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rosesloveletters · 4 years ago

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Self-Shipping Reference.

I have been debating on creating a self-shipping reference for these two, but since I am certain of our dynamic at this point, I wanted to delve right in; I love Will and Jakob so very much and I wanted to create a little collection of our relationship like I’ve done before in the past. Most of all, this is for me so that I can have it as a reference, so there is absolutely no obligation to interact with this post. If you do, thank you for showing us so much love and care, I really appreciate it more than anything. This community is so welcoming of self-shipping and that means a lot to me<3.

last updated: June 17, 2021

please do not read if you are not interested in or comfortable with self-shipping.

word count: 2,908

Ship name?

Our collective ship name is Grimmrose, for obvious reasons (my poly heart can hardly take it😭✨💛)

I do not feel I should need to say this (as it should already be implied), but since I do not want angry anons in my ask box about this, I will state: Will and Jakob are not romantically involved in our dynamic; the love they have for each other is familial only. They both share me, but that is as far as it goes. There is absolutely no incestuous aspects of our relationship.

Date you got together?

Jakob: May 26, 2021. The open honesty and security within our vulnerabilities were what prompted Jakob and I to jump in headfirst. We knew how we felt almost immediately; Jakob believes in love at first sight and I value that sentiment. It was a mutual understanding that the two of us were meant to be together (even if I hadn’t already known, the darling would have convinced me - he is extremely persuasive and given to a dreamer’s mindset.) The two of us easily came to an agreement on beginning a relationship because of how similar we have found ourselves to be. It was not difficult to access what each other was thinking and how we chose to approach those thoughts and feelings. Jakob is driven by those, after all, and his bright spirit and general interest in the things that cannot be so easily explained drew me to him.

Will:

Platonic: May 26, 2021.

Romantic: June 14, 2021.

Will was, to my surprise, not as difficult to access as I expected. He has a much different personality to Jakob’s; the two are near opposite ends of the spectrum. Will’s mission has been to protect Jakob, mostly from himself, but Jakob does not understand that the reason Will is so hard on him is because Will feels helpless around him. Jakob’s mind is so bright and open, while Will does not understand how to compete with that nor how to understand or fit into Jakob’s world of folklore and mythical, magical beings. He feels weak in comparison to Jakob’s spirit; Will values my ability to cross those lines and connect with both him and Jakob. Will has never known another to be so well-suited for his brother and he is respectful of how we interact, since until now he has been the only one who has been able to reach Jakob. We were platonic for several weeks out of respect for Jakob, but soon entered into a mutual agreement to share the love that we all have for each other; the brothers agreed to share me since they have both developed such strong feelings.

Favorite personality trait?

Jakob: His sense of security within vulnerabilities. Jakob is more given to childlike excitement and the thrill of action whenever it is of a magical quality. He fidgets, has a distinct nervous energy/uncomfortable body language, a clear mind but one that fancies fiction over reality. Whenever he drinks, he’s giddy and excited; the only one who can get through to him in these moments are Will and I. The thing is, Jakob has never tried to be anybody but himself. He is aware that these qualities are not valued by the vast majority and are perhaps seen as weaknesses or even are simply frowned upon (much of this he experienced as a result of the way Will treated him over the years), but even all of that has never caused his personality to shift or made him close himself off. Jakob has always found security within who he is, regardless of whether those around like it or not.

Will: His protective commitment to those who he loves. Even though Will canonically admitted his frustrations over Jakob and how he “hates” his younger bother, stating how Jakob “drives him mad”, he is fiercely protective of him and committed to maintaining their relationship in spite of any disagreements or arguments. Will does not give up on those he loves. Even though it would have made sense for him to toss Jakob into the streets and leave him if he truly hates him, but Will does not. Despite his confession, he has never actually hated his brother; Jakob makes him feel weak, helpless and inferior because Jakob’s comprehension of things beyond Will’s understanding or compulsion to understand or look beyond what is right in front of him is too different and unusual to him.

Favorite physical trait?

Jakob: His eyes. Jakob’s eyes are so expressive; they sparkle in the light and his irises twinkle. His soul appears as if it were made from stardust and every bit of him glows. His eyes reflect the innocence and playful mischief bound within him; he is a dreamer at heart and his eyes mirror that.

Will: His smile. There is a scene when Jakob and Will first arrive at Marbaden and they are confronted by the townspeople with weapons, uncertain of who these two strangers are, and when Will tries to explain who they are his smile is simply dazzling. I believe that was the moment I found myself in love with him; I have not seen a smile so bright in a long time. Here’s a screenshot of his smile (Jakob’s expression in the background is so funny😂):

Couple song

We do not have a couple song yet; we have couple albums.

Taylor Swift’s albums Folklore and Evermore are sister albums, so it only makes sense that they are representative of the two brothers respectively: Folklore for Jakob and Evermore for Will.

Both albums are suited to the three of us; the feelings provoked from both establish the tone of our relationship.

Pet peeves…

There is only one: their constant bickering/arguing and fights. It is natural for siblings to fight, but the longer I spend with these two, the more consistently they seem to fight in front of me. I do not believe the fighting affects their relationship as perhaps it did in the past; they seem very content, even after they’ve been fighting a while, and neither of them holds a grudge anymore.

Favorite outfit on them?

I will share photos since it would take some time to explain in enough detail; I am a sucker for older/medieval clothing (perhaps this is why this movie spoke to me in such a way?)

These are my favorite outfits of theirs:

their armor is a close second, because it really makes me laugh:

Favorite meal?

Jakob: This bit is indicative of all of us and I was the one who introduced the brothers to this meal - vegetable soup; beef/broth, noodles, peas, carrots, tomatoes, corn, green beans, potatoes. The brothers are used to eating whatever is being served them at the pubs they visit and the inns at each town they stay and, needless to say, are not often prepared a meal especially one to their specific tastes. The first time I made this for them, they ate heartily and it has been their favorite since.

Will: This is less of a specific meal and more of a eating habit of his, but Will is partial to sweet treats and desserts of all kind. His favorite treat is soft bread with a sticky, sugary glaze (wait until I tell him about glazed donuts😂)

Early bird or night owl?

Neither of the Grimms are particularly one or the other. They both have been known to stay awake all hours of the night for one reason or another; Jakob stays up writing most nights when brand new ideas flood his mind and prevent sleep. He works whenever inspiration strikes and if that is the middle of the night, then Will or I will find him hunched over his desk, pen scratching away across the page as he squints to read what he has written under the low candlelight.

Will stays awake late born out of a habit he has yet to change. He does not like to sleep very soundly until he knows that Jakob and I are either asleep or keeping each other company; Will takes responsibility of us quite seriously. Since we’ve begun a relationship, they do not go out as much as they once had and when we do, they are awake nearly the entire night and whenever they crash, they are both out cold.

If I wake up throughout the night, Jakob sleeps so soundly that he would not know (he wears earplugs if we’re staying at an inn because the noise bothers him.) Will always wakes up whenever I do; the shifting around wakes him, but he does not usually open his eyes or speak to me until I come back to bed and he settles me back into my spot.

Snorer or sleep talker?

Jakob: SLEEP TALKER! Jakob talks in his sleep nearly every night, most especially if he has had something to drink beforehand or if Will has gotten under his skin about something. Stress/anxiety also trigger it; I don’t hear him often, because he only does it in a deep sleep which is usually whenever I’ve already fallen asleep.

Will: Will does not snore or talk in his sleep; he is unusually quiet, however, he will groan or mumble softly if he’s turning over or something like that. He does not move a lot when he’s sleeping either.

Do you have any pets together?

No, our lifestyle is not suited to pets, unless horses used for transportation count.

Pet names! (Both from them and yours for them)

Will’s for me: little one/little girl, peanut

Jakob’s for me: sweetheart, darling, lover

Mine for Jakob: Jakey, Beanstalk (turning Will’s mean comments into something sweet💕), Dreamer, Sweetie/Sweet One/Sweet Baby

Mine for Will: Blondie, Prince Charming (only in certain scenarios)

Ones Jakob and Will use collectively for me: Briar Rose, Rosebud, Unicorn, Beauty/Belle (a play off my favorite fairytale), Princess

Ones I use collectively for Jakob & Will: Grimmy

How often do you fight? What starts fights?

I have yet to have any fights with either of the brothers (though I have had mild disagreements with Will over the way he speaks to Jakob.)

Jakob and Will fight often and about everything, but more often than not, the source of the argument is their personality difference. Their interests clash significantly and they find it difficult to coexist at times because Will feels he must fill the role of Jakob’s caretaker, while Jakob simply wants Will to be his brother and believe in him.

I usually do not get involved in their squabbles unless Will speaks out of turn. He can be somewhat hateful in the remarks he makes to his brother and I am not afraid to set the record straight. Jakob has gotten much better at standing up for himself; he is not afraid to get physical if things escalate to that point, though I have yet to see them lay a hand on each other. Jakob knows that one swift punch is all that he needs to deliver for Will to fall in line and understand that he is serious; he saves them for when he needs them and has only punched Will outright one time, that I am aware of.

Who apologizes first?

This depends on who feels they are “wrong”. Will does not like to apologize, so usually it is Jakob who initiates the apology. Occasionally, neither will apologize and it is implied that they both have and things will continue on like normal as if nothing ever happened (this is best case scenario.)

I have not known them to simply not apologize to each other for wrongdoing; Will has apologized to Jakob on a number of occasions where I have been present. If Will apologizes, it is usually for speaking too harshly to Jakob or bringing up the “magic beans” he has terrorized Jakob with for years.

Big spoon or little spoon?

Jakob: Jakob adores being the little spoon. Even though he likes to hold onto me at night, nothing seems to compare to being held. Jakob has gone the majority of his life without being shown affection and tender love; he is so touch-starved that he asks to be held almost every night.

Will: Will is the only F/O (aside from J) who I allow to be the big spoon on a regular basis. I trust him implicitly and know that he will keep me safe; he likes to hold onto me while we sleep so that he knows and can feel he isn’t alone. He does not like to sleep whenever it is too cold and he wants a warm body pressed against him.

Dom or sub?

Jakob: Submissive.

Will: Dominant.

Will has had his misgivings over Jakob and I, both being submissives, entering into a relationship together, but it has not presented an issue so far. Most of the time, Jakob and I love all over each other so it doesn’t matter one way or another😂 It is rare for Jakob and I to be sexually intimate.

Will takes on the more dominant role, since he has been so with Jakob over the years of their lives before they’d met me. Will is the nurturer and takes care of us both; he remains protective of us despite certain insecurities and fears. Will takes on more of the sexual responsibilities of their relationship with me because of his experience with women.

What are their kisses like?

Jakob: Jakob’s kisses begin as achingly shy, reverential ones that develop into slowly sensual, spontaneous or exploratory ones. Jakob likes to hold my hands when we kiss and I like the way his facial hair pleasantly scratches my face; he is always extremely gentle and never oversteps. I especially love when he kisses me with such eager impulsivity that our cheeks turn red and we laugh when it’s over.

Will: Will’s kisses can either be covetous and greedy, fervent, and deeply passionate or chaste and flirtatious. He always cups my cheeks, chin or tangles his fingers in my hair at the back of my head while kissing me; his lips often taste sweet or sugary from how often he indulges on sweets. My favorite of Will’s kisses are the languid, open-mouthed ones when he uses his tongue.

What do they smell like?

Jakob: Parchment, books and ink, candlewax, earth just after it has rained, sweet basil, a vaguely sweet musk, warm skin.

Will: Warm sugar, sweat/spicy musk, pine, flame.

What are their hugs like?

Jakob: Bear-like, full-bodied, fiercely affectionate and warm.

Will: Long, tight, unexpectedly powerful and almost needy.

Who is more protective?

Will.

Both brothers are fiercely protective of me and I know that, in spite of their differences, neither would ever let anything happen to me. As long as they are facing danger together, they would willingly take on any enemy (Jakob would never let Will face danger alone and vice versa.)

Interested in children?

No. Will says that Jakob and I are enough like children as it stands😂

Who needs the most TLC when sick?

Will AND Jakob. They are both huge babies whenever they are sick and all they want is to be taken care of. Surprisingly, they bicker a lot more whenever they’re sick; mainly, they fight over who gets to cuddle me first.

Whenever I am sick, I tend to react the same way and the brothers are more than obliged to take care of me in any way they are able. Will takes the more ‘hands-on’ work like fetching me a drink, food, blankets, etc. and helping me move about as I need. Jakob does not like to leave my side and he will not do so unless instructed by Will and he will fetch me whatever is needed and then return to cuddle with me.

Who says ‘I love you’ first?

I was the first one to say ‘I love you’ to either of the brothers. I told Jakob first; we nearly admitted it at the same time. We knew how we both felt upon the first of our meetings.

It took me a while to say ‘I love you’ to Will. Our relationship began platonically; I did not feel comfortable saying so to him until I spoke with Jakob about it first. Intuitive of human emotions is he and he was already well-aware of how we felt about each other and, with his blessing and consent, the brothers agreed to share the love and, well, me.

Which of you is more accident prone?

I bet you’re thinking either me or Jakob. WRONG! It’s Will. Jakob and I are very steady on our feet because we are full of rambunctious energy; Will is more laid back than either of us and he gets more indignant whenever he does accidentally hurt himself.

Bed hog?

Jakob is more of a bed hog than Will or I. He is consistently moving around in his sleep, talking, etc. There is one unspoken rule: Jakob sleeps on the left side of the mattress, I am in the middle and Will is on the right. Both use me as a barrier and do not cross to the other’s side of the bed at any point and they each take turns cuddling with me until we all fall asleep.

Who loves the other the most?

As if it even needs to be said, we all love each other equally, but in different ways. Jakob’s and Will’s relationship and love for each other is strictly familial, while the brothers’ relationships with me are both romantic.

Will understands and accepts that my relationship with Jakob takes priority, as we began ours first and I am unspokenly Jakob’s above all else. Any and all major decisions are made between Jakob and I; we of course always consider Will’s emotions, well-being, etc. but Jakob prefers to take the reins in terms of calling the shots, in spite of Will being the dominant and more protective one. He feels like Will owes him this and Will is happy to allow his brother this courtesy, considering this is Jakob’s first true relationship.

#🌹grimmrose #self-shipping

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capnjay21 · 4 years ago

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The Wind Blows White 1/6

It’s been two years since Killian Jones and Emma Swan managed to escape the clutches of Brooke House, two years of waiting for it all to catch up to them and two years of pretending the cracks in their happy ending don’t show. But when the vision appears to Killian of a young boy unearthing the dagger and the darkness they had long since buried, it’s a race against time to try and stop another innocent from befalling the same fate. If they have the strength to face it.

Sequel to ‘A House is Never Still’.

A/N: Here it is, happy (slightly early) Halloween everyone! :D Confession time, I’ve actually been kinda nervous about posting this for a little while? Fretting over whether this one won’t be as good or scary as the original - but I am officially making a concerted effort not to care about any of that, because this is how the next part of the story goes and I’m excited to tell it! I hope you guys like it <3

***Editing to include the AMAZING art done by the lovely @hollyethecurious - I love it so much and I’m so excited by it. And for those that don’t know, she created the art that inspired the original fic so this is EXTRA cool!

Updates will probs be every other week to allow me to stay ahead. If it’s any consolation, they’re usually over 10k words, oof! Enjoy!

AO3

Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death and some certified Spooky Business™.

Taglist: @carpedzem @optomisticgirl @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @phiralovesloki @hollyethecurious @stahlop @peglegsjones @mariakov81 @seasailia @courtorderedcake @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @mrtinski @thisonesatellite @klynn-stormz @teamhook

If anyone would like on, or off, the taglist, just let me know!

-/-

1. i won’t die in my sleep.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

The whispers woke her, as the whispers always did.

It took her a few dizzying moments to emerge completely from sleep, the vivid and fraught images of her restless dreaming spilling out into the darkness of the room. As usual, she could not move. Her muscles had seized, curled tightly around her stomach like a clenched fist, trembling with strain while her eyes blinked out into the dark. She could see the forest. The broad, sweeping trunks of old red oaks sprawled from the ground upward, their leaves stained crimson by blood while their bark wept tears the colour of potted ink. Only once observed did she really consider that there was so little in nature truly black, as pus the same shade as crows dribbled and oozed down the spines of every oak she could see.

Slowly, the numbness receded from her aching limbs, the reckless smears of her wakeless mind gave way to the shapes her eyes could make out, could confirm as being there, and like a prayer she whispered aloud every object she could see and smell and know was real.

“Chair,” she croaked, “desk. Lamp. Computer. Window. Gold –”

No. No gold. The basket of spun gold twine was the final little spill, tempting her to return to a nightmare it could kiss back into a dream.

She refused.

It disappeared.

The whispers had woken her, but once she rose she was alone in the dark.

Emma patted the bed beside her, and found the sheets bare and cool. He had been gone for some time already, then. Trying to suppress the growing tide of unease that always came from waking alone, she stood slowly, then stretched out her sore muscles. Sore from being clenched so tightly for what felt like hours. Usually Killian woke her before it reached this point, but clearly he hadn’t even been there for its beginning.

She sighed. Thought about calling him. The clock on her nightstand winked in and out. 2:17am.

There was no point, anyway. She knew where he’d be.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

As usual, it was raining.

Beyond the stretch of porch in front of him, sheets of water fell in a relentless assault on the sodden ground, and Killian mopped at his already sweaty brow. The air was thick and moist, even this early in the morning, the height of an unusually punishing June. He let the downpour carry on for another few moments before ducking out into it, bending to lift the wide bowl he had left sitting on the grass a couple of minutes earlier. Now filled to the brim with rainwater, he brought it back underneath the shelter of the porch and laid it down on the ground.

He'd had that dream again. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

There was a noise from not too far away, the screech of metal on concrete in the dark and the answering leap of a car horn out into the night air, but he tried to push it from his mind. This would never work if he couldn’t clear his thoughts. Folding his legs underneath him, Killian leant forward until he could see his reflection staring back at him from the bowl.

The surface of the water was inky black, the faint caresses of a breeze brushing ripples across the surface and making his reflection appear distorted, but he tried to see beyond that. Beyond his tired eyes and the hurt and the heat, to something more. Silently, he willed the dark pool to show him something else.

Show me the boy, he asked out into the dark. Show me the boy at the creek with the dagger.

Even just the thought of the dagger, the curling blade they had sent hurling into the ravine, brought forth a rush of unwelcome and jarring memories. The dagger, floating in the middle of their circle, summoning a storm of black lightning and hurt and that nothing, that awful nothing, and Killian could feel something tugging at the centre of his chest, beckoning him forward.

He couldn’t see his reflection anymore. The surface of the water was blank.

Not like this, he thought furiously, wrestling for control.

It wasn’t interested in his control. If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall. This was the bargain.

But –

He thought of her at home, in their bed, resting fitfully.

This was the bargain.

Emma.

Killian gasped for air, which was when he realised the tightness in his chest was because he hadn’t taken a breath in a long time. He almost fell forward, and his right hand shot out to the deck of the porch to stop his face from crashing into the bowl – which was when he realised it was just a bowl of water again. His reflection stared back at him, breathing heavily, eyes wild and afraid.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

In his mind’s eye, he could see it perfectly. The sparkling summer day. The boy, knelt with his right arm in the creek before he pulled it out, and the dagger with it.

Dragging his eyes away from the bowl, he reached into his pocket for his phone. The clock on the display ticked onto 2:17am.

Still? He thought, bewildered.

“You should be used to this sort of shit by now,” he muttered, before emptying the bowl onto the grass.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Henry only knew this because it had been 2:17am for a really long time already, but every time he checked the clock it was the same.

“Gotta be broken,” he mumbled, letting it drop back onto his nightstand. He told himself to roll over, to go back to sleep, Mom was making pancakes tomorrow and he didn’t want to be too tired to enjoy them, but something kept lingering at the edge of his awareness. Like a movement that was too quick to spot, or a sound too quiet to take shape, or that sensation after someone had taken a deep breath and they were waiting to speak, but wouldn’t utter a word until he looked at them.

Something was different, and it niggled at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

Somehow, he didn’t feel alone in his bedroom anymore.

He rolled over again, and this time his eyes instantly locked onto the shoebox he had stuffed under his dresser. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. Whatever he was feeling – it was coming from there, and the object he had hidden inside.

The dagger he had found at the creek.

It was… whispering to him.

Come, it hissed out into the dark. Listen.

Henry’s hand tightened on the covers. Then he gently pushed them back and sat up.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Robert should have been home hours ago, and Belle couldn’t sleep for worry.

Her heart stuttered into hopefulness with every shadow that passed in front of the pawn shop window, but each one merely reached the other side with barely a glance back at her. She thought about calling the police, but surely they would dismiss her concerns so early into the morning. It’s normal, ma’am, they would say, and laugh about wives wondering after their wandering husbands. But this was different.

There was something about the way he had looked tonight, something wild and dangerous and careless in his eye, that had made her want to take three steps back every time he opened his mouth to speak. His tongue had lingered over softer sounds, tickled by a secret that only it knew. Like an animal, his sharp eyes had followed her around the shop as they closed, and when he kissed her it had sent a shiver down her spine.

It had frightened her. He had frightened her.

You’ll see, he had said, when she asked where he was going. You’ll see.

Belle didn’t want to see. She just wanted him to come home. Her mind railed against the truth that had already started to creep into the corner of her heart.

Tonight, he had gone to Brooke House.

And Brooke House did not want to give him back.

-/-

Liam Jones didn’t care what fucking time it was.

Aching and exhausted, he kicked open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was dank and cold, and smelled faintly of mildew, and he wrapped his coat tighter around him. Killian had needed three blankets before he could get to sleep earlier, the act of being inside the house only slightly warmer than the harsh early spring outside, but still sweat pooled at the base of Liam’s neck. His hands felt clammy with a layer of grit that he could never wipe away, and the moisture on his skin froze the moment he walked out into the night.

But under his skin, he burned with cold fury.

He’d have to pretend to be Brennan and call the school again tomorrow, there was no way he could go in if he needed to be up for the rest of the night. He could send Killian over to Smee’s, that was one problem dealt with. The older man would take him into elementary school; but even that solution summoned the familiar rush of dread that came to Liam whenever he thought of his little brother moving into middle school next year. That would make everything so much more difficult to hide from concerned and nosy neighbours alike.

How had he let this happen? Again? They had been making so much progress.

Liam rubbed his eyes tiredly. He should just hurry up and drop out. He was good with his hands, he could make a living doing carpentry jobs, move to some quiet town upstate maybe –

I’m just trying to prepare you for life’s big question, Liam.

What kind of man are you going to be?

A quiet town upstate? He was really setting the bar low for pipe dreams these days.

Then there was always the chance Brennan might be himself again by morning; maybe he could call the school. Could drive Killian in. Maybe he’d be up before the sun rose like he used to, whistling a sea shanty and cooking them eggs over easy.

Now there was a pipe dream.

What time was it? A distracted pat of his jacket let him know his phone was still inside, but he wasn’t quite ready to go back in yet. It had to be late. Or early. Wednesday. The recycling went out on Wednesday. Which mean they were two days closer to Friday, which was the eighteenth. Water bill went out on the eighteenth.

Brennan hadn’t worked in weeks. They’d be short.

No heat and no water. The only things he could rely on in this house were the bricks and the mortar.

Why him? Why did it have to be him?

Liam resisted the urge to scream. At the night, at the cold, at whatever curse had captured his family and refused to let them go.

It was 2:17am.

And Liam wasn’t alone on the porch.

Once alerted to the intruder he stumbled backward, fumbling around for anything he could use as a weapon.

“Liam?”

Liam froze, his fist having clenched around the shard of a shattered flowerpot Brennan had destroyed last week.

The stranger hadn’t moved, stood silhouetted against the porch light.

He blinked. Willed his racing heart to slow.

“Who are you?”

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Except, no, it wasn’t.

Emma frowned and looked at her phone again, and the correct time stared back at her; 10:41am. How had she thought it said anything different?

She shook her head. Shit, she really needed to get more sleep. Her foot resumed tapping its restless beat on the floor of the almost empty corridor.

The entire hall was almost completely deserted, only the low murmur of conversation ricocheting against thin walls and tall ceilings, and everything was beige. Beige walls, beige floors, beige murals; she fucking hated beige, it was such a non-colour. Just pick something a bit more appealing and stick to it. But in her not-all-that-limited experience, most government buildings seemed to default to beige, and it was no different in the Seattle equivalent of the DMV. They had been led up to the customer service desk almost half an hour ago, but nobody seemed to care about how goddamn important this was, and her anxiety was climbing with every unattended second that ticked past.

Somewhere down the corridor a door opened, and Emma immediately whipped around to look at it. A broad, cheerful man offered her a bemused smile at the sudden sharp attention he was being given, before disappearing out through another door.

“You need to calm down,” Killian mused.

A glance at him confirmed his eyes were still closed, head tilted to lean back against the wall with his hands folded over his stomach, but her impatience had to have been obvious even without looking at her. She huffed in a way which she knew made her sound puerile, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. From the moment they had been seated there he had stayed silent, and it was only fuelling her irritation that she couldn’t settle on whether that was because he was bored, tired or just giving her room to complain and agitate to her heart’s content. She preferred to know exactly what Killian was thinking.

The memory of waking alone the night before still smarted, and she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t Killian’s job to always be at her side on the off chance she didn’t sleep through the night. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and she knew whatever had caught his attention this time had kept him up at least an hour or so after she had summoned the courage to climb back into bed. She had still been awake when he slid back in beside her, but she had pretended to be asleep.

He had probably known she was doing it, which was why he had kissed an apology into her shoulder and held her a little tighter than usual.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he hadn’t technically done anything to make her mad – and he was already sorry about the thing he shouldn’t have to be sorry for.

Which just made her feel even worse.

“I hate beige,” she grumbled.

Killian let out a breath of warm, ticklish laughter, something that growled pleasantly in his throat. Some of her temper ebbed away. “I know,” he said. “I’ll take you somewhere pink after.”

“There’s that big hotel in Hawaii that’s totally pink, right? What do they call that?”

He opened his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “And maybe when our next skip is the Queen of England, we’ll be able to afford to go there.” Even less than thirty seconds of talking to him, properly, she could feel her mood lifting. He reached one of his hands into her lap, seeking hers, and she let him thread their fingers together. “I was actually thinking donuts. The strawberry glazed kind?”

Emma sighed happily. “Make it chocolate and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He smiled warmly and squeezed her hand. “Whatever you want.”

His mood seemed light, but she wasn’t fooled. The way she would catch his eyes flickering carefully between her and the customer service desk in front of them told her all she really needed to know about the direction of his thoughts – they probably shared the same sinking feeling that had washed over her since they had arrived.

That this almost definitely wasn’t going to go her way.

“Ms. Swan?”

Immediately Emma was on her feet, bolting over to the desk as quickly as polite company would allow, Killian close behind, all traces of mirth evaporated from his expression. The man who had come to meet them wasn’t the same one who had led them up to the desk earlier, and a quick glance at his nametag told Emma they were speaking to a Mr. Heller. He resembled every bureaucrat that had ever taken residence in her imagination, thin in a sickly way and sort-of feeble-looking, but with a snide tug at the corner of his mouth which suggested he was not going to tell her what she wanted to hear, and he was enjoying the prospect immensely.

The sick feeling in her gut deepened.

“Thank you for waiting,” he said, in a bored tone, skimming the file he was holding. Emma tried to lift herself a little taller to take a look at it, but it was angled slightly away from her. “We were able to track down the license plate you requested in your application, but it was recalled eleven years ago. The vehicle it was registered to is no longer in use.”

It was easy to push back the first wave of disappointment – a setback, but not the most important thing. “But you know who it belonged to?”

Heller sighed heavily, and let the folder close. “I’m afraid the Washington State Licensing Department has denied your public records request regarding the owners of the plate.”

It was like a punch to the stomach. She could feel the warmth of Killian’s palm splayed against the small of her back, gently reassuring.

This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be another dead end.

“On what grounds?” he was asking, and she felt a rush of gratitude for him as she hadn’t quite been able to form her mouth around the words.

“Not enough evidence,” Heller continued, in that same flat tone that was beginning to grate. “We reviewed the article you sent, about the circumstances of the abandoned child at the edge of the road. There isn’t a lot of information available regarding the incident, even at the county level.”

“Well, it happened,” Emma replied hotly. “It’s me. I was the kid.”

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

Heller quirked an eyebrow. “Then the department offers their sympathies. But there is no reason to suggest the plate you requested belonged to the vehicle involved.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Maine is a long way from Seattle.”

But she had seen it.

She had experienced the moment that changed the course of her life hundreds, thousands of times at the behest of a malevolent demon, while to the rest of the world she had been missing for five years. Even before that, the very fact of her being abandoned on the side of the road as a baby had cast its shadow over her entire life. Achieving any measure of answers about it had been unobtainable. She had made her peace with that a long time ago.

But then she became trapped in Brooke House.

And Brooke House had given her a few more pieces of the puzzle.

It felt like a dream, now. Like the scatter of smoke, or déjà vu. Something she couldn’t really be sure had happened. She had spent five years of her life suspended in a place that showed only her regrets, her fears, her desperate desires; anything that would make her pray for deliverance. In the two years she had spent free of it all, her ability to conjure up and consult those visions waxed and waned. The images it had shown her sometimes dribbled back like the trickle of a raindrop down glass to her waiting, thirsty mouth, but nothing was ever enough. While that feeling, that sensation of being left again, and again, and again remained seared onto her mind forever, the actual, physical details of the day her parents abandoned her were scarce. The vision was difficult to bring into focus.

Two months ago, a nightmare had caught her so tightly that Killian hadn’t been able to wake her for six minutes. Just when he had been reaching for his phone in a panic to dial 911, she had burst free; gasping, aching – awake and alive. The details had been so vivid. Before her eyes, her parents abandoned her at the side of the freeway; only this time she had spotted and could recall the plate of the car that had left her.

They had packed everything they owned into Killian’s Chevelle and made for Seattle in a matter of days.

This couldn’t be the end of the road. Not after everything she had been through to get here. She deserved answers, damn it.

“That’s the thing about cars,” Emma replied coolly, “they drive. And if you’re abandoning a kid, you’re not likely to do it on your own doorstep, are you?”

Heller looked bored. “You’re welcome to make an appeal against the department’s decision, so long as you do so within four to six weeks.”

“But I saw – we have a witness!”

“A witness?” His tone was disbelieving, and he fixed her with a hard stare. “Why didn’t you say so before?” Emma opened her mouth, but Killian pinched the side of her waist sharply and she hesitated. When she didn’t immediately confirm her declaration, Heller’s eyebrows rose victoriously. “Would they be prepared to come down here and make a statement?”

“We can ask,” Killian replied smoothly, before she could say anything. He whipped a notepad and a pen from his pocket. “Is it the same address we submit the appeal to, or –?”

Emma fumed quietly at his side. She knew why he had cut her off, before she could dig herself into a hole that would ensure state officials labelled her as halfway to crazy town, but it was infuriating. She couldn’t very well say their witness was her and the visions a haunted house halfway across the country had given her – a house which they had no physical evidence even existed, as it had since disappeared.

Silently, she smouldered.

Killian reached absently for her hand. She tugged it out of his grip.

Heller and Killian confirmed the logistics of an appeal process, but before long they were being thanked dully for their time and invited to leave. Emma stayed quiet for their entire walk out of the building, and she could sense Killian intentionally kept some space between them to allow her to adequately process what had happened in there.

Nothing. Nothing was what had happened in there.

Emma could feel the tide of something tight at the top of her stomach, like her insides were cramping. It was how she felt when she woke, uncertain, in the middle of the night.

“We’ll find another way, Emma,” Killian spoke gently as they stepped out into the morning sunlight.

Emma waved a dismissive hand and tried to focus her gaze on the particulars of the street. The chequered red, blue and silver line of cars parked along the sidewalk, the scent of wet asphalt and the hum of traffic whizzing by. They were far from a forest here – but she could feel the quiet whisper of the trees against her skin.

“I know, I know, I just –” She curled her toes in her boots, felt the stiff concrete beneath her feet. “I’m – tired of hitting brick walls.”

“We’ve got a little cash in the bank,” Killian pointed out, “maybe for the appeal we could hire a solicitor, just see if there’s anything else we can do to help our case.”

He was frowning at the note he had scribbled down during their conversation with Heller, his mind already four or five steps further ahead, and Emma felt a rush of affection for him. For his solidness and his patience. His tenacity was well documented, he had spent five years searching for answers about Brooke House and had never once given up on the idea that he would find them, and her along with them – even now he refused to let any speedbumps hamper their progress. It was so easy for her to get struck down by the first sign of resistance, but Killian persisted in a way she could only ever hope of emulating.

Nothing in the street felt tangible beside the resilience and vibrance of Killian Jones. Sometimes it felt like he was the only real thing she had found outside of Brooke House.

Like dust, the cars and the concrete and the chorus of the Seattle summer drifted away.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, praying for an anchor.

“How are you always so optimistic?”

“Because I know what you’re capable of,” he replied easily, although it felt like he was speaking to her from a great distance. Emma fought to inhabit this moment. “And I’ve yet to see you fail.”

Killian was smiling, which had always done its best to keep monsters at bay.

In a blur the noises returned, like a radio slowly tuning into focus.

“Emma?” he queried softly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Are you still with me?”

The wet splatters of rain against the yearning canopy receded as it stretched for the sky.

Down the street a car horn blared, and she let it shake her firmly back into the present.

In Seattle, the sun was shining, and Killian was here. Standing so close to his warmth made her feel like a thief, but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him.

“Donuts,” she managed, nodding firmly. “I need a whole lot of donuts.”

He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “You read my mind.”

-/-

Killian railed against the idea of calling Elsa’s home a house.

It was a huge, sprawling behemoth of a structure, with vast corridors that led nowhere and innumerable superfluous rooms that all looked identical, with walls scaled by books and furniture shrouded in neat, ivory sheeting to protect them from dust and age. More than once he had found himself completely and utterly lost while attempting to find the bathroom, which he was convinced changed locations every time he visited it, and that wasn’t even mentioning the size of the grounds which circled the outside of the house.

Embedded deep within the winding roads of West Bellevue, he was grateful for the opportunity to interact with something a little less urban than the busy street he and Emma had rented their flat on, and Elsa had opened up her home to all assortments of waifs and strays long before he had ever come on the scene. Truthfully, it was sheer coincidence that they had even met, crossing paths in downtown Seattle late one night – but then, he didn’t believe in coincidences anymore. He had been searching for something more, and she had been offering something for him to find. The rest was inevitable.

Clear night, isn’t it?

The room in which he spent the most time was the large dining room – the long table that would ordinarily occupy its centre was, as ever, pushed to the side against one wall and loaded with edible treats already half depleted, clearing the way for Elsa’s guests to arrange themselves on the floor in any number of styles depending on what the evening requested of them. The windows always remained open, so the room was immersed in the earthy scent of the outside, of wet moss and woodsmoke and pine, and the rain from the night before somehow made everything so much more pervasive.

Aurora stood in the centre of the room with her eyes closed, her hands held palm up with a pinecone resting atop them, while the rest of Elsa’s guests sat spread out across the room with their palms turned to the ceiling, mimicking the same position.

Killian sat at the edge of the room, notebook resting open in his lap, and observed.

Elsa stood, made her way over to Aurora, and placed her hands over the other woman’s.

“Child of earth, wind, fire and sea,” she spoke clearly out into the silent room. “We welcome you into our lives, into our homes, and into the waiting embrace of this powerful, caring woman. Think fondly on her, and choose her, as we have, to be part of your family.”

As Aurora opened her eyes, Anna stepped forward holding a candle in one hand and a ceramic bowl scattered with herbs in the other.

“Light it,” Elsa encouraged her, and Aurora held the pinecone over the candle until it caught.

The flame grew rapidly, Killian remembered reading somewhere that it had to do with the natural resins so near to the surface in pinecones, and soon Aurora dropped it into the bowl. Once there, the contents of the bowl started to gently smoulder and the scent of sweetgrass and sage began to float out into the air.

Killian took a deep breath. Let it wash over him for a few quiet, tender moments.

He wasn’t sure why, but he always felt closest to Liam here.

Aurora was smiling, and Elsa grinned back.

“Blessed be,” she said warmly. “And good luck!”

The group echoed a fractured but delighted blessed be, in response, before breaking out into a smattering of claps and spirited cheers. A few jumped to their feet to envelope Aurora in a loving, haphazard embrace.

No, house didn’t really cover the breadth of what Elsa’s home had become to this community, or the reality of what Killian had found there.

This was a covenstead.

It wasn’t the first coven Killian had ever encountered – his first had been in Pennsylvania a number of years ago, but they had been intensely private and suspicious of strangers, and their association had not extended more than a few weeks. Long before now it had become his habit to deliberately seek out suggestions of the world that existed beyond what they could see. It had started because of Brooke House, because of the mistakes they had made when they were seventeen and naïve and frightened; after Emma had disappeared, Killian had searched for answers anywhere he could. He had five years to cross the globe, to pursue every lead and overturn every stone that might hint at something more, with varying levels of success.

Now, Killian had spent so long searching that he wasn’t sure he remembered how to be anything else. Getting Emma back, rather than being the end of his fascination with the otherworldly, had only fuelled it. There were still so many questions he didn’t have answers to, with Liam being chief among them. His brother had been involved in all this, had known about this barely perceivable double life that some among them were living, but Killian still had no idea about the how, or the why.

Emma was his life now. Everything he had ever wanted. For so long, his sole focus had been in making this world as right for her as possible, in giving her the tools with which she could build her new reality and hoping desperately that she still wanted him in it; while privately wrestling with that disquieting sensation that accompanied stepping away from the bizarre and the unexplained for the first time in a long while.

It was difficult, he had realised, to come to terms with the fact that everything you wanted wouldn’t stay everything you needed for the rest of your life.

And Killian needed something.

On their third night in Seattle, he had met Elsa. The very same night he had first had the dream about the boy and the creek and the dagger.

He didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

Soon after Elsa wrapped up the ceremony, the group began to disperse, some aiming for a few treats to take for the road while others went to collect coats and bags from the hall. For his part, Killian took more care than necessary slipping his notebook back into his already overpacked bag and began shrugging on his jacket. The ending of these meetings always left him feeling oddly bereft, like although every week he walked in with no idea what he would find, somehow his expectations were never met. Or perhaps it was the realisation that always came when he watched the members of the coven at its conclusion, mingling and trading smiles and stories about the week that had just passed.

He wasn’t one of them. They were all kind enough, and they liked him, but he wasn’t part of them. They wondered why he was there as much as he did.

Watching them, his heart throbbed for the one place that had always been home; for that warm, golden light, for Regina’s lasagne and David’s terrible jokes and Mary Margaret’s helpful reminders to enjoy happily ever after. His chest hurt for the wanting of it.

The clerk at the DMV the day before had been right: Maine was a long way from Seattle.

He turned to leave.

“Killian, hi there.” It was Elsa, calling him back, and he fixed on a cheerful smile as he pivoted on the spot to face her. “I hope today wasn’t too women-centric for you.”

Aurora was trying for a baby with her husband; as a result, they had focused the evening on fertility. The lighting of the pinecone was a ritual from Elsa’s book of shadows, and had followed a relaxing evening spent sharing poetry and prayers and best wishes about family.

(At the very least, that probably explained why he was feeling so homesick.)

“Not at all,” he assured her, not least because he didn’t feel fertility was an exclusively female pursuit. There were plenty of men there tonight. “It’s a pleasure to observe. Thank you again for inviting me into your home.”

“Anyone is welcome here, there’s no need to thank me.”

He was reminded, again, of how different Elsa’s coven were to the one in Pennsylvania; Elsa made a point of opening up the covenstead to anyone at any time, not just during their meetings. It was Elsa’s home, but it was also effectively a refuge or meeting place for any of its members whenever they needed it. The grounds in particular were always accessible, and something Killian himself had taken advantage of more than once.

Especially when he wanted to – well. Dip his toe into something Emma would never approve of. The covenstead felt like a safer place to explore those private desires.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

“You know,” Elsa was saying “if you would like to participate rather than just observe, we’d be happy to invite you to join us.”

For a moment he could see it; himself, sat on cushions with the rest of the group, palms up and eyes closed and waiting for wonders to begin again.

The image immediately fell apart as visions began to swim of a pentagram penned in black marker, scattered salt and a dagger rising above the swell of a storm.

This was the bargain.

“Oh,” Killian let out uneasily, trying to find the best way to refuse without sounding impolite. “No, that’s alright. Really.” Elsa looked a little disappointed, and he hurried to reassure her. “I’ve… had some experience with the miraculous. It didn’t exactly go well.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

“I wouldn’t say what we do here is miraculous,” Elsa replied, but he could see she was quietly pleased by the comparison. Awkwardness settled like dust between them, neither considering the conversation finished, but before they could continue a few people cut between them on their way out of the dining room and into the hall. They called out their goodbyes to Elsa as they passed, and she returned them warmly. Killian lingered until they were finished, fiddling with the strap on his bag.

Once they were gone, she took a step towards him.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Killian shrugged. “By all means.”

“Why is it that you come to our meetings?” she clasped her hands in front of her, in a gesture Killian couldn’t help but interpret as deliberately nonthreatening. “And if you say Anna’s fruit loaf I might believe you, but I don’t really think that’s what it is.”

The question felt like it should be impolite, loaded with a query that went beyond their unspoken arrangement; that he could come, and he could watch, and she, like the rest of the group, would leave him be – but he was uninjured by her curiosity. Curiosity was, after all, what had brought him there.

So he surprised himself by being honest.

“For… proof, I guess?” he lifted his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. “That the world is still – strange?” The way Elsa watched him, almost waiting for him to continue, made that answer feel inadequate. He cleared his throat and searched for more to offer. “I actually lost my brother, a long time ago, now – and I still don’t fully understand why. And my partner, she…”

So good of you to finally come and see me.

“She went through something I can’t even begin to comprehend. But she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Elsa nodded slowly. “Sometimes what we don’t say speaks more for what troubles us.”

“Yeah,” Killian agreed, feeling oddly liberated by the opportunity to confide in someone. All he could think of was Emma in the dead of night, clenched tightly in their bed, her arms and knees curled against her chest as she fought darkness only she could see. “Yeah, it does.”

“Perhaps she’d like to come along to a meeting?” Elsa suggested. “There’s no obligation to partake. She could observe, as you do.”

“Oh, no. No. She hates all this stuff.”

Emma had already made clear her opinion on the covenstead in Bellevue, she was not interested; and he felt compelled to apologise on her behalf, seeing as they were all perfectly good people who had done nothing to offend her.

“It’s just — that something, I mentioned,” he offered. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

“Well,” Elsa spread her hands. It was neither here nor there to her, he was sure. She couldn’t offer help to someone who didn’t want to receive it. “Have a good week, Killian. Will we be seeing you at our Litha celebration?”

Litha, Killian had learnt, was the wicca celebration of Midsummer, which took place on the summer solstice at the end of June. It traditionally heralded the beginning of summer, with its focus on fertility and the championing of light over darkness manifesting in the longest day of the year. The coven had planned an evening full of festivities including a large bonfire, an almost drastic amount of food and a lot of promised general merriment. Elsa had said last year two among their number had decided to spontaneously marry during the festival; in their eyes, the perfect way to celebrate new life and regeneration.

It sounded like a lot of fun. In the bleak, uninspiring, greyscape that Seattle had become to him in the last two months, it was a breath of life and the outdoors that he would be grateful for.

But he wasn’t really sure if he should. Especially with – well. With Emma.

“Sure,” he said, just to be polite. “If I can get away. That would be nice.”

He meant it. Elsa smiled understandingly, as if she knew he had no clear intention of attending but would let him maintain the charade for the sake of pleasant company – she was kind, and she didn’t really know him, but she had still invited him into her home without a single caveat. The coven respected her. Killian would like nothing more than to introduce her to Emma; he was sure whatever she refused to talk to him about she could bring before the other woman without fear of shame or regret, or whatever else she must think would come from Killian that prevented her from being honest.

Not that he was being entirely honest with her, either; she knew he came to the covenstead more often than their weekly meetings, but she didn’t know what he had been trying to do there. She couldn’t know. It was better she focused on the future, on the path ahead, on the fact that she was free, now, from the nightmare behind them.

It was lonely, he had come to realise, being the only one with unfinished business.

Clear night, isn’t it?

“Elsa, wait,” he said, before he could think better of it. A jolt of nervous energy ran through him, his feet squaring imperceptibly on the laminate floor beneath him as if they were ready to run, but he forced himself to stay where he was. “Actually, I’ve… for the last few weeks, I’ve been trying to scry.”

Elsa’s eyebrows shot upwards.

He could understand her surprise, given he had shown no interest in participating in any of the wicca crafts since he had started coming to the Bellevue covenstead. Scrying was something he had only really read about, but never seen performed; it was the practice of, at its core, looking into a suitable medium in the hope of detecting significant messages of visions. While the most notorious method of which remained fortunes told over crystal balls, the history of the craft extended far beyond recent iterations of neopaganism. Cultures as far back as ancient Egyptians and Babylonians had practiced scrying by gazing into stone dishes filled with palm oil.

Killian had never really bought into it – but its existence as a medium through which he might gain some insight had been too tempting not to at least attempt, and the results were, well. Inconclusive.

He stumbled over himself to continue. “I usually try at night, and mostly with rainwater, as I’ve heard that’s more potent? But I’ve also tried with tap water, and mirrors, too. But I’m finding it difficult to find direction.” He shrugged helplessly; his mouth felt bone dry. “It’s like staring out into silt.”

“Scrying is a challenging craft,” Elsa confirmed. “What is it you’re trying to see?”

He hesitated. Not just because he was reluctant to confirm the details for fear of sounding – well. Halfway to crazy town, as Emma would put it, but it was also this: he didn’t want Elsa to be part of it. Any of it. If he could protect one more person from the demons in his past, he would prefer to do so.

“I’ve… been having this dream,” he answered carefully. “A nightmare, really. It makes me worry someone might be in trouble because of something I didn’t finish.”

Come. Listen.

The quiet truth knocked gently. They had been naïve to assume it was over.

Elsa hummed thoughtfully. “Often, dreams are just manifestations of our anxieties –”

“This is different,” he said firmly. “I can feel it.”

Killian didn’t sleep the way Emma slept, treading that breathless line between the waking world and the rest, fumbling in those in-between spaces, sometimes needing help discerning where the truest threads of herself should lie. They had developed a number of strategies for her, routines to perform while waking to know she was no longer asleep; listing the objects she could see and smell and taste as chief among them. Anything to help her cling to the world above and pull her out.

Killian did not sleep that way. The delineation for him was clear.

Which was how he knew this was more than just a nightmare.

Elsa seemed to take his confidence at his word, and instead turned her attention back to the wider room.

“Tink, would you come over here?”

Tink was not her name, but nobody ever called her anything else, so Tink was what Killian had come to know her by. Her features were sharp, her wit just as cutting, and she had made a point of behaving as indifferently to him as possible in a way he found both frustrating and a little refreshing – somebody else acting like he didn’t belong there helped remind him he was separate, he was apart from all this. Currently, she stood looking exceptionally guilty by the dining table, three small cupcakes placed precariously on top of each other and clearly about to be tucked away in some tupperware for her return journey. Killian didn’t blame her. The lemon cakes were always especially divine.

“Tink is our resident expert on divining arts,” Elsa informed him after spotting his rather put out expression. In a few moments, Tink had joined them. “Killian has been trying to scry but hasn’t had a lot of luck.”

Tink wrinkled her nose. “Nasty business, scrying. Wouldn’t bother.”

“I’ve been having this dream I’m trying to –”

“Oh, boy. It’s amateur hour. Trouble with dreams, go see an oneiromancer. Or a therapist.”

Killian bit back a retort; he was somewhat regretting the decision to come clean already.

“Killian believes this is more than a dream,” Elsa spoke quietly, but firmly, “and it’s not our business to interpret another’s instincts. We were hoping you could provide some insight.”

When Tink turned her shrewd eyes onto him, he merely lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “You said it,” he pointed at himself, “amateur hour.”

Tink looked immensely reluctant, but as her gaze flickered between Elsa’s imploring request and Killian’s discomfort, she finally heaved a defeated sigh.

“Agh, shit.”

She took a bite out of a lemon cake.

Through chews, she carried on.

“Catch me up. What’ve you tried so far?”

-/-

The quiet blip of a notification turned Emma’s attention away from the window and back to her laptop. She smirked triumphantly – finally some good news.

“There you are,” she muttered, “sneaky bastard.”

She and Killian had been tracking down the same skip for a few days – so far none of their usual tactics could draw him out, but his credit card had just been used at a convenience store around the corner from his previous place of employment. The first time she had gone to that office she’d had a feeling everybody was behaving just a little shady. Now she knew she was right to be suspicious and resolved to pay them another visit in the morning, provided Killian was alright with it.

Well, she corrected, only if she decided to give Killian a say. Emma’s gaze skimmed the empty flat. If he wanted to spend the night messing around with delusional, self-proclaimed witches, then she got to make the work decisions by herself.

She gritted her teeth at the thought of the house in Bellevue Killian liked to retreat to these days; why couldn’t he have joined a local rec team or found some obnoxious new drinking buddies like a normal guy? The group at Bellevue were all just a bunch of tree-huggers, even worse than Regina. Emma knew what real magic was. And it wasn’t dancing around a field wearing flower crowns or mumbling limericks over a cauldron.

Emma quickly jotted down the address and the details regarding the skip’s purchase. It usually helped to be able to throw everything in her arsenal at getting past the front desk of any office. Bail bonds was a career she and Killian had fallen into almost accidentally – it suited the nomadic lifestyle they preferred, and blended Emma’s instincts for catching someone in a lie and Killian’s propensity towards investigation quite well. It just worked. And they needed some way to get food on the table.

David had offered them work at the veterinary shelter more times than she could count, but she was sure that had a lot more to do with wanting them to stay back home in Storybrooke than anything else. But Storybrooke couldn’t be for them what it was to him and Mary Margaret, and Regina; not anymore. There were too many splintered memories. Not to mention half the town still thought Killian had kidnapped her and kept her in a cave somewhere for five years. The lines had to be carefully drawn.

The notes for their appeal were sat in a haphazard clump behind the laptop, and the stack looked exactly how Emma felt about it; worn, sad, and a little flustered. It had only been a few days, but something about the disappointment at the DMV left her feeling wrecked and restless all it once. It didn’t feel over, but whenever she thought about burying herself back in the endless bureaucratic process all she wanted to do was hit the pavement and not stop running until she fell off the corner of the map. She wanted to be outside. Balmy air drifted in through the open window, coloured by the frustrated yelps and the gentle roar of cars in the busy evening.

She paused, listening for the familiar growl of Killian’s Chevelle. Nothing.

With a jolt, she realised her pen was still in her hand and had been working idly against the paper. She peered over at the notepad, hoping she hadn’t doodled over her notes about the credit card – and nearly knocked over the laptop as she jerked backwards.

Scribbled over every inch of the page, completely obscuring anything underneath it, she had written her name. Over and over.

In a twisted, medieval cursive she had only ever seen in one other place.

Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma

The dagger swam into focus, and Emma resisted the urge to retch, clutching tightly at the desk in front of her with her left hand. Her right lay motionless across its surface, a foreign object to her now, a traitor which had scrawled out the pall that nestled around her shoulders and given it physical form. It was disquieting enough to see it there, a restless dream broken out, but only more disturbing to not remember having put it there.

She stood abruptly. Tore the page free, scrunched it up with that now untrustworthy hand, and dropped it down onto the floor.

Leaving the laptop open, she stalked out of the bedroom and across the hall to their tiny kitchen, determined to regain some control over the course of the evening, constantly clenching and unclenching her hand into a fist at her side. The kitchen was little more than two counters facing each other atop a strip of gaudy orange tiles with barely enough space for one person to pass by another, but they managed. They had never needed a lot of space, and their budget hadn’t been able to stretch particularly far. If they hadn’t needed a permanent address in order to submit the public records request, she probably would have made a case for sleeping in the Chevelle somewhere once they made it to the city.

Still, Killian had pointed out there was something nice about having a home base that wasn’t just the backseat of a car, and his suggestive glances at the bed when the realtor had taken them round had not gone unnoticed. Or unappreciated.

It was just – right then, especially without him in it, she didn’t want it. The lack of furniture, of personal affects, the rumpled sheets and the cracked plaster walls made it a gaping hole of something desolate and harsh. The jaws of something wanting in the shape of four walls and a door with a barely functional lock. She longed for the Chevelle and the torn leather seats, for something wild and alive.

At night Seattle burnt, and Emma yearned for home.

Not to mention it rained all the fucking time.

The door to the flat opened and closed, and Emma called out a greeting as she poured herself a glass of water. Killian didn’t reply. Assuming he had his headphones on, Emma allowed herself a few moments to breathe. She’d tell him about the credit card alert, let him know she was going by the skip’s office again in the morning and he could come along if he wanted, but she probably wouldn’t need the backup. Cornering a skip somewhere surrounded by friends and colleagues usually made them more amenable to coming quietly. Then she would ask as politely as she could manage about his evening and try not look too sour if he used the word covenstead again, instead of big fucking house.

Emma emerged from the kitchen, but he wasn’t setting his bag down in the sitting room like she was expecting him to be. Frowning, Emma re-entered the bedroom, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Her right hand twitched.

It felt numb, like she had been holding it in cold water for a few minutes. She could barely feel her other hand when she brushed her palms together, just the whisper of a touch instead of skin.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Killian.

Leaving now – should be 30mins. Stopping for snacks. Want anything?

Behind her, the door into the kitchen creaked, and the tap started to run.

Her mind rang with the dull truth slowly, like a bell tolling at dusk.

Someone had turned the tap on.

Killian wasn’t home.

Someone had turned the tap on.

Killian wasn’t home.

Her heart stuttered against her ribcage.

Immediately searching for anything she could use as a weapon, Emma darted back over to her desk to reach for one of the hardback file folders they used for work, but as she leant across to reach for it she froze.

Her laptop had been closed, and on top of it placed a clumsily straightened, crumpled bit of paper.

Her mouth went dry at its familiar script.

Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma Swan Emma

Still through the doorway came the splurge from the rapidly filling kitchen sink, and Emma began to panic. She couldn’t go out there. Not now. Not now she couldn’t know, couldn’t be sure if there was anyone there to find or if she had unknowingly slipped back into sleep and this was just another spill. Her feet were frozen, dug in like anxious roots into earth, while her attention remained fixed on the hallway for every single sound or breath of movement.

As quietly as she could, Emma closed the door to the bedroom. For good measure, she grabbed the desk chair and hooked it under the handle so it couldn’t turn, the noise masked by the water as it began to sluice over the side of the sink and splatter onto the floor of the kitchen.

Then she waited.

Was she dreaming?

It didn’t feel like a dream – but then, they never did. Her pulse raced, her skin felt cold even though her senses were telling her the flat was warm, hot, but she daren’t start mumbling aloud the objects she could discern as being real just in case it heard her. It. Already something had taken shape in her mind.

It liked to stop by, every now and then, just so she didn’t forget.

It wasn’t long before the noises grew louder. With the steady stream of water came the slap of footsteps through the puddle, of the flat soles of smart shoes pacing restlessly back and forth across her kitchen, the smack of cupboards being flung open and slammed shut again.

Not here, she thought, desperately, not when I’m alone.

Then Killian called her.

The sudden loud buzzing surprised her, and the phone slipped out of her grasp and onto the carpet below. Dropping to her knees and scrambling to reject the call, she split her attention between her frantic efforts and the blocked door, hoping against hope that it hadn’t heard, that it wouldn’t –

The door handle squeaked, stopping short when it was met with resistance from the chair.

When she was seven, there had been a month or so she had avoided being alone in her bedroom as often as possible. Not, she had insisted to Archie, because she was scared, but of course, really she had been terrified. It was a new room, colder, bigger, and the first one she hadn’t shared for as long as she could remember. For so long, all she could imagine was that one day the door would lock with her inside it, and nobody would ever come back for her or care at all that she was alone in there.

After weeks of creative avoidance strategies, Archie had finally wheedled the truth out of her, and had removed the lock the very next day. Then they had spent time drawing maps of the group home together, doodling creative means for her escape from that room until she was convinced that even if the door locked, it would be pretty easy to build a hang glider out of a kite and make a break for it through the window.

Nobody can control this door except you, Emma.

Only these days, she had built the lock herself. She checked a hundred times a day that it was still secure. She buried herself behind it and when the cracks had started to form, she had piled up bricks instead.

The handle creaked again.

A desperate, fearful sound ripped itself from somewhere deep inside her chest and she stumbled backwards, reaching for anything, wanting the maps, the exit strategies, everything she had burnt the day she decided it was more important to keep things out than avoid leaving herself trapped in.

The door to the bedroom rattled against its hinges.

Thump. Again. Thump.

Her fumbling hands fell on the door to the closet, and she hauled it open and ducked inside before she could think twice. She was breathing hard, her chest ached with the force of it. It smelt of black leather and mildew inside, and once she pushed through coats and her back hit the wall, she slid down onto the floor.

Once inside, the noises stopped.

Just, stopped. Like she had stepped out of an airlock, and all she could hear now was the hard, accelerated huff of her own breathing.

Was it still out there?

Like she was seven again, she pulled her knees up to her chest. She told herself it was just like when she and Killian used to play sardines with the other kids at the group home; exploring dark, gaping crevices until they could melt into its very walls. She had been older, then. Escape was all rationalisation, she didn’t need the maps. Keeping herself hidden meant just shutting her eyes and forcing it all out of her mind until she made herself unreachable.

As long as she couldn’t be seen, she couldn’t be caught.

Something in her twinged, something that ached for wide, open streets and a crumbling clocktower, for long conversations over steaming coffee and the vermillion kiss of the New England fall. Seattle was just unrelenting, torrid heat. Noise and noise and noise and more ceaseless, callous noise. And Killian’s coats smelt like midsummer rain and spluttering exhaust fumes in heavy traffic.

She couldn’t remember calling David, but she was glad when he answered.

“My new assistant is pteronophobic,” he sighed heavily, by way of greeting.

The words sounded like nonsense to her, but she couldn’t discern if that was because they were, or because she didn’t feel like she could trust her senses anymore.

“Terr— what?”

“Pteronophobic. She’s pteronophobic.”

Emma pressed herself as far back into the wall as she could go, curling tightly away from the door.

She tried to focus on the call. “So… she’s a dinosaur?”

David snorted. “It’s a phobia of being tickled by feathers. Isn’t that ridiculous?” He clicked his tongue. “Actually, what’s ridiculous is that she knew this about herself, yet she applied for a job at a veterinary shelter.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re the idiot that hired an assistant who’s scared of birds?”

“Feathers. And their proclivity for tickling.” She could hear him smiling down the phone, and already the pressure in her chest began to lessen. “Anyway, what’s up?”

Emma bit her lip. “Nothing, I just…” With a start, she realised the time and was amazed he had picked up at all. “Isn’t it nearly midnight over there?”

“You don’t call enough,” he reproached, but she could hear the tease in his voice. “This is like positive reinforcement.”

“How’s Ruth?”

There was a pause, a barely audible sigh. Gently, he repeated: “You don’t call enough.”

She could feel herself becoming more aware of herself, of her limbs tangled tightly at the bottom of the closet, of her hair sticking to the back of her neck, in a way that let her know that if she had drifted, she was returning now. It was nearly over.

“She misses you,” David added, “that’s all. So do we.”

“Me too,” Emma frowned, trying to remember the last time she had called anybody from Storybrooke. She had called after they got to Seattle, hadn’t she? How – how long ago was that? “Sorry.”

David made a dismissive noise, and as he always did, he forgave her.

“Everything good with Killian?”

Something in her chest squeezed as she remembered the call she had rejected.

“It’s fine,” she said, and tried to sound convincing, “I’m fine.” He didn’t have to know she was talking to him from the floor of a closet. “I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

For a little while, David said nothing. It was nice to just hear him breathe.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Emma smiled weakly, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Y’know, if it’s just that you’re afraid you’ll miss Seattle, I could set up the hose at the end of Mom’s porch and you’re welcome to stand under it whenever.”

“Wow, how generous,” she snorted. “It’s really more of a near constant moistness than always rain, though.”

“Or we could buy you a Subaru? You could sit in it and vape a Starbucks, or whatever it is you do there.”

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

For a few moments they just laughed, until they petered back out into quiet. Emma thought about Killian returning home soon, and the fact that she really didn’t want him to find her in the closet.

“Listen, um… I have to go. I’ll call more,” she promised.

David hummed on the other end of the line. “I hope you do.”

She felt calmer now as she disconnected the call, her heartbeat still clear in her ears but a steady pound, almost reassuring, not racing away without her. With fresher eyes, she nudged open the door to the closet and edged her way out slowly. The bedroom door was still closed, the desk chair propped up against it, but the only sound she could hear was the humming of her laptop on standby and the noise drifting up from the street through the open window.

Carefully, she removed the chair and shut the window. Then she sunk down into bed, into the quiet, and buried herself beneath the covers. She felt like she had run a marathon, her muscles ached in the aftermath of pumped adrenaline, and all her body wanted to do was rest.

She didn’t realise until Killian got home, but she had forgotten about the flooded kitchen. She heard him pause in the hallway, then the patter of his boots on the sodden tiles. Once realisation struck, her entire body burned when she wondered what he must be thinking, thinking of her, her skin hot with humiliation. But he didn’t comment on it, at least not that she could hear. Instead she heard him pulling out the mop and bucket and cleaning it up.

She wanted to join him, she just couldn’t muster the willpower.

A passing thought occurred to her then, the meekest of suggestions, now that rational thought had crept back in.

Had she just left the tap on?

After a few minutes she heard Killian enter the bedroom, but he didn’t switch on the light. Instead he slid into bed beside her, still clothed, and curled himself around her as tightly as he could manage. Something in her relaxed, as it always did, a muscle coming unclenched as she sank into the safety of his arms.

This, she knew. This was always real.

He kissed her shoulder, and he didn’t say a single word.

She loved him for it, and she hated him a little for it, too.

#jay writes #the wind blows white #cs halloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #fingers crossed you all like it!

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Day 10: “How’s the weather down there, babe?”

Masterlist

Three things: 1, this is set in the Empires on the Horizon universe, however you do not need to read or be caught up with that fic to understand what’s going on here. 2, i got so excited writing this i forgot all about the prompt and then had to go back and figure it out. 3, this is so horrifically sweet please be aware you might need to go to the dentist for cavities after this. I lied there’s four things; if you want full vibes while reading this listen to “Winter” by Tori Amos (chosen by my darling child, @little-league-coach-mako)

non-canon complaint, Empires on the Horizon AU

Annabeth Chase had been wanting to go to the lake cabins for over a year but between her and her boyfriend’s busy schedules and the continuously unfolding happenings of their friends’ lives it seemed almost impossible. But finally, three weeks till the end of December her and Leo are packing up their car and grabbing snacks for the break to the cabins.

It will be a well deserved, much-needed rest.

“You ready, my love?”

She looks around their room, as meticulous and pristine as they made it each morning. The white sheets tucked tightly into the bed, and the maroon throw angled over one corner so that the two sides hanging over the bed were exact in length. Their blinds had been drawn shut, but winter sunlight still leaked through their large windows, causing the white-oak floors to soften into magnolia.

“I’m ready,” She turns around with a gentle smile on her face, hands reaching for him.

He pulls her in for a hug, surrounding her with the warmth that always seems to radiate from him, no matter the temperature. His curls tickle her cheeks and she can smell the cinnamon and wood that seemed to be his cologne.

“You okay?” There is concern lacing his voice like wax; it makes her choke on emotions she didn’t even know she was holding down.

“I love you.”

Leo pulls back, worry in those beautiful brown eyes, “I love you.” He strokes her back gently, “Do you want to stay home?”

“No!” She bursts, “Gods no. I’m just tired and i can’t wait to walk into our little bubble and never leave.”

He simply hugs her tighter and she feels every wonderful feeling soar between their bodies.

Soon enough they’re in the car and on their way, with nothing but open roads and bare trees in their vision. The road trip is short, three hours at most, and Annabeth is content to listen to her boyfriend’s soft jazz and stare out the window, bundled in blankets and pillows, and snacks. Leo keeps a hand on her thigh for most of the drive, a comfortable weight and a reassurance that he is here, that he isn’t leaving. By the time they get there it is raining hard, battering the roof of the car like drums. It soothes her soul.

They rush into the cabin in a blur of bags and slicking mud, laughing as the onslaught drenches them. Their curls become coiled and springy, losing all the effort they had put in before leaving. But they’re inside and it is warm and the clouds opening above them are a comfort that carries their feet to safety.

“I love it here.” Annabeth sighs, looking around. There’s a small table in one corner, and a large fireplace running through the middle of the space, separating the dining room from the lounge. The couch looks inviting, stacked with copious pillows and the fluffiest blanket she has ever seen. The kitchen is... quaint. All the necessary appliances are there but it doesn’t make the area look any less like an 18th century cottage.

Her boyfriend steps out of the room, where he had gone to put their bags away, and wraps his arms around her waist as they take in their home for the week. It is dark outside but the moon is high, casting a white glow between the clouds that gives the whole world a haunted look. The lake is pitch black but she knows when they wake up tomorrow it will be a glistening blue, sparkling against the weak sunlight.

“Want to have a bath?” Leo nuzzles her neck, “Get warm?”

“Yes,” She breathes, “And then can we make hot chocolate and snuggle up by the fire?”

His laughter is bright and lovely as he spins her around so they’re chest to chest. “We can do whatever you want, my love.”

“Let’s go then!’ She tugs on his hand, racing to the bathroom. “I’ve got a new book i want to start.”

“Of course you do,” He scrunches his nose teasingly, “You nerd.”

“Hey, i’m not the one pursuing yet another degree.’ She gives him a pointed look. “I mean i love studying but a PhD and a masters later?” Her face pulls with exasperation, “Even that’s too much for me.”

He scoffs, slapping her butt as she bends down to turn the tap on, “I have to study if i want a degree in architecture.”

“You know i wanted to be an architect when i was little.” She mutters distractedly, swirling her hand in the water as it heats up.

“You did?” She can hear the surprise in his voice. “What stopped you?”

She smirks over her shoulder, “All the cute girls liked engineers better.”

“Yes that certainly seemed to be the case.” His eyes spark with joy as laughter bubbles out of him. It fills all the cracks inside her, like gold.

She strips and lowers herself into the steaming water, while her boyfriend gets ready to join her. And then, with a content sigh he gets in behind her, supple fingers already reaching to massage the knots that seem to tie themselves at her shoulders. With a groan she leans into him, letting the magic of the moment wash over her. It’s not surprising then, when she falls asleep.

She is woken up by the loss of heat at her back. Grogginess clouding her mind, she cracks an eye open and sees Leo standing over her, a towel around his waist.

“Can you help me, my love?” He grips underneath her arms. “I need you to push up so we can get you out of the bath and I can dry you off. Can you do that?”

Sleep is pulling at the exhausted strings of her body and it is a fight to hear what he says. But something pierces the hazy veil and she nods, digging her heels into the porcelain tub.

In one swift motion she is pulled out and stumbling into a warm body. A towel, coarse with freshness, rubs across her body; she doesn’t register much of the situation, swaying on her feet as her boyfriend dries her legs. A chilly breeze wraps around her bare arms, and she feels goosebumps rise on her skin. Oh dear, what if Leo is also cold? She should check on him. She blinks, blinks again, and realises he’s on the floor, rubbing her calves in a gentle motion.

“How’s the weather down their babe?” She mumbles, looking at him, or the blurry image of him, before her.

“Warm, love,” He smirks up at her, “View is great too.”

“Of course it is,” Her murmur is all sleep-deprived and unintelligible. She feels him press a kiss to her knee. “I'm tired,”

“I know angel.” His voice is so soft. Like marshmallows and clouds and sweetness. “Here’s a t-shirt.” He holds one of her hands as he guides it through the correct holes, and then her head, and her other hand. She moans contentedly.

Through her fluttering eyelids she sees a little smirk pulling at his lovely, candlelit face. “It smells good.”

“The shirt?” He kneels before her and lifts a foot to put on her favourite pair of fluffy socks. “What does it smell like?”

There’s nothing but pretty darkness, and molten brown eyes as she collapses into his arms. “Smells like you.”

Lifting her up so her head is against his chest, and an arm is tucked underneath her knees, he whispers. “Let’s go to bed, my love.”

Moments later she is gently put down in what can only be described as paradise. She sinks into the duvets burying her nose in the fresh sheets which smell like forests and rose-petals. Leo crawls in next to her, and after a bit of maneuvering she slings her arm around his waist and finds the spot between his neck and shoulders where her head fits perfectly.

He kisses her head of curls, “Goodnight angel.”

It is the last thing she remembers before she succumbs to her exhaustion.

Annabeth wakes up to sunshine on her skin, and her nose nuzzling her boyfriend’s back. The room is quiet, save for Leo’s steady breathing, and she takes the time to observe their slice of Elysium.

A small writing desk sits in the corner, a stack of yellowed papers and a fake quill on top of it. The bed is situated in the center of the space with dark wood canopies framing it. And the huge window that sits to their right looks out to the lake which, as she had suspected, is bright blue. There is a small boat house tucked in the reeds that border the water and she knows before the end of the week they’ll have used the canoes housed there, and probably dropped the oars in the water about six times before they get the hang of it.

In the other corner of the room is the entrance to their bathroom; as she looks to it she realises with a startle that she needs to pee. Very badly. Trying not to make too much of a disturbance she slides out and races to the bathroom. When she comes back Leo is awake, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and sitting up, against their mountain of pillows.

“Hello love,” She smiles, tucking herself into his side, ‘How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead.” He grins, all white teeth and mischief.

“Me too.” She traces her finger along the smooth plains of his stomach. “I really was tired.”

He giggles, “I know. You couldn’t even keep yourself upright while I tried to towel you dry.”

She pokes him, “At least i didn’t fall back into the tub.”

“I would have left you there.”

Her gasp of disbelief sets them both laughing and when she reaches up to brush a kiss to his lips, she swallows his happiness like it’s her favourite drug.

“Shall we make breakfast and go for a boat ride?”

“First one to lose the oar has to plan the holiday party this year?” She smirks, holding out her hand to sign the deal.

Her boyfriend takes her hand in his, and pulls her closer so they’re barely a breath apart. “You’re on Chase.”

And when they come back from the lake hours later, Annabeth is the one to plan the holiday party because her boyfriend, no her fiancé, had surprised her with a ring. That’s really an honourable reason to lose an oar. Or both.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nishlicious-01

@spoopylucy

@leydiangelo

#leobeth #12 days of fanfics #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #annabeth chase #leo valdez #empires on the horizon

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horrible-monstrosity · 3 years ago

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I find myself increasingly concerned with the direction Legends Arceus is taking the relation between humans and Pokemens. No, I'm not talking about the bit with Pokemans attacking the player directly when you don't have your own Pokeymans ready, that was going to happen eventually, but just... the Sinnoh myths had stories about humans and Pokemon being so close they were considered the same sort of being, there's marriages, what have you, coming from thousands of years back. But this game apparently taking place only some hundreds of years ago... and it's "before Pokemons and humans lived together uwu"? The fuck? I feel like the games have been significantly moving away from humans and Pokemon being equals of a sort who both benefit from being together to Pokemons being some superior beings who humans benefit from but not vice versa and Pokemans are the superior creatures who humans should grovel in gratitude to and put up with all the shit from while never daring to burden them in any way. See gen 7, where living in haaaaarmony means having their lives and culture corralled by some asshole fairies because people can't be arsed to fight the ultra beasts, except the trainers who're forced to become kahunas fight the UBs themselves anyway (where they're forced to become fanatical enough about fighting to become strong enough to do so, but they're not even expected to be strong to fight UBs it's to lead their community... don't try understanding it just eat fairy shit and get excited for more fairy shit I guess). Why not just have a culture of the trainers who want to be strongest, or who have the greatest talent, being lauded as UB-fighters and becoming community leaders as well? Naw man, doing everything as the fairies want is haaaaarmony. Humans can't be strong enough with their Pokemon teams to fight the UBs, but have to be strong for other reasons ordained by The System, but then the ordained stronk humans have to fight the UBs anyway. But the fairies help, I guess. I fucking hate fairies man. Fucking elves of the Pokemon world. Smug sparkling fucks, fuck em I keep forgetting about the ride Pokemon but it still feels like the humans are supposed to bow and scrape to earn the gift of basic movement services so I don't think it really counts Gen 8 I don't know as well but it seems to go like this: Doggos are responsible for all good, their trainers or whatever their human companions are might as well not even exist. The postgame story is about those eeeeevil humans thinking they have some relevance to the doggos or something, eeevil I must say, so they have to do something evil to prove that.... um, something. Just some dumb shit that feels like a strawman argument against humans having any place in this world. Grovel to doggos.

Gen 6 was around the point where the weird cynicism started to creep into the franchise, mostly ORAS's weird abandoned ship segment, but it's pretty clear of this... aside from one random ace trainer or something late in XY who asks you, humans benefit from Pokemons, but how Pokemons benefit from huamn??? huh??? You're expecting an answer from him but he's just like, I bet you can't think of anything huh, hmmm??? Grovel, human.

You compare this to gen 5, and I'm not even talking about the Plasma plot (which was clearly bait on Plasma's part to get the public's sympathy anyway), but things like using Excadrill to dig out the mines. The 'drills were getting to do what they loved- dig- and being treated well by the humans in exchange for digging this spot in that way as directed. An equitable relationship that produced resources. This sort of thing existed as a counterpoint to N and Plasma's stated beliefs that humans were nothing but horrible for Pokemon and that they could never live together... Ironically what the later games are leaning towards, except that there is a way, and that's for humans to go fuck themselves. And again, Sinnoh's old myths, as well as any other myths that involve people and Pokemon together going back thousands of years.

I'd really thought the idea of this series was that Pokemon and humans were practically made for each other, that they were together from the very beginning. Raising Pokemon allows them to have a crafted moveset including TM and tutor moves, gain EVs, use held items aside from the few random ones they find in the wild... it's baked into the game itself completely incidentally. But no, I guess it's a Pokeyman's world and humans are just intruding on it somehow. What the fuck. Sigh.

I'm hoping that "Pokemans are so dangerouse man" line is just about the red-eyed frenzied Pokemon and that we aren't going into all Pokemons attacking humans and humans living forever at their mercy and deserving to scrape and grovel just to survive their onslaught.

By the way, my autistic retard fanfiction: First off, when the wall breaks and the doggo statues are found that make everyone realise who the "real" heroes are (something we can THANK Bede for by the way, because if he hadn't destroyed a priceless cultural artifact Eternatus would have gone off unopposed... but no one ever acknowledges this, as Bede is shat on and disowned by Rose for following what Rose taught him and then forced to trune out by trunny granny. figures she's a fairy trainer, I fucking hate fairies)- the idea that the doggos alone are the "real" heroes is actually a misconception brought on by people/society's tendency to elevate Pokemon, similar to why people bought PLasma's bullshit back in Unova. So when Eternatus is starting its nukes, people are just waiting for the doggos to get going and beat it... but when Hop sees the doggo statues, his budding professor brain immediately sees the truth- both the doggos and their human trainers are needed to unlock the true power of the sword and shield items. This even makes some sense with the game mechanics, as Pokemon typically can't use items more complicated than a berry... so with Leon and co busy fighting the dynamax mons and knowing no one would listen to him, Hop turns to the only person he can ask- you, who saw the doggos in the foggos at the beginning with him, to go retrieve the items so the doggos can actually do their thing. Also, Rose was radicalised and groomed by some crazy apocalypse cult, an ironic inversion of his supposed grooming of Bede (here he actually has a heartwarming father-son relationship of sorts with him). They pushed him to push the darkest day plan up like he did, convincing him there's a desperate energy situation but secretly just wanting the maximum apocalypse-ness out of a single action (while possibly believing themselves that there's an energy crisis but that the real solution is to destroy shit so less people and things use energy). So there's that. In the end he's taken to jail, but it's not some absurdly mundane ending where he just gets arrested for apocalypse crimes, rather he's being questioned for what he can tell them about the cult, on understanding that he was coerced into this, and that he can pay for his crimes by giving information on the cult itself. Bede relates this to you with some concern for his sort-of dad. The Swordward and Shieldbert plot (I forget if that's their actual names but whatever) has the two bros asking you to aid in investigating the apoc cult while preparing to accept their destiny as the doggos' masters. You see, they've been raised for this, learning all about Pokemon companionship but having no actual close contact with Pokemon at all (to prevent any Pokemon from forming a bond with them closer than what they'd have with the doggo- your first Pokemon is special, after all). Book smart but street dumb, in other words. You know, as opposed to some inexplicable dumb shit because Mother 3 ruined an entire generation of game writers. They call on the doggos to battle the baddies and are disappointed they go to you and Hop instead of them, but ultimately accept it. Afterwards, Hop contacts Sonia with a request... soon he has the two brothers over to choose their very first Pokemon. Swordbro was going on about Swordog's nobility and Shieldbro about wanting to touch Shieldog's fluffy mane, so Hop has out a Yamper and a Wooloo, presented as a choice, but he knows exactly which one they'll each choose. This is another manifestation of his potential as a professor- not only doing the professor thing of handing out first Pokemon, but considering what Pokemon they'd work well with. Isn't that nice? Also there's something in there about Bede's long lost identical twin who's also being used as a pawn by the apoco-cult but I'll explain that later

My idea for the origin of the Pokemon world as we know it- Arceus didn't create Pokemon, or the world itself, but it is responsible for the way the world is now. Once upon a time, when humans and Pokemon were one kind of being, there was too much strife and disagreement among the groups and nobody was learning their lesson, so Arceus got fed up and split the world into two types of beings that would have to get along in order to thrive. It instated the "rules" of Pokemon battles, that attacks have set damage ranges and types have well-defined interactions, that attacks in battles only deplete some abstract hit points level instead of causing the damage they "should" for what they are (this doesn't apply to wild-on-wild predation necessarily, so it's a privilege enjoyed by Pokemon being aided or advised by a human). Outsider beings- aliens, maybe ultra beasts, etc- are "converted" into Pokemon when they enter "Earth"'s airspace, which is why even beings from the furthest depths of space follow the rules and biology of earthbound species. These "rules" require Arceus' powers but don't rely on its constant action, so it can be captured and hang out with a trainer for a while, play by its own rules to see how things are going, without disrupting the system. I'd never expected anything even vaguely like this to turn canon of course, because it's so specific and particular to the sort of ideas I tend to have, but... not like this man

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vivinightingale · 4 years ago

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Hanahaki disease and Star tears head canons Part 2 of 3

Hanahaki Disease: An illness born from one sided love, where the victim's throat will fill up with flowers. They will then begin to throw up, or cough up the petals. In serious cases the flowers themselves. There are only two ways to get rid of the said disease. If the person the victim loves loves them back (strong friendship isn't adequate enough) or through surgery. If neither work the victim will suffocate on the flowers resulting in death.

Star Tears: The Sparkly star-like tears, accompanied with twlinking sounds. It's a disease that is caused by unrequited love. The only cure for these glimmering tears is for the love to be returned; however, if they are not then the light from the shining stars will blind the victim.

Flowers mentioned:

Tulip: Love and, Confidence

Sunflower: Adoration, Loyalty

Hydrangea: Emotion, Understanding

Rose: love

Lychnis

~Tristan Taylor Star Tears:

If Tristain had the disease:

When Tristan first met Serenity the boy thought he was a goner. Well that was until he met her best friend (y/n).

He loved the way you shined brighter than the sun, when your eyes sparkled with excitement of your favorite subject. (And when you tell off Duke when you felt he was overstepping his boundaries).

The major problem was your eyes were already on someone. Anyone with eyes (Expect the poor boy in question) could see how infatuated you were with him. You were always around him, spoke about him often, and you were always there when Yami Bakura got out of hand.

It hurt Tristain to the point when he got home he cried at how hopeless he was, but that was when his troubles truly occurred. When he cried the sparkly bright tears fell down his face. He was shocked to say the least he didn't understand why such bright tears fell down his face. So he didn't waste time going to the doctors.

When he got there the nurse took notice and ushered him to the back slightly shaken up by his state. When she seated him in a room she rushed to the doctor, and explained the circumstances.

When the doctor came in and he saw the young man trying to wipe away the tears in vain he knew exactly what was going on.

“It's a rare but painful disease Mr. Taylor.” The doctor explained to him the disease and the effects it would have on his health.

Tristan didn't want to ruin your friendship but he also didn't want to go blind, so he decided then to take a risk. He texted you and asked you to meet him at the park closest to his house.

When you got there the sun was nearly set, and the stars glowinging from Tristan's face were glowing brighter than ever. When you asked him what happened he didn't bother to look at you as he explained the disease to you.

“I know this is sudden (y/n) but i like you….as in more than a friend.” you gasped at the sudden confession, but that surprise suddenly turned to sorrow “Im sorry tristan….” The tears fell harder from his eyes but he shook his head and left without another word.

When the brunette lost his eyesight everyone worried for his well being but he played it off as if it didn't bother him, but in reality it pained him that he wasn't able to see your pretty face any longer.

If you had the disease:

You had been serenity’s best friend since you met her in elementary, you did everything with her so when she got her eye surgery you were there with her. That was the day you met her infamous big brother Joey, and his friends. More specifically Tristan.

You weren't sure what it was but something about him drew you to him, But you saw the way he looked serenity, and when Duke came into the picture you were certain that Tristan was in love with her.

So you decided to distance yourself from the man in hopes to drive these feelings away. However fate had something in store for you.

As you were talking with the group of friends at Mr. Muto’s gameshop you noticed how Tristan was obviously flirting with the girl as she giggled away at her pick up lines. It hurt your heart to see such a display that you could feel the tears prick at your eyes. You excused yourself from the group and ran to the bathroom. As you cried you noticed the blinding stars in your tears.

You stayed in the bathroom for what feels like forever till Mai knocked on the door. “(y/n)? Dear, are you okay?” you didn't have time to respond till she came in and saw the mess you were on the ground.

She was at your side instantly wiping away the tears and stars. “Star tears huh?” you look at her questioningly. She sighs and tells you everything she knows of the said disease. “It's not a pretty disease as it seems.”

Hearing her made you cry harder as she held you tightly. She escorted you home without the others seeing you, and told you to keep in mind her words.

In the end you were against telling tristan your feelings so instead you stayed by ai side as you slowly lose your sight. When you fully lost it Mai was there for you every step of the way, and made sure you avoided Tristan and everyone’s questions.

~Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki Hanahaki Disease:

If she had the disease:

You were introduced to the group by Duke Devlin (well it was more you were there when he faced Yugi and you were silently on the sidelines watching) Maybe it was the quiet cool stance, or the way your sharp eyes studied the duel between the two. Whatever it was she was extremely interested in you. So when you walked over to the group and introduced yourself to them she was smitten.

You began to hang with the group more and everything you did just made her heart flutter, the dazzling smile, the way you were always there for them, and so much more. Her heart just couldn't take, and neither could her lungs.

Slowly the flowers began to take over her lungs Roses, Tulips, Sunflowers, and Lychins fell from her lips as she coughed.

Due to this her work wouldn't allow her to go back until she got it fixed, so she had no choice but to go to the doctors. Unable to go on her own Mai took her to the doctors and sat with her until the end of the exam.

“Well It seems you have a very rare and deadly disease called hanahaki.” Mai probed the doctor for answers as Tea stared into nothing. Deadly one sided love? Surgery? This was all so much for her to handle.

At the end of the appointment Mai took her home “Look tea…. I know it isn't easy but if there's a chance that you don't have to go through surgery you should take it.” Tea nodded still lost in thought as she walked to her house.

It took her some time to gain her thoughts, but when she did she took Mai’s words to heart. So she texts you text to meet her by the pond garden at the park.

When you met her at the park and saw her coughing up the flowers you rushed to her side and comforted her the best you could.

“I'm sorry....” she coughed as you shook your head and patted her back. “But there is something I have to tell you (y/n).... I like you a lot.” The silence was too long for her to handle. She tried to stand up to leave out of embarrassment. Ut before she could leave you pull her in for a hug.

“I like you too.”

If you got disease:

You were there when Duke challenged Yugi to dungeon dice monsters, you knew it was cruel to challenge him to a game he has never played, but you were there anyways to watch. A girl around your age was on Yugi’s side cheering him on. She reminded you of one of your fairy cards. She is beautiful, yet dangerously determined.

After the match between the two you introduced yourself to the gang (While apologizing on duke’s behalf). When she started talking to you you knew you were a goner. She was an angel in disguise, and you wanted her for your own.

It took you days, maybe even weeks to come up with a plan, and right when you were about to ask her you began coughing. The coughing was so excessive that the teacher had to send you to the nurse. On your way there was when the flowers started to tumble down which made you rush a little quicker to the nurse.

When you got there the teacher saw your condition and ushered you to lay down. She put a bucket to the side of your bed as she examined the rest of you.

“You have what the professionals call hanahaki.” she told you the disease and all the effects of it. “I cant send you back to class now so wait till the end of the day so you can head home immediately.” you nodded and rested the best you could.

As you were getting ready to leave at the end of the day Tea came through the door “I came to check on you since you haven't been in class. Is everything okay?”

Knowing you had no other choice you told her how you felt and that if she didn't feel the same you understood.

Hearing you sudden confession tea let out a soft giggle as she hugged you “I feel the same way (y/n)

~Duke Devlin/Ryuji Otogi Star tears Disease

If he had the disease:

Duke liked to think of himself as a smooth talker, his silver tongue got many people in his fan club. However there was one thing his smooth talking couldn't get him, you.

From the moment he met you he tried everything in his book to get your attention. Compliments, sweet talking, v.i.p access to his gameshop, EVERYTHING. Yet still your eyes always linger on Kiba.

He didn't understand what you saw in a jerk like him,but you saw something and he simply couldn't compare, and it hurt him deeply. It hurt him so much that anytime he saw you and Seto interacting he could stop the tear that would spring to his eyes.

The tears got worse over time to the point where the stars started to appear and it was hard for him to keep his eyes open.

As much as he tried to wipe them away they just came one after the other. It was one of his employees who had told him about the disease, and what caused it.

There wasnt anything he could do, you didnt want him you wanted that stupid Seto! And there wasn't any cure for the tears. He didn't want to go blind, but what other choice did he have?

Instead of staying away from the others he spent the rest of his days seeing with you. If he was going blind he wanted the last thing to be beautiful.

When Dukes about his last moments before he became blind he talks about the angel who stole his heart.

If you had the disease:

Curse this man with his beautiful looks, and silver tongue! He had utterly infatuated since the moment you laid eyes on him.

The more you hung out with him the more of him you wanted to see. So that's exactly what you did or at least tried to do.

You would purposely visit his shop just to be around him. He even welcomed you with open arms talking with you every time you walked through the door.

This of course did not help your yearning heart or the star that fell down your face.

You knew Duke had a fanbase so he didn't have time with relationships, so you were content with watching from the sidelines. However you couldn't do so if you went blind.

You knew of this disease from the start, you witnessed your aunt going through the same thing when you were young so this alone terrified you, but you didn't want to be a burden to the said boy.

So you continued to stay by his side even when you became blind listening as he rose to success, and eventually left you behind.

~Seto Kaiba hanahaki disease:

If he had the disease:

Seto never had time for relationships. With his little brother, running a company, trying to beat Yugi, and not really caring he had no time at all. Or so he originally thought.

You have known the brothers since they were first adopted, your father being an investor in Kaiba corp gained you access to play with the said boys. Most of your days were spent with Mokuba, but there were the rare times you got to play with Seto and those were the days you both cherished deeply.

However, somewhere along the way Seto felt more than friendship towards you, and it was more the family because the way he felt about mokuba was different then what he thought of you.

He never realized what the feeling was until flowers began to appear. It was a small cough at first, but eventually they began to escalate. Worried Mokuba called in the best doctors Kaiba Corp had.

He learned that the feeling he had for you was love, and he also felt like you didn't share the same feelings for him.

So instead of beating around the bush he went straight to you. He surprised you when he just walked into your house a determined glare resting on his features. “(y/n)..i want to take you out somewhere. No mokuba, just me and you.” It didn't take you long to realize what he wanted so you smiled at him and agreed to the said date.

Seto Kaiba maybe a man with little time, but he is willing to make time for you.

~If you got the disease:

You have grown up around the Kaiba brothers, and cherished every moment with them, but you had particular fondness for the eldest.

Though the man can be seen as cold and cruel around you and Mokuba he showed a softer side that not many got to witness. This kindness is what you fall for him.

You knew the young CEO didn't have time for petty things like relationships so instead you were content with seeing all his dreams come to life from the sidelines.

Fate however, had different plans for you. The flowers began to grow in your lungs. Roses, Tulips, and Hydrangeas. The pain that jolted through your body with each cough was almost enough to distract you from heartache...almost.

Feeling yourself grow weaker with everyday you finally went to the doctors hoping there was a way for it to end.

Because of your stubborn ways your body was too weak to do surgery on to remove the flowers. your only hope for survival was to tell Seto how you felt, and he returned your feelings.

You were admitted to the hospital due to the doctors request, and once Seto heard of the news he rushed to the hospital you were staying at

“What is the meaning of this (y/n)?!”

When walked in you gave him a weak smile as you explained the disease, without thinking about it you even told him the cause of it. When it came out of your mouth you knew you messed up.

You tried to back track, but Seto had other plans as he pulled you closer to him, one his hand on you head the other on the small of your back successfully trapping you.

“Then don't worry about those flowers anymore, with me at your side nothing will harm you again.”

~Requests are open~

#Yu-Gi-Oh #yugioh #yu gi oh x reader #tristan taylor #tristan taylor x reader #tea gardner #anzu mazaki #tea gardner x reader #anzu mazaki x reader #Duke Devlin #ryuji otogi #duke devlin x reader #ryuji otogi x reader #seto kaiba #seto kaiba x reader #hanahaki #star tears

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scarletaire · 4 years ago

Text

homeland (Chapter 3)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you reading thus far! Your support of this little fic of mine means the world ❤️

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

Fand is waiting for them outside the royal suite. The knight bows at the sight of the king and queen.

Jude nods her head in acknowledgement, even though she’s not entirely paying attention. The heavy weight in her stomach has only worsened now that they are outside the dreamy confines of their bedroom.

In truth, she’s not exactly sure what she’s guilty about. Cardan doesn’t know what Balekin made her do in the Undersea. What she let him do. What she had to do. But she would have done it again, if it meant that she would be exactly where she is right now.

Cardan stands tall with a hand at her back now, awaiting her cue.

“Report,” she says to Fand, because routine is something she doesn’t have to think much about.

“Your Majesties.” The knight salutes. “There have been sightings of falcons flying close over Elfhame. Not an unusual number, to be sure, but…”

“Falcons.” Cardan wrinkles his brow beside her. “Not the ones you punished, for participating in Madoc’s coup?”

Jude remembers. For those who do not wish to atone, become falcons in earnest.

“Too far to tell, sire. I reported it in case there was cause for suspicion.”

“You did well, Sir Fand,” says Jude. Then she sighs. “That should be checked, at the very least. I can assemble a team and leave within the hour.”

Cardan pouts immediately. “And throw me to the mercies of the Living Council?”

“There are no mercies as far as you’re concerned.”

“Well,” he says, something secret in his eyes, “I suppose you would know better than most.”

She resists the strong urge to kick him. Fand’s face goes carefully blank.

“Why don’t you just move the meeting, then?” Jude says, a little hurriedly. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Cardan shakes his head dolefully. “With great regret, I already told Randalin’s little messenger to scurry along and tell them we’re convening within the quarter hour.” Petulance creeps into his voice. “Even though the last thing I want to do is listen to them squabble over Insear.”

At that, Fand frowns.

“What is it, Sir Fand?”

“My queen.” She seems to stand even straighter. “That’s where the falcons were sighted. Flying low above Insear.”

Jude pauses. That’s close. She catches Cardan’s eye, sees her concern mirrored in his.

“How many?” she asks.

“Last count was two, Your Majesty.”

“A pair.” Her mind is churning. It’s almost a blessing, to be thinking about this. She knows this: tactics and strategy and risk management. She knows too little of handling guilt and conscience and the feeling that she has left something important undone. “One could be an accident, two could be intentional. Cardan –”

“Yes, I understand. I will handle the Living Council.” His expression has sobered. Cardan makes a graceful king when he wants to. He gives her a gentle tap at the small of her back. “Go.”

But something roots her to the spot a little while longer. Maybe it’s because her back now feels cold without the weight of his palm on it. “I’ll be back in time for the revel,” she assures him.

“You’d better. It shall be a great creative achievement.”

Jude almost scoffs. The idea of a revel as a summit for a land treaty is certainly creative, she’ll give him that. “The greatest of your life?” she teases. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave him. Not just yet.

“Of course not. Becoming me was the greatest creative achievement of my life.”

She does scoff this time. “One of these days, my eyeballs are going to roll right out of their sockets because of you.”

He smiles, then, a gentle and precious thing. The sight of it burrows into her heart. He places a hand on the curve of her cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you. Be careful.”

Her breath trips a little in her throat. Fand stands stiffly before them, her eyes trained on the nearest pillar. Affording them some sort of privacy, in her own knightly way. Jude tells herself to get it together. “Aren’t I always?”

“No, Jude.” The way he shakes his head is almost mournful. “You’re really not.”

She frowns, but before she can say anything, he’s reaching into his pocket.

“Here, take these with you.” He produces a pair of honeycakes stolen from their food tray, wrapped in an elaborately embroidered handkerchief. She hadn’t even noticed him take them. Spots of glaze have already stained the intricate whorls of thread. “I was planning to share this with you during the meeting, but alas. My plans are foiled. Again.”

And there, that look. He has only just dressed her, but his eyes are promising the exact opposite. How is it that he’s able to go from wishing for her safety, to throwing her dirty looks beneath his stupidly long eyelashes?

He’s making it incredibly difficult to leave now.

“I need to go,” Jude says gruffly, if only to convince herself to get moving. If she sounds a little more irate than usual, it’s his damn fault anyway. Besides, the faster she clears up this falcon business, the faster they can wrap up the revel and the Insear headache, and the faster they can –

He’s full on smirking now, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Jude snatches the honeycakes out of his hands with more force than necessary.

“Goodbye,” he says, amusement clear in his tone. She huffs at him, already turning. “And Jude?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Jude pauses. It could have been the sincerity in his voice. It could have been the fact that she hates that there’s something she hasn’t told him. It could be the fact that she just doesn’t want to leave him right now. She turns right back around, just in time to catch the soft smile lighting up his eyes.

It strikes her clean through the chest.

She had once promised that she would be better than all of the fae. Right now, though, she is no better than them. She is no less a cheap manipulator of secrets and deceit and pretense.

He’s got one up over her. He was brave enough to tell her about his nightmares. She’s still scared to tell him about his own brother.

How strange her life has become, that being honest with her husband is how she wins the game.

Except it’s not a game. Not really. There’s nothing she wants to play with when she looks at the open affection plain on his face.

She makes a new vow in her head. Later, she thinks, as she pulls him down by his ridiculous cravat to press a kiss to the middle of his cheek. I will tell you everything later.

“Bye,” she whispers, her nose tracing his jaw as she settles back down to her heels.

The wonder she leaves on his face carries her all the way to Insear.

___________________

The island has grown.

In truth, Jude has only seen Insear once since returning from her exile, and it was as she had first seen it that day Cardan had faced off against Orlagh and raised it from the sea. Small, because it had been used to imprison Nicasia. And grey, because the lava and the ash that it had been named after had blanketed the soil like granite snow.

Now, the Isle of Ash is large enough to hold more than just a disgraced princess. At almost the size of Insmoor, it can fit two sprawling palaces and have room left over. It’s not entirely grey anymore, either. When their little boat makes landfall, Jude notices that the lava and the ash have crystallized on its shores like sparkling sand.

Diamonds, she thinks. They look like tiny diamonds.

The whole island is covered in it. It dusts the tall, white birch trees and low, sprawling underbrush that have rooted themselves as far as the eye can see. It sparkles from the petals of the flowers that dot the moonlit landscape: there is a range of blue irises, turquoise roses, and an elegant bloom of cool, black petals that Jude has never seen before.

Cardan did this. Cardan made all of this.

She is no stranger to his power, not now. But seeing the island he made, with nothing but the wave of a hand, makes the full breadth of his power suddenly unthinkable.

“I think I get it now,” she says, voice hushed a little by awe. “Why the Living Council and the High Courts are in such a frenzy over Insear.”

The Bomb whistles in appreciation beside her. They stand on the sparkling sand while Fand secures the boat behind them. “This is old magic. The land probably hasn’t felt anything like it since the three original islands of Elfhame were created.”

Jude shakes her head. “How is this possible? The island is still growing.”

“All of Elfhame thrives on the king’s lifeblood,” says the Bomb. “The island he raised himself most of all.”

“I knew Cardan had magic, but not like this.”

“He’s never been more powerful, and as a consequence, his blood more potent. He’s young, for one thing. And he’s happy.”

Jude’s head almost snaps off. “What?”

The Bomb throws a pointed look her way. “Not many of the old rulers were. Didn’t you notice?”

All Jude can remember is how distant and untouchable Eldred had been on the throne. What did it matter if the ruler was happy, as long as he was king? “But Eldred was –”

“Resigned. He had long accepted his life as king, but he derived no true joy during his rule. It’s different with Cardan. There is contentment, but there is more than that. Hope. Light.” The Bomb bends down, lets her fingers sink into the glistening sand of Cardan’s own making. “You can feel it in the soil.”

Jude thinks of how Cardan looked earlier tonight. The untouchable bending to her touch.

“And it’s not just Cardan, you know,” continues the Bomb. With the white of her hair, she looks like she belongs here. “It’s also different with you.”

“Because I’m human.”

“No. Because you’re happy, too.” She flashes Jude an impish smile. “Even though you’d be the last to admit it.”

Jude frowns. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “But I had no hand in raising Insear.”

“As queen, the land feeds off of you in turn.” The Bomb tilts her head back, and breathes in deeply. When she exhales, there is peace in her eyes. “The king and queen are happy, and it shows.”

Jude’s mind scrambles for an answer, but in truth, she is thrown. She has never really included happiness in her long-term plans for herself before, and now that it is a possibility – more than a possibility – she finds that it’s the slightest bit mythical. Something that’s as beautiful and as impossible as the fae.

And yet, here she is, the human Queen of Faerie.

She’s saved from replying by Fand coming up behind them. “The boat is secure, Your Majesty. And there’s no sign of the falcons.”

“Good. It’s possible that their presence was just a coincidence,” Jude says, “but let’s check further inland to be sure.”

The island seems to grow richer in foliage the deeper they go. There are flowers everywhere now, seas of deep blue and turquoise blooms, dotted with the occasional black. She leans down to pick one glittering obsidian flower, and brings it to her nose. It smells sweet. Black pollen dusts her fingertips and stands out against the metal of her chestplate. The shimmering ash crunches a little underfoot, and Jude’s golden cape swishes against it as she walks.

Even the air is different here. It feels lighter and cleaner, as if there is nothing that could possibly weigh it down.

A bird shrieks in the distance.

The three of them freeze.

Jude draws Nightfell. Fand and The Bomb close ranks on either side of her.

“Up ahead,” she says.

“It was close,” says The Bomb, “and low to the ground.” She wrinkles her brow. “That’s odd.”

They find the falcons not long after that. Find, because one of them is laying on the ground, chest rising and falling in shallow breath, and the other is in a nearby birch and makes a half-hearted attempt to fly over their heads only to land, visibly weakened, beside his comrade. They rest, defeated, against the glistening landscape borne of the new king’s power.

Both are marked by a blood-red crest on their chests. Redcap red.

“Traitors,” murmurs Fand.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jude asks. But the answer comes as quickly as she speaks.

You will not have your own true form back until such time as you hurt no living thing for the space of a full year and a day.

Jude sheathes her sword.

But how will we eat if we can hurt nothing?

She takes a step forward. One falcon emits a small cry, meant to intimidate, or perhaps to implore.

“My queen,” warns Fand.

“Peace,” says Jude, to her knight, and to her punished.

She kneels when she reaches them, her golden cape pooling against the ground.

“I do not rescind my judgement over you, who sought to overthrow the crown and wreak chaos upon the kingdom,” she tells them. And it is true. She regrets nothing of the way she had handled justice that day. “But,” she continues, “I once promised that kindness would sustain you, and today it is kindness I shall give.”

She reaches into her pocket and draws out the honeycakes that Cardan gave her. She holds it out to the once disgraced soldiers, and they – starved to the brink of death – fall upon it like a benediction.

The High Queen of Elfhame feeds those that had once sought to unseat her, and Fand and The Bomb bear witness in solemnity. When they are finished, she speaks again.

“Fly on,” she says. “When we meet again, meet me as yourselves.”

_____________

The minute Jude sets foot back in the palace, she knows that something is wrong.

Her body feels the slightest bit off-kilter, like she’s taking a step in the wrong direction. She can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. The Bomb makes her leave to return to the Court of Shadows, and Fand falls back into step behind her.

She wants to see Cardan.

The meeting with the Living Council was moved to a dusty antechamber on the opposite side of the brugh where the usual Council Chambers are. Jude suspects it was pure spite on Cardan’s behalf that led to this unnecessary change in meeting venue. She recalls with a vague satisfaction the clear distress on the messenger’s face earlier.

She can just imagine Randalin’s reaction, and it’s almost enough to make her smirk. If she were in the proper mood for smirking right now. A pounding is starting behind her eyes.

Jude catches the tail end of the dreaded Council meeting as she rounds the final corner.

Over the past few weeks, the Courts of Elfhame have been in a much aggrieved clamor over ownership and land rights to Insear. Each individual court seemed to present reason upon reason as to why they have a right to a piece of the island. Jude had understood why, in the vaguest sense, having not yet witnessed the current state of the land in question. It was technically free for the taking, having freshly risen out of nowhere, and was thus primed for the next inevitable round of political ladder climbing.

Now that she’s seen it, though, she can admit that there’s a part of her that would hate to see it go to the greedy hands of a faceless court. That would like, on no small terms, to have Insear all for herself.

It’s the nature of magic, she supposes. To create something so beautiful that no one can have.

As it stands, the island has served as a recurring headache for the king and queen, with two courts coming dangerously close to an armistice more than once. The revel that Cardan is hosting tonight is supposed to serve as neutral ground for interested parties to present their petitions, and for the monarchs to come to an amicable decision.

It seems like Randalin and the Living Council have a better solution.

“And to whom shall the money go, oh Minister of Keys?” It’s Cardan’s voice, and from his tone alone, it sounds as though the meeting is going as well as anticipated. Which is not at all.

“Sire?”

There’s a guard at the door that jolts into attention the second he sees her. His mouth opens to announce her, but she holds a finger to her lips. She wants to listen first. With a nod at Fand, Jude steps into the shadows.

“You suggested that the Isle of Ash be bestowed upon the court that can offer the greatest tithe,” Cardan says to Randalin. He’s seated at the helm of the long table, and the Council is arranged before him, with the Minister of Keys seated the closest to him on his left. “So let me ask you again. To whom shall the money go?”

From her vantage point, hidden by the door, Jude see’s Randalin’s horned face blanch. “Well, it will of course go to crown and kingdom, my liege.”

“To crown and kingdom?” Cardan rests his chin in his hand, pulling the words through his mouth as if he is playing with them. “But I didn’t ask for it.”

“What the Councilor means to say, sire,” Nihuar, the Seelie Minister, says quickly, her small green lips curved into a placating smile, “is that the funds will benefit all endeavors in the name of Elfhame –”

“So you mean to say,” Cardan drawls, “that the money will go to you.”

The Living Council erupts into a cacophony of sputters and indignant justification. It’s in the middle of rolling his eyes at the table in front of him that Cardan notices Jude hiding in the shadows by the door.

He sees her. Even though she does her best to hide herself, he always sees her.

He’s leaning sideways on his chair at the head of the table, so much so that half of his body is practically spilling over into her empty seat at his right. It’s such a familiar sight that a pang goes through Jude’s chest. She’s missed him.

Cardan stands. The Council falls silent in confusion. The drumming in Jude’s head begins to pound in time with her heart.

He keeps his eyes on her as he walks. All the way down the long table. All the way across the room. Until he is standing right in front of her and the Council is scrambling to their feet because the Queen of Elfhame is here.

Cardan holds out his hand. Jude is powerless to deny him.

She’s pinned to the floor by his expression. She’s only truly been gone for the better part of an hour, but maybe it’s possible that he’s missed her, too. He must see something in her face, because when he speaks, he addresses it to the Council frozen behind him, his eyes never once leaving her.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

“Your Majesties.” Randalin’s voice is strained. “The solution to the Insear claim has yet to be finalized.”

“I find myself tired of the lot of you,” Cardan says, something of his old impetuousness in his tone, “and my wife has just returned. Leave us.”

It’s Nihuar who tries next, once more in vain. “My king, if you would only review the –”

“Desist.” The ember of a threat sparks in his voice. “Now.”

Jude hears the sound of chairs scraping back and feet shuffling out of the door. The Council members most likely bow as they pass, but she isn’t looking at them. When the room is empty, she hears Fand murmur “Your Majesties,” from behind, and then the door is groaning shut. They’re alone.

Cardan sighs, and she can see the tension leaving his shoulders. He pulls her in closer by their joined hands, and when she’s near enough, his tail winds itself once around her hips. He rests his forehead against hers, stooped just enough to reach.

“So?” he says. His entire demeanor has shifted. Gentled. Jude feels the slightest bit dizzy from the sudden change. Or maybe she’s just dizzy. “What of the falcons at Insear?”

Jude swallows. She tells him everything: how Insear has changed, how they discovered the fallen falcons, how she fed them from a kindness that was more human than faerie. All the while, he listens with his forehead against hers and his hands at her waist.

When it is over, Cardan takes her face in his hands. “Look at you,” he breathes. “You are queen of us all.”

And Jude –

– blooms under his gaze. Under the sincerity of the adoration she finds there. Like the flowers she saw in Insear, black, shimmering petals unfurling under the tender moonlight. Like a drop of inky poison, spreading and spreading without control.

She sways a little.

There’s something she needs to tell him. There’s something he needs to know.

He might hate me, she thinks. He might truly hate me for it.

“Cardan,” she whispers.

“Yes.” His eyes have dropped from her eyes to somewhere lower.

The next time she sways, she sways a little bit into him, unable to stop the tilt of her body. His fingers tighten into the shining gold cape at her back, holding her against his chest.

“Cardan,” she says again. Their lips are so close, she almost brushes his name against his mouth. She is finding it hard to see anything but his face.

She thinks about how the last time she held off on telling him something important, he turned into a giant snake and she had to cut his head off.

He leans in.

The words tear themselves free from her throat.

“I kissed him,” she says.

Cardan stills. “What?” The confusion is clear in his voice.

“I had to,” she babbles, and this is how she’s sure something’s not entirely right with her. “He couldn’t know I was resistant to glamour. It was the only thing I had left. The only thing.”

“Jude.” There’s worry now, and a little bit of alarm. She could be wrong. The edges of her vision are going blurry. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Balekin,” she whispers, because his name is almost forbidden, because she has little of her strength left. She's near enough to see the shock widening his eyes. Shock, and something else. Something sharp. Something that can cut her.

“I kissed him,” she confesses, “and then I killed him.”

Jude’s world goes black.

____________

End Note:

This chapter is the final puzzle piece needed for the, ahem, tension relief to begin. The next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to writing the most, so that's something to look out for!

In the meantime, I have updates, inspo pics/moodboards, and an open inbox on my tumblr!

Thank you again for reading, and I would love to know what you thought of this chapter ❤️

(P.S. There’s also a The Magicians reference in there if you’re familiar with it 👀)

#jude x cardan #jurdan fic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #jurdanfanfic #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tcp fic #tcp #twk #tqon #tqon spoilers #cardan #fic: homeland #zita writes

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kinsbin · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Sweet Treat Anniversary Word Count: 3143 Pairing: Asteri/Kray [si/canon]

Summary: Asteri wants to celebrate the year anniversary of her working for Kray. When she shows him the cake she makes for him, though, Kray wonders if his feelings for his secretary are purely profeesional or... something more

A/N: I did a trade with @starscloset because ASTERI AND KRAY ARE GOOD CONTENT, PEOPLE-

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Astari could hardly believe that it had been one whole year.

One whole year since she had been chosen by Kray Foresight. One whole year since she had begun to work for him and built up to the position she had today as his personal assistant. A year of organizing his telephone calls, meetings, lunch plans, and daily agendas at a near constant speed. It was likely because of that speed that the year went on so fast. The speed with which Kray grew his company was incredible. A constant boom of meetings and stock managements destroyed any competition that dared to rise up in its shadow, easily smothering anything that tried to fight against it. Consuming each and every piece like a creature of insatiable appetite. Those thoughts sent shivers up Astari’s spine as she took in a deep breath.

The final touches of the cake before her were added. Fanciful buttercream icing letters spread themselves beautifully across the canvas before her. The light ivory cake decorated with hints of pinks and warm oranges danced against the stainless granite of her kitchen island with a near prideful sparkle to its build. She had made it using one of her favorite recipes, the funfetti and chocolate checkered pattern a foolproof palette cleanser to anyone who might like or dislike either flavor. God, Star thought with momentary fear as she wiped her forehead, smearing some flour on it in the process, she really hoped that he didn’t hate either of the flavors she had chosen for it.

Worry sunk somewhere in her veins as she bit her lip, playing with the piping bag next to her as she thought of anything else she could add across the expanse that read, beautifully in her handwriting: ‘Thank-You For 1 Year!’

Was the heart at the end of the exclamation point too much? Would he find the entire gift unnecessary? Hell, Astari worried most of all, would he even remember that it had been a whole year since she was hired?

Of course she remembered. It was one of the most important days of her lives. The day Kray changed her style of living for the better for a long time. The things she would have done to have to stay alive in the city otherwise… She didn’t dare dwell on the concept too much as she shivered and picked up the cake, placing its cover over the moist sweetness and hiding it away in a well lit corner of the kitchen as not to forget it in the morning when she had to head to her job.

Her job… that she loved more than she possibly should have.

It was a thought that lingered in her mind even when the night passed and the morning rose, her alarm blaring into her eardrum with a reminder that she had to start her day. That her morning would be busy with more scheduling and plankeeping than most average assistants could ever keep up with. It was a thing to pride herself on, she declared to herself each morning with a smile, being the assistant of the most handsome, courageous man in the city.

Her face heated up when she thought of the first word. Handsome… It was better not to actually keep thinking of something like that, she decided as she ran off to grab the cake and hurry on her way.

The arrival at the office was uneventful to say the least. Those who had gotten into the habit of greeting her as she entered throughout the year did so with smiles on their lips and waves to their hands, which Astari could only respond in the form of a nod as her hands hefted the cake between them with the perfect balance, determined not to let the thing fall. She could feel the contents of the cake tin slipping, making her anxiety jump ever so slightly as she thanked whatever gods were out there for the invention of elevators. Having to walk up the stairs with such a precariously balanced dessert made her heart palpitate at the very idea. Then again, walking up the sheer number of stars the Foresight tower would have would be anxiety inducing in itself. ESPECIALLY when you worked on the top floor.

The item stayed safe though. In her hands and to her desk, Astari placed the cake down and let out a long, deep exhale of relief. Small strands of her hair had begun to stick upwards with the effort she had put in, her breath coming in short exasperated gasps as she adjusted the skirt against her tights before sitting down in an effort to organize the hairs over her. She had to at least look presentable for the first day of her second year! Presentable enough to give the richest man in the city a homemade cake and hope that he liked it…

She could feel the gears in her mind turning again. A series of intense machinations breaking the walls and grinding the rocks of the mine within her head, producing out the coal of her afterthoughts and the smoke that flooded her worry. It made it hard to breath as her brain bit out the possibility of him not liking the cake. Of Kray thinking that the items were trivial at best, warranting only a polite smile and a general ‘thanks’ that didn’t meet his eyes and- oh god, she wanted to sink into the floor and air vents of the entire building and die.

Astari tried to stop thinking about it, shaking her head and letting it rest on the edge of her desk while she let out along, exhaling sigh. Why was this so stressful? Because it was Kray? It should have been just the opposite for that reason alone! Kray was the one who gave her this opportunity! He was the one who offered the world she was in right now to her. Because of him she was in the life that she could have never dreamed of having.

A hand touched her back.

Astari yelped, her face falling forward to slam unhelpfully on her desk, the pain blossoming against her forehead making her groan in surprise as she sat up, the mark of the impact a red and angry glare on her forehead. Rubbing it, she winced at the tenderness before a voice fell behind her, apologetic and concerned in a way that made her face heat up and her body shiver with the knowledge of just who exactly it was.

“Oh, Astari! I’m so sorry… Are you alright? Here-”

She turned to face Kray, his massive structure overtowering her body from her sitting position. His gloved hand reached out, tenderly holding her face as another tested the sensitivity of her forehead. She winced slightly at the pain, lips parted in a soft cry before she smiled through it, determined not to make herself look like a fool in front of her boss despite the vague presence of tears that had begun to formulate themselves lackadaisical in the corners of her eyes. Kray’s brows were upturned curves, his lips pressed tight as he made sure the injury wasn’t serious. The guilt he felt for startling her was clear on his face and only seemed to make Astari’s heart jump even more.

“Oh! Um, I-I’m fine Mr. Foresight! Yes, it’s no problem!”

She sat up as she smiled through it, the once prominent pain becoming nothing but a dull echo against her skin as she all but basked in his presence. Kray’s smile faded into view as his frown left it, his look amused as he admired the girl before him. She was always so good at doing that, Kray entertained the thought in his mind, of putting that beautiful smile on her face and pushing herself through hardships that happened. Though he wished she wouldn’t lie about pain, he could tell why she would do it. It was met with a gentle nod as he cleared his throat and adjusted his posture firmly.

“I was trying to get your attention while I was walking out, but it didn’t seem to work. Now that I have it, however, I’d like you to cancel my lunch meeting at 1 and move the 3 o’clock meeting up to that time slot instead.”

“Oh! Yes, of course sir,” She nodded and spun her chair to her computer, fingers working methodically as she focused her gaze on her work. It was that work ethic that helped Kray to choose to hire her, he remembered it well. That determined face Astari put on as she pushed forward in whatever thing he had her do. Whatever movement of meetings or discussion with clients he requested of her, she always seemed to make it happen. With only occasional polite questions she burned through the entirety of listed to-do items, all with that sweet look on her face as it morphed between politeness and determination.

He couldn’t help but admire it.

Even as he made sure, once more, that no brain damage was sustained in the apparent fall against her desk that he had given her. As his eyes wandered her form with admiration for a long, careful sort of moment before noting the items on her desk. Particularly the massive box of… something that he couldn’t see but knew that it was not always there. If something like that was always kept on her table he would most certainly notice it. The unknown object filled Kray with a sense of interest. With distinct fascination that he couldn’t muster onto his face but felt in the forefront of his heart as he leaned a little more forward, head tilting slightly to the side as he pointed outwards.

“What’s this?”

It was a simple question, languid in its pronunciation. A statement of how she didn’t have to answer it if she did not want to. He would respect Astari’s boundaries, no matter their distance. If this question fell beyond one it would be a simple enough thing to back off, no matter how much his curiosity bared down on him with demands of how to go about discovering just what was beyond his reach.

Astari’s face burned now. Brighter red than the sky as the sun set. A more beautiful shade of pink than her hair as she stiffened and looked over to his side. Oh, how beautiful her eyes were. Kray wondered why he just thought that, his heart beating as she smiled, something between nervous and sheepish as she rubbed the back of her neck. Her fingers began to play with the edges of her hair as she bit her lip, nervous to continue but brave enough to do so despite those nerves.

“Oh! Well, I was hoping it could be a surprise until after work but… I don’t mind showing you now!”

She sat up, gripping at the box between her hands. Her fingertips tapped on the edges of it with a slow nervousness as she averted her eyes away from him. Kray waited patiently for her attention to return to him, always aware of when Astari seemed to move the way she did. A year had made him keen to her little tells of movements. Her careful shifts of nervous tension in both her shoulders and legs were easy to see when they moved the way that they did. Kray felt a strange sense of anticipation begin to fill up his stomach as he waited for her response, careful in his movements so that he did not give away his eagerness too much.

“I… don’t suppose you would remember,” She started her assumed speech with a gentle apology as the words left her throat with soft politeness, “But today is… It’s the first anniversary of my employment with you, Mr. Foresight!”

Kray stared at her, genuinely surprised at the memory this brought up. Had it truly been a year since he had her in his employment? Since she had taken over his personal affairs? The smile on his lips was genuine as he contemplated the statement, his mouth’s upcurve so samll and subtle that, if Astari HADN’T been working for him for a year, she almost might have missed its softness. It’s sweetness that made her heart flutter for one reason or another between them.

“Has it really been that long? I truly do rely on you for a lot of things, don’t I?”

The words were genuine, soft in their speech… Astari felt her face heat up in shock at the compliment disguised as a question. Kray had become no easier to read than he was when she had first started working for Foresight Technologies, certainly, but she had learned those subtle tells in his voice and face well enough. The twitches of his brow when he was frustrated or the gentle lilts that indicated his exhaustion and need for a second cup of coffee in the morning. It was that attentiveness that made her enjoy what she did, though. The ability to see new things of a person every day. To watch their faces and determine new things about them.

Especially about Kray Foresight.

Bringing herself back from the shock she felt, she grinned brightly up at him, the reaction she received inspiring to her as she pushed onwards.

“Y-Yes! It doesn’t feel like that at all… but! I wanted to do something to celebrate the occassion and, I hope it isn’t too presumptuous of me to do it or assume anything of you or your likes but… I-I baked a cake for you! Uh, for us! To celebrate a whole year of partnership together!”

She proudly extended the cake as she blushed, backpedaling for only a moment:

“Uh not partnership like-you know- like co-workership? But that doesn’t sound as good! Um… Hmm… Oh! It’s funfetti and chocolate!”

Kray accepted the box as she held it out to him, chuckling to himself as her words fumbled but she recovered with brilliant speed. Taking it to him, he admired the wrapping of the cake for only a moment before opening it up to reveal the actual treat.

It was… beautiful, if he was being honest.

Eyes widening, Kray admired the piece before him. He had been able to have far fancier desserts than this, it was true. Tiramisu and creme brulee were always on the menu in his manor beneath the elegant dinners that he was served. Layers of fondu against the finest lobsters were something he was used to eating on a regular basis, luxury seeping itself into his veins as he grew up to be able to afford just what it all was. Yet, in all of his years… He couldn’t seem to recall anything like this.

There was a single memory, perhaps. Of himself as a child, holding a cake of similar quality in his hands. It was smaller and more simply made, the vanilla flavor and chocolate frosting doing the same thing to excite his childhood heart, though. Of nostalgia in all of its flavors wrapping themselves around him like a blanket, comforting but never overbearing as kisses from family who once, once long ago, cared for him filled his stomach with pride and his heart with love as he blew out candles to make a wish or cheer on others who did the same, his smile genuine and warm back then. His life genuine and bright, not like it was today…

Astari shone there for a moment. As she stood in front of him with a gaze of excitement to his reaction she glowed like the sun. Like a true star before him. Like the ones he was trying so hard to reach for so many years now that he felt some sort of pang in his heart… A breathlessness where air once flowed free. He held it in for a moment, his smile widening softly on his mouth as he admired the cake some more before finally reaching out, taking the fork placed neatly inside of it to scoop up some frosting and lick it off.

“This is.. Beautiful… and delicious!”

Astari let out a sigh of relief, as though she hadn’t thought her food would be as good to him as it was to her. Her hands clapped together, eager and excited as she giggled behind her palms.

“I’m so happy you like it, Mr. Foresight! I was worried it wouldn’t be any good… but hearing you say that makes the baking worth it for sure!”

He watched her tuck her hair behind her ears and his own flushed red. It was as though he was seeing something in her for the first time. As though a new light illuminated her facial features and her smile, emphasizing the dimples of her cheeks and the softness of her lips as she gazed up at him with an admiring look to her features. Kray felt something in the base of his throat choke him for a moment and questioned if he was dying. Perhaps he was, in one way or another. Or perhaps it was something akin to opening up? He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling fully.

All he knew was that Astari was beautiful in this lighting.

She blushed upwards at him, having caught him staring for as long as he did. Suddenly hyper aware of her appearance as she fidgeted. Kray cleared his throat as he realized it as well.

“Would you like to share a piece with me in my office? I have a new schedule to go over with you for next week… to accommodate some meetings between certain diplomats.”

The request came naturally from his lips, a polite fall as he could not figure out any other thing to say at that moment. The part of the schedule was only half a lie, a new schedule needing to be organized but it wouldn’t take nearly as long as sharing a piece of cake would. The need to spend time with her grew suddenly overwhelming. Suddenly intense as he waited for her response like a school child hoping that his valentine returned his sentiments. It was a foolish and shallow hope. A prayer dying in the back of his mind as he berated himself for a moment before watching her face curiously.

When she smiled he felt relieved.

“I’d love to, Mr. Foresight!”

He let out a chuckle as she took to his side, as loyal as ever next to him, with those flowering smiles and beautiful eyes that suddenly seemed all too blinding to him. He pursed his lips, thinking of his next move as his feelings organized themselves. Thoughtful and quiet, he spoke with the gentle shock half to himself. A realization of what this feeling was:

“Please, call me Kray.”

It was love.

#self ship #self insert #self shipping #oc/canon #oc x canon #promare #kray foresight #kinley writes

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lunanightingaleart · 5 years ago

Text

So Lucky To Have You

This is going to be an Oc x Canon Fanfiction, if you aren’t comfortable with that do not continue reading. Otherwise I hope you enjoy and maybe Heart and Reblog if you wish <3

Chapter 1

“Ah, good evening Miss Violette. Good to see you back.” Bright indigo eyes scanned for the source of who addressed her, only to find a few familiar faces of Beacon. Lillian turned with a friendly smile to her lips.

“Oobleck, Port! Good to see you two. Still torturing the students around here?”

“Oh come now, you know our classes are completely necessary for the survival and intellectual growth of our students. Not to mention-” Lillian listened to Oobleck go onto one of his tangents again, politely listening even though her brain had already checked out at this point. It’s a good thing Oobleck wasn’t her teacher when they were kids.

“I was kidding Oob, come on you know I wouldn’t judge you for your teaching. You both do pretty good work as far as I’ve seen anyway.” Pulling her hood down, she ruffled her hair a bit and sighed.

“I suppose you’ve finished your mission out in Mantle?”

“Oh yeah, yup. All finished with that and ready to be a teacher again. How’s the new students this year?” Truth be told Lillian didn’t wish to speak about her mission, especially since as far as everyone was told it was just some sort of political based mission, nothing too serious. Except it was, and none of them were allowed to know. She continued to speak with the other teachers about the new students, when one of them brought up a familiar name.

“And then there’s our youngest student to ever join the school. Little Miss Rose.”

“Ah yes, Ruby Rose has shown to have remarkable talent and skill for her age. It’s no wonder Ozpin allowed her to enter Beacon so early.”

“Ruby Rose? You’re talking about Yang’s little sister yes? As in Summer and Tai’s Kid?” Lillian found herself quite shocked to know that she had gotten in. When was the last time she even heard that name? Probably last time she saw Yang and Taiyang, which admittedly was a long time ago. Maybe she should go and visit them on one of her free days. While Oobleck and Port continued to praise their students, Lillian gave them a polite wave before heading off to do her own thing. She would have to tell Oz she was back in town, and she’d probably start class back up by tomorrow knowing him. Opening her scroll while walking through the all too familiar courtyard she noticed she hadn’t gotten any messages.

“Hm, that’s odd. He usually replies by now.” She mumbles to herself while walking past the mess hall. A sudden commotion got her attention as she turned towards one of the large windows. Inside showed two teams of students having a food fight, a very intense one she might add. Uh oh, Glynda would not like this. Just to make sure she didn’t get absolutely coated in the flying food she watched from the safety of outside. She hummed in thought, watching the students and trying to see if she recognized any of them. For starters, she recognized the fiery hair of Yang who had whole turkeys over her fists. Another student was using a beam from the room with a watermelon attached, the entire fiasco was actually really fun to watch. She smiled to herself watching the kids just have an absolute war in there. Seeing a speeding ball of red Lillian focused on it, finding the red ball was in fact a little Ruby Rose. She’s grown up since the last time she saw her.

“What on earth is going on in there??” She turned to see Glynda and right behind her Oz, who seemed to be the calmest about the situation.

“Ah welcome back Lillian. Good to see you.”

“You too Oz, and there’s nothing that bad going on. Just some kids having a food fight.”

“And would you care to tell me as to why you didn’t choose to stop them!?”

“I’m not their teacher, at least not yet. Besides they’re just kids, give them a break.” A very loud bang grabbed our attention, and Glynda ran in. Looking up towards the sky I noticed a flash of yellow and hummed to myself. Eyes beginning to shine much brighter than before, I began to mumble under my breath while focusing on the sky.

“She’s going to fall right back into the hole already made in the roof and safely on some soft materials made up of the tables Glynda have already fixed. She will be completely unharmed, and in fact laugh it off with her friends.” With a soft flash of her eyes, they went back to normal as the scene she just described happened the moment Yang’s falling form got close enough.

“I see that still comes in handy.” Oz mentioned with a smile.

“Oh you have no idea. Though admittedly it’s odd having to use it to make sure a student isn’t harmed from their fall at such heights. Usually I just use it to make someone trip or something.” She grinned and offered her hand to Oz who took it and shook it gently.

“It’s good to have you back. Have you by any chance had any contact with Qrow recently?” Her smile faded.

“No, not since the last message he sent out about Her. I’m sure he’s just busy, we’ll surely hear from him soon.” She reassured, gaining a nod before watching the kids inside get scolded by Glynda. Ozpin went inside first to cool Glynda off, and Lillian went inside after.

“Well, that was quite the show. I noticed you all used different foods based off certain weapons along with using your semblances when only necessary. Impressive.” They all stared at this stranger for a minute of silence, only for Yang to suddenly brighten up.

“Holy cow, Miss Lily is that you?”

“The one and only firecracker~” Yang stood and ran over to her, offering a fist bump to which Lillian reciprocated. Doing a small handshake between the two ending with a childish little explosion, everyone still looked quite confused.

“Yang, do you know her?”

“Oh yeah that’s right. You haven’t really seen her all that much since you were little, huh? Ruby this is Miss Lily. She’s a friend of our dad and uncle Qrow. Plus, she’s actually a teacher at the school.” Ruby’s eyes sparkled as she somewhat zoomed over.

“You know Dad and uncle Qrow?”

“Sure do, have since we were all in school together.” Lillian couldn’t help but smile watching who was once this tiny spawn of Summer turn into a beautiful young lady of Beacon. She looked so much like her mom it was insane.

“It’s so nice to see you again Ruby, I haven’t seen you since you were this tall.” She gestured towards her knees, and Ruby giggled.

“What seriously??? That was forever ago, how come you haven’t come to visit?”

“Well, being a huntress is pretty serious business. We get super busy with missions and helping those who need it, sometimes you have to sacrifice some personal time. Though…” Looking down at Ruby, Lillian smiled and ruffled her hair.

“Maybe now that I’m back, maybe I should take some time to revisit old friends. I don’t know…”

“While that sounds like a fantastic idea, perhaps you should report on your last mission first, Miss Violette?” Glynda reminded Lillian who pouted.

“Yup, that too. And with that, I’m off. It was nice seeing you again Yang, Ruby. I’ll see the rest of you in class tomorrow~!”

“See ya~”

“Bye~!” Following behind Glynda and Oz, Lillian opened up her scroll again with a sigh.

“Still nothing back from him it seems?” Oz asked, slowing down to Lillian’s pace.

“Yeah, but I’m confident that he’s okay. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.”

“Yes, well...we wouldn’t want anything to come out of you panicking now would we?” Lillian rubbed her arm a bit.

“It only works if I can see exactly how it could happen. It’s why I don’t ask for the full details of Qrow’s missions. If I were to be the reason he got hurt..” Oz set his hand on her shoulder.

“Not to worry, it’s as you said. You’re confident he is okay. He’ll get back to us when he can…” Walking back to Oz’s office, Lillian took the time to admire the Academy of Beacon with each passing step. She hasn’t been here since the first week of the first semester. Thinking back, she remembered in the beginning of the school semester Oz and Glynda talking about a special case student brought in two years early. She never imagined they had been talking about Ruby. She really has taken after her mother. Plus the fact Qrow had been a teacher at Signal does make complete sense. Once the doors had closed to Oz’s office Lillian watched as he sat down, sipping his coffee.

“Alright, now you were sent to find a bit of information and maybe have a bit of a…” Oz gestured a bit while holding his coffee.

“Premonition..?” Lillian nodded and pulled out her scroll, setting it on the table and a bright screen shining a hologram.

“Okay, so a few weeks ago we got a message from Qrow stating and I quote ‘Queen has Pawns’ I can in fact confirm this, as I was able to gain a bit of information on the ones currently taking place here.” Glynda looked to Oz and then to Lillian.

“Here? They’re already taking action?”

“Yes, it seems she has taken into consideration our dependence on peace. She’s gotten a few recruits here, one of them as we’ve already figured was Torchwick and his goons. But it seems we have a much more...interesting case.” She changed the screen from the text message to a screenshot of the video taken of the attempted robbery months ago. She pointed to the silhouetted figure that attacked with fire.

“We couldn’t identify the one in this shot, and from what we’ve noticed in our criminal files she doesn’t describe anyone we know at all. However from what I’ve noticed, she doesn’t seem to be a lacky of Torchwick. If anything she seems to be protecting the goods more than him. I believe this young lady is actually one of Salem’s closer pawns sent here to keep her recruits in check. Also, just by body type alone it seems this definitely isn’t an adult. This is a younger lady, probably aged closer to our own students.” Glynda crossed her arms and looked at the information.

“While this is helpful. What exactly are you attempting to imply?”

“That this young lady is probably not their only younger pawn. If they have younger ones here, they can take full advantage of our festival coming up and possibly pretend to be students from other schools. I’m not saying we stop the festival, however I am saying that we need to be at least on guard.”

“And I agree.” Lillian stopped and looked to the door, seeing Ironwood now standing at the door. He looked at Lillian with a gentle smile.

“Lillian, good to see you.”

“James, didn’t hear you come in. Still playing with those toy soldiers I see.”

“Haha, very funny.” Ironwood went to greet Oz and Glynda, and Glynda immediately took the time to leave.

“Well she certainly hasn’t changed.”

“Well she is Glynda. She hasn’t gotten where she is for changing herself. And with that, I’ll see myself out. Good seeing you James.”

“Lillian wait, you can stay if you’d like.” James offered, gesturing towards her scroll still on the table.

“You don’t have to stop on my count. Please continue.” Lillian looked to Ozpin who nodded silently.

“Go on Lillian.” She sighed softly and walked over to Oz. She pointed at her temple for a second, before looking at her scroll.

“I had...a moment while finding information, and I saw a silhouetted pair behind our younger pawn. She seemed to have two others around the same age and all I really saw were silhouettes. One had bright glowing red eyes, another green hair, and the other silver. It seemed two women and a man all of student age, and that’s all I saw. As far as Qrow and his current whereabouts I have no information at all.” Taking her scroll, she looked between the two and nodded.

“I did just get back, so I’m gonna go unpack, rest a little and maybe get prepared for my class tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s right. Yes you brought up a good point. You start teaching again tomorrow, so go and take this time to rest. Thank you.” Lillian left the room and looked to Glynda who leaned against the wall.

“It’ll be quite troublesome if we can’t find those spies. However I feel that your words might have convinced James to bring more firepower.”

“Convince him or not, Oz can tell him not to. I don’t think making a show of our abilities is wise. This is why I teach the students the way I do. A semblance is powerful, but you shouldn’t become dependent on it. Your weapons and your wit should be your first instinct in a fight. A semblance while it should be honed and able to be controlled, it shouldn’t be used unless completely necessary. Its the same thing with James’ army. If he shows everyone his biggest weapons as a show of power, all that does is give the enemy information. I agree we should be careful, but that does not mean we should scare everyone with large ships and constant robo-guards on duty. Now, I have class tomorrow, and I have had a long journey. I’m going to go rest. Have a good night Glynda.”

After the excitement had finally died down Lillian took the chance to plop onto her bed and let out a large sigh. Unbuttoning her hood she slipped it off, her long sleeves following it as her arms now reveal several scars across her skin. She then unbuckled her weapons from her wrists and set them on her bed to examine her new scars and bandaged injuries. The last battle she had been part of was a bit problematic, especially on her own.

“Shit, well could be worse.” She sits on the floor of her room, medical boxes now open and sprawled out around her while she does her best to deal with the wounds now with proper medical materials. While doing so, there a small chime coming from the scroll on her bed. She perks up, glancing over her bed and seeing the familiar profile on her screen. As if her wounds were healed just by the chime, a big smile formed on her face. She dropped the materials and climbed onto her bed, checking the text with full attention.

“Hey Lily~ How’s my Vixen? Sorry about the late reply, I just got a chance to check. I’m okay, a little scraped up, but alright. Have you gotten back?” A big smile continues to shine across her features as she begins to quickly text back.

“Hey! I have, are you in a safe spot? The others are worried about you, we haven’t heard from you since that last message. I’m glad you’re okay, I knew you would be, but it doesn’t stop my worrying.” Her heart was pounding with both joy and worry over him. At least he wasn’t hurt, or you know...not hurt a lot. Another chime rung through and her heart continued to pound.

“Yeah, I’ve found a good place to rest up. As far as I know I wasn’t followed and can talk. Why? Did you miss me that much Vixy? ;) ” Lillian felt her face heat up and slowly typed in his number. Calling him, she rested her head atop her pillow and stared at the ceiling. A few rings chimed through and eventually a click and silence. Then she heard his voice, and her purple eyes sparkled.

“Guess that’s a yes~ Hey Vixy~” Lillian let out a happy shaky sigh and gripped her scroll tightly.

“Hey~ It’s so good to hear your voice. I felt like I haven’t heard it in forever.”

“Yeah, honestly it’s a little weird hearing your voice too. I can’t believe it’s been this long. But hey, how was your mission? We were stopped pretty abruptly that last call.” Lillian absentmindedly looked to her now bandaged arms.

“I’m okay, got a bit scraped up myself, but it could’ve been worse. You didn’t tell me Ruby was in Beacon now. The teachers are praising her for her skills. Looks like you taught her well.” The two continued to chat for at least an hour, relaxing from both of their exciting days and joking around about old and new circumstances. It seems just talking with each other has lightened an unspoken heavy atmosphere around the two. The sun has dropped, and the two continued to speak until a single yawn from Lillian stopped the conversation.

“Getting tired?”

“Yeah, how about you?”

“Ah, I’m alright. You should sleep though, don’t worry. This dusty old crow knows how to take care of himself.”

“Yeah? Well this sleepy Fox knows how stubborn the dusty crow is. You should rest and at least let your aura heal up. Come on like old times, let’s go to bed together.” She heard a chuckle from Qrow over the scroll.

“Really now? You know next time I see you I’m going to hold you up to that~” Lillian giggled and hugged her pillow close.

“...Hey Qrow? When do you think you’ll be getting home?” There was a silence, before a sigh.

“I’m not sure, not too long I guess. Why? Wish I was there to share a bed with you~?”

“Come on Qrow be serious, also yes. I really miss you.” Her voice was soft, and she couldn’t help but feel vulnerable.

“Okay okay, I’m sure I’ll be home soon. And I promise when I get home you can keep me there for at least a day.”

“Two Days~”

“You drive a hard bargain, but you’re cute so I’ll say sure.”

“Deal~” Lillian smiled and yawned again.

“You better rest tonight Qrow, no take backsies.”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Fight me~ Goodnight.” She hears a chuckle once again.

“Goodnight Lily~” Once the call ended, Lillian turned on her side and let out a soft sigh. Relief overcame her as she finally got to hear from Qrow. Now knowing for a fact he was alright, she let sleep take over and she finally found a good comfortable rest throughout the night.

Continue To Chapter 2

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #qrow x oc #uncle qrow #rwby qrow #qrow branwen #oc x canon #Lillian Violette #rwby oc #So Lucky To Have You #Chapter 1

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haberdashing · 5 years ago

Text

No Puppet Strings Can Hold Me Down (1/?)

The Magnus Archives fanfic. An AU that diverges from canon between episodes 159 and 160, in which Peter Lukas’ statement that “he got you” takes on a different meaning.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Jon had wanted to leave the Lonely while holding Martin’s hand, because...

Well, if he was being perfectly honest with himself (which had never been Jon’s strong suit), there was more than one reason behind it, but the main reason--the practical reason, the logical reason--was that if they were touching, if they were holding tight to one another, perhaps when they re-entered the rest of the world, the Lonely would spit them out together, ensure that they remained standing side by side.

But Jon hadn’t pushed for it, hadn’t even dared to mention the possibility out loud. A lot of things had happened (both between the two of them and in general) very quickly, and just getting Martin to look at him in the Lonely hadn’t been an easy task, and he didn’t want to do anything too quickly, didn’t want to make any gesture too forward, didn’t want to risk losing the connection that he had yet to give a name.

Martin himself either hadn’t thought of it or had decided against trying for it as well (which wasn’t much of a surprise, really), so while the two of them had left the Lonely together, Jon found that when he returned to a more grounded reality, Martin was nowhere to be seen.

A quick look around revealed that he was in his office at the Institute, looking the same as it had last time he’d seen it. Being spat out there made a certain kind of sense, Jon supposed, between the rib he kept in the desk drawer and the tape recorders strewn across the floor and it being his personal office, the place where he spent most of his days, the place that was his and his alone within the Institute...

By that same logic, then, Martin would probably be-

Before Jon had even consciously finished the thought, he got to his feet and started making his way out of his office and towards that of Peter Lukas.

Or that which had been Peter Lukas’, more precisely. It’s not as if he would be getting to reclaim it, after all.

Jon made his way to Lukas’ old office as quickly as he could, but he stumbled a few times along the way and stopped once or twice because he thought he heard something that boded poorly for him, though the handful of blood splatters he spotted served only to hasten his pace further.

Someone was in the office, and for a split second Jon’s heart leaped, only to come crashing down when he realized that the one sitting calmly behind the desk wasn’t Martin, but Elias.

(Or Jonah, John supposed, given what he knew now, but he’d known his boss as Elias for years and Jonah Magnus for hours at most, so Elias he would remain in Jon’s mind, at least when he was face to face with the bastard.)

The disappointment that Jon felt upon seeing Elias looked to be matched in intensity by the excitement Elias appeared to have regarding the same encounter.

“Jon!”

Something about the upbeat sound of Elias’ voice, about the enthusiasm in his glistening blue eyes, about the smile spreading rapidly across his face, tipped Jon off that whatever he had stumbled into here, it wasn’t anything he wanted to be a part of in the slightest.

Jon began to turn around. “I’ll just be going-”

“Oh, don’t go now, Jon. This will only take a minute.”

Jon lingered in the doorway for a long moment, not quite facing Elias but not entirely facing away from him either, one hand brushing against the door frame as he considered his next move. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around, to slam the door in Elias’ face and go back to seeking out Martin, but...

This will only take a minute.

What did Elias- what did Jonah Magnus mean by “this”?

What was he up to now, after so much had changed so rapidly, and why did he want Jon to be part of it?

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back...

Against his better judgment, Jon turned back towards Elias. “What do you want from me?”

That grin on Elias’ face was definitely a bad sign.

“You’re asking the wrong question there. What you should be asking is, what do I want with you?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure why substituting out that one word would make such a difference in the answer to his question, and he was about to say as much when... something happened.

It wasn’t a sensation, exactly, at least not a physical one, any feeling that Jon perceived from it clearly lodged in his mind rather than in his body. It wasn’t a lack of sensation, either, because he could still see Elias sitting there looking as smug as always, could still feel the grain of the wooden doorway brushing against his hand, could still hear--were those screams, or just heated words, somewhere off in the distance?

But still, Jon felt something come over him, felt something in his brain shift and settle into an altered position, and when he went to yell at Elias he found that he... couldn’t. Couldn’t open his mouth and speak of his own accord. Couldn’t back away from the office, which was his second attempted reaction. Couldn’t so much as turn his head, or close his eyes... no matter how he tried to move, nothing happened, all his efforts proving to be in vain.

Jon looked at Elias, hoping that the fierceness of his gaze could express what he otherwise couldn’t, and for a moment, the two made eye contact. Jon was expecting Elias’ eyes to still be smug and sparkling, but instead, what he saw in them was... uncertainty. Fear, even.

In all the years that Jon had worked under Elias, he couldn’t remember ever seeing fear in his boss’ eyes.

As Jon kept looking at Elias--because he couldn’t look elsewhere, couldn’t avert his gaze if he tried--he noticed that those scared eyes of Elias’ were hazel now, far from the light blue they’d been for all those years, and Jon could feel the corners of his mouth turning upwards now, though smiling was about the last thing he felt like doing right now...

Jon wasn’t sure exactly how the knowledge came to him, whether he put the puzzle pieces together himself or whether he simply Knew what had happened, but one way or another, that was when he figured out what was going on, figured out exactly what sort of trouble he had landed himself in this time.

Elias--the real Elias, now, it had to be, the one who had been a bit of a pothead back in uni, who had probably applied to the Institute expecting some cushy ivory tower job, not knowing what he was actually getting himself into until it was far too late--broke away from Jon’s (from Jonah’s) gaze, hands shaking as he pushed his chair away from his desk.

Jon felt himself walk over, strides calm and confident, approaching that same desk and opening a drawer without looking at it; his hand gripped something cold and hard from the drawer, and while Jon’s gaze was still fixed on Elias rather than what he had just retrieved, his mind came up with a handful of possibilities for what he now had in his hand, none of them pleasant.

Elias tried to use one hand to steady himself as he stood up, but his whole body was shaking now, and once he was standing he looked uncertain as to how he should proceed from there, though he was looking at the open doorway as much as at Jon himself. Was he... was he unsure how to walk now? Had he forgotten even that, after decades of being controlled by Jonah Magnus, being as paralyzed as Jon was now during all that time?

As Elias stood still, breaths heavy and eyes watering, Jon’s arm rose up, and he could see the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye as he continued to stare at Elias’ face-

Jon saw the gun clearly only a moment before the gunshot rang out.

He’d heard Elias- heard Jonah Magnus shoot Gertrude in cold blood not long ago, on a conveniently-appearing tape. (Had it been minutes ago? Hours? It couldn’t be more than hours, surely--it was the same evening still, wasn’t it?)

Jon hadn’t thought that he’d be hearing another gunshot so soon, and he certainly hadn’t thought it would be his finger pulling the trigger.

The shot landed a bit above Elias’ left eye, and it wasn’t a clean one, but it did its job just the same. Jon watched, unable to do anything but watch, as Elias collapsed, blood spilling in the office as his body crumpled to the floor, the man killed by Jon’s own hand.

Truth be told, Jon had imagined himself murdering Elias before, taking pleasure in the vision even as he knew he’d never actually act it out... but not like this. Never like this.

#the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #tma #personal #my writing

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nautiscarader · 6 years ago

Note

Got an idea for some wholesome IzuOcha smutt! Ochako sees Izuku doting on Eri realizing he is 100% husbando material she decides that she wants to have a baby! Featuring estabilished relationship, estabilished pro-heroes, very good future, wholesome IzuOcha smutt, a fully creamed and fertilized Ochako ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) very vannila but im sure you can spice things up if you so desire, put Ochako in a very cute and sexy lingerie for the night

Sorry my friend it took so long, want to finish the few prompts I had lingering now before I open new ones tomorrow.

Full disclosure: I’m still on BNHA season 3, so I don’t know if the stuff about Eri is remotely canon-compliant, if not, then consider this AU.

Izuocha, 4k (!), E

(Ao3)

- New portion of snacks incoming!

Izuku announced, carrying a plate of drinks and bowl of fruit from the kitchen. The moment he placed them next to the stack of books, two glasses flew into the air, as Ochako levitated Eri her drink, to help her relax after another evening spent on doing her extra homework.

- Hooray for uncle Deku!

Ochako watched as her boyfriend went through the notes she wrote, checking each and every single example, and then as he begun explaining to their young friend where she made mistakes. Due to her past, Eri needed much more help with learning and acclimatising to the society, and Izuku instantly offered he'd help her. Their busy life as pro-heroes meant that sometimes only one of them could assist her, but they tried their might to spend as much time with her, acting as her substitute family.

Ochako smiled, at the same time when Eri did, finally understanding the material they were revising today. And as she looked at him, Ochako once again felt a very familiar sensation, and a particular thought came across her mind, one she had a few times until now, but wasn't able to properly verbalise so far...

- Looks like aunt Ochako needs more cold juice too!

Eri's sudden remark made Ochako look up, and when the now-teenager put her hands on her cheeks, Ochako realised how hot she felt, and she immediately scooted away, to hide her blush, much to the delight of Eri and some confusion of Izuku.

She tried her might to suppress her thoughts for the rest of the evening, but every time she heard Eri's joyful voice when she talked with Izuku, it came back, stronger and stronger. She knew the name of her condition, but dared not to think of it.

Half an hour later, it was time for Eri to end her semi-weekly lessons, though she wouldn't go without giving both Izuku and Ochako deep, long hugs before she waved them goodbye.

- She's getting better every day. - Izuku spoke, cleaning up after. - And her training is going well, I've heard.

Izuku was going to continue, but Ochako's lips interrupted him, when she pressed them against his, locking the two in a long, sudden kiss.

- You're a wonderful man, do you know that, Deku?- Uh, you-you think so?- Of course. - Ochako lay her head on his chest - And Eri thinks so too.- Doing my best, I suppose... - he smiled.- Deku, you should reconsider having interns this year - she suddenly grasped his shirt. - They wanted you to have them last year already!- Yeah, but I don't know, if I'm old enough... - Mt. Lady was younger than us when she started taking students for internship. - Ochako countered - And you'd be perfect!

She rose an inch or so in the air to meet his eyes, and closed her distance to him, touching her forehead with his.

- Deku, you'd be amazing with kids... I know that, I've seen you, watched you... They just trust you.

Her boyfriend didn't respond, but instead, closed his arms around her, as they pulled each other into another slow kiss, that seemed to end the conversation, putting both of them into a lightweight state of bliss.

- Deku... do you mind if we hit the hay a bit earlier tonight? - Ochako broke the kiss, and lay her head on his shoulder, whispering her words into his ear.

Despite the fact that they have been dating and living together collectively for more than nine years bow, Izuku still found himself mesmerised and flabbergasted whenever his girlfriend dropped her alluring propositions like this one, covered with layers of subtext. He wasn't sure whether it was the suggestive gleam in her half-closed eyes, the low voice she spoke in, or the subtle, yet powerful fragrance of her perfume that hit a very primal instinct in his brain when she got closer to him, but for a moment he found himself unable to gather thoughts.

- O-Of course, Ochako. Do you want me to... - No, I'm gonna prepare it.

She replied quickly, her cheeks brimming with with excitement that turned them instantly rosy once more. She gave him a quick peck, and a moment later, she disappeared in their bedroom, closing the sliding door behind her, leaving him as astonished as when he was seventeen and she just agreed to their first date.

Izuku took a whiff of his shirt, and thought he might as well take a very quick shower before he'd jump into bed with her.

Like a student waiting for the exam result, Izuku waited behind the doors to their bedroom, listening for Ochako's sign, and when she told him he can enter, he found that she has put quite a show for him.

The lights, as he suspected, were dimmed, the effect strengthened by several candles set around their bed, but of course that was not what gained Izuku's attention. Ochako wore her night robes, covering her from head to toes, but as soon as Izuku stepped towards her, she uncovered herself, showing a set of pink lingerie adoring her body, complementing places they hid.

- Do you like it? - she asked, toying with the edge of the robe, as she watched Izuku's mesmerised face. - Of course. - he replied, again some confidence - New? - Bought a few days ago. - she smiled - Wanted for-for a special occasion...

As her boyfriend crawled towards her, she leaned against their pillows, and a moment later, the two lost themselves in each other's ravenous kisses, rolling back and for on their bed, their hands eagerly exploring their half-naked bodies, as if they didn't spend each night together already.

But that was the magic that made their love life truly wonderful. It felt as if they kept falling in love with each other every day and every night, still feeling a bit nervous, but learning their way around each other quicker every time. Though, of course, if Ochako's plan was to succeed, it would cause quite a stir in that idyllic state...

- And what's the special occasion, then? - Izuku asked, taking a much needed breath, after Ochako levitated and pinned him to the bedsheets. - Well... - Ochako shied away for a while - It's just... I've been thinking, how for the last year you've been helping Eri, and Kota before that, and...

She closed her arms behind his head, bringing her boyfriend as close to her as possible, so that he could catch every single word of hers. She took a deep breath and spoke her mind.

- And I've been wondering if... If you would like to be a dad, Deku.

She looked up, and, understandably, found her boyfriend's eyes wide opened, as he processed her suggestion. He swallowed loudly, and Ochako could feel the slight trembling of his fingers on her back, as he formulated his reply.

- You mean...

She nodded.

- I thought about, Deku, and... I think I'm ready too. - she smiled, hoping her cheerfulness would spread to him, but as usual, it only put him in a state of deeper contemplation. - But... You'd have to take a leave. - Only after a while - she replied, giving him a kiss - And besides, we've recruited some more heroes to help with dad's construction company. - I mean... - he hesitated again - I guess we have the money for a kid, but...

Ochako bit her lip, wondering if her proposition was too bold. The burning itch in her loins almost made her roll Izuku to his back and ride him senselessly regardless of his choice, but she knew she wouldn't be able to do that. Delicately, she cupped his face, gaining his attention and gave him a quick kiss.

- Izuku... - she whispered, staring into his wide, sparkling eyes - I know I kinda jumped the gun with this idea, and... I understand you might not want it now... I can start wearing the patches from tomorrow, and we can just, you know, cuddle tonight...

It took Izuku another long while to answer her.

- You're really on with this idea, aren't you? - Only if you are.

The two stared at each other, savouring the short, blissful moment, conducting the silent conversation paused only by their occasional blinking. She could see the myriad of questions rushing through his brain, uncertainty filling his soul, and the problems, deep over the horizon he was already able to foresee. And when he looked at her, all he could see was the assurance that no matter how things would go, she'll be always with him.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile, and before Izuku knew, Ochako was already on him, dotting his face with kiss after kiss, while their hands dealt with the few pieces of attire they still had on. While Ochako might have thought Izuku would like to take his usual, slow approach and tease her by slowly disrobing her, she seemed to have infected Izuku with the same determination she possessed. Silently, the two lovers seemed to have agreed that nothing should stand in the way between them, not even their clothesShe stopped feeling her bra after second time they rolled onto their bed, and it took just a bit more fumbling for Izuku to get rid of her panties, a feat much easier if one could levitate.

Izuku threw the soaking wet panties aside, concentrating on the reason they acquired such state. Her scent, mixing with her perfume was intoxicating, drawing him instantly to place first of many licks around her sex. Ochako's back arched before Izuku's tongue touched her, his breath mingling with the droplets of her copious juices lubricating her sex. She let out a cry each time Izuku drank her, her body twisting despite his firm grip on her thighs. On one hand, Izuku was curious how wet she can get; on the other, he heard the somewhat nagging whimpering from her and wanted to see how eager she was to go with her plan.

The answer cam when Ochako let out a final moan, bent, and grabbed Izuku by his should, only to make him fly through the air until he landed on her. Her arms and legs closed behind his back, and her mouth once again became hungry for his. Finally, the word she's been pushing aside in her mind, materialised in her actions, clear as a day.

She was in heat.

Their kiss broke when Ochako felt his swollen head touch her opening, and the two once again meet each other in a long stare, just as Izuku was trying to flex his muscles into a comfortable position.

- You sure about this?

Ochako nodded, and the very next second she let out a cry when Izuku filled her with first, precise thrust. As her body arched, he quickly sneaked his arms underneath her back for support, and with the next push of his hips, he was now freely hammering his cock inside her without any hindrance. Every few seconds, their bedroom filled with the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh when Izuku hilted himself balls-deep into his girlfriend, their carnal sound of mating mixed with his grunts and her high-pitched cries, containing only one word.

As Ochako clung tightly to his body, it took her a moment to notice the change in Izuku's position. With each dive of his, he pushed her legs closer and closer to her body, and only when they touched her arms, closed around his neck, Ochako realised what Izuku was going to achieve. For a painfully long second or two, they had to stop, just so Izuku could put her legs onto his shoulders, locking her with him in a tight and intimate position she was dreaming of for the past days. Her flexible body easily accommodated to the change, allowing Izuku to mate-press her as hard as hew wanted to.

And if his previous tempo was fast, then Ochako could only describe his current one as furious, as Izuku worked not just his hip but calves and things, pushing himself as deep into her as possible, dozens of times per minute, his sheer power transmitting to their bed's frame, as her legs flailed high up above him. Her voice cracked and modulated each time Izuku smashed her, causing her to only draw short intakes of air, and let out quick, sharp mewls, while the world around her seemingly shook with raw, unhindered power.

But then she understood it wasn't an illusion. There was the unmistakable, electrifying aura in the air, and when Ochako regained some of the senses to look at her lover, she recognised it instantly. She has seen the green sparkles emanating from his body many, many times, evoking the sense of finality, but she only experienced it a few times when they were in bed, and all of them were still the most vivid memories she had. The first time it happened, it almost ended with her getting pregnant, because neither of them could predict that Izuku's powers, still difficult to control, would shatter the condom and fill her up with his potent seed completely. This time, Ochako was hoping for exactly the same result that didn't become the reality when they were eighteen.

More importantly, tonight Izuku knew exactly what to do as well; Ochako saw the confidence and determination in his wide-opened eyes, and the fact that he was so dedicated to fulfilling her goal almost made her climax from that sheer thought alone.

- O-Ochako, I'm... I'm...! - I know! - Ochako gasped - Give it to me, Izuku!

She pressed her lips to his, feeling the electricity raging through her body, multiplying the pleasure building in her loins.

- Give me... A thousand percent... - A million percent... Ten million percent!

Ochako cried, digging her nails into his back, delaying her orgasm for another fraction of a second

- Billion percent! Come on, Deku, let's have a baby!

And then, for what felt like eternity, everything seemed to have stopped. Floating inches above the bed, between his body and his arms, Ochako came to the profound realisation that she was with the man she loved, the man she wanted, the man she cared more that anyone else in the world, sharing their love for the most romantic and selfless causes... In the infinitesimally short moment of her peak, she understood everything, and could stare into her lover's eyes, filled with compassion, desire, and resolution, and only when she allowed herself to stop indulging in that otherworldly feeling, she crashed onto their bed, torn with a mind-shattering orgasm.

But that was nothing compared to what happened with Izuku. With air having escaped her lungs, Ochako let out a muted, sharp cry when Izuku groaned and hilted himself balls-deep into her one more time, sending a shockwave around their room that blew all the candles, and shook all the bookcases and items around. And at the same moment, Ochako felt the very first shot of familiar, and yet brand new kind of warmth spilling inside her. But instead of several hefty bursts she was used to, it was a continuous, torrential stream, filling her relentlessly with each second of their carnal connection. The same energy that tore Izuku's body seemed to be infusing her body as well, magnifying the climax she just went through, and jump-starting one after another, in turn milking him of all of his cum.

And in the mean-time, Izuku's hips worked, one brief push and pull at a time, sending more and more of his virile cum inside her, without him ever breaking eye contact with the woman he loved the most. Ochako couldn't see it, but she was sure that out of all the seed Izuku pumped into her, not a single drop has leaked yet, and when she looked between their sweaty bodies, she got the most realistic proof she could wish for. With each pulse of Izuku's cock, her abdomen twitched in sync, and when she put her hand over it, she could feel it, stream after stream of his warm essence pouring into her, each one giving her hope that she will be able to fulfil the promise to herself and her boyfriend.

Their lips met again, while Izuku continued his job. A minute has passed, then two, then five. And inside her, a new heat has grown from the warmth that has been pressured to flood her womb, having no other place to go, with Izuku's cock tightly blocking the entrance, ensuring Ochako's plan would succeed. Not many women could say they experienced it - heck, Ochako thought it was physically impossible until tonight - but if there was one man who could do it, then it was the one she chose to be the father of her children. Almost subconsciously, she moved her hand to where the heat seemed to be the biggest, and she was not surprised to find a flat, but vast, pulsing bulge exactly underneath where Izuku's seed gathered, making her feel she was pregnant already.

But at some point Izuku had to stop, though Ochako quite frankly wasn't sure when it happened. For what she knew, he could have been supplying her with his cum for hours, or maybe just ten minutes, which still was a feat unlike any other she experienced with him so far. Their lips parted, and they both took much needed gasps of air, staring into each other's gleaming eyes. Izuku wasn't sure how to react to the mind-blowing experience he just went through, but as soon as Ochako's lips curled into a smile, he responded with one as well. Next thing he knew, Ochako was all over his face, leaving kiss after kiss wherever she could, chirping short praises, though in reality, no words could describe her feelings right now.

- Thank you, thank you, thank you! - N-No problem, Ochako. - he responded automatically with all of his modesty, as if he was still on duty - Though, you know, I didn't exactly made the next nine months easier for you, right? - Of course I know that, silly. - she shrugged - But...

She closed her arms around him, bringing his head on her shoulder, so she could whisper into his ear.

- But I know you'll be with me. And with you, I could live through nine years of having to carry a baby. - Be careful what you wish for, Ochako... - Deku, you're a pervert! - she suddenly raised her voice giving him a quick, soft punch. - Me? You were the one who just wanted me to go all the way on you, weren't you?

Dodging more playful punches and kicks, the couple rolled back and forth, trying to one-up each other, until Ochako once again landed underneath him, their lips locked in a long, breath-taking kiss.

- I wanted to, and you did exactly as I wished - she kissed him, catching some breath - You'll be a wonderful dad, Deku, I'm sure of it. - And what a wonderful mom our baby will have...

He returned the kiss, placing one more on each of her cheeks, glowing with the deepest shade of crimson so far.

- Ochako, can I- - No, stay, please. - she whispered, flexing her tired muscles around his body. - I just... I just want to feel you some more.

She pulled him towards her, and with the most delicious weight of her man on top and inside of her, she closed her eyes, ready to drift to sleep, filled with dreams of their bright and colourful future.

- Yeah but, uh, I-I gotta go to the toilet. - Izuku stuttered, breaking her moment of bliss. - Oh, right.

Ochako let go of him, uncrossing her legs and arms, and just before Izuku was about to stand up, she grabbed him, prompting him to stop.

- Wait, do it slowly. - Do wha-

And when he saw the mischievous smile on her face, he suddenly realised what she was thinking about. She grabbed her legs, pulling them up, he help spread them, and he moved back, inch by inch, revealing to himself, as well as Ochako, the aftermath of his work.

Ochako didn't have to wait long. When he pulled out, her muscles flexed one more time, sending a milky glob of his seed to spill from between her used lips onto their bedsheets. Then another one poured out, then two more, and soon a steady, thick, white trickle started bubbling up and overflowing her pussy, forming the most voluminous creampie Izuku has ever given her. His girlfriend looked like the most erotic mess imaginable, and the fact that she had no shame being one, filled Izuku with odd mixture of pride and excitement, as he watched his seed flowing out of her. It didn't last long though; Ochako almost automatically flew a few inches into the air, tilted her body, grabbed the nearest pillow and slid it underneath her bum to let gravity put the stop to the lewd show she was giving Izuku.

- What? Gotta make sure we don't waste it. - she smiled. - Ochako, I-I'm not an expert, but I don't think it will matter at this point, if you leak a drop or two.

"More like fifty thousand", he thought, looking at Ochako's pussy, utterly glazed with his sperm that was still gushing out, as well as the light bulge in her abdomen that truly showed how much work Izuku has done, fulfilling her wish and his job as a future father.

When Izuku stood up, he also took a long look at their usually pristine bedroom, now with lots of their belongings lying on the floor, twisted, pushed aside or in other way displaced by the rush of energy Izuku emitted when he filled her to the brim.

- Oh, you say it now, but there are couples who've been trying for years to get a baby, with no luck! - Ochako countered, crossing her arms. - And speaking of, you know we'll be repeating that every night this whole week, right?

"Whole week?!" - her words echoed in Izuku's mind, bouncing back and forth, before the realisation finally hit him. With the determination in her voice, her words sounded more like a threat than a delicious promise of making love to her.

- Well, yeah. I mean, I've got about five- or six-day window of opportunity when the ovulation happens, so we could have sex every two or three days, but you know just to be sure, I think we should...

Izuku wasn't listening to what Ochako was saying. Feeling utterly exhausted, he leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground, slowly tramping towards their bathroom. On one hand, the promise of a whole week of the most amazing sex he's ever had, combined with the sight of Ochako fully filled with his cum, and the knowledge that he was doing it all to impregnate her and unite their bodies as much as possible, was utmost exciting and tantalising, pulling a very primal, manly string in his brain.

On the other hand, he knew that with Ochako being this horny, this might the biggest, and perhaps last challenge of his life.

But for Ochako, his friend, his partner, and the wonderful woman he loved, he was going to do it. Izuku stood up, turned around, smiled, gave her a "thumbs up", and was about to put hand on the bathroom's door, when she spoke again.

- By the way, Izuku, I think I want to do it doggy-style now. - she turned onto her belly, showed Izuku her pussy, oozing with his cum, and waggled her bum invitingly. - I want you to breed me silly...

"SHE WANTS TO DO IT MORE THAN ONCE PER NIGHT?"

#izuocha #dekuraraka #ochaco uraraka #sergitobr #bnha #izuku midoriya #lemon #nautiscaraderfics

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stardust-and-blades · 6 years ago

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*looks at s7 and s8′s writing of allurance and throws it away”

Okay yall here are ways I, a klancer, would have made Allurance so much more sweeter:

--Season 1 allura @ Lance: Your ears are hideous!” --by the end of season 1: “You know, your ears aren’t so bad. They are actually kind of cute.” --Switch Shiro out with Lance. Yes I loved the mission they went on with each other but consider this hot take: Lance immediately swooning when Allura beats the shit out of a sentry and steals his gun hEART EYES MOTHERFUCKER --*yeets lance into escape pod* Lance: Allura no! It should be me, not you! *cue aNGST* --Lance and Coran viciously tracking down where Allura could be and Lance and Pidge sneaking in without a hint of comic relief bc this is a dire situation and he is worriedTM --Pidge: “She’s going to be okay, Lance. Something tells me they wont dispose of her right away. We have time.” Lance: *cocking gun* Then we better get moving --Pidge and hunk actually gossiping about the possible relationship between Allura and Lance rather than uhhhhh being mean --When Allura first gets captured Keith pulls him aside to check up on him because he is a worried friend and knows what it’s like to have someone--a friend--be in danger --”What do you care, mullet?” “Listen, I know you’re hurting. We all care for Allura and I was in the same state when Shiro was captured” (he is speaking from a platonic lens but regardless of platonic or romantic it applies in terms of emotions) --Bc I’m a feminist I like the idea of Allura breaking herself out and meeting up with Pidge and Lance. and they end up meeting a whole slew of Galra trying to stop them from escaping Allura is thrown Lance’s weapon as a strategy and it tURNS INTO A SPEAR --DUAL WIELDING COUPLE? YES. THEY SWITCH THE WEAPON AROUND WHILE ALSO INITIATING COMBAT AGAIN COMBAT COUPLE ACTIVATED --#PidgeAndKeithShooketh --Hunk and Shiro: :3 --Coran: -_- --Coran: “That’s weird the bayards are only supposed to be used through one chosen person not two” --Allura: ??? Lance: *clueless as fuq* --When Lance gives Allura his bayard since she is the next blue paladin he cracks a joke and she laughs. Is happy to give blue to her bc he trusts her --Lance gets himself in a pickle during a fight scene and Allura comes in with her lion like pew pew bish don’t fUCK WITH HIM --When Allura had to sacrifice her father’s memories for the good of the castle, Lance lent out a hug bc he too, may experience loss since he is away from his family and not sure if they are alive. And they in turn are not sure he is alive. --When Allura is being harsh to Keith about his Galran heritage, he pulls her over and explains to her the past of Earth similar to her background, but that hating doesn’t solve anything. what is important is to love others for who they are, not their ethnic background. He even brings up the evil Alteans, that no one is all pure and no one is all evil. --When one of the evil altean sentry’s almost shot lance (but sven jumped in), Allura hears and checks up on him, going all healer mode. Same with sven (altean magic biiiiissshhhh where wAS IT THE REST OF THE SEASONS IM DISTRAUGHT) --Lance doesn’t really flirt with the mermaids in season 2 and when plaxum goes to kiss him on the mouth he gets distracted and she gets his cheek --Lance: O_O surprised but also going “why do am I not a fan of that??? I should be? @ God explain” --When Lance unlocks his sword bayard she teaches him all sorts of sword techniques since Keith is gone and when Keith does return, the two of them teach him. Allura demonstrates with Keith so Lance can analyze and Keith most of the time doesn’t react to Allura “attacking” and touching him bc again, ACE AS FUQ. --Lance: Man I wish that were me Allura: *literally flings Keith across the room with one well planned kick to the solar plexus* Lance: Man I wish that were me --Lance at Keith: I need relationship advice Keith mcfucking knife kogane: what’s a relationship Lance: God I need to set you up on dates. What about that acxa chick Keith: nah I’m good *goes back to book* --Lance at hunk: i need relationship advice Hunk: say no more *whips out countless of poetry and song lists for lance to use to wooTM Allura* --When lotor comes in fuck jealousy. Fuck it I hate the jealousy trait so Lance is sitting there, seeing them interact, and is confused as to why it slightly hurts but he is willing to let go --When you love someone so much you see them happy with someone else, you let them go bc you care about their happiness more than forcing a happy ending for yourself (cue more langst rip SHE LIKES YOU YOU SILLY BOY) --While I am a lotura shipper since this is strictly Allurance rewrite, Lotor is ace as fuq and sees Allura as a friend and she in turn thinks the same thing --As they are looking into alchemy and shit they stumble upon Honerva’s entry on Zarkon and her growing affection of him and Allura is like “Love is both beautiful and chaotic Lotor: Maybe, but it is what warms the heart and sparks endless passion Allura: Do you love anyone? Lotor: I love my generals. Not romantically, but they are my family. Allura: What is romantic love like? Lotor: That, my dear, is something you must find out on your own. Alchemy can only take you so far. Allura: *crISIS* -When Allura saved Lance from death’s grasp she is checking on him like, every hour “Allura I’m okay” Allura: you dIED Lance: But your sweet talking brought me back to life *cue goofy grin* Allura: I don’t know if I should smack you or kiss you Lance: What Allura: whAT --Fuck the fight with Lotor bc they are now best friends and allura goes to him for advice and gossip and be like “what is this feeling so sudden and new” --Lotor: :3 --Lance one night is walking around the castle with his face mask on and runs into Allura and she sCREECHES “WHAT IS THAT” “IT’S A FACE MASK” “WHY IS IT EATING YOUR FACE OH MY GOD LANCE TAKE IT OFF” *Cue Lance informing her of what a face mask is and, when he removes it, she can’t stop stroking his cheeks and he’s livingTM) -They have a night of talking about their families and Lance putting a face mask on her to help her skin and braids her hair. It soothes her from all the stress she has been dealing, especially as a diplomat and paladin of voltron. --Hunk even made them altean brownies in the shape of hearts awwww --They fall asleep next to each other and the mice inbetween them --They were spooning until fucking pidge barges into Allura’s room and stARTS PLAYING THE HORN TO WAKE THEM UP PIDGE WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS --They scream, I scream, we all scream bc pidge is a shit --They don’t kiss in season 8 no no no they actually kiss in like, season 5 or 6 as the finale and it’s under the stars in the castle and all pretty and despite my bitterness over the red and blue and pink stars being completely thrown out the window, the blue and pink stars glow -three words: Space Mall Date --He gets her something sparkly at said mall or on earth and she marvels over it. --On earth he gets her a rose quartz necklace and she loves it and never takes it off. She tucks it under her armor and when Coran advises it would be best to take it off she refuses --When they crash land on earth after honerva’s fucking weird ass altean mech attacked for like, two episodes, Lance is sleeping by Allura’s side bc he woke up first and when she wakes up she pats his head. --She frames his drawing what do you mean it isn’t nice it is pure ART --Lance makes her another tiara as a replica of the one she sacrificed for Shiro. He gets Shiro’s help in finding the perfect stone to resemble the one she gave Shiro --It sparkles. Cue brownie points --They get in like, one argument and its about who the space mice are traveling with when they were in the voidTM --Lance doesn’t know how to dance but Shiro and hunk teach him so he can woo the socks off Allura --There is a ball episode. She enters in a beautiful dress and Lance is pure mush holy shit thats mY GIRLFRIEND --She even hAS THE NECKLACE HE GAVE HER RATHER THAN THE DIAMOND ONES ROMELLE FOUND OOF --Allura? Dying?? No the lions are sacrificed or there is no sacrifice at all bc Honerva alone should have been the one to have died only, not Allura. Dying is Dumb. --The alteans see through Honerva’s lies and actually overthrow her and Allura takes over the Altean colony because she deserves to be with her people and get to know them and yes that is her human boyfriend what about it. --They have a pretty wedding and she has juniberries as her bouquet. Shiro catches it. Adam isn’t dead bc like I said DYING IS DUMB. --They rule new altea together and explore the universe and help other planets learn to be independent and no longer used to Galra control. They help find proper galra diplomats (like the blades and kolivan and krolia and Keith) --They still have to fight the living supporters of Sendak bc the fires of purification yea what happened to them did they die --Peace is a long road for them but they achieve their dreams, love each other, and have fantastic friends --side note lotor still not dead bc again he is a diplomat for both alteans and galrans and is as valuable as Allura is with diplomacy

EVERYONE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER WHADDUP THATS MY TAKE HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND UUUUUUHHH YEAH FUCK CANON BYYYYYYYYE

#shania writes #allurance #allura #lance mcclain #VLD #voltron #yeah it isn't in depth but listen still better than all of season 7 and 8 suck my dick producers

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capnjay21 · 4 years ago

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The Wind Blows White 2/6

Sequel to ‘A House is Never Still’.

A/N: Aaaand here is chapter two! Firstly I'd like to give MASSIVE thanks to @hollyethecurious who has been kind enough to make the lovely art for this fic <3 I'm so pleased with it! For those who don’t know, Hollye designed the art that inspired the original fic so that makes this EXTRA cool.

And secondly I'd like to say thanks so so much to everybody who picked up the first chapter, I'm so thrilled you're ready to hop back on board the spooky train with me. I hope you like this!

AO3 | chapter one

Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death and some certified Spooky Business™.

Taglist: @carpedzem @optomisticgirl @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @phiralovesloki @hollyethecurious @stahlop @peglegsjones @mariakov81 @seasailia @courtorderedcake @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @marrtinski @thisonesatellite @klynn-stormz @teamhook @lfh1226-linda

If anyone would like on, or off, the taglist, just let me know!

-/-

2. that featureless space

-/-

The ground beneath him was moving. No, it was growling. Rumbling for more, then receding, hurtling forward and then retreating, leaving him a helpless passenger. It was a car. The old Mustang, in fact, he recognised the flowery smell of the vinyl seats that Liam had never been able to scrub out. The car window was a little too high for him to see properly out of, it was just a blur of colour whizzing by, and his hands had been folded neatly in his lap. His legs were small, just barely long enough to touch the bottom of the car, the jagged metal that grumbled underneath him.

This was the car that Liam had died in.

Killian wiped his eyes, groggy. He couldn’t remember getting in this car.

“Where are we going?” he asked the driver. His voice sounded high, and squeaky. And young.

The driver was Liam.

“Nowhere,” Liam said, then changed his mind. “Somewhere. Somewhere better.”

With great effort, Killian turned his neck to see if anyone was in the backseat. They were alone, but a large suitcase sat where a person should be.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Liam kept his eyes on the road. Killian only noticed now because it seemed more deliberate than before.

“Dad isn’t coming.”

For some reason, this was surprising. Killian wanted to ask why, but Liam was shaking his head firmly.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

To his amazement, he did.

This time when he woke, he was outside. He knew this because he could feel the soft warmth of the sun on his skin, and nearby the sound of water rushing by drowned out the buzz of insects around him. It was bright, he had to shield his eyes and keep them narrowed until they adjusted, and he could finally take in his surroundings. He was sat on dry rock, a few metres away from the edge of a rushing stream, an everchanging palette of vivid sapphire and frothy pearl, and on the opposite bank a sparse array of thick trees stood swaying gently in the breeze.

On either side of the wide, open current, walls of rock rose up for hundreds of metres, and Killian realised he had been here before.

It was the memory of a memory, perhaps a recollection of something he had been told rather than something he had lived, but everything about this place was familiar, and bright, and achingly, desperately sad.

This was the creek that Liam had died in.

Then he saw the boy.

The boy was crouched down so near to the surface of the water that his gaze had easily skimmed over him the first time, huddled tightly on a rock near the centre of the current with his arm thrust into the water.

“No,” Killian said, before he even realised what was happening.

He stood. At his feet was a hastily rolled up jacket, which must belong to the boy.

The boy who was reaching for the dagger.

“Wait,” he called, desperately.

The boy ignored him, or he did not hear.

“Stop!”

Triumphantly, the boy pulled back with his prize.

In the sparkling sunlight, its shiny edge was unmistakable.

There was the dagger.

Come.

“Put it back,” Killian hollered, his chest hurting from the force of his yell. “Listen to me!”

The boy looked up. Stared him straight in the eye.

“I am,” he said, “I’m listening.”

-/-

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Killian was sat with his legs folded underneath him on the floor of Elsa’s bedroom, warmly lit by an array of candles across every surface. Dim light streamed in through an open window, casting orange splotches onto the immaculate powder blue carpet. After their discussion with Tink, she had invited him back the following day for a private session with them both, an attempt at a more guided scry, and Killian had jumped at the invitation. Anything that might provide him with more concrete answers.

Emma had gone again to the office of the skip they were after; apparently his credit card had been used in a convenience store near to it the day before. Killian had wanted to go with her, but the lingering invitation from Elsa and Tink, combined with Emma’s emphatic insistence that she wouldn’t need help had left him at something of a loss.

Although he was sure her determination came from the same place that insisted his coming home and finding their kitchen flooded was nothing to be concerned about. She claimed she had just left the tap on, and had been meaning to clean it up before he got home but had fallen asleep before she had the chance.

She was awake when he got home, though. And when he’d called her earlier it had rung through to voicemail. He was concerned – that was easy enough to admit.

By the third time he had probed her about it, she had declared that she’d really prefer it if he didn’t come with her to the office the following day, and had shut down that line of questioning with perhaps more vigour than it required. Killian didn’t know what else to do.

They were supposed to be a team. If she was having trouble, she was supposed to tell him so they could solve it together. He knew she was holding something back, but if she refused to confide in him then he couldn’t exactly pull or pester the truth out of her, and he wouldn’t want to, anyway. Perhaps she was frustrated that she was still having setbacks like these; after her rescue from Brooke House they had been frequent, the nightmares near constant, and her sense of drifting from moment to moment was something they had discussed at great length together, developing coping mechanisms and strategies to help her get past it.

They had been a team. More than anything, Killian just wanted her to be alright. He had just hoped his days of needing to scale Emma’s walls had ended the day she told him she loved him.

Unless she didn’t. Love him anymore, that is.

Something squeezed tightly in his chest.

“At this point,” he cleared his throat, forcing his focus back to the other occupants of Elsa’s bedroom, “I’m ready to try anything.”

Tink was sat perched on the bed in her bare feet, her blonde hair tied up into a haphazard bun as she carefully emptied a large glass jar of water into a white ceramic bowl. The bowl, Killian presumed, he would be scrying out of. Elsa was stood preparing something at her desk on the other side of the room, and Killian could hear the sound of something bubbling. It reminded him distinctly of the living room back in Regina’s house, with the large desks and varied array of vials and candles resembling an incredibly ancient chemistry set, or a set perfect for the potions and brews she liked to assemble.

It had been a while since he’d spoken to Regina; he should make an effort to give her a call. It wasn’t as if she was likely to do the reverse.

Tink eyed him over her task as he fidgeted on the floor. “It would really help if you told us what this dream was about.”

I am. I’m listening.

“It’s – it’s really better if I don’t.” The less they knew about the dagger, the better. He didn’t want anyone else exposed to its evil.

“Ooh, mysterious. Are you predicting a murder? Was some poor, desperate soul murdered before your very eyes?” she grinned. “Was it me?”

“Tink,” Elsa admonished from across the room, “please.”

Tink let out an exaggerated sigh, and sealed the glass bottle once the bowl was full. Carefully, so as not to spill any, she stood and set the bowl down in front of him. The water was clear, and smelled fresh. He couldn’t imagine seeing anything in it other than his own reflection.

“You were right about rainwater being generally more effective,” Tink began, folding her legs as she sat across from him. “Really, anything from nature is supposed to make scrying a little clearer. You’re lucky Elsa was happy to donate this to the cause.” She gestured to the bowl. “It’s water from a natural spring.”

“I collected it a few years ago in Oregon.”

Killian eyed the bowl warily. “Alright. Do I – just –?”

It felt bizarre to try and do with two people watching, in the middle of the afternoon. As if by casting light on the process it somehow took something out of it; getting his mind to that place where he really believed this would work would be a little more difficult, and in his experience, perception was reality when it came to flirting with the otherworldly. Not to mention his brushes with real magic had only ever occurred in the dead of night, in the middle of fall, and Elsa’s bedroom felt too neat, too warm, to be somewhere something close to miraculous could happen.

“Not without this,” Elsa informed him, finally revealing what she had been working on. In her hand she held a steaming mug of – well, he wasn’t exactly sure what, but its scent was distinctly herbal and earthy. Killian had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be made to drink it. “I’ll warn you, this isn’t going to taste good.”

Killian winced. “What’s in it?”

“Bitter grass.”

“It makes dreaming more vivid, or last longer,” Tink added. “I’ve never tried it myself, but apparently it can make scrying… well, more.”

“‘More’?” Killian carefully took the mug from Elsa, peering at it dubiously.

The hot liquid had settled on a murky acid colour and leaves were still floating aimlessly on its surface. It did not look in the least bit appetising.

Tink huffed, as if his attempt to quantify her deliberate vagueness offended her. “I don’t know, like you’re in the front seat rather than clinging to the rear bumper?”

Killian was beginning to question the wisdom in attempting something their so-called expert had purported never to have tried.

“Scrying is a mess,” she continued sharply. “I avoid it for this very reason. It’s like –” Tink hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It’s like walking into a CVS and trying to buy a hunk of plutonium. You’re sort of along the right lines, you’re in a store, and a store is where you buy things, but you’re so far out of your depth that all you can really do is cross your fingers and ask the universe, and hope someone answers back.”

Killian took a tentative sip of the tea, and immediately grimaced as the acrid mixture began to slip down his throat.

“You’re right, this is revolting.”

Elsa smiled sympathetically. “And it’s illegal in Louisiana, so that’s got to be a win for the rebellious teen in you, right?”

He forced himself to drink a little more. “I always preferred sneaking rum.” He paused, contemplating. “Any chance we could add rum to this?”

“Listen to me,” Tink snapped, and his gaze shot back to her. “Scrying is dangerous. You’re effectively setting your mind loose from your body. Do that for too long…”

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

“And I’ll be stuck in CVS forever?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Killian thought of the sparkling summer day, of the boy, of another innocent life the dagger wanted to claim. It had already taken Liam, and left its mark on Emma forever.

Consider this him jumping in with both feet.

Fall away.

He finished off the rest of his tea and returned the mug to Elsa.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” she asked gently.

Killian nodded firmly, and pulled the bowl a little closer towards him.

Elsa laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t go too far. Let us help you back if you need it.”

He had no idea what that meant, but he thanked her all the same. They had already done so much for him.

Tink blew out the last few candles, the curl of smoke rising from them smelling faintly of rosemary; he had known an unlit candle’s purpose for years now in these sorts of rituals – to let energy out. It struck him only then that the very thing they were expecting to let out was him.

Killian turned his attention to the surface of the water, perfectly still in the bowl.

After he leaned closer, he could see the details of his face more clearly in his reflection. The dark lines under his eyes, the barely visible scar on his right cheek from when Regina had flung a pencil at him a little too hard in eighth grade. His eyes didn’t even look blue anymore, in his reflection they looked less somehow, washed, like a faded grey. As he stared, he became aware that something around him had changed – like a noise that had always existed in his periphery had suddenly dropped out, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to discern what it was. The tea had settled warmly in his chest and he felt light, lighter than air, and tried to focus on that sensation.

Moments ago, he had felt that if he had reached out to either side of him, he would feel Elsa and Tink there. He was not sure he felt that way now.

His right hand twitched.

It was a foreign, surprising sensation, like someone else had reached through his shoulder all the way to his fingertips and jerked it without his permission. It begged for his attention but he tried not to let his mind wander beyond its purpose, and forced himself to keep looking at the surface of the water.

Or what had once been the surface of the water.

Ripples scattered across its edges, as if a sharp wind were blowing until it folded over itself, oozing, and his chest wanted to fall forward, forward, to topple over until he collapsed and could feel the sharp sting of ice cold water filling up his lungs. His chest felt tight. Hard. Like he had to force every breath through a sheet of glass until it reached him. He thought about Elsa, what Elsa had promised, to help him back if he went too far and he reached for her –

His hand fell through empty air.

The ground beneath him was moving. Growling, rumbling, hurtling forward; was he back in the car? Liam’s Mustang, like he had dreamt last night? Even as he thought it the colours materialised, but the vinyl of the seat felt searing hot beneath him and the cream was so bright, he had to blink his eyes against it. He wanted to turn and look at the driver. He wanted to turn and look at Liam. He would give anything to turn his head and be able to look at Liam one more time and for it to be real.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy, he thought fiercely, the boy at the creek with the dagger.

His chest tugged him toward the door of the car as he fumbled with his seatbelt, falling against it as the car started to speed up. With effort, he pulled the handle open and the door swung away from him, his grabbing onto the roof of the car the only thing that stopped him hurtling out of it and into the black.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

So, the outside beckoned, fall.

Killian let go.

-/-

“Thank you,” Emma said, her cheeks flushed with glorious delight, “for always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

Killian blinked. Granny’s Diner smelt like burnt cheese and vanilla cake and Emma’s arms were around his neck. The bus ticket sat on the table beside them.

“I know this part,” he said, feeling dazed. “This is the part where I kiss you.”

The corner of Emma’s lip curled unpleasantly.

“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

-/-

“I think you should do it.”

“Do what?”

Come back, he breathed.

“Go and live with the Nolan’s.”

“Killian, come on.”

Haunt me.

“I’ll be out after high school. What’s the point?”

Just as he reached for her, Emma dived into the ocean.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

I love you, he shouted. She didn’t reply.

He jumped in after her.

-/-

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy.

-/-

Killian gasped as he broke free from the surface of the water, gulping in oxygen like a man starved. His limbs felt numb, only sluggishly responding to his demands as he struggled to stay afloat. His chest was tight, freezing, and as he spluttered he could feel fresh water pushing its way out from his throat. Was he drowning? This felt like what drowning should feel. like Water was everywhere; his nose, his eyes, and though he tried to wipe it away so he could see, he was doing so with a hand that was also soaked and made little difference against his blurring vision.

He had to get out. He had to find shore. Killian kicked his legs into action, pumping them through the black to try and propel him forward, push him toward something; everything around him felt so permeable, so susceptible to the slightest change in thought, and he tried to focus on the feel of the water around him. Water could be good. Water could take him to the creek.

The creek, he insisted, bringing his arms in to give his strokes more momentum, the dagger.

His feet brushed what felt like the murky bottom of the pool, slick with seaweed and soft, and his toes scrabbled for purchase while his arms tried to aid in treading water – and that was when he saw him. A few metres in front, the boy fumbling for the dagger.

“Hey!” he hollered, but the noise was drowned out by the current flooding around him. Water flooded into his open mouth and he choked. “H—hold on!”

The boy was already scampering away, hopping from rock to rock with his prize hidden underneath his shirt. He was calling to someone Killian could not see on the opposite bank.

“Just a minute, Dad!”

Two firm hands reached underneath Killian’s arms and hauled him out of the water. He flopped down onto the bank, coughing and spluttering.

Gasping, shivering, he tried to focus on his would-be saviour.

It was his father.

It was impossible for Brennan Jones to be that tall, not while Killian was a man grown, but that was how he remembered him – broad shoulders, lined features, and an easy sort of smile when he wanted it.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“What have I said about staying in bed?”

Killian’s heart was galloping against his ribcage; he had done something he knew he could not take back, the oil had spilled and poison was beginning to blacken the depths of the ocean. Something white hot and fearful had ignited in his chest, Liam would know what to do, Liam would – Liam would –

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

His father’s arms thrust out in front of him – and although Killian hadn’t been touched, he felt himself flung backwards through the air.

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

There was nothing but empty space behind him.

He was falling, he was falling, he was falling.

His watch beeped: 2:17am. Right on time.

There was a searing pain in his right hand, but his scream was swallowed by the dark.

-/-

Go back to sleep, Killian.

“Killian!”

He was lying on his back, staring at the intricate pattern of Elsa’s ceiling, and his right hand hurt like a bitch.

“Ah,” he hissed, wincing, instinctively lifting it to try and identify the cause. It was covered with blood. “Ah – the – fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Someone was yelping in response, then something cold and wet was pressed against his hand as he tried to sit up. “We didn’t know what else to do!”

He felt dizzy. The sight of blood didn’t help, and a wave of nausea surged within him.

“Oh god, he’s gonna – Elsa get the –”

Something plastic and cylindrical was thrust underneath his chin and he promptly vomited into it.

The whole room was spinning. He tried shutting his eyes but it only made it worse, the horizontal slamming into vertical behind his eyelids. Someone was attempting to rub soothing circles on his back and he tried to focus on that, while someone else kept a cold cloth pressed against his bleeding hand. Elsa and Tink. Right. Elsa and Tink. Slowly, so he didn’t aggravate his already deeply upset stomach, he tried to glance at the space around them.

The ceramic bowl of water had been overturned, and a visible wet patch surrounded it. Beside it, a large kitchen knife had been discarded, its sharp edge scarlet with blood that was now dribbling onto the otherwise pristine light blue carpet. His blood, he realised, dazedly drawing the connection between the knife and his bleeding hand.

“Did you – to me –?” he mumbled, wiping his sweaty forehead with his free hand.

“You gave us quite a fright,” Elsa replied. “Nothing we did could bring you out of it and you looked – well. Distressed.” Gingerly, she took the bin away from him and left the room to dispose of it.

“The worst,” he began, then coughed, “worst cup of tea ever.”

“I underestimated you,” Tink growled, as she tied the wet cloths ends around Killian’s palm with a show of force. “You really just jumped right in, huh? This is why I steer clear of this crap. It’s a fucking shitshow. You could have died and then, what, I’m explaining you wanted to stare at visions in a fruit bowl to your pretty girlfriend? No way. No fucking way.”

“Sorry,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Don’t be sorry, be smart.”

“Here. Water,” Elsa returned with a glass, and Killian reached for it eagerly. His throat felt like something had crawled in there and died. “Feel any better?”

Killian nodded, and he meant it. He had never been so aware of his own limbs before, of the heaviness of his own arms and legs. It was like he’d been living without gravity and these were his first few moments back on Earth and feeling the weight of his cumbersome form.

Was this how Emma felt, he wondered, when she lingered in that featureless space between?

“So? What did you see?”

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

Killian tried to clear his throat, but something stuck tightly in it.

In a sea of opalescent and obscure images, that had felt very clear. It didn’t marry up to his memory in the same way the others did; he was certain he did not have any memories of Brennan Jones associated with such a moment, but it was just – it was so vivid.

“I don’t, uh,” he rubbed his right eye tiredly. “I don’t know.”

-/-

In their line of work, there was nothing that irritated Emma more than wasted time. Wasted time meant loss of income, and the unreasonably elusive skip August W. Booth was getting on her last nerve. She had gone to his old office the day before, armed with the information regarding the credit card purchase, only to be turned away at the front desk with the claim the entire company staff were away on a corporate retreat. Her instincts had wanted to call bullshit, but a cursory glance of a few of their social media pages confirmed it. It didn’t matter if she was ninety nine percent certain her bail jumper was hiding out inside the office, if the actual employees weren’t there then she couldn’t exactly magic a reason to be admitted out of thin air.

Annoyingly, it meant they had to put it off for another day. This damn bail jumper was one slippery fucker, and the more time Emma had to waste rounding him up, the more irritated she got. Their time was their own in this profession, which most of the time was an advantage, but every second spent on the same guy was a second she couldn’t spend securing their next pay-check.

Killian had insisted on joining her this time, and she couldn’t think of any good reason for him not to. Her slip up with the tap in the kitchen had thankfully drifted into the near-past and there were no other demands on his time. Not to mention given how tricky this August W. Booth was proving to be, better they put their heads together and get it sorted out, pay-check cashed, as soon as possible.

Emma watched enviously as Killian slid the Chevelle smoothly into park at the side of the road – the old car was never that cooperative with her, spitting like a feral cat as she wrestled with the stick shift. The morning was dim and gloomy, the sky overhead a bruised and leaden grey slathering the streets with scattered showers at unpredictable intervals. Currently only one wiper was working, albeit lazily, succeeding in keeping only the driver’s side of the windshield clear while rain loped down in waves in front of Emma.

Through the passenger side door, she squinted out at the office block, the embossed directory helpfully just a few feet away from where they’d parked. Gepetto’s – 6th Floor.

“Alright,” Emma sighed, drumming her fingers on the passenger door. “The receptionist said by now they should all be back from their… I dunno, business boy-scouting, or whatever. You wait out here, I’ll go in and chat to the office manager, ask if she’s seen any funny business. Really hammer home the whole ‘he’s a criminal’ shtick. Throw out a few ‘harboring a fugitive is a prosecutable offence’, etcetera…” Emma turned to get Killian’s input, but he wasn’t looking at her. His hands were still resting on the bottom of the wheel, and he was staring out of the front windshield.

His eyes held the same vacant look she had been catching him with all morning, and every time she spotted it something inside her twisted unpleasantly. It felt like he went somewhere, and she wasn’t used to Killian checking out into places she couldn’t follow him.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers next to his ear, startling him. “Paging Killian Jones.”

“What?” He straightened abruptly in his seat. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll QB from down here.” He made a show of peering past and her and toward the office block. It didn’t fool her. “See if he makes a run for it once his cage gets rattled.”

Emma watched him curiously, hoping for any sort of clue, but he didn’t meet her eye. He likely was trying to avoid what they both knew was her superpower, to spot a lie a thousand miles away; and immediately, unbidden, a wave of self-consciousness rose within her. He hadn’t really said anything about the flooding incident – but what if he wanted to? He’d been quiet since yesterday, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he had been mulling the whole situation over. It wasn’t paranoia when the logic was sound.

Maybe he was finally getting fed up of cleaning up after her messes.

With effort, she pushed the feeling down.

“You okay today?” Emma asked. “You’ve been spaced out all morning.”

Killian waved a hand, and smiled in a not-all-that-convincing manner. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No blood pacts with the Witches of West Bellevue on your mind?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Killian replied drily, smiling despite himself as he unconsciously picked at the bandage with his opposite hand. “I wish you wouldn’t call them that.” She knew he was intending to sound reproachful, but there was no heat behind it.

“I wish they wouldn’t send you home bleeding,” she smirked. Killian had come back to their flat last night sporting a rather nasty gash on his right palm – he had insisted it was his own fault, some incident with a bread knife, but Emma had enjoyed teasing him to no end about blood sacrifices and voodoo rituals.

“That was my fault,” Killian said absently, clearly not registering her jest. “And it was an accident.”

Emma arched an eyebrow, wondering which it was: his fault, or an accident.

“Hey.” She laid a hand on his arm to get his full attention, and he finally looked her in the eye. She wasn’t particularly enthused about hashing out the events of the other night, but if there was something genuinely bothering him then she wanted to know about it. “Is there something on your mind?”

Killian’s lips parted, as if debating whether to speak. “It’s… nothing important.” He shrugged, offering her a smile. “Really. I’m just a little too in my own head.”

Emma was far from convinced. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

This time when Killian smiled, he tilted his head and his eyes softened, as if he were looking at her for the first time that day. Even after all the years they had known each other, there was a thrill in being seen so gently. He leaned forward and she met him halfway, their lips meeting in a slow kiss.

After they parted, he let out a contented sigh as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re my favourite, you know that, right?”

Emma grinned. “And I promise you’re a close second behind Regina.”

“Wow.”

Emma laughed as she shrugged on her coat. “Alright, time to nail this son of a bitch.” She dropped a final kiss on his cheek before reaching for the door handle. “See you in a bit.”

After stepping out into the downpour, she jogged as quickly as she could to the front door of the office block, lifting her jacket over her head for as much protection from the elements as she could manage, but wasn’t convinced it would do much to abate her looking either washed out or a little drowned by the time she spoke to somebody from Gepetto’s. The receptionist recognised her from the day prior, and after waving in greeting immediately phoned up to the sixth floor to see if anybody was available to speak to her.

There was a bit of negotiating, but before long the office manager for Gepetto’s had come down to meet her and was escorting her back up to the sixth floor. She didn’t want to launch into the reason for her being there before she’d had a chance to look around the office, so to avoid spooking her Emma offered up some general lines of enquiry about the office structure with information she had managed to glean from the company website. Almost flattered by her interest, the office manager was only too keen to rattle off her answers for the duration of the lift ride until the doors finally reopened.

It took only a few steps out of the lift lobby for Emma to stop dead in her tracks – because there, leaning against the desk at the entrance to the office, stood her mark.

Emma felt herself tense, instinctively readying herself to run, but she had to forcefully remind herself that August W. Booth had no reason to know who she was in the slightest, which would make everything a lot easier. He was here, that was what counted, and now she just had to figure out a way to get a pair of cuffs on him.

The office manager had been speaking, and Emma tried to tune back in and pick up where they left off, and as they reached the desk August looked up at the two of them.

And immediately straightened, his eyes widening the moment they landed on her.

Emma schooled her expression into one of nonchalance – but it made no difference. She could spot a skip about to hit the ground running a mile off, and she reached for her handcuffs as subtly as she could manage.

“Emma?” August gaped.

She was momentarily taken aback – what the –?

If possible, August looked more stunned than she felt. “How did you find me?”

His gaze dropped to her side and landed on the handcuffs.

He was moving before she even had a chance to process what was happening.

“Hey!” she barked, immediately sprinting after him. Somebody was yelling something from behind her, and the office around her became a blur of colour and noise as she shot through it, narrowing her focus on the man running in front of her.

She collided heavily with someone she couldn’t duck out of the way of, and had just enough time to distractedly mumble an apology before taking off again, and in a beat she realised where he was heading – the stairwell toward the fire exit. There wasn’t enough time to get out her phone and warn Killian, she just hoped he’d be ready in case she didn’t catch him before he got out of the building.

August wrenched open the door to the stairwell, pulling at a filing cabinet beside it until it crashed into the ground, sending a whoosh of papers and folders scattering out onto the floor. Beside it some office workers had gasped, and Emma yelled at them to jump out of the way as she approached, skipping past documents that might slip her up and leaping over the cabinet to the door.

Her skip was already a flight of stairs down and Emma wasted no time following him.

“Hang on a second!” she demanded, but there was no indication on whether he had heard her. “I just want to talk to you!”

And arrest you, and claim the reward, but why the fuck would you care?

She chased him all the way to the ground floor, where she heard him letting out a string of expletives against the sound of metal rattling in its frame – he was stranded at the exit, unable to get the door open and scrambling for any way out.

Emma slowed her pace as she descended the final flight, trying to get a good look at him – he looked exactly like the photos they had been provided with, except for the shadow of a few days without shaving scratched around his chin. His leather jacket was battered and his hair unkempt, and he was currently grunting with effort as he thrust his shoulder into the door in an attempt to get it open.

“Look, just give it a rest,” Emma growled, “you had to know this was coming. You missed a pretty important court date.”

August paused his efforts, turning to glance at her nervously. “You can’t arrest me.”

“Three counts of property damage, theft and disturbing the peace say otherwise. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“No, you can’t arrest me. It can’t be you.”

Emma was getting fed up with his bullshit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The look August was giving her was pained. “I’m so sorry.”

Then he slammed his fist through the glass protecting the fire alarm.

The stairwell exploded with sound.

Overhead the alarm bell rattled blisteringly loud, August was swearing profusely at his bloodied hand, and the magnetic lock on the door buzzed open. As the man stumbled out of it, the stairwell was flooded with light and the sound of rain rattling against the alleyway outside – but Emma didn’t notice any of that.

From the moment the alarm sounded, a searing pain had blasted through her temples and she cried out; something was rattling, cracking against the casing of her skull and she gasped her way through it, stumbling down onto the ground. She couldn’t see anything, her vision was blinded by spots of white, and it was all she could do to fight for some semblance of control over her motor functions. Everything hurt. Something was stealing the breath from her lungs, and although she knew it couldn’t be real, she felt her fingertips curling into damp soil underneath her.

I don’t know where I am.

Emma could feel hot tears rolling down her cheek as she tried to think of anything except how much her head was throbbing, the alarm blaring across her senses as if it had come from inside her. It was too much. It was all too much.

Killian?

I don’t know where I am.

I thought –

I thought I heard your voice.

It was the cold that she remembered most about Brooke House. That terrible, awful absence of warmth, that numbness, that sense that her limbs were not truly moving because she could no longer feel them. It was ice, it was loss, it was knowing the world she knew was gone forever even though just seconds earlier it had swirled in a storm of obsidian light, and Killian –

Killian had wanted to save her.

And she had told him not to.

Killian – Killian, don’t – !

The sky was full of birds.

Her parents left her on the side of the road on a crisp autumn morning, while the sky was alive with birdsong.

Emma –

There was too much sound, too much light; she couldn’t see. Something hurt. It was her. Around her the forest breathed slowly, in, and out, and the old wood of the house creaked unheard. It had nothing else to show her. She had read all the books. She had written on all the walls. She pleaded for the chance to walk amongst the wood, to feel the crunch of delicate, copper leaves underfoot and the patter of rain on her skin.

She waited for him to come home.

The sky was full of birds.

“Emma!”

I thought I heard your voice.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Robert should have been home hours ago, and Belle couldn’t sleep for worry.

He had gone to that wretched house, she knew it. Nothing else had been able to impress upon his waking mind for weeks, he was consumed by whatever he had found in there and left Belle to mind their livelihood alone. Stood in the centre of the shop floor, the room lit in an orange glow drifting through the blinds in strips, it somehow felt worse than the odd looks the townsfolk had been giving her when they came in to sell their wares, or find something for someone else.

The pawnshop had always been Robert’s, not hers. It was his name on the door, Gold. It didn’t matter that she’d taken his name when they married – everyone in Storybrooke still thought of her as ‘that funny Belle French’. She had always been something of an outlier in the realm of small-town opinion; but then, that was something she and her husband had always shared.

Brooke House was something he had pointedly kept from her.

He refused to take her there. He refused to discuss his work there. Every day he departed with trinkets and materials and vials of vividly coloured liquids of which she hadn’t a clue of the contents. Something powerful had captured his attention so desperately within its walls, something that made him see right through her.

And tonight – tonight, he had practically prowled about the shop until he had finally departed out into the night.

You’ll see, he had told her. You’ll see.

Well, she was tired of waiting.

She wanted her husband back.

She stalked into the backroom to retrieve her coat and changed out of her heels and into something sturdier, boots more suited to clambering through woodland than minding the pawn shop.

It was just as she was shrugging on her coat that she heard the tinkling of the bell over the front door, and her heart leapt hopefully.

“I was just coming to –”

She cut herself off once she saw it was not her husband who had entered, and shielded her disappointment in an expression of reproach.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she pointed out sharply. “We’re closed.”

The intruder stood their ground.

“It won’t do any good,” they said, quietly. “Your husband isn’t coming back.”

Belle stopped dead in her tracks.

“But I think you already know that.”

-/-

It was a migraine.

Just a migraine.

All the symptoms were there; white spots, sensitivity to light and sound, nausea – a rapid onset migraine. Their skip had gotten away, and when Killian had come looking for her amongst all the chaos August left behind, he had found her slumped at the bottom of the fire escape and had immediately taken her home. As it always did, time produced the most rational of explanations, even if Emma still had no idea how August W Booth had known who she was. The most logical reason was that somehow he had gotten in touch with the agency, or knew someone who had been able to tell him the name of the bail bondsperson who had been assigned to his case.

She had spent the afternoon recovering back in their flat, the blinds drawn and the bedroom door closed while Killian worked silently in the sitting room on their next case, and by the evening she felt back to her old self again. It had still made it difficult to resist Killian sitting her down and pleading with her to come and see the Bellevue coven at the weekend, to meet the Elsa he had told her so much about; if for no other reason than the home remedies that members of that community swore by when it came to migraines or insomnia, frequent ailments that kept catching Emma off guard.

Emma had no interest in ingratiating herself with the Bellevue coven, no matter how often he spoke of its charming members or how much he felt it might help her to connect with others who might have experiences with the otherworldly comparable to their brush with Brooke House. She had made it clear from the start; she didn’t believe a single soul could speak to what she had been through, and she was not interested in finding out.

This will not define me, she had said, the day they had ridden themselves of the dagger for good.

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to look forward. Minor setbacks aside, she still didn’t feel sitting around with a group of born-again self-ascribed ‘witches’ talking about how grand and mysterious the universe was would do anything for her focusing on her real life. It was this life she wanted to contemplate, not the one before, or the hell that awaited them after.

Besides, she knew what hell was. Hell was nothing. Barren, a void the soul was left to wander within.

Still, she could sense how important it was to Killian that she make this effort, and after all the considerate care he had given her over the last week – the appeal, the flood, the rescue after her migraine – he deserved her giving it a shot. Apparently they were having some sort of midsummer celebration anyway, and the evening didn’t have to amount to anything more than a fancy garden party. Emma preferred the idea of facing this part of Killian’s life without having to commit to making it part of hers too.

There were still significant drawbacks, though.

“You didn’t tell me there was a dress code,” she grumbled.

After arriving, they had been directed to walk around the side of Elsa’s house through a pathway of tall, sweeping archways plaited with ivy and lavender, leaving the path with a distinctly herbal and earthy scent. It reminded her of Regina’s garden. The evening was balmy and gentle, the setting sun painting the sky in broad, orange strokes, and the mellow flutter of a flute or clarinet could be heard drifting from the clearing ahead of them. Emma could already taste woodsmoke in the back of her throat.

Killian had kept her hand folded tightly in his, as if he were afraid if he let go she would turn around and go home. She wasn’t sure how to reassure him, since she wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t do it herself.

“There’s not a dress code,” Killian frowned. “At least not one they told me about.”

“You’re wearing it!” she pointed out accusatorily.

In keeping with the warmer temperature, Emma had opted for a simple pair of denim shorts and boots, with a dark green blouse she had thought would look suitably on theme for an event clearly thrilled about nature. Killian, on the other hand, looked far smarter in a crisp white shirt and a tan pair of chinos. White, she was now realising as they emerged into the main event, was clearly the theme.

A large bonfire had been stacked in the centre of the clearing and had been lit from the bottom, so currently the flame was only licking at the edges of the wood lying nearest its centre, but she could imagine as the night wore on it would grow significantly in size. There were around thirty, maybe forty guests scattered around, speaking jovially to one another, some lingering near a few fold-up tables laden with a wide array of food – that, at least, hadn’t been an exaggeration on Killian’s part. Just at a glance she could spot trays of roast beef, stuffed bell peppers, smoked salmon and an entire glass bowl filled with strawberries.

It was like walking into a garden of plenty, alive with wildflowers and the scent of freshly baked bread, while a small wind band played towards one edge of the clearing.

Most of the women were dressed in white or wearing light floral patterns, and every man she could see was sporting an identical white shirt to Killian’s. He fit right in – and to her chagrin she could now see how her attempt to slip into the background was now setting her apart.

“It’s not a dress code,” Killian waved her off, “it’s nothing like that.”

Emma spread her free hand across the clearing in a pointed sweep.

Killian had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Maybe it’s a little like that. But me – this – it’s a complete accident, I swear.”

He looked so eager to reassure her that she couldn’t help but laugh. There was something so light about his countenance tonight, something that buoyed her along without even trying – the entire drive there he had barely been able to contain whatever energy he had been carrying, drumming his fingers restlessly on the wheel of the Chevelle. She couldn’t tell if it was excitement about finally bringing her along to one of these things, or if he was just enthusiastic about getting out of the city, but either way she couldn’t really remember a time he had been this animated about an evening out. It was hard to find fault in that kind of simple delight. It made her feel like they were teenagers again.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, but she was grinning. “You promised me food.”

“Right, definitely,” he smiled back. “But for fear of appearing too obvious so soon after we’ve arrived, how about we start with a drink?”

“Sure.”

Her every assent seemed to have the instantaneous effect of brightening his mood even further. “Anna’s been going on about her punch for weeks – oh, Anna, I’ll make sure I introduce you –”

He tugged at their joined hands, but after a split-second Emma resisted.

“Why don’t you go and grab some for us and I’m just gonna… take it all in.” She looked around the garden. “Give me a sec to get my bearings.”

Killian didn’t question her, just squeezed her hand before letting go and promised to be back in a few moments.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a lot of sensory information to process. Her life with Killian was so insular, they didn’t spend a lot of time at big events – they both preferred places they could blend into the background. Attending a gathering of this size was probably something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in Storybrooke – something in her gut twinged at the thought. David and Mary Margaret would have loved a celebration like this, something like the Miner’s Day celebration the town used to throw every November. Good food, warm feelings; it was everything she and Killian used to good-naturedly mock when they were teenagers.

Tonight, while her partner’s enthusiasm was sweet, it was still a little jarring; especially when she remembered exactly what this community was, and it wasn’t just small-town eccentricities.

This was a coven, she had to keep reminding herself. Practitioners. Like Regina.

At least they didn’t appear to be making any sacrifices on that bonfire.

“Hey, Killian!” Emma watched as a petite blonde woman called Killian over to the group she was standing with, and he pivoted in their direction on his way to the refreshment table. She was smirking, and her hair was piled up messily on the top of her head. “Help us out, we need a tie-break.”

Emma couldn’t hear what she said after that, but watched as one of the men clapped him on the back, another one shaking his hand enthusiastically. He never really mentioned having friends in the Bellevue coven, but she supposed he must do – he had been going every week for over two months. In the sea of white among the grass, he all but disappeared into the crowd.

Watching him speak to them, she realised it really did remind her of when they were teenagers. Specifically, of when she had been sitting on the floor of Brooke House, her knees curled up to her chest as he traced a pentagram into the floorboards in thick black marker. Behind them their friends had bickered over the spirit board, and as the cold settled in she had watched Killian gently reaching for something beyond all their understanding.

The woman said something quiet and Killian laughed, a hearty and warm sound, but the sick feeling in Emma’s stomach only deepened. He fit here. Somewhere he could keep reaching.

“You must be Emma.”

Emma turned, and saw she was being approached by a taller woman, her bright blonde hair tied into a plait which hung over her right shoulder. Like everyone else, she was dressed all in white, in a long, light gown that trailed down to her feet.

“Uh, yeah,” Emma replied; if Killian had told them she was coming, her vivid green blouse likely gave her away. “Hi.”

“I’m Elsa,” the woman said, holding out a dainty hand for her to shake. Her palm was smooth, her skin so light it was almost white.

“Right,” Emma said, understanding dawning. “So this is your place?” Elsa nodded. “Great to meet you. This all seems… it looks great.”

Elsa smiled demurely. “We’re just lucky the weather held.”

Given Seattle’s propensity for continually being soaking wet, Emma couldn’t help but agree. “Pretty much.”

Killian was still standing with the other group, and while Emma could see him attempting to pivot away from them, apparently whatever animated discussion they were having kept drawing him in.

“You know, Killian has told me a little about you.”

Her hackles immediately rose. “Oh yeah?”

“He thinks of you all the time,” she continued. “I can tell he looks for you in the work we do here.”

Without her really noticing, the flutes had drifted into a different song, something that floated drowsily across the still air. It felt like she should be relaxed, like every variable had been carefully constructed to draw out the hazy, heady sensation of early summer, but Emma just couldn’t feel herself falling into it like she should.

Still, she didn’t want to disturb the tranquil atmosphere by getting too defensive with someone Killian often spoke highly of.

Instead, the corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “And what work is that?”

To her credit, Elsa laughed. They both knew there was little point in being coy.

“I actually think you and I are a lot alike,” the other woman mused, a cheerful twinkle in her eye.

Alright, she’d bite. “How d’you figure?”

Elsa took a long, slow breath, averting her eyes to the rest of the gathering. A man and a woman standing near the fledgling bonfire had begun swaying to the music.

“Putting up walls, it works to keep the bad things out. And keeping everything contained inside, all those… messy, confusing instincts – that stops us from hurting others.”

Nobody can control this door except you, Emma.

“But it also closes us off to them completely.”

Emma felt herself beginning to bristle; she wasn’t sure she would appreciate a lecture about Killian Jones from somebody who had known him all of five minutes. Not to mention she was growing uneasy with the amount that Killian had perhaps chosen to confide in a complete stranger.

“What exactly has he been saying about me?”

“Almost nothing,” Elsa was quick to assure her, but it was the almost that stuck. “Which I think is quite telling in itself.”

Emma said nothing.

“Answer me this – why do you think Killian chooses to come here?”

She let out a huff of frustration. Where the hell was Killian with that drink?

“I don’t know, just gotta scratch that witchy itch?”

Elsa hummed indulgently, but she was undeterred by Emma’s attitude. “I’ve asked him myself, but I wasn’t convinced by his answer. I’m not sure he even knows.” After a beat, she clasped her hands in front of her. “But I think he comes to us because he can’t talk to you. And believe me, we’re a poor substitute.”

“He can talk to me,” Emma replied indignantly.

Elsa met her gaze, hard. “About everything?”

This will not define me.

They were supposed to be the same. Two complementary halves of the same brave, desperate fighter. Kids who had been lost together, who had been found, together. That was the promise they’d made before Brooke House, and the one they had fervently renewed in the wake of it.

There weren’t supposed to be things they could not talk about. Quiet, desperate things they could not say.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

She became distantly aware that she hadn’t said anything for a few prolonged seconds, and she turned away from the sharpness of Elsa’s gaze.

“I’m tired of letting the past control us.”

“The past is who we are,” Elsa said simply. “Don’t you think he deserves to find meaning in whatever he has experienced?”

Emma folded her arms. Meaning. Was that what he was supposed to find here?

“That’s easy,” she muttered. “There’s no meaning in any of it. The only thing I know for certain is that darkness doesn’t discriminate.”

It was born with you, it died with you, and sometimes, in the middle, it liked to remind you that it was there.

Elsa murmured her agreement. “It does not.”

“There we are!” Killian’s voice was loud and cheerful as he sprung up beside them, holding two glasses of a vivid pink liquid. “Sorry for the delay, Tink was just – well, she’s a royal pain in my arse, that’s all you need to know.”

He held out one of the glasses to her and Emma took it gingerly. It tasted like something citrusy. The sudden change in atmosphere left her feeling a little off-balance.

“I see you met Elsa – the place looks fantastic, by the way.”

Elsa bowed her head in pleasure.

“I’m glad you could make it. How’s your hand?”

“Oh,” Killian’s cheerful visage faded for just a moment as his gaze dropped to his bandaged palm, “it’s fine. Barely even feel it.”

Once again, Emma was struck by the idea that there was more to that story than he had told her.

“I better go do the rounds. But Emma – if you ever want to talk, I want you to know this is a safe space. For anyone.”

Something warm burned beneath her collar as she felt Killian turn his eyes on her. Elsa seemed to be expecting some kind of acknowledgement of her offer, so Emma cleared her throat.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mercifully, after that Elsa left them.

“What was that about?” Killian asked curiously.

Emma took a large gulp of the punch. “I think she was trying to read my mind.”

Killian laughed.

“She doesn’t read minds.”

“Or cast a spell on me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he snorted, before slinging his free arm around her waist. “Did you want food?”

Emma sighed heavily. “Oh, God. Please.”

This was going to be awful.

-/-

This is what happened: it was not, in fact, awful.

It was this: the food was great, the company wasn’t bad, and Killian was alive with good humour and enthusiasm, carrying her nimbly from moment to moment.

It was this: finding herself in thoughtful conversations with other guests and forgetting momentarily that Killian was not even with her, on the occasions she found herself without him.

It was this: listening contentedly as Elsa caught the attention of the crowd, recounting fond memories of the solstice from her childhood in Denmark, and reciting the great tale of the battle between the Oak King of daylight and the Holly King of night. During Litha, on the day of the summer solstice, the Holly King would win, from then on claiming every day until Yule and making each darker than the last. It was a fanciful thing, but its whimsy somehow fit exactly right into the festivities of the Bellevue coven; and surprisingly, Emma did not mind.

It was this: the bonfire catching with a glorious roar, sparks shooting up into the midnight blue sky as the night grew darker, and allowing Killian to tug her into its glow and twirl her around to the lolling beat of the music.

And it was this: allowing herself to forget, for a single second, that there was anything at all in the world to fear.

And then she saw the scaled man.

He was standing at the entrance to the garden, by the ivy archways, his entire figure shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t make out his features, but the nasty curve of his mouth and the basket of spun gold twine at his feet gave him away. Something in Emma’s chest lurched, she wanted to throw up. She reached for Killian but Killian was not at her side, Killian was talking to Elsa, and maybe it was that, or maybe it was the cold, hard longing that had settled in her chest ever since she had called David, or maybe it was the soft buzz of alcohol running through her, but she was caught by a wave of courage she had never before experienced.

The scaled man beckoned, and she followed with purpose.

He raised a hand toward her, she could feel the brittle and knurled edges of his fingernails against her cheek even twenty paces away, and she left the comfort of the fire behind her and began her walk into the black.

She would tell him. She would tell him no, he could not have her.

She wanted to be in the light.

And she would tell him so.

Except as she got closer, she realised it was not him at all, and she could not understand how she had ever thought it was. She balked, trudging through the blur of her recent memories, but no – when she had noticed him, when she had stood by the fire, it hadn’t been the scaled man at all, but a normal person. The state of it being him, and not being him existed simultaneously, and Emma shook her head to try and regain her focus.

Because the man standing at the edge of the garden was August W Booth.

“Did you see him?”

It took Emma a few moments to realise August was speaking to her.

Her lips parted. “Did I see… who?”

August let a breath of dubious laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Emma was still struggling to marry up the two scenarios in her mind – she was at the Litha celebration with the coven from Bellevue, and August W Booth was standing in front of her.

“Look,” he continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d come and find you before you had a chance to find me again. You’re very good at what you do, Emma.”

A thousand questions flashed across her mind, too quickly for her to count. What was he doing here? How did he find her? What did he want?

“How do you know my name?”

That one, though, had been weighing on her mind for longer. August hesitated, glancing furtively over his shoulder, then peering past Emma out toward the bonfire. Whatever he saw did not seem to appease him.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “Don’t you feel it?” Despite the warmth of the evening, Emma shivered.

“No,” she said, although she was certain she did.

“You can find me at this address,” August continued, pulling a business card from his pocket and holding it out to her. Without thinking, she took it. “And, yeah, you can come and arrest me if you like, but I think you know that if you do you won’t get what you want.”

Emma eyed him curiously. “And what’s that?”

The corner of August’s mouth curled upwards, and his dark eyes glittered in the distant firelight; the world had granted him a secret, and he was thrilled to be its keeper.

“The truth,” he said. “The truth we both know.”

He nodded behind her. When Emma turned, she could see Killian standing motionless by the fire, staring straight at them – he looked puzzled, as if he were trying to make out who she was talking to. She was certain that if he knew he would’ve already stormed over there.

“Bring your court jester, if you like,” August continued brightly, before brushing his eyes across the rest of the clearing. The dancing, the music, the fire. “If you can tear him away.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder again to look at Killian, but he wasn’t watching them anymore. He was staring into the centre of the flames with that same blank, vacant look she had seen for days.

When she turned back August had slipped away.

She stared at the business card in her hands.

The truth, he had said. Which truth was that?

The sky had turned black, and the breath of the wind through the trees was stirring something strong, but uneasy, inside of her; the air tingled with woodsmoke and possibility, and Emma was ready.

#jay writes #the wind blows white #cs halloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you like this one guys!

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fluffymusketeer · 7 years ago

Text

“X” Marks the Spot (Explore)

Trust Eren to plan something truly weird for their anniversary.

This is the first of a series of four drabbles I’ve written using the NSFW prompts for the Ereri Month of Love! Thank you to @ererievents for organising this event & @omglevixeren for beta reading <3

A couple of quick notes. There is a sex pollen element to these drabbles, in case anyone prefers not to read that, and the story takes place in a canon universe where no one important ever dies and curses don’t exist. The magic of writing! Enjoy :)

Well, this is different, Levi muses.

He reaches up to snag Eren’s military issue sock from the high tree branch. He knows it is Eren’s sock, because Mikasa has stitched his name into the cotton. The early morning dewdrops have dampened the edges of the scratchy material. It’s a sorry sight.

Levi checks inside the sock – thank fuck it’s clean – and sure enough, he discovers another neatly folded square of paper. He fishes it out and stuffs the sock into his pocket, then scans the spidery ink for his next clue:

High up in a tree, you stumbled on me. During winter last, in red I am cast.

“What the fuck, Eren?” he mutters to himself.

He’s been at this for an hour now, waking up with the first rays of dawn to find a folded paper clue on the other side of the bed instead of the usual drooling scruff of a man. Trust Eren to plan something truly weird for their anniversary. No doubt his devious little friends helped him out too.

Levi trudges through the forest, the first carpets of spring bluebells dappled in sunlight and shadow all around him, and considers the clue. It takes him a while to work out, but eventually he uses his gear to fly up to the old robin’s nest he’s never quite forgotten the location of.

He’d knocked the nest out of the tree by accident during a training session the winter before last, and Eren had stumbled across Levi desperately trying to fix one of the fledgling’s wings. He’d gently coaxed the story of Isabel and her bird out of him, and it wasn’t long after that things had changed forever between them.

Levi crouches down, and he can see the nest has not been used this year. Instead there is the folded paper and requisite clue, attached to a slightly wilted red rose:

Grown hollow am I, I reach for the sky. Not easily missed, where you and I first kissed.

Cheesy treasure hunt aside, Levi supposes this isn’t a bad way to spend a morning, zipping through the treetops, a cold breeze in his hair and the dew drops clinging to his eyelashes. Of course he’d rather be in bed getting his dick played with like a normal person on their anniversary… but it’s Eren, so Levi is determined to make the best of this silly, romantic treasure hunt he’s cooked up.

This tree is a little harder to find, largely because Levi’s memory of it is swallowed up by the shock of Eren’s tongue being shoved down his throat, overeager little idiot that he was. It wasn’t until he was a good ten or fifteen seconds into showing Eren how not to suffocate a person during a kiss that Levi had frozen and realised he was making out with Eren.

There hadn’t been much hope of getting rid of him after that.

Levi pulls his cloak in tight as he alights on what he thinks is the right tree. Birds scatter from the branches into the cloudless sky, cawing in offense. Levi is momentarily distracted by the elegant beat of their wings as they catch the updrafts of warming air. Then he rolls his sleeves up and begins searching for the next clue.

He hopes there’s breakfast at the end of this treasure hunt, as his empty stomach gives a protesting growl.

In the end he finds the clue wedged deep inside the hollow of tree, and Levi flicks a beetle off his arm as he pulls it out. “Fucking disgusting. Thanks, Eren,” he mutters.

He reads the clue aloud. “As shallow as the ocean is deep, find me quick and you may keep. As calm as the ocean is wild, take care you are not beguiled.”

Levi leans against the tree bark, scowling into the leaves overhead. Beguiled? Clearly Eren had some help from Armin with these clues. And if Levi finds out Erwin had any prior knowledge of this little escapade, he’s going to make good on an array of threats over the years and throttle the bastard.

As he’s making his way to the lake, Levi spots something on the forest floor. With a burst of gas, he swings back around and glides down to inspect it further.

It’s Eren’s shirt.

He’d have half a mind to put a stop to Mikasa sewing name labels in Eren’s clothes, if it didn’t cheer her up so much. Whatever keeps his best soldier happy. Levi sheathes his gear and grabs the shirt off the ground. It’s still warm, and he’s very tempted to shove his face in it and breathe Eren in, but he won’t, because he’s nearly forty damn it.

His eyesight is still good though, he reflects, as he spies another item of clothing in the distance, draped carefully over the bluebells. The trail leads in the direction of the lake, and Levi’s interest in the game slowly evolves as he picks up Eren’s clothes from the forest floor; a little less annoyed, a little more heated.

The lake is an expanse of sparkling aquamarine, rich with winter snow melt, when Levi finally bursts out of the woods. He has an armful of clothes folded neatly under his arm, and a half-hard cock.

Half-hard becomes fully hard when he sees Eren standing knee deep and naked in the glistening waters of the lake. Facing away from Levi, the smooth muscles of his back are on full display. He appears to be watching the lake’s resident ducks and geese as they paddle around and flutter their wings. Ripples of water spread from where his firm thighs meet the blue-green waters, and tanned skin is reflected on the surface of the lake. “Fuck,” Levi hisses under his breath.

Maybe getting up early wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“You couldn’t have folded your damn clothes?” he calls out.

Eren peers over his shoulder and smiles. “You took your time,” he calls back.

Levi stomps down to the lake shore, ready to start shucking some clothes of his own. There is nowhere to hang Eren’s stuff, or his own, except for the damp pebble-strewn sand. Fuck it, he thinks, and drops Eren’s clothes atop some tufty grass. He sits down in the sand to wrench his boots off, then begins tugging at his straps and gear, eyes raking greedily over Eren’s lithe body and long legs. He appears to be purposefully keeping his back to Levi, firm ass flexing as he cranes his head to watch Levi undress.

“So what’s this in aid of?” Levi asks, gesturing to the lake, resplendent with the shimmering deep green and brown feathers of the mallards and the crisp white wings of the snow geese.

“I don’t know, really,” Eren says, scooping up a handful of clear water and trickling it over the back of his neck. It runs in rivulets between his shoulder blades, and Levi can feel his mouth watering. “Just felt like coming to the lake.”

“Mm.” Levi wades into the water, biting out a curse at the frigid temperature, and presses himself up against Eren’s backside, arms snaking round to hug the warmth of his body. “It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yeah,” Eren agrees, letting Levi tug him backwards.

He strokes the firm planes of Eren’s stomach for a while, nosing Eren’s hair aside and pressing kisses to the soft skin at the nape of his neck, snuggling into his warmth. Eren shudders in his arms, and gently caresses the backs of his hands as they explore. Levi’s cock twitches against Eren’s ass cheeks, warming up again. “You look so good,” Levi mutters against Eren’s skin.

“So do you. Did you like the treasure hunt?”

“I like the treasure,” Levi replies, fingers dancing down to Eren’s groin.

Eren snorts indelicately.

The ducks and geese out on the lake are busy with the business of spring too, tussling over females and jealously guarding their chosen mates for the season. Levi watches the subtle feathery politics over Eren’s shoulder as he wraps his hand around a hard length.

A puff of air escapes Eren, misting in the cool morning, and he presses back into Levi, shifting to get Levi’s cock between his ass cheeks.

“The geese are early this year,” Levi remarks, giving Eren’s cock a squeeze.

“Mmm.” Eren lays his head back, their bangs brushing together in a tangle of black and brown. “Not many yet though.”

“No,” Levi agrees, finally sliding himself between Eren’s buttocks. He grunts at the sensation, his cock already leaking precome.

“Remember when we were at the ocean last?” Eren murmurs. “With the puffins?”

“Yeah.” Levi ruts against Eren’s ass. “Fuck.” He really should have jerked off before he got up this morning, but the folded piece of paper on Eren’s pillow had been something of a distraction.

Eren gasps as Levi begins stroking his cock, setting a rough but steady pace. Eren’s hands find their way into Levi’s hair, gripping tight as he keeps his limber body still for Levi’s ministrations. He looks like some kind of glorious, tanned statue, his muscles elegantly wiry, and not for the first time Levi marvels that this gorgeous young man wants him. Levi flexes his hand, using his strength to work Eren exactly how he likes it.

“Oh fuck,” Eren moans in his ear.

“Their nesting behaviour is fascinating,” Levi murmurs. “Burrowing into the ground like that? Talented little fuckers. And the way they pair up, s’almost romantic.”

“But—but is it as talented as the geese? You know, Armin thinks they migrate—”

“Who cares what Armin thinks?” Levi grips Eren’s hip and grinds into the cleft of his ass cheeks, which are growing slick with precome and warm with friction. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Ah!” Eren’s head falls forward. “I love you too. I love you so much.”

Levi feels himself grow hot, flushing with pleasure at Eren’s words. He never tires of hearing it, never tires of the sensation of Eren hooking into his heart and breaking it wide open, of all the emotions Eren pulls from him, of the way Eren makes him feel so alive. Damn it, he wishes he’d thought to bring the oil with him. He could go for a good fuck right now, could happily bury himself deep inside Eren and enjoy the view of the lake while he takes him hard and fast.

But who would have guessed Eren’s crazy crack-of-dawn treasure hunt would lead to this? Levi has all but forgotten his hunger. Breakfast can wait, he has a sexy young piece of ass to take care of. Beguiled, indeed.

“Faster, Levi,” Eren says. “Faster.”

Levi skims his palm over the slick head of Eren’s cock, luxuriating in the familiar soft velvet of his foreskin, the way his erection curves slightly to the left, the little ridged vein on the underside that Levi loves to lick, the one that drives Eren wild. He mouths at Eren’s shoulder with damp lips.

“Actually,” Eren says between gasps. “Mallards are mo—monog—monogamous too. Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“You sound good,” Levi says. “Keep going.”

“But I still think… the geese are the most interesting…”

“Oh?” Levi twists his hand, pumping his own hips in a steady, rhythmic, fulfilling grind. His cock looks fantastic between Eren’s buttocks, swollen and red. He’d rather see it sinking deep into Eren’s entrance, slick with oil, but this is a good substitute. He releases Eren’s hip and grabs a palm full of ass cheek, loving the smoothness of Eren’s skin.

“Ah! Their migration… their migration is…”

“Eren,” Levi murmurs against Eren’s shoulder, desperate and wanting. “Why… why the fuck am I turned on by birds right now?”

“I don’t know!” Eren whines, thrusting into his hand. “I am too!”

“Shit,” Levi says.

Something very weird is going on. He can’t get the damn birds out of his head. When he peers over Eren’s shoulder, at the water-born flocks of ducks and geese, their feathers shining in the morning sun, the quacks and honks ringing out across the clear water, reminding him so much of the endless ocean— “Shit, shit,” he hisses, moving faster. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t—”

Something startles the geese, and they take off as one, a cloud of white wings into the sky. Levi and Eren moan in tandem, and Levi feels his whole body flush in arousal. The thought of Eren describing the way they slice through the air, majestic snow geese in full flight, the gentle voice he uses just for Levi in the depths of night undulating like soft velvet over words such as nesting and plumage and – fuck – allopreening, Levi can’t handle it.

He groans and spins Eren round, finally staring into wild green eyes. Eren looks just as confused and horny as he does, chest glistening with sweat, practically hyperventilating. Levi reaches a trembling hand down to stroke his cock, and Eren takes hold of Levi’s length.

Levi leans his head on Eren’s shoulder. “Damn it, Eren, I can still heard them flapping.”

“I know, I know,” Eren says, shuddering.

“You’re so hard.”

“I’m gonna—”

“Me too.” Levi can feel heat coiling in his stomach, and the head of his cock weeps as Eren’s hand flies over it. They know each other so well, and Eren moves his hand in long firm strokes, right down to the soft hair at Levi’s base,the sensation driving Levi wild. “Eren,” he moans.

That is when he feels it. He glances over just as a soft, white feather floats down from the sky and lands upon his shoulder, the barely-there tickle glancing over his skin like silk.

Levi’s knees buckle, and practically collapses into Eren’s arms with the strength of his orgasm. “Eren!” he cries out, overwhelmed.

At some point he is distantly aware of Eren taking over from his slackening hand, continuing to work his own cock. Levi leans heavily against him, murmuring encouragement as he rides out his own pleasure, still so aware of the feather on his shoulder.

Shakily, he reaches up to grab it, soft and white and gentle. Eren moans, guessing what Levi plans to do.

Levi reaches down, and brushes the feather over the tip of Eren’s cock.

“Fuck!” Eren’s come coats the feather and Levi’s fingers, then splashes down into the cold waters of the lake.

Levi watches the spectacle, unsure which of them is holding the other up. Eventually, their breaths slow, and he drops the soiled feather into the water. For long seconds, neither of them seem able to speak.

Levi swallows, and gently twists his fingers through the hair at the nape of Eren’s neck. “Eren—”

“I don’t—” Eren interrupts, then stops. A flush creeps into his cheeks. “That was… um, different.”

Levi can feel himself turning red in similar mortification. Birds. They both just got off to birds. He peers out over the lake, staring at the ducks and geese. They’re… birds. He feels nothing. He glances at Eren, and gives his hair a tug. He takes a deep breath. “It’s alright,” he says.

A duck quacks, and they both flinch. Levi closes his eyes.

What the hell just happened?

TO BE CONTINUED...

#monthoflove #eren x levi #danni's drabbles #danni's fanfic #x marks the spot

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dramaplustautology · 7 years ago

Text

Samesies

I love Aco and Solan!! I’m like the old person asking them “Hey, dude. What’s going on?” “Teenage Rebellion.” “Hell yeah, stick it to the old people.”

And I’m at a block for writing other things so I did another scenario to freshen up and also have my OC interact with Ryunn’s in a sort of non-canon/AU way? Anyways, Tariche is a doctor that works for the Thorn and the twins visit him.

I’ll have a bio later, probably. (note that ryunn doesn’t have a bio up so this is just my....omg my fanon of them? nice).

3K Words. Book 3

Examining the newly fastened cast on her broken arm, Aco took her attention back to the doctor and his trailing coat.

“What’s that?” She asked him.

“This?” He finished the scribble on the cast. “So many of you come in here broken and squished, I can’t keep track of who has to keep their casts on for how long. And I hate paper work,” The doctor wiggled in his chair, excited over his drawing. “Instead, you all get pictures that I can remember you by. Look, this is you, me, and Solan. All the little hearts around us mean that we’re in love.”

Aco grabbed the doctor’s marker and drew Xs over his doodle version’s eyes.

He gasped, pushing his rolling chair away from Aco with his hands covering his heart.

“Now it’s a doodle of you both thinking how dead cute my corpse looks!” The doctor tsked, wiggling his finger at her. “Naughty children!”

Grabbing his hand, Aco twisted it and pointed at the lapel of his oversized white coat.

“Tariche, I was asking about what this was.”

The Doctor looked down at the crooked name tag Aco was jangling with his own finger.

“Didn’t you know? Tariche is short for Gregor McScully,” Tariche ballooned a cheek and shrugged. “The trendy way of shortening it at least.”

“Is it still cool when all of your fingers are broken?” Aco’s lips twisted into a wicked smile, about to flatten Tariche’s fingers against the back of his hand.

The Doctor leaned forward, placing his chin on his trapped palm, neither pained nor annoyed.

“You tell me, bloodbag. You and your brother still want my poison?” Tariche mirrored Aco’s expression to an impossibly sharp degree. The only difference between them was black to blond and midnight purple to starry golden vista.

That was suspicious.

“Pfft,” Aco made a satisfied noise. She hated having to ask for things, even after all these years of only demands. "This why you always stand to Solan’s right?”

“Nah, he got wise a long time ago. I just do it to keep him on edge.” Tariche slid his chair away and yelped when Solan caught him from behind.

“Your roots are showing,” Solan smirked, spinning the Doctor’s chair and kicking it towards his twin as the ‘blond’ tousled his course hair. “That trendy too?”

If for only a moment, Solan took some gratification from catching their Doctor off guard. The shorty was a lot like his office; filled to the brim with tools and texts too complicated for plebs to understand, stinking with flowery perfume to mask the sterile bitter smell of disinfectant.

Good thing there were two of them, one to distract and the other to take a stab.

“Did you know Gregor?” Tariche asked, having already collected himself by the time his chair reached Aco. He pressed a small case, not unlike a container for spectacles, to Aco’s lap.

“We picked him up from the weenie factory,” Code for blackmailing him into leaving the Rose’s main base of operations to work for the Thorn. Solan went to his sister’s side and the two shared a high five over Tariche’s head. “He used to squeal when I flapped my eyepatch at him.”

Trying to do the same at Tariche got the Doctor to leap up and attempt to stick his finger into the slit. Slapping his eyepatch back on, Solan just about chomped Tariche’s finger off.

“You must be happy then, no more Gregor to bore you and all of Tariche to—“He took a small vial out of his coat, shaking the clear pills inside. “—Help you leave an impression,” The vial disappeared into his sleeve and he stretched out his arm. “For a fair exchange.”

The twins didn’t need to share a glance to sync up.

“How about you trade those for our threats?” Aco leaned her chair on the door leading outside, about to cross her arms behind her head. The cast cracked and she pretended not to notice, letting it rest and using her good arm as a pillow.

“Hey, Theano? Did you know your kids can’t flex on those poor innocent spindly elves without speed and strength boosters?” He pulled his gloves off with his teeth, spitting them into the trash can by Solan’s boots. “Magic boosters?”

That trash can was sent flying over Tariche’s head, courtesy of Solan stopping himself short of tackling him to the floor.

“You told us they were regular pills.” Aco stood, getting up to circle Tariche’s chair like a lion closing in on a light meal. The Doctor could hear the leather of her gloves stretching from the strain of keeping her hands to herself.

And the Doctor knew why. Aco knew herself, of course. And Tariche always knew the hard facts others grappled with.

“Regular for Lore,” Tariche clarified, tilting his head to the side. “Magic isn’t dead yet. Not that you need magic to dunk my head into an incinerator.”

Suddenly, Solan was right up against Tariche, hauling him out of his spinny chair and smashing him into the wall.

“I could do that without arms.” Solan growled and it sounded like a promise.

“How long would that take? A few hours?” Tariche’s eyes sparkled with literal stars, about to make his pitch. “With a little boost, you could do that in a minute with five inches of dental floss. Wouldn’t that make your murder pageant dad proud?”

Solan thrust the Doctor at the wall, smacking his head for insulting their Commander. All it did was make the stars flash wild.

“You’re not human,” Aco leaned into the exchange, grasping Solan’s shoulder, advising caution with a mere touch. “Typical magic types. You can’t hide your flashy bits even under pain of death.”

“Me? Afraid of my partners in crime? But I trust you so much!”

Trusted them to want his handiwork; that much and more Tariche knew.

The twins glowered, stepping away to let Tariche slide down the wall and back on his feet.

“What’s this then?” Aco asked, raising the rectangular box Tariche had given her.

“How you’re going to pay me this time.” Tariche dusted himself off and made sure to squish between the twins to get by them. He appreciated how hard they made it for him, refusing to budge.

He made it to his desk and pulled open a drawer filled to the brim with glass flasks. The multicolored potions sloshed and he roughly fished through the fragile ware for a particularly bubbly blue one. Swishing the contents around once to get the concoction mostly homogenous, Tariche popped the cork and drowned the drink.

“There’s a syringe inside the box,” Tariche gestured at the container. “That’s the antidote.”

Blinking at him, the twins struggled to understand what the Doctor had done.

“Did you poison yourself?” Solan gaped at the emptied flask.

“This is a new invention of mine. I came up with it all by myself!” Tariche explained, starry eyed again. His audience was captive after all. “It’s strawberry flavored this time but you can slip it into enemy supplies without notice. That’s whole communities if you hit an important well,” He winked and the twins could hear the literal twinkling sound his eyelid made. “There’s some time between ingestion and visible effects that I haven’t figured out yet but it should keep the fair and magic folk alive long enough to find out we have the antidote.”

And that they had to turn themselves into the Rose if they wanted to stay alive.

“Not sure why you want me to give you the antidote but I’d be happy to stab you.” Aco tossed the box and fiddled with the cathartically long needle. Tapping the bubbles out of the barrel on the corner of the cabinet, she playfully aimed it at the most tender part of the good Doctor. It was a hard decision considering how the Doctor was tender everywhere but his heart.

“How nasty are the symptoms?” Solan asked, scratching his chin as he looked Tariche up and down uncomfortably close. He could see the Doctor’s black roots. It seemed that the twins and Tariche shared the same shade of hair. Gross.

“My orifices are going to burn and squirt blood. All that horror stuff to really scare us clean and pretty magic folks, as far as I know,” Tariche tugged on the corner of his eyes to check if it was leaking. His heart was racing from the rush of not knowing for sure. “Luckily, I’m a masochist. You have to be if you want to enjoy getting into medicine.”

Past that, Tariche had nothing to say.

He usually did whenever he had one or both of the twins strapped to a cot, at the mercy of his unending stream of difficult nonsense.

Oddly, neither of the twins were comfortable with the utter quiet. Maybe it was how the Doctor just stared straight ahead, staring at nothing like it was everything on the page of a novel. They could see his pupils vibrate under those weird fairy sparkles.

“And you’re fine with siding against your own people?” Solan asked, orbiting around him with curiosity. Was one of the symptoms making his teeth heavy?

Rolling his head back on the chair’s backrest, Tariche considered the question.

“I don’t know them. Who cares?” He sighed, lingering on the words left hanging in the air. “If you’re wondering if I’m angry at ‘magic’ in general. No, I’m like you.”

“No.” Aco said.

“Please, no.” Solan shook his head at the same time.

“I don’t need to know everything to see that I see the same face in the mirror that you see on each other,” Tariche steepled his fingers on his belly, tapping them as he began to become impatient for the physical pains. “I love not knowing. It makes new books amazing even when they turn out to be puerile garbage. The only thing I don’t know for sure is my mom and dad issues.”

“How did you—“

“Dang, was it the mom or the dad?”

Instantly, the twins clammed up, wondering if Tariche had spoken up to save them from giving up too much.

“Anyways, my mom was the magic one, which is the simplest way of putting it,” He chewed on his cheek, wondering if it was a nervous tick or a reaction. “I didn’t find out about it until we met for the first time after I hit my teens.”

He looked like he was still in his teens, if not younger than Aco and Solan. Then again, both knew what it was like to grow old in the middle of childhood.

“She asked me if I had a lot of people, and I could have if I tried. Didn’t tell her that though,” He kept chewing on his cheek, close to drawing blood. “Mom said that it was good. If she stayed with me, I wouldn’t have anyone and my life would be lonely. Worse, she told me her life would have been better. Full.” Red began leaking from his mouth. “We didn’t know that for sure.”

Stock still, Solan glanced at Aco and watched her slowly stand with the syringe at ready.

Then, Tariche got up too. He had gone from waaaaaay out there to squared shoulders, standing at attention.

“Commander Theano, what brings you here?” Tariche asked.

The twins span around, finding the door still closed.

“I hate needles!” Tariche cried, taking advantage of their confusion to sprint past them and out of the quarantine office.

The Thorn were going to go from having one bad medic to having no medic.

“Crap!” Aco and Solan jumped into action, tearing through the door and past the rows of occupied beds. A gnome strapped to one of the cots struggled in their restrains and Solan pulled the blanket over the head to shut them up.

There were at least four rows of beds for Tariche to hide under until he croaked. He wasn’t going to crawl out easy if he was more afraid of needles than he was death.

Oh but the Doctor loved to blab.

“You weren’t finished,” Aco kept her voice steady, at conversation volume as she padded past the beds. There was enough light to see the Doctor’s prone silhouette. “What does joining us have anything to do with fixing your mommy issues?”

“I’ve read the history books. I know what kind of trouble she got up to. It took long for her to get it together but the effort was admirable. Her taste in lovers? Disagreeable.”

Aco heard his nonsense and pinpointed the cot he was hiding under, tugging off the blankets to find no one but a very upset elf.

“Quit crying!” Aco shushed the prisoner, catching sight of a few drops of blood across her way. She locked stares with Solan in the other aisle, nodding in the direction of the gory trail.

“Trust me,” Tariche couldn’t stop himself from speaking up. “I know what I’m doing. There’s nothing to be afraid of when it comes to your precious Commander either.”

“If he catches you, I’ll be happy to skin you myself,” Solan goaded him, closing in on the Doctor. “Blackmail or not, he knows who’s in his corner.”

“Theano doesn’t care about loyalty. In fact, the scariest part of this entire situation is how he wants—“Tariche was wracked by a violent cough. The twins weren’t sure if it was because of the poison or if the Doctor was faking because he had no idea. “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t me but I was caught before and now, I live again.”

‘The poison’s going to his brain,’ Solan mouthed to Aco. ‘Can’t we let him stay like this for a bit longer?’

The curtain hiding the bed directly beside Solan swung open.

“But this time, I know how to throat punch you.” Tariche got the jump on Solan but the boy’s gut instinct lead his eyes to the angle of the Doctor’s arm.

Seeing it coming from miles away, Solan raised his hands to shield his neck and allowed Tariche to imbed his fist on his rock hard stomach.

“Need a medic?” Solan grinned as Tariche cringed from the blunt force trauma he afflicted on himself.

“Right here!” Aco jumped behind the Doctor and stabbed the needle into his neck.

Wailing like a murdered ghost, Tariche was too shocked to move before Aco pushed the plunger down, injecting the antidote into, miraculously, the right spot for it to act quick.

If it weren’t for the twins catching his arms, Tariche would have broken his nose to top this entire humiliating spree off.

“Look!” The doctor flailed, still disoriented from the effects of that messily cooked poison. “I can fight now! I used to only know how but I can actually do it with my own hands!”

By all means, Aco and Solan were allowed to sneer at the disgusting display. But, if only for a moment, some form of impossible fondness.

“Same.” They whispered together.

All of a sudden, Tariche lifted his head.

“Your friendship means a lot to me.” He said before his head lolled to the side.

And the twins were about to drop the Doctor on his face when they heard the footfalls of boots they had come to memorize. The Commander wasn’t going to happy with the only Doctor on site, who was definitely not Gregor, going out of his mind on bad blue soda.

“I know who that is!” Tariche turned his chin up, almost as furious as the Commander was going to be. “I read the obituaries!”

Each of them slapping a hand over Tariche’s mouth, they thought fast and not hard.

Having heard the Doctor’s shriek, Theano entered his wing to see if a prisoner had escaped. Smartly, he left the trailing Thorn members outside the room to find Solan in the nearest bed with an extremely bloated stomach under his blanket.

“Aw man, I ate so much,” Solan complained, rubbing his writhing belly. “Why, good morning, Commander Theano. The eggs were bad today.”

His belly tried to yell, barely held back by Aco restraining him under the sheets.

“Remove that blanket,” Theano ordered, patience thinner than the starving mage strapped to the other bed. “Now.”

“It smells pretty bad, just saying.” Solan lied, sweating bullets as his Commander’s frown deepened.

“Remove. The Blanket.” Theano wouldn’t repeat himself.

“You know what’s also bad?” Tariche managed to yank Aco’s hand off of his mouth a little late to the right cue. “You at oral exams!”

In the space of a fraction of a second, Theano’s face when through all hues of shock, realization, rage, and steeled stoicism.

“I don’t understand what that means.” Solan admitted, more interested in his Commander’s actions than at Aco’s one armed wrestling match with Tariche happening right next to him.

Theano breathed in, then out.

“You have ten seconds to come back to reality.”

Solan stole a peek under the blanket, betting a face full of blood vomit.

“We need ten hours.”

The Commander had already slammed the door shut.

#Tariche (S)#Solan (S)#Aco (S)

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