Have a seat. Actually, can the writers of La Brea come have a seat also. Now, we'll start slow, so y'all can keep up. We're going to begin with something called "weathering" and "erosion."

(For those not familiar, La Brea was a show that came out in 2021, a sinkhole opened a portal to the past, and some folks got stuck on the wrong side. But they knew exactly where they were because the Hollywood Hills hadn't changed their profile a single inch in 12,000 years! I have a minor beef with this show, solely because of that. and also because a ring dropped on the top soil by a boulder in the past was found by the exact same unaltered boulder, barely a few feet down in the present day. THAT'S NOT HOW TERRAIN WORKS!!! *ahem* excuse me.)

The point being, the rivers and hills might not be 100% accurate depending on how old the maps are.

"Aye, Dywen says. And the last time he went ranging, he says he saw a bear fifteen feet tall." Mormont snorted. "My sister is said to have taken a bear for her lover. I'd believe that before I'd believe one fifteen feet tall.-"

So Direwolves are fine, normal even, but Direbears is where you draw the line? ... hehehe, ah my mind went two places.

1: Owlbears 2: "Mother F☠️☹️💣king bearshark!" / "Mother F☠️☹️💣king Avril Lavigne!" (Rock N Roll, Avril Lavigne, official video.)

"How long ago was this?" "Eighty years, or close enough," the Old Bear said, "and no, I still hadn't been born, though Aemon had forged half a dozen links of his maester's chain by them. -"

I like book Mormont. It feels like he gets more 'screen time' and the down time to be more personable than the show version. The books as a whole more down time, tbh, for the characters to breathe and think and connect.

"- Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon... and I'll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it." Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. "And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?" "What will you do?" Mormont asked. "Bastard as you are?" "Be troubled," said Jon, "and keep my vows."

A good chapter for Jon's character growth, the quiet kind of growth. I do like that he's acknowledged that, even though he has chosen his path, there are still feelings and connections to his previous life and family.

[waydownkayleighstown]

the only men i would die for are fictional men and logan lerman. thank you.

[pirates-pirates-pirates]

One Piece Bingo! Death

for @one-piece-bingo!

I know this isn't a new concept but I really wanted to write something that people weren't expecting of my angst ass.

Marco x Ace TW: age gap Word Count: 885

Ace couldn’t believe his eyes or maybe he was simply refusing to. The way Marco went down, the large blue creature plummeted from the sky, the blue and gold flames leaving streaks in the sky as he fell limply from the heavens themselves.

He’d seen Marco take hits before, they just went through him though, similar to how Ace could avoid most things. Why had he been shredded by the hail of gunfire this time? The enemy was retreating at least, which did nothing to relax Ace’s screaming mind as he ran over to the shimmering form that laid so painfully still on the ground.

“Marco!” he cried out, running, skidding across the rough dirt, placing his hands on his lover’s body the second he got there.

Marco let out a sputter, the bird still somehow managed to smile, the fondness in his eyes shined through the pained expression. Ace stroked the silky feathers around his face, brows furrowed as his line of sight travelled along the splendour of his phoenix form, wincing at the beautiful feathers covered in slick red stains.

So many marks, the flames of healing did their best, skittered over them, trying their best to pull the flesh together, to mend the damage to the zoan. Ace bit his lip hard, tasting copper on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t leaving Marco’s side..

“Marco, c-come on… you got this right?” Ace tried to sound confident, the tremor in his voice, the blink of his eyes, the presence of tears counteracted that.

Marco chuckled, a grimace as the action caused pain to roll across his aching body. The flames swirled and dissipated as his avian form changed, the wildfire of blue swallowed him, Ace jumped back when a wall of cooling flames shot up around Marco, he barely heard his partner’s apology before he closed his eyes, flames overtaking everything.

Panic and anguish didn’t begin to cover how he was feeling as the fire vanished, leaving nothing but a pile of dust, soot, and signs of a burned-out vessel remained. Ace let out a cry, sharp, jagged as his heart broke in two sticking his hands into the ashes, he felt tears roll down his freckled cheeks, making wet dots on the grey below.

Thatch and Izou had rushed over at this point after seeing what had happened, both men giving one another a look as Ace cried with all his soul at the loss of his partner. Thatch crouched down, a hand resting on Ace’s shoulder which was jerked away, angry words drowned out by sobbing chokes, but Thatch was pretty sure ‘get the fuck off me!’ had been hissed at him through gritted teeth and a wall of grief.

The three commanders remained at the pile of ash, heads bowed in solemn silence, letting Marco’s passing sink in. There was a loud laugh from Whitebeard as he came over, seeing the collection of sad faces. Ace sneered a snarl on his lips, hating the joyful laughter from his father.

“Have you no respect?” Ace snapped, about to turn his balled-up fists into flames as Izou and Thatch held him back.

“He’s done this before, calm down. He’s the phoenix, he can’t die. Ace, dig around a little, you’ll see.” Pop’s hummed and watched as his sons stared at him with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

Ace knelt once more, moving around the piles of ash, watching as it seemed to move by itself. The pirate blinked, seeing the slightest peek of blue through the grey, scooping up the small, fluffy chick. Marco peeped in Ace’s cupped hands, turning to face the human, flapping soft downy wings, and peeping again.

“Looks like you’re going to have to look after him for once boy.”  Whitebeard’s grin stretched across his face as Ace stared at the bundle of blue.

“H-how long will he be like this?”

“Let me think..” the captain rubbed his chin in thought, an eye closed as he tried to recall the first time his son had reverted into the puffball that was currently nuzzling at Ace’s thumb. “About a week.”

Thatch burst into laughter at the entire situation now they knew their friend wasn’t dead, Izou elbowed him in the ribs with little concern about how much it would hurt, Thatch’s howl of laughter was stifled as he gripped his side, Izou’s narrowed eyes were enough to make the laughter completely abandon the chef.

“A week….” Ace narrowed his eyes at bird Marco, how the small pompom of a creature closed its eyes, getting comfy, feeling safe in his partner’s hands.

Ace wondered how much of his human memory would still be intact after the rebirth, he had so many things to ask Pop’s, the man was already heading back to the ship before he had a chance to. He simply sighed, shoulders sagging, his lips twitched into a smile, at least his boyfriend wasn’t dead, maybe being the one to look after Marco would humble him, show him some appreciation for the doctor.

“Di-did you just… shit in my hand Marco?”

A cheep.

“Enjoy your week, Freckles.” Thatch slapped him on the back, heading towards the ship with Izou in tow.

“Yeah, thanks.” Ace grumbled, shaking off the hand that the bird had decided was too clean.

[jojo-reader-hell]

May i please have a part 2 of the Selkie reader x Jonathan where Jonathan finds out he has a child.

Yes you may 🥺

“But be not surprised, O man, if events almost always happen very differently from what you expect. That malicious power which lies in ambush for our destruction delights to lull its chosen victim asleep with sweet songs and golden delusions; while, on the other hand, the messenger of heaven often strikes sharply at our door, to alarm and awaken us.”

- Undine

He heard it so often that it was becoming a concern... was he going mad? Was it all a dream?

The seals had been driven from the island, local legends told far too many stories of kidnapped sea brides or the occasional human woman being whisked away into the sea after crying seven tears. There were also tales of the haunting woman running to the woods with her screaming child, howling in agony as the sharp stones and thorns cut at her supple legs, a seal pelt draped over her shoulders as she fled the bellow of a lost bull. Unfortunately the reality was much more harsh. Too much competition for food existed in the ever preset feud between man and beast, and the pelts of beasts made for the best waterproof items that kept the fishermen warm on long, arduous journeys. The seals didn’t dare come to the shores anymore, so why did Jonathan Joestar constantly hear the frantic wailing noise of a pup?

Had he been any less experienced he would have been frightened by the sounds, but they were more curious than anything. Morning noon and sunset the pup would wail, only stopping for a few hours at night, and picking up as soon as a sliver of light began to peek over the line where the sky met the sea. Jonathan would often go to the window, hopeful, afraid... but always went away again when he saw nothing on the shore line.

It worried him when he heard a low, mournful alarm of a bull seal join the pup’s cries in the middle of the night as he slept. He rose from his cot like a cadaver coming back to life, looking around the darkness of his living room.

Jonathan never slept in the bedroom anymore, not since the night he returned to cold, empty sheets with only pearls and shells remaining where his wife once lay with her salty hair strewn about the pillow.

“Jojo…” a mournful voice whisper screamed through the din, and his heart sank.

“Jo…jo…”

Immediately the fisherman jumped from his resting place, running to the window and looking every which way. Expecting to see nothing except the dark sand and the glowing reflection of the moon on the waves, Jonathan dashed to the door and put on his coat, not bothering with his boots as he flung the front door open. He couldn’t ignore it any longer... it had been almost four days. Something was very, very wrong. Jonathan had to help... at the very least try to soothe the pained cries.

The sand slowed him down and sucked at his feet the further he got near to the shoreline. A singular moment he’d hoped he would only see a dead beast with its pup mourning beside it. Another moment later and his heart flopped down into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t expect to see you, laying there in the sand, hair streaked with grey as a little human boy and a large blonde colored bull seal mourned beside your weak body as though they were both in pain.

Jonathan opened his mouth to scream, waking nearly everyone in the village.

“Erina! Erina help!”

...

“She’ll live. It’s a miracle she isn’t completely dried out... but we will need to keep an eye on that infection in her legs.”

Erina emerged after four long, grueling hours of tending to your wounds. The bathtub had truly been the most unceremonious place to put someone injured, but when said injured person was really your selkie wife, it was the only place he and Erina could think to put you. He looked up from his place by the fire. Jonathan’s eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders trembling as he held your dry pelt in his hands like a lifeline.

“Ah…” he didn’t know how to speak. Didn’t know any of the right questions.

“You’ll need to clean and dress her wounds twice a day for the first week. Make sure she’s fed well, keep her water warm and change it when you clean the bandages.” Erina replied curtly.

She was twisting on her finger the modest ring he had given her, and much to his everlasting horror, he watched as she twisted it once, twice, before pulling it unceremoniously and placing it on the table in his small kitchen.

“Erina… I…”

She shook her head, patting Jonathan’s shoulder and sighing. How could she ignore the pain you must have endured? The screaming? You cried for your husband in a low moan, your accented English hard to decipher until she heard the unmistakable whine of “Jojo” as you clutched the sides of the tub. Whenever you heard your pup cry in response, you would call back to him with a piteous sound. It broke her heart… Especially when you thrashed away from her as she tried to treat you.

“We’ll talk about this another time.” Erina said with a soft, sad smile, “Your wife needs you now. Go to her soon, she may need fresh water. And the boy, he must be hungry.”

Thoughtful as ever, she had Jonathan boil some water to make a more sanitary salt water solution for you to bathe in, and wasted no time to fiddle in the kitchen to give some hot milk with honey to the frightened little boy curled up in a chair nearest to the fire.

Without another word, Erina wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and left the cottage. The door shut softly, but with a finality that made Jonathan’s heart throb with sadness. She had been a constant in his life from childhood, one of his only friends who stayed with him since your disappearance, comforting him and cooking for him when he could not find the strength to even feed himself. When the darkness settled into his heart and home, she had been there to fill it with light. There was a fondness in his heart for her.

A soft splash from the tub reminded him again and made his heart cartwheel into his throat. The pelt was warm and pulsing in his hands, and he brought it to his nose to smell the salt water tang of the sea. He may have admittedly thought you were dead after seven years, but even though his heart had latched onto another, he knew that you were always going to be his greatest love in his life.

When he wasn’t fussing and fretting about you, Jonathan couldn’t stop staring at him.

The little boy clutching two pelts had such striking features. His frightened little eyes were a beautiful turquoise blue, much like Jonathan’s, and like Jonathan he had blue black hair that fluffed out when dried with a towel. Rather than pace back and forth in front of the bathroom door, Jonathan often found himself kneeling before the little boy, rubbing the apples of the boy’s cheeks as the little boy trembled in his touch. The child seemed content now and only shivered from the draft, still shooting an occasional worried glance whenever he heard you grunting in pain, and eventually reached out to Jonathan who scooped him up in his arms after swaddling him warmly in furs.

When he saw the fluffy white pelt slide down to expose pale skin, Jonathan held his son a little tighter. There was no more doubt in his heart, not with that beautiful pink star shaped mark that sat on the back of the child’s left shoulder.

“Mmm…” the child whimpered.

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Jonathan crooned, “Mummy is safe. We may go in to see her now.”

“Mmppbt.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as a singular tear dripped down his cheek. So breathtaking… His son sounded just like a seal does when it blows bubbles in the sea, so precious and innocent of a sound.

“You know, you’re more beautiful than I imagined you would be. I’ve dreamed of you often.” Jonathan whispered to the boy as he snuggled him close, “You have the Joestar features, but you’re certainly your mother’s son. My precious boy.”

“Pppbt… pa… pa… mama.”

Seven years old and he spoke like a toddler, endearing and yet so alien to Jonathan who was hoping the child would articulate normally. But his son simply jumped up and down in his arms, making the sound of blowing bubbles until he saw you. Your son began to bark like a seal, reaching out a small hand to stroke your bandaged cheek as your husband knelt to your level.

“Jojo…” you murmured, your throat sounding dry.

“Hi.” He murmured, kissing your forehead gratefully. “I… I’m sorry darling. I thought…”

“I’m sorry too. I was dying… I didn’t know how else to tell you. I would have… our pup… we wouldn’t have made it if we’d stayed.”

You raised your head up to meet his lips, feeling his softness against the chapped skin of your raw lip. Jonathan’s heart pounded in his chest as your son observed the two of you gravely. He was still holding out the dark black pelt in his hands, and seemed quite frustrated that his wishes were not being respected. You and Jonathan laughed at his serious face, despite the hurt and deep emotional wounds, the little one seemed to be able to unite the two of you in ways nothing else could. You both talked long into the night, your pup falling asleep between the two of you.

…

The locals of the island had many legends surrounding the disappearance of fishermen lured to the sea. Often it was the same one over and over for many hundreds of years. The handsome fisherman who was set to marry a fair maid, only to be spirited away into the night by a selkie and her pup, the three of them running hand in hand into the sea at midnight wrapped in pelts. The legends vary, sometimes a mighty wave swept them into the watery sea, or sometimes they were chased to the water by a golden bull seal. Yet others often speak of the besotted maid whose betrothed abandoned her, and how she forever dwelt in his cottage by the waves with the fisherman’s son, the beautiful boy growing up with a fascination with the waves, often seen playing carelessly with three seals, one in particular with a fluffy white blonde pelt.

Yet perhaps they are just that, only legends that lonely fishermen tell to justify old scandals in this small village.

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

[liquid-luck-00]

Creatures and Cryptids

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 10: Creatures and Cryptids

Hogwarts Au

~~~~~~~~~~

So, this all started when Jon introduced Damian to his cousin, Marinette, on the Hogwarts Express during their first year. She was bubbly and sweet much like her cousin.

So, when the sorting began and she was sorted into Slytherin it shocked them all, Damian Slytherin and Jon Gryffindor.

The three of them were inseparable even if they were in two different houses.

How they got their hands on the Marauders map their first year was a Mystery. (James and Albus lost it to Filtch their seventh year. And they decided to leave it for future troublemakers like their uncles.) But who were they to look a gift horse in the mouth. The three split their time between their three homes during the summer break. Unlocking most of the Map's secrets.

That meant their entire second year was spent exploring the castle and grounds. But without out any disguise any invisibility hindered them.

Which is why in their third year when they learned about Animagus they started planning. Marinette was the best of the three in potions and herbology. So, she created a secret and dark garden in one of the empty dungeons, as to not be touched by humans she left it grow on its own after a year. During that time, Damian the best in transfiguration trained both Mari and Jon on the spell they needed. Thus, making it a routine and habit to not be broken later on. Jon the best of them in Astrology kept the cycles of the moon and the weather.

Jon made sure the two of them grounded and on track with course work and everything else. It all came to a head their fifth year when they decided to actually attempt the spell. They behind that their best chance to catch a storm would be if they started in September, as the fight full moon was close to the middle of the month and it led into the rainy season.

It was during the first Hogesmele weekend that they heard the incoming thunder.

They waved off their friends, saying they didn't want to be caught in the rain. They quickly made their way to the Room of Requirements where the trio had their potion vials stored. Each were holding a box with their names engraved in them, which held their vials. They listened for the rain that sounded outside. The ceiling had the same enchantment as the Great Hall casting a faint light on the room for them. When a streak of lightning crossed the ceiling, the thunder boomed outside. They opened their boxes to reveal their potions turned blood red.

"It's now or nothing." Jon announced raising his vial.

"No turning back now." Mari stated. "Scared?"

"Tt. Never." Damian responded to the tease.

They each took their vial and spoke the incantation are last time.

When they woke after the transformation there was a bit of a surprise. They had figured there was a chance that they would take the form their Patronus did, but they didn’t think it would be true. Jon had morphed into a peregrine falcon. His grey and white feathers almost shone blue in the faint light. Damian and Marinette both morphed into Iberian Lynxes. Both were small wild cats, yes, but Mari was the smaller and lighter of the two. Damian was slightly larger and darker.

All three tons formed back and laughed at what they had accomplished. This was literally a challenge the three set to accomplish for almost two years. And they succeeded in it.

The rest of their fifth year was spent either roaming the grounds and castle to their hearts content and the dreaded OWLS at the end of the year.

As the three were Prefects for their respective house they all had extra liberties which they used to explore further. Thanks to having a base with the Marauders Map the trio were able to locate a hidden corridor that lead to a clearing that was used from time to time for Care of Magical Creatures, leading Damian to adopt a couple of the creatures that lived in the forest.

The three of them made it a habit to sneak out through the dungeon corridor and out to the clearing at least once a week, to others it may have seemed random, but the creatures who visited them in this little clearing knew when they would show. After all it was regular and thanks to Jon, that they could recognize it always. The creatures that would come would range from Hippogriffs and Nifflers to Pegasus and even the occasional Unicorn.

It wasn’t until the middle of their seventh year that their relationship with them became known. One of the hippogriffs, they nicknamed Sky for his light sky-blue color, was crying, and screeching outside the castle. It came to the point that all classes had to be stopped and teachers went out to calm the distressed creature. Manny students rushed outside to see what would happen. Among them would be Damian, Jon, and Marinette, who immediately recognized Sky, how could they not Jon even helped him start to fly the year before.

When finally spotting them Sky dove towards them and they expected it unlike their peers. A quick bow from both parties and the three rushed to the hippogriff.

"What’s wrong boy," Mari cooed as Damian looked him over, it was no surprise that Damian was aiming to work with magical beasts.

"Mar," Jon pointed to Sky’s clenched talons. Who when they noticed dropped it into Jon’s hand, who gave it to Mari.

"This is Unicorn hair, it’s still a foal. Is it hurt?" She asked the hippogriff who nodded and looked over to the forest. They have an idea which unicorn it is because there is only one unicorn foal on their clearing. Only one who is guarded by the creatures they befriended. "Lead the way. "

And lead he did the three of them went off running following Sky, the teachers right behind them. When they arrived at the clearing, they found the Pegasus that adopted the little unicorn on the ground lying next to the injured creature, wing draped over them protectively. A ring of an assortment of magical creatures surrounded them, including a young manticore that stumbled upon their little group a few months ago. The creatures readily let the three of them in but went back on guard with the teachers.

"Let them in they came to help." Jon assured them all, as the other two went to check the unicorn.

"Mari is this." Damian pointed at an angry wound.

"I think so," she turned and went over to the manticore, the teachers tried to stop her, but they moved away when the manticore approached. "Do you mind if I check your tail? Please?" She spoke softly. The manticore obliged and let her handle his tail. "Yup the Manticore’s stinger grew back." She walked back with the manticore on her heels.

"We’ll need something to combat the poison."

Marinette pulled out a box from her bag, producing a small potion set and another covered box within it. She opened the second box and spoke "Accio Bezoar," a stone landed in her hand which she promptly placed in her mortar and began to prep it. "Damian can you prep a sugar water solution in a bottle please." When the bezoar was a powder, she took the bottle from Damian and mixed the powder in and fed it to the unicorn who happily took the sugary treat.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, Mr. Wayne, and Mr. Kent explain yourselves." Professor McGonagall demanded.

This spot was near the black lake but still deep enough into the forbidden forest for concern. "You see professor a few years ago when we came down to the lake to do our homework, Sky here barreled into us." Not a complete lie as he had barreled into them, but they’d met and many of the others for a long time before that. "We decided to see If he was okay and when we did the others met up with him at of adopted us into their flock." Also, not far from the truth. "From time to time they seek us out when we are on the grounds if there is a creature in trouble, and we help if we can." The three spoke one after another.

"And you three saw nothing wrong with aiding magical creatures and entering the forest." She asked them again.

"Well most of the time was them seeing if we had any treats for them."

"It was only the manticore before this, and that was just to help him heal a split and pulled out stinger.

"You three are saying you aided a manticore, this little manticore heal a split stinger as he grew a new one." The Care of Magical creatures Professor asked.

"Yes," the three answered unsure.

"May I?" the Care of Magical creatures Professor asked.

Damian and Mari sat down, and Damian was speaking to the creature as the professor looked over the stinger.

"This is extraordinary work you can barely tell where the fracture occurred, and this was you’re doing. "

They only nodded unsure of where this was going. "It seems you three are already quite skilled and well liked between these creatures, trusted as well," the three couldn’t help but chuckle at that. "I see no harm in this so long as they don’t enter the forest wouldn’t you agree Professor."

With that they took the Unicorn to a small padlock and astable on the edge of the grounds and took the trio back to the castle. The rest of the two years passed rather uneventfully and they always made sure to visit the clearing regularly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha

[gobletofweasleys]

Not Really Mine

Summary: Draco Malfoy asks for unconventional help. You agree. (Fake Dating AU)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 2,602

Requested by: @agentpegcxrter :  Hi!!! Could I request a Draco fic with fake dating au? Thanks! If you can’t there’s no problem! ✨🥰

You shouldn't have been surprised. 

You watched Malfoy where he sat beside you, rigid in posture and eyes trained on the common room fire. The flames danced around the space, making shadows flicker across his skin. You were biting your lip in thought as you pondered what he'd said. 

"And this will get your parents off your back?" 

He nodded slowly, fidgeting in his place. This entire conversation had been laced with discomfort the moment it had started. You and Malfoy were mere acquaintances. Sure, you both hailed from strong, long standing pureblood Slytherin families, had been in the same school for five years, saw each other often at lavish dinner parties, but you wouldn't consider him a friend. 

"You could ask Pansy Parkinson." You finally voiced what had been bothering you the most in this entire situation. Why you? 

Malfoy pursed his lips and made a face. "No, she gets annoying after a while. Can't stand to be around her all the time."

You whistled lowly, tutting. "That's going to break her heart. She really fancies you."

"That's the whole problem."

You looked at him again, waiting for him to elaborate. 

"If this fake dating thing is going to work, we have to complicate it as little as possible. You barely know me, so no chance of feelings or second thoughts to our agreement."

You stared at him. "Wow, you've really thought this through, haven't you?" 

He finally looked at you, grey eyes meeting your own in the dim light of the fire. He shrugged. 

When Malfoy had asked to talk to you in private, him asking you to be his fake girlfriend was the last thing you had expected him to say to you. It had taken a while to let the thought even sink in, and you had asked him to give you time. Now here you were, two days later, seriously considering going along with his plan. 

He was doing it because he somehow thought dating someone from a very prominent Slytherin family would win his parents' approval, and you…. you hadn't yet decided what you would do. 

"I don't know about this, Malfoy." Your tone hinted hesitation. "What if someone finds out we're faking it? And how long exactly do we have to keep this up?"

Malfoy sighed and leaned back into the couch, his lean frame almost disappearing into the soft cushions. 

"We'll just have to make it convincing then, don't we?" He replied. "I was kind of hoping we'd figure it out as we went…"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, thinking about your own parents. Oh, they would be over the moon when they heard about this. You dating Lucius Malfoy's only son? It was too good to be true in their eyes. 

Oh, the looks on their faces…. 

"Okay." You heard yourself say, making Malfoy's head jerk towards you. "Let's do it."

"R-really?" His eyes were wide as he sat up again. It was almost as if he was prepared for rejection. "That's- okay. Yeah, let's do it."

You didn't know what you actually expected from this whole fake dating thing, but it turned out to be ten times more enjoyable than you thought. For one thing, your housemates already thought you and Malfoy had conquered the sun or something. But both of you as a couple? Slytherins starting worshipping you. 

Malfoy had been right, his parents and yours were both pleasantly shocked, your Mother pointing out in a letter how you'd never mentioned an interest for the boy. You replied with a fantastically romantic story about your realization of feelings. Of course it was all a load of crap, but she didn't have to know that. 

You didn't have to do much. Hold hands with him while you walked to classes, sit next to him in the Great Hall, cheer him on during, before and after Quidditch matches. To your surprise, it turned out to be quite fun when he'd return all your gestures with some of his own. Like carrying your books to class, or loudly talking about what a wonderful person you were. Once or twice, he'd even gone as far as laying a little kiss on the back of your hand when it was intertwined with his. And to your surprise, you didn't hate it. 

You should've known you'd fall for him. It was almost too cliché. 

Having to glue yourself twenty four seven to Draco's side meant you'd spend most of your day talking with him. It came to a point where you'd randomly talk about anything and everything. One night, after a night of patrolling as Prefects, you both somehow ended up sitting at the top of the North Tower, talking about astronomy and pointing out the constellations. 

"And you see that one?" You leaned closer to him to follow his finger properly as he traced a constellation. "That's Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, she was a vain queen who often boasted about her beauty. She was actually forced to the sky as punishment. Apparently, she boasted that her beauty was greater than that of the sea nymphs, and she was banned to the sky for all to gawk at."

"Wow." You mumbled, turning your head to look at him again. Your position put you in very close proximity to him, his face shone even paler than usual under the silver sheen of the moonlight, and you felt your own face burn at the intimacy of the situation. "How do you know so much about this?" 

He shrugged a bit, lowering his hand. "I spend a lot of time up here. Had to find something to do. It's actually pretty fun."

You watched the little twinkle in his stormy eyes, the porcelain skin lit beautifully under the moon, his hair almost silver. Involuntarily, a smile twitched on your lips. 

"Yeah, I guess it is."

He turned his head to look at you then, giving you a small smile, face inches from yours. You swallowed and looked away, willing your racing heart to calm down. You had to chastise yourself again at your childish antics. The whole point of Draco asking you to fake date him was that you had no romantic feelings for him. You were breaking the basis of your pact with him. You cleared your throat and stood up. 

"I should go. This uh, this is your time. I'm intruding." You moved to walk towards the trap door leading you back to the main castle. He grabbed your wrist though, frowning at you. 

"I don't mind you being here." He replied. "I quite like the company, in fact."

You hesitated, not knowing what else to say. So when he gave your arm another soft tug, you just lowered yourself to the ground again. The rest of the night was spent peacefully stargazing and hearing Draco talk about the moon. 

……………… 

Things only got worse. Or better. Depended on how you looked at it. 

The longer you spent with Draco, the more you realized that he was less of a pompous ass and more just a boy with a slight temper and an irrational streak. As his personality in your mind became more and more fleshed out, taking shape of a genuine person, you fell for him more and more. Suddenly, his light touches on your waist or back weren't just something you let happen because you wanted people to believe you were together. It was something you wanted. You would wait for him in the common room every morning so you could walk to classes together, nearly sighing in relief when his fingers would slip into yours. It brought you more comfort than it ever should have. But you pointedly ignored that and tried to enjoy what you had. 

Some things were harder to ignore though. Pansy Parkinson had always seemed to get on your nerves before, but now she was an actual nightmare. From the day she'd found out about you and Draco, her voice had become shriller, her remarks about you sharper and more accusing, and her glare more piercing. She'd never had a specific problem with you before, but you'd basically just given her a reason to hate you. Once or twice, Draco had to actually tell her to shut up when one of her remarks about you would go too far. 

You hadn't really been bothered by it until recently, since you'd really accepted that you liked Draco. 

Like right now. You could practically feel her eyes on your back from her spot on her bed across the dormitory from you. You ignored it, folding your next shirt and placing it back neatly in your drawer. Just when you were about to say something, she spoke up. 

"I know you and Draco are not really a thing."

Your hands froze for a second only, before you took a deep breath and started folding again. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She scoffed at that and you heard the bed creak under her as she shifted. "Come off it, Y/L/N. Draco dating you? You can't possibly expect me to believe that."

You didn't know why her tone held such incredulity, finally turning around to scowl at her. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why can't Draco date me?" 

"I don't really have to explain that do I?," she was smirking, but her tone was as if she was talking to a toddler you couldn't understand. "the thought of you and him is laughable. Draco's mine. You two can't be a thing even if you wanted to."

You didn't know why her words made you so angry. Nothing she said was wrong. In fact, she was absolutely spot on in pointing out your fears. Draco wasn't yours, not really. This was a deal, like a contract, what was going on between you two. And as much as you wanted it to be real, it wasn't. But the mere thought of her declaring that Draco was hers made your blood boil. 

Maybe that's why you did what you did the next morning. At exactly 11 o'clock, the entire school was at the Quidditch ground for Hufflepuff vs Slytherin. The team was still on the ground, ready to mount their brooms. Draco's hair flapped in the noisy wind, giving you a smile. It was kind of an obligation, a show for the people, that you be there before the match. 

"Wish me luck." He grinned, walking to you and laying an obligatory kiss on your cheek. You knew, even without looking, that Pansy was watching. You didn't know what came over you. 

You cupped his face with your hands, pulling him down to lay a kiss on his lips. 

He went rigid under your touch, and you gave him no time to even process what was happening before you pulled away. 

"Good luck." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. His silvery eyes were wide in shock. 

You walked right off the grounds. 

……………… 

Slytherin won, of course. Almost half an hour into the match, Draco caught the snitch. You were obviously happy about the victory, but you were more relieved about what the victory meant. That Draco would be surrounded by happy classmates for at least a few hours, giving you time to think of an excuse for why you did what you did. 

When the satisfaction of Pansy seeing you two kiss had worn off, the panic had started to set in. What the hell had you done? Kissing was off limits, it was his number one rule. Hand holding? Sure. Hugging and maybe cuddling in front of the common room fire when people were around? Of course. But kissing? Hell no. 

You were in your empty dorm room, pacing around and listening as the conversation down in the common room gradually dwindled. Any minute now, Draco would either come find you or send someone to get you. Then he'd ask you why you did what you did. You still had no answer. And then… 

Then this whole thing would be over. 

You didn't know why the thought hurt you so much. Almost as if it were an actual breakup. But it wasn't. It wasn't. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself to think it wasn't a big deal. But somehow, you could already feel your heart breaking. 

By the time late afternoon hit, you had worn yourself out with your nasty thoughts. You sat on your bed, staring out at the water outside your window. Today would be the perfect day to drown yourself if you could manage it. 

"You didn't come downstairs."

Your head whipped around at the words, finding the one person you were dreading to see standing in the doorway of your dorm. You gulped and shrugged before standing up, wringing your fingers in nervousness. 

"Draco, about what happened, I just wanted to say I'm sorry-" 

"Why'd you do it?" He stepped into the room, hands buried deep in his pockets and looking hesitant. 

"I-" you sighed, shaking your head. "It was stupid. Pansy said something about how you and me were a joke and could never be together and I just- wanted to shut her up."

"So you kissed me?" 

Him saying it made you blush, looking up to see that he'd halted about two feet from you. Looking at him for the first time since morning, you couldn't help but remember the kiss, something you had pointedly not thought of all day. You remembered his lips, soft but slightly chapped. His surprised intake of breath. How you wished you had had more time, so you could properly savor it. 

His little laugh broke you out of your thoughts, and you saw he was staring at his feet. 

"So that's why you did it." He muttered softly. "I- well, I just thought- never mind."

Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to him. "W-what did you think?" 

You already had an inkling that you knew, if the dark blush on Draco's cheeks was anything to go by. His train of thought was so obvious, you would have laughed if the situation weren't so charged with tension. 

"Never mind." He repeated, taking a step backwards. But before he could go farther, you closed the distance between you two, your hands behind his neck and your face so close to his that your noses brushed each other's. He froze.

He was the one who closed the gap. 

There was something so... intense about the way he kissed you. So desperate. His hands dug into your sides, holding you firmly in place as he deepened the kiss. You didn't hesitate in reciprocating his action, hands burying themselves in his hair, tugging at it slightly. His moan of satisfaction only made you keen as well, his arms now wrapped tightly around you, his body flush against yours. 

A tiny gasp made you two break away, still slightly dizzy and disoriented. You turned your head to see Pansy Parkinson in the doorway, mouth open and eyes nearly popping out of her head. 

Instead of pulling away, you felt Draco slide a hand under your shirt, making your face burn hot. She apparently saw that too, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

"D'you mind?" Draco spoke up in that characteristic sneering voice of his. You nearly laughed as Pansy stumbled back out, slamming the door behind her. 

You looked at him with a grin, feeling extremely satisfied with what had just happened. 

"Where were we?" He mumbled cheekily before his lips were on yours again. 

..................

 Draco Malfoy Tags:

@i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr  or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne.  Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision. 

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem. 

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’  his soul cried. 

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess?  They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do. 

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months  allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @stahlop @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @scientificapricot​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @vvbooklady1256​

[bipercabeth]

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood 

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists. 

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight. 

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

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He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional. 

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much. 

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen. 

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds. 

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything. 

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads. 

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.” 

“But you came here.” 

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago. 

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words. 

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from. 

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy. 

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it. 

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this. 

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him. 

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that. 

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him. 

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it. 

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright. 

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?” 

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth. 

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries. 

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?” 

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.” 

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—” 

“Percy…” 

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.” 

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. 

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.” 

“But I didn’t save the others.” 

“No one could’ve.” 

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?” 

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him. 

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them. 

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.” 

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?” 

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will. 

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.” 

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight. 

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?” 

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—” 

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him. 

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before. 

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him. 

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can. 

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting. 

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.” 

 He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. “I always feel safe with you.” 

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can. 

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers. 

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.” 

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess. 

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability. 

“Tell me about them.” 

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.” 

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.” 

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest. 

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…” 

Percy takes a shuddering breath. 

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.” 

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck. 

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small. 

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.” 

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?” 

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.” 

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.” 

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.” 

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity. 

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time. 

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters. 

[tanakavox]

A look into the multiverse chapter 5

Soooo. Due to post limit im gonna have to reblog this post with the rest. Just tell y'all when you wonder where the rest is lol. Anyways intro for Winter is done by ExiledDarkness. Everything else is all meeee! On with the post.

A flash of light blinds everyone in the room. As it dies down, Winter Schnee is shown to be standing in the middle of the room.

"Winter?!" Weiss exclaims in shock. The rest of the cast, except for Qrow who groans in annoyance, keeps silent as Weiss explains to Winter about the situation they're in.

Winter nods. "I see. How interesting. I usually wouldn't do something like this but it appears that I have been given no other choice."

"Yeah, that seems to be the case with everything going on in my life." Jaune says while scratching his head.

The screen's light flickers on again and shows a boy setting up his computer and putting a helmet on his head. The sound of the computer starting up is heard.

"Link start!" With those words a flash of light appears with lines of color streaking across the screen.

"That voice sounded familiar …" Winter muttered to herself

"What was that Winter? Weiss asked, turning to her sister.

"Ah. It's nothing"

"Ah. Sword art online." The boy thinks to himself, sighing wistfully. "It's been a while since the beta. Wonder if they change anything?

A man in his early 20s with white hair looks and sees that ads plague the area around him.

"Oh c'mon guys, really? That's just disgusting." The man said to no one, his disgust at the ads was apparent.

"Yeah, seriously. That's just annoying. Qrow said with a grimace.

"Active Adblocker" A screen appeared in front of the young saying it was 29.99 for the Adblocker DLC. The man chuckled darkly. "I'm gonna burn this F***r to the ground.

"Please do!" Nora said a manic grin on her face.

The scene cuts to Blond man with long hair being tackled by a pig, the man blonde groaning in pain.

"That's Sun." Blake said almost immediately.

"How can you tell? Yang asked.

"I just know."

"Well he just got his ass kicked by a pig." Jaune said, laughing a bit

"Wow, Congrats. You were defeated by a pig." The white hair man was there looking down at Blonde unimpressed.

"F**k you man, that's like a pig from hell! The blonde cried, looking at the boar in terror.

"Really?" The white hair man smirked, and picked up a rock and threw it at the boar's ass killing it. It exploded into shards and a screen showed the exp he had got from killing it.

"Wow. This either that blonde guy sucks that bad or the other guy just that good." Mercury said with a grin.

"My god." He gasped with a shit eating grin on his face. "I've stumbled across the most powerful weapon in the game"

"Stop" The blonde whimper.

"The Mithril Pebble of pig smithing!"

"Please stop."

The white hair man takes a deep breath of air as the Blonde groans.

"My god, this sounds like something Whitely would do." Weiss said with an annoyed look.

"For you see, long ago, this pebble was forged in the fiery pits of tartarus,by the grand blacksmith of Lucifer himself. In a time before the world began…

The blonde facepalm as his party member continued. The sun had started to fall when the white haired man was finishing up.

"And thus, Mardoza, Guardian of the pebble, fell to his knees, and passed from this world, leaving behind the mighty weapon. For he knew... that one day, it's power would be required once more.

"Are you done?" The blonde asked.

"Yes." But then he whispered: The legacy of the pebble lives on.

"I have a feeling you get beat up a lot in real life." The blonde snarked.

"And he's using it as some kinda power fantasy cause he can't be that cool in real life." Yang added.

"Shut up! Here I have power!"

"Right, anyways, I've got a pizza coming, and I'm gonna meet up with some friends later.

So thanks for the quick tutorial on pig slaying and the not so quick tutorials on…. rocks…Shirou Yuki?" The blonde slowly wording out the other's username.

"Hey,no problem. I had fun taunting you." Shirou said with a grin. "Ballsdeep69"

"Yeah that's Sun." Blake said, shaking her head. "Only he would come up with such a dumb name."

Meanwhile Winter had a good idea who Shirou Yuuki was, but didn't want to say anything until she was 100% sure.

Ballsdeep69 laughs a bit. "Yeah it's uh, it's just a joke name. Just a character to dick around with while I get a hang of the game. I'm gonna make my real character later."

"Yeah yeah. No, I get it."

Shirou and balls look at each other awkwardly for a while when Shirou breaks the silence. "So uh...your pizza?"

"Right,right logging out." Balls swipes the air with his right hand and goes to log out but notices something odd.

"Hey,Shirou?" Balls called out. "Um, Totally noob question, but how do I log out?

"Are you serious, man?" Shirou asked exasperated.

"Yeah, Really dude? How hard is it to logout?" Jaune asked just as exasperated.

"Hey this Nervegear man. I can't Alt-F4 this sh*t.

Shirou sighs. "Alright fine. It's right…" He looked at his menu screen in confusion. "Here?"

"Oh thanks, player's guide." Balls deadpan.

"No it's here. But it's just blank."

Balls turns back to his menu and something catches his eye. "Oh wait, something scrolling Across mine. HahahahahahahaHAHAha"

"I get it." Shirou said with a frown.

"Wait, Wait, there's more. Ha."

"Riveting."

"Wait so they can't log out? What happened?" Ruby asked the rest of the confused viewers

"Eh no worries I'll just take the nervegear off like SO!" Balls reaches around his head and tries to take it off to no effect.

"Hey, dumbass, It doesn't work like that." Shirou sheerned. "The Nervegear disables your motor function so you don't move around in the game. Don't you remember all those videos of the beta testers?

The clip on Dustube plays, A man walking around in nerve gear is marlouving at the tech is shown. Someone, a friend of his walks up and offers a greeting to the man and he mistakes his friend for a troll and goes to pummel his friend into the ground.

It goes back to Shirou and Balls.

"So many lawsuits." Shirou muttered.

A few of the viewers had a good laugh at that.

"Uh, Do you feel tingly?" Balls asked before the two were transferred from mellow they were in a city square.

"No. Why?" Shirou asked casually. The two looked around and it seemed that other players were being teleported into the city square.

"What the hell is that?" Balls asked, looking at the sky going red.

"Well, I believe some people call it a Hexagon? Ain't 100% on that, gonna have to check my sources." Shirou snarked.

"Man f*ck off."

"I like this guy." Mercury said with a grin

The sky started to seem like it was starting to bleed.

"And The sky's bleeding" Shirou observed, not seeming to really care."

"Yeah, they are really pushing for that M rating." Balls repsoned on caring as much as Shirou.

"Wow the sky bleeds and they don't even care." Winter said.

"Probably because they know it's a video game, Ice Queen." Qrow reposned

A hooded figure appears flooding in the air. A wave of dangers fills most of the players in the area.

"Oh it's a person." Expect for one player.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Jaune Arc, Head programmer!"The figure greeted."

"Jaune made this game?" Ruby asked, looking towards the blond.

"Nice Vomit boy." Yang said slapping Jaune on the back. Jaune grunted a bit but smiled towards Yang.

"Welcome to the unparalleled online Sword art onli-" Jaune was interrupted by the player being to talk frantically among themselves. Jaune tried to get them to focus their attention on him by muting them, but ended up muting himself.

"He knows he muted himself right?" Balls asked.

"Give him a minute." Shirou mutters. Jaune unmuted himself.

A few laugh at Jaune's mistake as the Blonde himself facepalms at his mistake.

"Alright. Just realized what happened there. It's very funny. But right now, serious time. How many of you have seen Tron?" He was met with complete and utter silence. Jaune looked over the crowd and was met with blank stares, not counting Shirou. "W-what seriously?! None of you have seen Tron?! " Jaune asked, completely baffled. "I was really banking on that."

"Seriously?! No one had seen Tron?" Jaune all but screamed.

A few viewers didn't want to admit to not seeing Tron either.

Jaune cleared his throat, and proceeded to wing the entire thing. "Much like the world of warcraft, none of you are here by choice anymore. Unlike WoW, however, your being held here by me, not by a need to escape your empty f*cking lives. There is no longer any way to log out of Sword art online. If someone on the outside attempts to log you by removing your Nerve gear, well… Has anyone seen scanners?

Jaune once again looked and was once again met with silence.

"Uh Scanners. It's a movie…. Seriously?! He grumbles to himself about how the people here had no class and pulled up a clip of a man's head exploding. "Okay. That was from Scanners… and basically that.

"First Tron, now Scanners?!" Jaune facepalm.

"You just trapped god knows how many people in a video game, and you're worried about what movie they haven't seen?! Weiss retorted. Jaune flinched and wisely kept quiet.

The crowd gasped in shock.

"Finally seeing some gears turning, making progress."

"Why would you do such a thing?!" One player cried out.

"Stephen? Stephen is that you?" Jaune asked happily "How are you enjoying that advance copy?"

"I'm playing it with my family!" Stephen repiled.

"Oh, that's right!" The hooded figure laughed. "Happy birthday Timmy!"

Little Timmy began to cry.

"Aw, They grow up so fast." He said, sighing. " Cherish these moments Stephen. Cherish these moments. So as I was saying, the only way to keep the nervegear from going Gallager on your grey matter, is to make your way through castle Aincrad and beat Sword Art Online!"

"So you want us to beat a MMO?" A random player asked.

"Essentially."

"F*CK YOU!"

"That is the correct response when someone says to beat a MMO" Ren said.

"Is it really that bad?" Oscar asked and he receive a loud

"YES!"

"WOAH! Getting a lot of hostility here. Do not appreciate it."

"Well honestly!" The same player began,"When was the last time you heard of someone beating Everquest?"

"When was the last time you heard of someone playing Everquest?" Jaune fired back. There was a slight pause.

"That's fair."

"Everquest…. That's a deep cut." Qrow said, sighing thinking back.

"Anywho, for all you guys that wanted to play as girls, and you know who you are," Despite not seeing his face they could tell Jaune had a huge grin. "I've got a surprise for you!"

A mirror appeared in everyone's hands and a light filled the city.

A young boy, no older than 14 was where Shirou was. He still had the white hair and was wearing the same clothes but was more lankey and shorter than the man who was once there.

"Shirou Yuuki?" The boy turned and a familiar face was shown.

"Whitely?!" Weiss cried out at the sight of her brother.

"I knew it was him." Winter said. The username gave him away, Not only is it the username for when he goes on forums, Shirou Yuuki has the same meaning as his real name.

"How do you know what username he uses when he's online? Weiss asked her sister, a question that went unanswered.

"You're not a girl!" A fat player cried out.

"And you're not 17!" Another skinner one also cried out."

"I'm okay with this!"

"Me too!"

"LOVE KNOWS NO GENDER!" Someone shouted out.

"A wise seminent. Ozpin said sipping his coffee."

[lastluvbug]

Oh my god I read the one about Kalim’s suicide after waking up and got emotional all morning. The angst hurts but I can’t have enough of your writings. Can I have a continuation of it, with Kalim’s friends (the second years, the light music club, even Vil) after the whole thing? Like they try to go on with their life but it’s clear that nothing’s the same anymore and they miss the sunshine boy more than they thought they would? Thank you so much!

Toxins (Part 2)

Here we are, love! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Language, referenced suicide

Crying wasn’t like Cater.

But after Kalim’s school-held funeral, that was all anyone could ever see him doing.

Oftentimes, it was silent sobbing into his hands, makeup streaked and runny, hiccups stifled. Comfort did little to provide solace, as he’d simply wipe away the water still leaking from his eyes, smile, and pretend like nothing ever happened. By the outside... it almost appeared as if nothing had ever happened. He was still as camera addicted as usual, still attended class and mingled with his fellow students.

The only difference was perhaps the breaks he had to take between every period, when he’d run to the bathroom to clear his eyes of the built up liquid they’d collected, or maybe it was the way his laughter felt dull, robotic even, or the way he began eating bigger and bigger portions at mealtimes. No one batted an eyelash at Cater when he had to be wrestled out of the mess hall by Trey, who already had himself busy with tending to a Riddle Rosehearts who’d become increasingly strict in upholding the Heartslabyul rules once again.

The serene noiselessness that enveloped the Music Room seemed all but soothing, a vacant memory filled with empty afterthoughts of what it used to be.

Sitting before Kalim’s abandoned drum set, Cater stared at his foggy reflection in the suspended cymbals, inept hands clutching drumsticks that should’ve been used to make a song. Eyes slitted, Cater cried once more, beads of translucent agony dripping onto the forgotten brass.

“...Cater? What are you doing here?”

The ginger looked up stiffly, the lights flicking into action as he made brief visual contact with the last remaining member of his club, Lilia Vanrouge. The shorter tilted his head slightly, standing at the foot of the door, as Cater exhaled a breathy laugh like he’d been so accustomed to doing. “Lilia... I just... needed some time alone, is all. Nothing to worry about.” He grinned, betraying the droplets that formed pretty trails over his visage.

“It’s... It’s about Kalim, isn’t it?” Lilia prodded, voice low as he stepped fully into the room. He didn’t require a reply, as Cater’s sagged shoulders and clutched drumsticks revealed everything he wanted to say. Solemnly hanging his head, Diasomnia’s vice lumbered over to his grieving peer, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not fair...!” Cater wailed before Lilia had even touched him. “Kalim, he’s—he’s not here anymore, and it seems like I’m the only who cares! He was suffering, so much... and I didn’t... didn’t have the brain to see it!”

Lilia’s wide magenta orbs locked onto the weeping boy, whose blood red diamond had nearly been washed away thanks to the water pouring over it. Kneeling, he gripped his shoulders firmly, forcing Cater to meet his stare. “Cater, you can’t blame yourself for this. You couldn’t have known what he was feeling, none of us could. It’s a tragic thing, to have lost someone full of so much light, but you have to understand that—“

“...You don’t get it either... didn’t he mean anything to you people?!” Lilia froze midsentence, his hands pushed away harshly. “Why? Why am I the only one who cries over him?! I didn’t even know him that well... but I don’t want Kalim to be forgotten! I don’t want to wake up everyday, knowing he’ll never speak to me again! Never make music, with these stupid sticks!” He lamented, tossing said drumsticks away, the carved wood skidding across the hard flooring.

Draping his palms over his face, Cater sniffled, Lilia speechless on his knees. Huffing a petulant sigh, the ages-old student spoke quietly, as if afraid to shatter the glass he knew he treaded upon. “Cater, in all my years... I’ve seen my fair amount of demises.”

“H... Huh?” Cater stopped, makeup-blackened tears ceasing as well.

“I’ve had to watch friends, loved ones, even family, fall. Some by the hands of fate, and some by their very own. And thus, I’ve seen how humans react when it comes to such occurrences. You aren’t the only one who cries over the loss of Kalim, I guarantee it.”

“Th-That’s...” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true! Riddle does nothing but hole himself away in his room and behead people anymore! You can’t call that coping!”

Lilia stared him in the eye, words frank and pithy. “Cater, tell me, what do you think he does behind those closed doors? Why do you think he’s become so sensitive to even the smallest of mistakes?”

“Because...! Because...” Cater caught himself, finding that he had no answer to retort with. “...I don’t... I don’t know.” He responded after a pause, holding his head in his hands.

“This is Riddle’s way of coping. Kalim was a dear classmate to him, and now, there’s no getting him back. He’s gone, we have to live with that truth.”

“Then what about you?! Why aren’t you reacting at all? Wasn’t he a dear clubmate to you?” Cater shot, voice thick with emotion as he felt the weight of Lilia’s authenticity asphyxiate him.

“Simply because I know that wherever Kalim is now, he’s happy,” he smiled softly, folding his hands in his lap, “I didn’t know that Kalim was suffering so, but now he’s cradled by the arms that come past death. He can finally rest easy, the way he was meant to in the first place.”

Cater looked down to Lilia, glassy eyes widening to see the glittery tears that pooled in the corners of the other’s, a soft smile at his lips. For a split moment, Cater could see no one but Kalim as Lilia opened his arms, amaranth streaked hair and magenta eyes shifting into pure white and candy red.

Hiccuping, Cater fell from the seat before the drums and onto his knees, being carefully pulled to Lilia’s smaller, yet wonderfully soft frame. Hit like a bag of bricks to the stomach, misery stole Cater’s oxygen as he sobbed, clinging to Lilia like a petrified animal.

“Don’t worry guys! We’ll do great at the performance tomorrow!”

“Keep it up, Cater! You sound amazing, just one more practice song!”

“Oh, a picture? I want in! Haha, cheese!”

Kalim’s childish voice echoed in the room, the ghost of a caress against his cheeks making the ginger bury himself under his peer’s chin. He felt as if he’d never forgive himself for overlooking Kalim’s pain, every heartfelt compliment or encouragement from him becoming bland and tasteless upon the realization that they were all empty words, meant to fill him up with false courage.

“Cater, he may be gone, but as long as he stays tucked in here,” Lilia tapped on his head, stroking his messy orange hair, “the magic will keep his memory alive. That’s perhaps the best gift we can give him; the guarantee that he won’t be forgotten. Not as long as you, and I, remember him, right?”

Cater inhaled a quivering breath, nodding as he parted from Lilia’s warm arms. “R-Right...” He nodded, using the back of his hands to clear away his streaked makeup, leaving a smudged mess instead.

“Let’s get you back to Heartslabyul. It sounds to me as if you could use a little conversation with your dorm leader.” Lilia prompted, standing and offering his hand, to which Cater accepted.

“If I must... oh! I need to get those first!” He cried, spinning on his heel and traipsing over to the discarded drumsticks. “I’ll keep them safe for him.” He grinned, earning a sly smirk from Lilia, who now stood outside of the club room.

Joining him, Cater sent a glance over the lone drum set, replaying the times from when Kalim would lean over them with a smile, waving as he entered, guitar strapped across his back. It didn’t hurt any less, but it reminded him that somewhere out there, Kalim was waiting for him, for that day when he’d return his drumsticks.

Switching the lights off, Cater shut the door cautiously, heart simultaneously lifted and sinking as he left, those invisible hands drifting away as he strode farther from the Music Room.

<————>

Treading down the busy hallway felt more like wading through swamp water to Silver, each student seeming to obstruct his path in any way they could.

Heading by the open walled courtyard, the grey haired Diasomnia boy’s gaze softened, looking to the vacant blue sky holding the warm sun as it’s only attraction. Running a finger over the rim of his grasped textbook, Silver sighed out of a brew containing both frustration and awe, feet instinctively guiding him about the corridors as his mind wandered elsewhere.

Every single waking day had been the shining example of a picture perfect storytelling, like something that had hopped from the pages of a fairytale since Kalim’s overcrowded funeral. No rain, no clouds, just the pure sky and the giggling sun.

Silver had half of a mind to call it unfair, for a tragedy to be celebrated and honored with such weather. Though, he had to admit he didn’t know Kalim as well as he wished. The boy had waltzed into and out of his life with alarming ease, both of them sharing the same class together and bonding over their blatantly oppositional personalities. If it weren’t for Kalim’s persistence, Silver probably wouldn’t have even remembered his name, let alone dig himself deep enough to call him a friend.

After his passing, Silver’s academic world just went... dull, following the same drearily tedious routine, and beginning to fall behind in even the most basic of lessons, simply because he found it impossible to keep himself awake for more than five minutes at a time.

Kalim had been the one to help him in class, had been the one to discover how to shake him to consciousness, both physically and mentally. Whenever Kalim was around, Silver wanted to skip his unhealthily long naps, painstakingly addicted to the boy’s light that practically radiated from him, filling any room he set foot in with warm magic.

Now that he laid still, taken by the hand of never ending slumber, Silver felt blank, like he was caged in the perpetual state of an emotional reset that declined progression.

So lost sorting through his muddled mind, Silver nearly fell backwards as he slammed headfirst into something firm, making his eyes water as he rubbed the liquid away, a yawn escaping his throat. “Hah? What’s this?” Growled a scratchy voice, making Silver snap to attention. He came face to face with a brawny Savanclaw lackey, a freakish two heads taller than Silver, the student nearly shrinking into a ball at the murderous glare sent down his direction. “Ah, it’s one of those Diasomnia pricks. What, beating us to a pulp in Magift and trampling over our test scores isn’t enough? Now you gotta own the whole damn hallway?”

“H-Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about... If I could just—“ Silver attempted to reason, trying to get past the wall of muscled students, all bigger and stronger than him.

“You wanna play dumb now?” The other rasped, grabbing Silver by the collar of his uniform and lifting him in the air as he stalked dangerously close. “Listen here, bastard, just because my dorm leader tucks his tail at the sight of you doesn’t mean I’ll do the same! I have no idea who you think you are, but to me, you’re no better than baby cats who yip—“

“Alrighty fellas, that’s quite enough!”

Twisting with what little leeway available to him, Silver found the source of the voice to be Ruggie Bucchi, another member of the beastly dorm. “Ruggie? The hell do you think you’re doing?” The bigger boy barked, tightening his grip on Silver.

Crossing his arms and smiling slyly, Ruggie marched over to him, not an ounce of fear on his baby-face. “Look at him, bud. The poor guy’s practically shaking in his shoes! I think you’ve done enough to scare him, so put him down, you’re tarnishing the Savanaclaw name.”

“Enough? He ran into me! If I don’t threaten him now, then who’s gonna put him in his place later?!”

Ruggie clucked his tongue, floppy ears twitching in annoyance. “Let’s get one thing straight here; you weren’t threatening him, you were aggressively complaining. First, comparing him to a baby cat, which by the way, would be called a kitten, is neither intimidating nor masculine. Second, dangling him in the air like a doll proves nothing more than what you lack in brain, you make up for in brawn, hence why you’re practically a brick wall of muscle. Third, if you’re going to threaten someone, do it properly, you brutish simpleton.” Ruggie smirked, standing on his tip toes as he narrowed his eyes.

“Now, I suggest you tuck tail and scram before you show everyone here that you’re as composed as a bitch in heat.” He threatened, hands on his hips as the animalistic boy’s ears drooped, heeding the maliciously ingenious hyena and dropping Silver, who was close to choking thanks to the constricting pressure on his throat. Legs too weak to stabilize his body, he collapsed in a heap on the ground, textbook flying a few feet away, hacking his lungs out while trying to drink the sweetly refreshing air.

After the roughly uncivilized students scampered off, whispering curses and profanity Ruggie scoffed at, he huffed, bouncing over to Silver and extending a single gloved hand. “Um... you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?” He asked.

Spluttering into his elbow, Silver took the hand, brushing the dust off of his black school suit and suppressing the yawn that fought to rise in his newly released esophagus. “...I’m fine. Thanks for the save...” He bowed awkwardly, avoiding the shorter’s stare. Without anything left to say, he stood turning away. “See you.” He sluggishly bid, starting to leave.

Ruggie was inches away from letting him go, until he tossed his glance to the floor, noticing the thick book fallen face first a few steps from him. Scooping it up, he flipped through a few of the pages, hoping to find something interestingly personal before returning it to the original owner. What he found was... beyond what he’d imagined.

It was a history textbook, the very first page carrying Silver’s signature, a cursive so intricate, it bordered calligraphy with all of its whorls and intercepting lines. At a glance, it didn’t look anything worthwhile, a few scribbled notes here and there but nothing out of the ordinary. Secrets weren’t revealed until Ruggie flipped to the center of the book, his normally neutral face contorting out of shock and intrigue.

The writing on the edges of the paper, where the fine print of knowledge past left indents and gaps of white space lay, were little notes penned in two vastly different handwritings, one quite obviously belonging to Silver. The other was unrecognizable to Ruggie, but reading the script was what led to him the creator.

“Silver-kun, Silver-kuuuuun! Did you hear what Trein said? I was too busy doodling!!”

“Kalim, you’re going to fail the class if you keep nodding off, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know I know..... but at least I stay awake most of the time!”

“Pssh, so mean, using that against me! Sit with me at lunch today, and maybe I’ll share my notes.”

“Oh! Alright, Silver!”

Ruggie was blown away by the authored conversation he stumbled upon, reminded of the distance growing between owner and eavesdropper as he sent a startled look up from the book. “H-Hey! Silver!” He called, having learned the sleepy Diasomnia student’s name.

The other paused, looking over his shoulder to watch as Ruggie weaved through the river of people, holding out the textbook once he’d managed to stand beside the grey haired. “You dropped this back there... it is yours, isn’t it?” He asked, feigning an ignorance Silver doubted.

“Yes, thank you very much. But... how did you know my name?”

“Eh, you’re from Diasomnia. I bet the whole corridor of people here know your name.” Ruggie waved, almost sweat dropping.

“...If you say so. Thank you for returning my book... I’ll be out of your hair now.” The other sighed, tucking said book under his arm while wearing an expression that simply felt subdued.

“Ah—wait! I’m pretty sure you’re a second year, can I walk you to class? Wouldn’t want to run into someone again, right?” Ruggie wasn’t given a verbal response, only a hitch in Silver’s movements and a mild nod.

With his arms fanned out from his head, Ruggie walked alongside the enigmatic teen, who remained eerily silent, his hazy eyes and apathetic stare giving him the hint that he was lost deep in thought, a thought that must’ve been distasteful. All too altruistically eager to break the silence, Ruggie brought up thr only topic that seemed to occupy anyone’s mind. “So... you were friends with Kalim?”

Silver flinched, directly halting in his tracks, eyes hidden by his overgrown bangs. “W-What... What did you know about him?” He asked, the flow of students never once ceasing around them.

“I... well, other than the fact that he was rich... not much.” Ruggie admitted, fiddling with an ear.

“That’s it? That’s all you knew about him, even as a second year yourself?”

“Wait, how did you—?”

“He talked about you like you were some kind of idol. He talked about everyone that way.” Silver whispered, eyes still hidden. “He was what everyone wanted to be, the only real person here who didn’t carry any ill intentions for anyone. Even that Viper, who used him for what? Years?” He continued, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Ruggie had nothing to say. What could he say? Kalim, to him at least, was a fun acquaintance, a buddy he’d occasionally fall back on for spare change or home cooked meals, of which were made by Jamil Viper, the Viper that Silver was quite obviously placing the entirety of the blame upon.

While drama wasn’t something Ruggie was aiming to stir up, the hyena had to admit... he didn’t find anything Jamil did to be wrong. Kalim had ideas, grand as they may be, but he hadn’t the skill or the focus to execute them, pushing the work onto Jamil and Jamil alone. Ruggie saw no problem with the vice using his talent the way he did.

“I wonder how he feels now... knowing that he’s the one who drove Kalim to such measures. But... I can’t say I’m any better. How could I have been so ignorant...? I may as well have damned him to death too, watching him deteriorate every day. Watching him... fake that cheery smile, and never doing a thing about it.” Silver seemed to be working himself into a craze, hands covering his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, don’t take this on yourself y’know...”

“Why not? Tell me Ruggie, why. Not? My ignorance is what killed him, and now, I have to sit through class after class after class of reminders. Reminders of how I failed my duty to—“

“Geez, you’re annoying,”

“H... Huh?” Silver froze, finally opening his eyes to meet Ruggie’s cheeky grin.

Ruggie offered no explanation as he grabbed a hand, dragging him off through the hallway. “I may not be the best at comforting, and I’m certainly no Kalim, but... I think it’ll be okay. That’s what he liked to say, right? Yeah, he’s not here anymore, but are you really going to let what he believed in die?”

Struck speechless similarly to his rockstar guardian, Silver gaped like a fish out of water, silently allowing Ruggie to pull him along. “He knew there was good in everyone,” Except himself, Ruggie thought, but had the brain to hold his tongue, “he’d want you to move on, to love in his place. This, what you’re feeling now, is the farthest thing from what he wanted. So... you should smile. You can live without Kalim, you’re stronger than that.”

Ruggie stopped, a few steps away from Silver’s designated classroom, holding his clutched hand up as he spoke, smiling gently, like he actually believed the speech he by chance strung together. Still, any excuse for a better hope was a good one to Silver, so, he ducked his head, forcing out giggles that after a minute, ended up too real. “U-Uh... did I say something funny?” Ruggie stammered, eyes wide in confusion.

“No, it’s just—“ Silver let go of Ruggie, lavender eyes shiny with the aftermath of laughter, “—you remind me of him.”

Ruggie flushed, turning red to his ears as he spun away, covering his mouth and pretending to cough. “Y-Yeah, sure, whatever. Come on, let’s get you to class!”

Chuckling, Silver sped up to close the rapidly growing space between them, running a clammy hand through his argent hair. In complete honesty, he meant what he’d said.

Albeit too assiduous and orderly to be a carbon copy, Ruggie held one same trait that so painfully reminded him of Kalim; his confidence. While Kalim was a leader, Ruggie preferred to follow. While Kalim was extravagantly grandiose, Ruggie was self-effacing and simple. While Kalim had dreams of far off lands and magic carpet rides, Ruggie stayed firmly planted on the ground.

But for certain, the one thing they both shared the same substantial confidence to just... be themselves.

And it was that confidence that made Silver wish to cling to Ruggie, protect the light that he failed to do before.

“Oi! Silver! You coming?” Ruggie called hands on his knees as he waved from further down the hall.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes I’m coming!” Silver smile back, having realized he stood alone in the middle of the passage. Once again dashing to join the hyena, Silver made a vow, a vow that no one would hear other than himself.

“I promise Kalim, I’m not forgetting you. I’ll never forget you. But this time... this time I want to do things right.”

<————>

The rushing of water from the tap was the sole sound in the Mostro Lounge, accentuated only by the brisk chill that followed the lifeless restaurant-esque space.

It’d been that way since morning, the hollow flooring catching the footsteps that walked over it and tossing the sound against the walls, creating an echo Floyd Leech didn’t think was possible, what with the amount of furniture and decor lined about. Switching off the water, and the only audible commotion in the lounge, he tossed himself onto a stool before the polished bar, setting his hat aside as he laid his head within his large, white gloved hands. A sigh escaped him as he threaded his fingers through his deep teal hair, almost feeling as though he was glued to his seat.

Despite the deafening quiet that would blow any normal person’s eardrums out, Floyd closed his eyes, heavy from premature exhaustion, and heard not the empty silence, but instead voices. More specifically, he heard Kalim’s voice; his cheering, the laughs and giggles that seemed reserved for Floyd and Floyd exclusively, even his sobs after he was thrown across the desert by one of his trusted companions.

Swimming through the sea of his memories made his eyes burn with an indescribable solemnity, his hands tugging rather roughly at his hair as the memories grew into a thousand pictures behind his shut eyelids, each of them painting Kalim an angel in all of his bubbly optimism. And while Floyd was naturally agile in water, even he found himself drowning in the sorrow that replaced a past stemmed from charm and delight.

Broken like a hammer through glass, he was all but ripped from the isolation of his over imaginative brain by the doors of the Lounge being thrown open, the conversation of the two welcoming themselves in drifting over to his sensitive ears. He paid them no heed as he slumped on the bar counter, inexplicably cold while heartache whittled away at his chest.

“Ah, Floyd. Jade and I were just discussing, and there’s been an alarming drop in the amount of customers attending— Floyd?” Azul faltered, cutting his debriefing short as he noticed the state of the lithe eel.

Hunched over, head collected in his hands as he carded his fingers through his hair, Floyd looked the model of a kicked puppy, not a trace of his carefree smile on his lips. Beyond confused, Azul turned to Jade, who simply folded his hands and smiled politely, mincing over to his brother.

Jade didn’t need to do too much investigation to find the source of Floyd’s troubles, already knowing full well that the reverse of his brother’s attitude was a byproduct of Kalim Al-Asim’s death. The funeral was what sealed the transformation, Floyd’s laugh disappearing altogether as he turned away from the outside world, whether he was aware of it or not. Most days, he tucked himself away in the Mostro Lounge, polishing the same glass until in could be used as a mirror, or staring blankly into the distance, becoming especially clingy to both Jade and Azul. Any prodding was met with a lackluster response, any attempts to push him towards re-venturing back into the convoluted world of society with dejected refusals.

Sitting in the stool beside the mourning boy, Jade reached out, settling his hand on Floyd’s back as the other jumped at the touch. “Floyd?” He asked, earning his brother’s familiar glazed attention.

“Jade...? Oh, Azul, too... I’m sorry, did I do something wrong~? You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost...” He laughed unimpressively, placid smile not quite reaching his dual colored eyes.

“Floyd, please explain what is troubling you. I hate seeing my brother this way.” Jade pleaded, leaning on a fist as he expectantly stared at him.

“E-Eh? Where’d you guys get that idea from? Hehe, I’m alright, Azul, Jade.”

“No, Floyd, you’re not. As your colleague and friend, I ask that you indulge us on your turmoil.” Azul chimed in at Floyd’s nonchalant display, years of memorizing his roller coaster-like moods revealing the cracks in his façade.

Drooping defeatedly, his smile vanished as he fell onto the counter, tracing imaginary shapes into the smooth marble. “I... I miss him...” Floyd whispered, only audible because of the noiselessness.

Jade perked up, sharing a pitiful look with Azul before rubbing circles onto Floyd’s back. “You’re referring to Kalim, correct?”

The other nodded, sighing heavily as he hazed blankly at the positively reflective surface below him. “It’s—I just can’t... wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone... Sea Otter is gone, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” He said quietly, the sting in his eyes returning as he swallowed thickly.

Azul tipped his hat as Jade’s circles ceased. The passing of Kalim hadn’t particularly affected Azul, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It, at the very least, was supposed to attract more customers, in need of a distraction in the form of fine food and drinks. But for Floyd to have lost his spark... the cogs in Azul’s brain couldn’t comprehend how the two had even managed to become close after Jamil’s overblot.

“I remember,” Floyd started, sliding a thin finger over the edge of the counter, “how he used to laugh at everything. Sea Otter was so energetic~! Always bouncing to and fro, like a hyper little siren. When did... when did that all stop? Why did it all stop? Is it a curse from land-dwellers to feel this way...?” Floyd asked his friends, seeking genuine answers to his inquiries.

“Floyd, what you are feeling is grief. You are mourning over the loss of a... a comrade.” Jade hesitated, speech for once unrehearsed.

“But he was more than a comrade to me, Jade! I didn’t feel so... out of place with Kalim. He embraced the world around him, in all of it’s cruelty, with open arms. I don’t get it! He—he... he...!” Floyd wavered, hand reaching up to prod at his gold eye, which now spilled thin water over the rim of his cheekbones.

He was... crying? Why was he crying? Wasn’t that something said to be impossible for merfolk to accomplish?

“Hey, Azul... what’s this?” He asked with a joyless laugh. “Am I melting...?” He smiled bitterly, the current dribbling down in an irritatingly slow pace.

Not half a second was given to Floyd before he was enveloped by two arms, in all of their lissome strength. Azul couldn’t think of another thing to do; he’d never seen him genuinely cry before. “No, you’re not melting, Floyd.” The hug was stiff, the tallest eel’s hands on the edge of his seat while water scattered about.

“I’m scared, Azul...” he whined, sniffling. Jade flinched, the downright hopelessness of Floyd’s tone striking a place in his heart that nearly brought him to tears as well. “I can’t—I can’t lose you two. I can’t. Please, promise you won’t leave me, like Sea Otter did?” The very thought of being alone was enough to bring Floyd to trembles, was enough for him to toss away his pride as he looked to his brother, his friend.

Moving as swiftly as the flowing waters of the sea, Jade lifted himself from his seat, twining his arms around both Azul and Floyd, most of the focus turned towards the latter. “Don’t be ridiculous. As your brother, it is my responsibility to always be by your side. Always. The death of a friend doesn’t change that, nor will anything else.” Jade soothed, pressing his forehead to Floyd’s.

“Ah, Jade is right. While I may not share familial ties, I believe it is my duty to stay with you two. After all, who else would have the impertinence to stand up to your spontaneity, Floyd? Certainly no one from around here, I’ll say that much.” Azul added, earning a chuckle from the comforted.

“So... it’s a promise then? You won’t leave me?”

“Never,” Jade and Azul replied confidently, successfully sealing off the last of Floyd’s tears as he used his gloves to soak up the excess.

Finally returning the hug with ten times the force, Floyd sighed out of relief. Though, he still felt the incomparable pang of gloom over the loss of one of his companions, the twang was cushioned by the soft words of his near-family, their eager reminder that even if their world was changing, they’d have one another to rely on.

Nothing could replace a life, Floyd knew that eerily too well, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t move on. It might take a week, it might take a year, but as long as he still had them to guide him, then maybe the pain would ebb away in a matter of months.

With their promise written across the slate of his heart, Floyd let his laughter splash across the lounge.

Some part of him felt that if Kalim could see him, hear him right now, he’d been laughing too.

<————>

“Roi de Poison, may I come in?”

“Door’s unlocked, Rook.”

Granted access by the curt invitation, Rook welcomed himself into Vil’s room, having returned from yet another rowdy wrangling session of dealing with Epel. The blonde was expecting to see his dorm leader fussing over his presentation, either in the form of reestablishing his blade sharp cosmetics, or redoing his naturally flawless locks. Instead, he was met with a scene that broke his fully enchanted heart, the magical symphony in his ears screeching to a halt.

Vil sat at his elegantly carved vanity, a thick book with yellowed pages flipped to somewhere close to the center spread before him, twisting an equally as golden bottle in his hand while the other tousled his loose hair, free of it’s usual braided crown. What perhaps made Rook double-take the most was the all natural look Vil wore, the tips of his nose and ears dyed an unhealthy red as not a smear of makeup hid the semi-wet trails reflected in the spotless mirror.

“Vil? Fairest, what ever is the matter?” Rook inquired hastily, skidding over to the beauty’s side and kneeling before him, feathered hat temporarily set on the floor while his head of canary hair still rose beyond the edge of the vanity table. “Vil...?”

“Do you know... what this is, Rook?” Vil asked out of the blue, holding the golden vial to the light.

“...If I had to guess, I’d say that would be an antidote.” Rook responded, having studied nearly as hard as Vil on the subject of poisons and cures.

“Correct. This... This is the antidote that could’ve saved him. I could’ve saved him.” Rook could taste the burn of Vil’s self doubt, the blame he took upon his shoulders as he desperately tried to look into Vil’s lavender irises.

“Non, Vil. It’s been said before, and I’ll not stutter when I say it again. You cannot control anyone but yourself. What Kalim did was of his own volition, you could not have done a thing to prevent it.”

“Do not lie to me, Rook Hunt!” Vil shrieked, rattling the table after he slammed his fist onto it. “If it weren’t for the poison I handcrafted, Kalim would be alive right now! If I would’ve chased after him the minute I realized the bottle was missing, then maybe—no, he would not have had the opportunity to use it! It’s my fault this happened, and now the blood’s on my hands!” Vil shrilled, delicate hands concealing his face.

Struggling to create a refute, Rook placed his hat back onto his head, standing to his full height. Circling behind Vil, he stared into the mirror, at the broken beauty who wallowed in the depths of his own despair before him. He loathed seeing Vil in such a state, poise and elegance replaced with a fiery fury aimed at no one but himself. He couldn’t bear to see him tear himself down.

Exhaling quietly, Rook laid his gloved hands over Vil’s, gently prying them away. Picking up a brush, he let it hover above his mauve-and-platinum hair, only setting it down on his scalp when Vil nodded ever so marginally. “Vil, my king, the fairest of us all, it pains me to no end to see you like this. Do you realize how dishonest it is to harbor this blame?” Rook rhetorically asked, noting the way his green orbs locked with purple for a split moment.

Brushing through the last section of Vil’s thin hair, he set the brush aside, peeling off his gloves to instead grab a comb, folding and looping the strands as he continued to speak. “What Kalim did was out of your jurisdiction. Yes, you may have made the poison, but he was the thief who stole it. Yes, you were too late to have realized it was missing, but had you sent me after him, he would’ve drank it before I could save him.” Rook assured, sealing off the crown and moving onto the next area in need of his expertise.

Lifting Vil’s chin with a curled finger, Rook brought a new besom to his eyes, painting on a deep violet shadow over the lashes, of which he diligently extended with top of the line mascara. Having someone else so casually apply his cosmetics made Vil’s shoulders sag as they released their tension, almost leaning into the affectionate sweeps were it not for his budding insecurity.

“How can you say that when it’s quite obviously my fault?” Vil murmured once his vice paused to reach for a shimmery lipgloss.

“Don’t you see? Kalim would’ve found a way to end his life with, or without your assistance. You were just naive enough to fall for his game, and thus, you now hold within you a guilt that doesn’t belong. Mon ange, let this grief go.” Rook finished, capping the gloss and smiling broadly, waving towards the mirror.

Turning to his reflection, Vil did nothing to hide the satisfied grin that formed, appreciative of the effort the blonde-haired hunter was investing to comfort him. “What if... deep down, I still blame myself, at the end of the day?” He asked, twirling a section of his hair around his painted nail.

“Fret not! I shall sing you lullabies until you can rest soundly at night. This tragedy will be a memory far faded after I’m done!” Rook sang, offering a hand as he bowed.

“Alright, Rook...” Vil chuckled, taking his hand and squaring his shoulders as he stood, balancing on his thin heels. “...I hope you will make use of that promise.”

“Anything for you, Vil. Now let us depart for supper, the dorm was ordered to keep their paws to themselves until you arrived.” Rook urged, spinning over to the door. Swinging it open, he gestured out to the hall, smiling. “Shall we?”

“Indeed. Let’s go.” Vil nodded, clicking out as Rook followed close behind.

Kalim still weighed on his mind, the boy’s peacefully shut eyes as he laid in that glass casket forever an image burned into his brain. He made a dire mistake that day, leaving the poison unguarded in his bathroom, even just creating it in the first place, but Rook helped Vil realize a truth that eased the sting, if only lightly.

He hadn’t known Kalim well, the first full conversation between them only occurring the day of his demise. Part of Vil found solace in the fact that Kalim’s death was quick, a brighter alternative to anything else Kalim would’ve attempted. The other part wept for what his knowledge of poison brought, the pain he’d inflicted on not only Kalim, but the rest of the school in tandem.

Still, holding his head high, Vil wasn’t going to let the suffering crumble him. Antidote clenched in a fist, Vil dropped it in his concealed pocket, the vision of elegance and poise.

Though he may have had a hand in Kalim’s downfall, he wasn’t going to let himself make a foolish mistake like that again.

<————>

Kalim Al-Asim’s death did not come in an ear piercing bang or an uproarious festival. It came not in sweet whispered nothings or love brimmed words. It came not as peaceful or soothing, but by preference spotlighted with nothing except a dark room, a clear night, and the whitest moon the sky had to offer.

Time had been at fowl play, some days passing within the sound snap of a finger, and some lasting for aeons painted in dull colors of anguish and shame. The people were mortified by the discovery, even more so to find that the act hadn’t been committed by the sinful nature of another, but instead the self destructive hatred of himself. Blame had been a projectile, shot into anyone who even held his name inside the confines of their brain, running amongst them like a smooth stone over a pond of ice until there was no one left to terrorize.

The wayward mechanism of coping bore down on everyone, weighing them with ten thousand pounds of a hopelessness they could neither hide nor run from. At their darkest hour, the entire venerated school of Night Raven College was brought to their knees by the passing of optimism personified, their trust a fractured knife used to stab skepticism and condemnation into the hearts of anyone who dared raise their bowed heads.

But even the dark of night must soon come to an end, the sun of a new day bringing a dusk painted in the hues of resumption over a horizon of black. It started with an idea, a finicky thought that grew until it could no longer be held within the sole mind of the creator, escaping from a pair of lips upturned in a rare smile that shortly spread to the listeners.

The idea spread like a contagion, from one to another, dorm to dorm, student to teacher, until every person shared the unison objective, some setting upon a laborious work to meet the desired outcome. Tirelessly, the students used the extents lf the gifts bestowed upon them, whether that be the farthest reaches of magic, or the unique skill to create banquets of delectable food.

It was far from a single day job, many returning to their rooms with sore muscles and blistered hands, the only thing driving them through their hard hours being the vision of the payoff come the conclusion. The prize of their exertion was a spectacle even a stranger would find extraordinarily echanted.

On a pedestal above the normal person’s head, crafted from the best brass up for the taking, stood a perfect recreation of Kalim Al-Asim, each detail scrutinized by the expecting eyes of none other than the mourning Jamil Viper.

Though he took it upon himself to mold the finer minutiae, he accepted every numerous offer of assistance with the bulky creation of the base, sending out handwritten thanks to each participant. Using too many sleepless nights, Jamil poured his strength, his breath, his heart into smoothing out the edges, refining the statue until it looked so real, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it up and moved.

The unveiling had been as palatial as Kalim would’ve wanted it to be; Jamil planning and throwing a celebration that welcomed nearly every resident of the campus, brandishing and explaining the statue in a way that made even Mozus Trein’s heart of steel melt.

Still... standing before it felt surreal, almost sorrowful. Dressed in his dorm garb and clutching his signature staff in his left arm, he waved out to the Scarabia he protected with his free one, a broad smile swelling his cheeks, eyes wide and curious. It had been the students’ choice to place him at the entrance of their dorm, believing Kalim’s face a fitting first sight upon entrance.

Drenched with gold in the early morning light, he smiled angelically as a lone figure knelt before the pedestal, hand tracing over the plaque carved into the stone base.

“I hope... I hope this did you justice. It was all I could give you for now; I know it’s not much, but this way, your legacy will carry on.” Jamil whispered, laying his forehead on the smooth metal.

Though he may not live to see it, Jamil wished with the very power of his soul that Kalim’s statue would last a lifetime, perhaps even longer as he stood and left, the words engraved finally visible:

He who breathed laughter,

He who stood proud,

He who was strong as the current of the ocean.

In fond memory of Kalim Al-Asim, the light in a world of shadow.

May we all discover the same strength he held.

Oki dokes! I didn’t originally plan for a continuation, so it took a little long bit to spark my ideas.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! Special thanks to @lionheartanotheraccount for the request!!

Stay lovely!

[chilling-seavey]

i know i sent this to your side blog but i feel like a soft fluffy concept of dani and lori with hopelessly devoted to you from grease would be *chef’s kiss*

Honestly, I always saw this song as a heartbreak song rather than a ‘soft fluffy song’ so I hope you don’t mind I changed that aspect of it! This is also my first ‘lyric blurb’ where you incorporate lyrics right into the writing (like @randomlimelightxxx has done in some of her works!) so I hope I did it alright hehe 💟 Oh - and this also takes places during the fic timeline x

Guess mine is not the first heart broken

My eyes are not the first to cry

I'm not the first to know

There's just no getting over you

It didn’t rain often in Los Angeles. In fact, it was quite rare. Yet, Daniel sat in his bedroom, guitar in hand, and gaze out the window at the downpour that was smudging water across the glass. It came down hard on the roof and the drowned out the noise of the city with rain until it was nearly flooding the streets, the sky locked in with dark grey clouds to leave the world in near darkness. Daniel didn’t turn on a light.

He plucked the strings of his guitar haphazardly, not even playing any specific song as he fell into a tired trance at the rain that trickled down his window. He didn’t even notice that he was crying until he tasted the saltwater trickling over his lips and he licked them gently, wondering if Loretta could taste his tears just like he could.

There was a knock at his door and Daniel turned his head slightly to see Christian letting himself in and he leaned against the doorframe. The brothers stared at each other a moment and Christian sighed at the pathetic state of his younger brother; his little pout and tear streaked cheeks and untamed brown hair that was almost falling over his eyes with lack of product in it.

“What?” Daniel croaked out, turning back to the sigh of the rain drenched window, his fingers still plucking at the strings of his guitar that was sat on his lap.

“Mum made lunch. Sent me to come get you.” Christian said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat at all yesterday…you need to eat something today.”

“My heart hurts too much to eat. I might be sick.” Daniel breathed.

Christian sighed and closed the door behind him as he headed over to the bedside. He grabbed the guitar by the neck and pulled it off Daniel lap, the young brother holding onto it tighter until his fingers shrieked over the strings as it was finally pulled from his grasp.

“You’re getting up.” Christian ordered.

“No.”

“Yep.” Christian grabbed him by the wrists and yanked him up to sit up on the side of the bed. “Stop acting like a poor pathetic boy.”

“My heart hurts, Christian.” Daniel protested.

“You’re not the first one.” Christian retorted. “I had to break up with my girl too. Doesn’t do good for anyone if you sit here and mope about.”

“I’m never going to be okay without her. I’m never going to be okay.”

“Yes, you will. Come on.” Christian pulled him to his feet. “We’ll get you some pain killers for that black eye of yours and eat some lunch.”

“Does it get better?” Daniel asked softly, holding out his hand so Christian could dump two pills from the prescription bottle into his open palm.

His older brother only handed him the glass of water from the nightstand, “Drink.”

I know I'm just a fool who's willing

To sit around and wait for you

But baby, can't you see there's nothing else for me to do?

I'm hopelessly devoted to you

After lunch, Daniel was back in his room and he sat himself down on the side of his bed with a tired sigh. His eyes lingered on his car keys on his dresser and after a bit of self-debate, he got up, grabbed them, and headed back downstairs.

“I’m going to Sherry’s.” Daniel called.

“You can’t drive right now, love.” his mother appeared at the end of the hallway as he pulled on his shoes. “You might have a concussion.”

“I’m fine, Mum.” Daniel said as he opened the door.

“Daniel, it’s pouring.” she hurried after him.

“I’ll be back before dinner.” Daniel called over his shoulder through the rain as he stepped off the front porch. The heavy downpour instantly flattened his hair down across his forehead and he bowed his head to make it through the rain to his red car. He unlocked it and climbed in the driver’s seat, not even giving his mother a second look before he was turning the ignition and backing out of the driveway.

Zach was behind the counter when Daniel walked into Sherry’s. His eyes went wide at the sight of his drenched and beaten best friend and offered him one of the clean dish towels from the kitchen to dry off a little. Daniel thanked him flatly and sat down at one of the stools at the front counter of the diner.

“I thought you were told to rest.” Zach said.

Daniel ruffled the towel through his hair and then dropped it on the counter with a sigh, tapping his fingers against the pink laminate top, “I can’t.”

“Are you feeling alright? You took quite a punch. Or ten.” Zach grabbed another empty glass to polish as they spoke.

“I just…I need to see her.” Daniel glanced to the clock on the wall. 2:38.

“She hasn’t come in here in a few days.” Zach answered quietly.

“I don’t care. I’ll wait.” Daniel mumbled, picking at the speckled pattern in the countertop with his fingernail.

Zach only nodded and moved on to put the clean glasses away.

But now there's nowhere to hide

Since you pushed my love aside

I'm out of my head

Hopelessly devoted to you

Thunder rumbled outside as the rain came down harder against the windows of the diner. It was almost empty due to the weather but a few couples dotted around the restaurant, filling a few booths and talking quietly behind the rain that pounded against the front windows. Daniel eyed them almost enviously, wishing more than ever to share fries and a strawberry shake with Loretta at that moment.

He looked up at the clock. 2:58.

Zach served the few patrons, bringing over food and returning empty plates to the kitchen, keeping an eye on his best friend sat waiting at the front counter and soaked to his skin in icy summer rain. The rain didn’t seem to bother the couples that took up the restaurant and they ate and held hands and giggled across the tables until Daniel was glancing over his shoulder to the front door.

Through the dark rain he could almost see the flash of Loretta’s favourite red dress and he watched as she and Corbyn hurried past the front windows to his car. She was holding her purse above her head to try and stay out of the rain and Corbyn had more protection from his own leather jacket. He managed to open the car door for her but left her to get in by herself as he hurried around the other side and climbed in.

Loretta’s eyes locked on Daniel’s through the front windows of Sherry’s as the clock hit 3:00.

His breath stopped in his throat and he felt that familiar pull of his limbs as the universe tried to lead him off the stool and into her arms. She seemed to feel it to…but maybe her half step away from Corbyn’s car was just a figment of his deepest hopes. The rain flattened her brown curls around her face and raindrops fell down her cheeks like tears and Daniel wanted to reach for her.

The car horn honked, startling Loretta out of her trance and she climbed into her boyfriend’s car without a second look through the diner windows.

Daniel watched the car drive off through the blistering rain.

My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him"

My heart is sayin', "Don't let go

Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do

I'm hopelessly devoted to you

Daniel’s heart ached in his chest and his eyes blurred with tears until his vision resembled that of the rainy windows of the diner. He smothered a whimper behind his bitten lip and turned back to the counter, hugging his arms over his head sorrowfully. He slumped onto the laminate and Zach’s hand was on his shoulder,

“Daniel? Are you okay?”

“I want her.” Daniel sobbed. “I can’t live life like this.”

“It’s only been two days.” Zach chuckled pitifully.

Daniel raised his head from the counter and Zach squeezed his shoulder at the sight of his best friend’s eyes dripping tears down pink cheeks and his bruised skin.

“I need to call her. I can’t let her go.” Daniel whispered as if this was a perfect realization. He glanced towards the payphones and recited her phone number aloud without second thought, “L26-9976.”

“No, no, no.” Zach hurried around the counter and pushed Daniel back onto the stool. “Buddy, that’s not a good idea.”

“She’s mine.” Daniel protested wetly.

Zach groaned under his breath, muttering, “Of course the one day Jack isn’t working.”

“Just one call.” Daniel tried to stand up again but he swayed and clutched onto the counter.

“Okay, I’m calling your mum. Sit.” Zach pushed him back onto the stool and Daniel head his head in his hands as the world spun around him.

The world had been spinning around him since the very first day he rested his eyes on Loretta Jean Howard across the diner. This was just the cruel twist of reality that seemed to make everything much more difficult. Her boyfriend’s possessive fist was making everything much more difficult. Daniel’s tears only made his head throb and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as Zach dialled the phone behind the counter.

“Hi, Mrs. Seavey. Yeah, it’s Zach. I think you should come pick him up…he’s not doing too swell.”