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catflorist · 4 years ago

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The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

warning: this chapter contains mentions of death, and also orochimaru displays some possessive behavior over sasuke.

pt. 2: ocean

“You are weak,” Orochimaru hissed, a lazy foot pinning Sasuke’s chest to the ground.

Sasuke glared up at the snake Sannin. “I’m not weak.” In the dim torchlight of Orochimaru’s hideout, his power grew by the day. His new mentor was unimpressed. “You’re not committed. Don’t waste my time if you’re still holding on to your silly village.” He released Sasuke. “You must choose.”

That night, Sasuke saw the faces of the people he had left behind, because the Sharingan kept him from forgetting. But Sasuke had already made his choice. He was already here, wasn’t he? He would do anything to kill Itachi and avenge his slain clan. Nothing else mattered.

He lit a fire in his mind’s eye. Everything burned away, except for Itachi’s face, and the shape of his own hatred. He learned to cut away stray thoughts of his old life, his teammates. He dismissed the time-slipping as a fluke, as inexplicable as the way his curse mark boiled his blood and infused him with strength. As he grew more powerful, the task of rewriting himself became easier and easier, until it was nothing at all. At the hideout near Kusagakure, Sasuke turned fourteen, then fifteen. Orochimaru never called him weak again. Instead, when he looked at Sasuke, his gaze was hungry, like he might consume him. If Sasuke didn’t already know the Sannin wished to claim his body as a vessel, he would have known with one look at his sallow face. The desire was obvious. It grew as wild as brambles around Sasuke. But Sasuke used the thorns as his shield and protection as he cultivated his hatred and his power, clearing a path towards vengeance for his clan. One day Orochimaru led Sasuke to his own sprawling quarters and hissed, “I have a gift for you,” and presented Sasuke a purple obi. When Sasuke knotted it around his waist, Orochimaru trailed a possessive finger over the thick cord. His pale hands trembled. Sasuke pretended not to see. Kabuto called for Orochimaru, and Sasuke was alone in the Sannin’s dark chamber. Dust coated everything in sight except for an ornate vanity and mirror in the center of the room. These fixtures gleamed even in the dark. Askew on the surface of the vanity lay jars of fine white powder, pots of creamy greasepaint, and vials swirling with green liquid, for which Sasuke could name no purpose.

Sasuke dipped his fingers into an open jar of paint. The purple pigment was tacky on his skin, like drying blood. He eyed the collection of brushes Orochimaru used to paint his face. The bristles of each brush tip varied in color and texture. They were composed of human hair. Sasuke frowned, then locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror. For the first time since he had joined Orochimaru, Sasuke had the opportunity to look at himself. The mirror revealed long dark hair falling past his collarbone. A loose, white shirt carelessly flung open to reveal his bare chest. An obi, purple as poison, coiled like a snake around his waist. A dissatisfied mouth, slanting down. Red, red eyes that absorbed all light and reflected none back. In a trance, he pulled his hair back from his face. Itachi peered back at him. Sasuke recoiled and dropped the ponytail. In his own chamber Sasuke cut his hair as short as he could get it with a kunai. When it was done he felt the jagged and uneven spikes and let out a breath. He was not Orochimaru’s vessel. He was not a Konoha shinobi. He was not Itachi. He was his own. . . Sasuke’s old teammates infiltrated Orochimaru’s lair. Through Orochimaru’s network of spies, Sasuke had heard word of Sakura’s healing abilities, and her defeat of Sasori of the Akatsuki. He could not help staring at her, trying to sense the difference. But when her mouth formed the syllables of his name, his ears rejected the sound of her voice. He had not heard any news of Naruto. Sasuke tested his abilities and found him wanting. The encounter was short and inconsequential. Sasuke had done his work well. He didn’t feel a thing. Nothing, not even his old teammates, could keep him from fulfilling his purpose.

Half-asleep in bed that night, he remembered how Naruto’s nose twitched right before he smiled.

Sasuke opened his eyes and frowned at his ceiling, shutting down the intrusive thought.

He remembered another half-forgotten detail. Sakura’s knees bruised easily.

Spots colored Sasuke’s vision. He gasped, fighting a flood of nausea.

Rain pattered upon a wooden roof. The air smelled like salt. Sakura’s hair was long. She said, “It’s you.” By the time Sasuke activated the glare of his Sharingan, he was back in his bed. He shot up, fingers still tingling, far more shaken than he would like. Sasuke had learned to harness the power of his curse mark. He had mastered the chidori, the Sharingan, and all of Orochimaru’s tricks. He had overcome his weaknesses and cut away all ties to his old life. How could this be happening? . . The next time, Sasuke lunged at Sakura even before the tingling in his fingers faded. Sakura let out a grunt. Her forearm blocked his assault. When they made contact Sasuke’s stomach lurched. Her body felt solid and very real.

Sakura sprang backwards and held up her hands. “I don’t want to fight you.” Sasuke darted towards her again. She twisted his arm and flipped him to the ground. His back connected with the floor with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Long pink hair dangled in his face. He tried to move, but an iron grip pinned him down. “Sorry about that.” She didn’t sound sorry. “How did you get so strong?” he demanded. A small bubble of laughter escaped Sakura. Sasuke’s stomach turned in a familiar falling motion. He lurched up in his own bed, the sound of her laugh ringing in his ears, and spit out a curse.

The last person to pin Sasuke down in a fight was Orochimaru. Two years ago.

When he had attacked Sakura, he hadn’t even bothered to use his doujutsu. He had underestimated her. . . Sasuke knew he would slip again, as if he had activated his Sharingan and seen the shape of the instinct with his own eyes. He prepared himself. As he cooled from the previous encounter with Sakura, he decided it would not be wise to attack her. Instead, he would use the visits to his advantage and gather information. The next time, he was ready. The scent of salt filled his nose. Sasuke was alone in a one-roomed, lofted shack. He rushed to the nearest window. Morning sun illuminated a rocky coastline, which eased into sand and then an endless expanse of blue ocean. Two tall rock formations studded the water and distant mountains cut into the sky. This landscape appeared nowhere near Konoha. Sasuke released his grip on the windowpane and assessed his surroundings. The room was bare save for a table, a bookshelf, and two chairs positioned next to the small hearth. A row of large seashells decorated its mantle. He caught a glimpse of bedding tucked away in the loft high above his head. A dark cat dozed on the kitchen counter next to a stack of wooden bowls. The door creaked open, inviting a gust of wind into the room. Sakura halted in the doorframe, carrying a wooden bucket heavy with seawater. She wore loose pants and a man’s shirt. A diamond marked the center of her forehead.

“Sasuke,” she greeted, brow furrowed. A strange expression—something he couldn’t name—rose then fell from her face.

“Am I not who you expected?” Sasuke bit. Sakura’s mouth twitched. “Not quite.”

“Where are we?” he asked. “My place,” Sakura said, shutting the door with a swing of her hip. She set the bucket on the floor. The dark cat slunk down from the kitchen counter and leapt into Sasuke’s surprised arms.

“Her name is Hime,” Sakura said, as the cat made herself comfortable on his shoulder, as if she were royalty.

“Why is this happening?” he demanded. But with a cat purring next to his ear, he imagined he did not form the threatening picture he wanted. Sakura validated his concerns by asking, “Do you want some tea? Or if you’re hungry, I collected mussels. They’re best when they’re fresh.” He snorted. “You’re already here, aren’t you? Might as well enjoy yourself.” She smiled. Her fingers twitched. “Unless you’re interested in another fight.” Sasuke’s fists clenched. I am here for information, he reminded himself, and took a reluctant seat at the table. Sakura poured two cups of tea, though he had not asked for any, and sat across from him. Sasuke asked, “What year is it?” The cat sprang from his shoulder onto his thigh. Sakura named a date five years ahead of his own. “Where are we?” She smiled. “What’s happened to the village?” Silence. Konoha might have burned to the ground, or Sakura might be Hokage. Sasuke could not read her. Another question burned in his throat, one he had not planned to ask, but it escaped him anyway. “Do I…” He swallowed. “Do I kill Itachi? You must know.” He thought her eyes saddened. Or maybe it was the light. “Answer me,” he snapped. Sasuke had spent nights envisioning what might happen the next time he slipped—the questions he could ask Sakura, the knowledge he would gain. But he had not considered the simple possibility that she would resist answering him. He had not foreseen the cup of tea steaming before him, the cat curled in his lap. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so much,” she said. Sasuke shot up, jostling the table. His teacup toppled over. The cat let out an unhappy cry and darted out of sight. “Don’t act like you know me,” he spat, blood rushing to his head. He was speaking to the shadows of his empty room. . . Sasuke returned to this Sakura at the seaside time and time again. It always happened when he was tired, half-asleep, his guard down. He worked himself to the bone, hoping fatigue would fend away the unwanted journey. It did not. Sasuke bombarded her with questions. Sakura responded with jests, frustrating half-truths, or silence, until Sasuke stopped asking. He had failed to adopt Orochimaru’s slick and persuasive nature. Any information he learned was at Sakura’s mercy. Sometimes when he arrived, Sakura was making breakfast. Feeding the cat. Sitting by the hearth, playing a game of shogi with herself. “Tea?” she asked, each time.

Sasuke would slam the door on the way out. If he couldn’t control his visits, he could at least limit his exposure to Sakura. The wooden shack was perched on the first patch of firm ground by the water. He stared at the ocean until he slipped back to his own time. His visits were brief, until one time, it wasn’t. Sakura was up in the loft, folding her bedding. She fluffed a pillow and made no comment at his appearance.

Sasuke dodged the cat’s affections. He sat cross-legged against the side of her small home and waited for the vertigo that meant he was on his way. Half an hour passed, but it did not come. At the sound of a creaky door, Sasuke opened his eyes. Sakura strode outside with a wooden bucket. “You’re still here,” she observed. Against his better judgement, Sasuke spoke. “I’d rather not be.” “You look tired.” “It’s the middle of the night,” he insisted, squinting in the morning sun. A bird chirped cheerfully in the middle of his sentence. “Well,” Sakura said. She situated the bucket on her hip. “Don’t let me keep you.” This concluded their second-longest conversation. Sakura walked down to the tide pools, waded calf-deep in the water, and collected mussels. He was still here when she returned, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the stone path. Water sloshed from Sakura’s bucket. “Are you hungry?” she called, already smirking in anticipation of his refusal. He glared. Sakura was not done. She touched a finger to her chin. “You like sitting here. I’ll build a bench,” she decided. “Don’t,” Sasuke advised. Next time, a bench waited outside her house. The material was the same smooth wood as the house, though Sasuke didn’t see any hardwood trees around. He scowled, but he sat down. The cat joined him, then Sakura joined him. “When was the last time I was here?” he sighed. “Three days ago.” Sakura set an extra cup of tea between them, which Sasuke ignored. “And you?” “Last night.” He rubbed his temples. “And the night before that.” “No wonder you’re tired,” she said, scratching Hime between her ears. Sasuke sprang a question. “Why aren’t you in Konoha?” “I like the ocean,” Sakura said, without skipping a beat. “Since when?” he muttered. They had seen the ocean together once, on their first mission. He didn’t remember Sakura making any particular fuss about it. The half-smile on her face faded. “I’m here because I’m waiting for something.” Something in her voice made Sasuke’s head turn. He allowed himself to really look at Sakura, to see what she would be like in five years' time. Her hair was long again. Her limbs were wiry and powerful emerging from the men’s clothing she now wore. Her chin was just as delicate as he remembered, her eyes just as green, reflecting the sea. “What are you waiting for?” Sasuke asked. The rocky ceiling of his chamber gave no response. . . On Sasuke’s sixteenth birthday, Orochimaru procured another gift for Sasuke. He held out a thin wooden box and opened the lid for him. A delicate wooden comb lay in its plush interior. “For your hair,” the Sannin said. Sasuke nearly smiled. He was unversed in the finer details of gift-giving, but even he knew that kushi made inauspicious gifts. “Don't worry about good or bad luck, Sasuke-kun,” Orochimaru assured. He grasped the comb and ran a thumb across its slender wooden teeth, producing a musical vibration. “We won’t need any of it.” He stepped closer and ran the comb through the front lock of Sasuke’s hair. He was gentle, practicing ownership of his future vessel. Sasuke froze through the first stroke of the comb, and the next. Then the fine teeth snared on a tangle. Awakened by the twinge of pain on his scalp, Sasuke pulled back. The hairs stood up on his arms. Orochimaru would soon try to claim him. But Sasuke was stronger than Orochimaru. He fell asleep that night thinking about his next steps. He woke up and blood was dripping from his eyelashes, clogging his ears. He retched at the scent, acid rising to his throat. He saw his parents’ slumped bodies. He saw Itachi’s red eyes. He heard every sound a clan made as it was slaughtered, then the terrible silence after the screaming had stopped. His fists clenched in his blankets, but his fingers closed around sand. There was an ocean in front of him. Sasuke was chest deep into the cold water when he realized he was not splattered in the blood of his nightmare. He plunged under anyway, because he still felt unclean. He floated in the darkness, his body bobbing with the tide. After some time, his lungs panged in a distant way. He opened his eyes, feeling the burn of the salt. The pain in his lungs worsened until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Sasuke broke the surface and gasped for air. When he emerged from the waves, Sakura was waiting for him on the beach. She held out a blanket. Leave me alone. Sasuke opened his mouth to spit out the words. But he hesitated. Accepting Sakura’s blanket changed nothing in his own time. It would only make his existence a little warmer and drier for the time being. Nothing he did here in this dreamlike world changed anything at all. Sasuke wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. It was soft and heavy, and smelled of something fresh. Dimly, he remembered this was Sakura’s scent. He dropped to the ground to ease the shaking of his legs.

Without a sound, Sakura sat next to him. She did not touch him, did not look anywhere except the water. Sasuke dried his face, then ran his fingers through the cool sand, grounding himself. All was quiet except for waves crashing against the pair of rock formations.

As he was slipping back, she spoke. “Take care, Sasuke-kun.” Sasuke fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning his clothes were stiff with seawater, flecked with salt and sand. Something hard and round pressed against his palm. Sasuke opened his fingers and discovered he was holding a pebble. Its surface was smooth as water, and it was the same color as the moon. . . It was another night, and instead of sleep, Sasuke was pulled to Sakura. She joined him outside. The morning sun shimmered on the water. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Like usual, she offered Sasuke tea. As Hime purred against his leg, Sasuke’s fingers wrapped around the cup. “Hm,” Sakura said, watching him. “If I remember right, this is the last time.” “The last time?” Sasuke repeated. “The last time you’ll come here.” She took a sip of her tea. “It’s not the end, though. You’ll see me elsewhere. In other times.” Sasuke remembered the other Sakura he had met, the first time he had slipped. She was crying, and Sasuke had held her hand. He had tried to forget. But that wasn’t the first time. An old dream—what Sasuke thought was a dream—came back to him in a rush. A woman with pink hair had given him breakfast. She was pregnant. Her baby had kicked. Something must have shown on his face, because Sakura said, “I know this is strange. It’s been strange for me too.” “You know what this is—why this is happening. At least say that much.” Though he tried, his voice had no heat. “Yes,” she said. “I know why this is happening.” “How do you know?” he asked. Maybe he asked the right question, because for once, Sakura gave him a blunt answer. “I know because you told me.” Sasuke’s throat went dry. “Sakura—”

He didn't know where he was going with that sentence, but it didn't matter. He slipped away. . . . .

Up next: Sasuke forms his team, learns the cause of his time-slipping, and makes some decisions.

Notes: Combs (kushi) are considered bad luck when given as gifts--"ku" means suffering and "shi" means death. This chapter and chapter 7 are my favorites, so I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did!!

late update bc I was swept away celebrating how trump was voted out of office!!! he can now f*ck off :)

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my ss #my fic #the time being

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aj-writes-here · 4 years ago

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Promises

Author’s note: Soooo, apparently, I defeated writer's block and I came up with this. I haven't written something NSFW in a looong time, so I apologize in advance if it's not the best, I'll keep practicing! 😅

[Warnings: NSFW]

Mayhem, chaos, noses bleeding, yelling, food on the floor, and Sasha tied to a pillar. That was what the dinner of that night caused. Someone had had the great idea of giving meat before retaking the Wall Maria the next day, but the dinner turned out to be a total disaster. Levi was alone in his room going through some reports and repeating future and unknown events about the upcoming events. Meanwhile, y/n was sitting next to Hanji watching the show the meat brought, she couldn't help but laugh. Even though the situation was hilarious to her eyes, she would've rather staying in the bedroom she shared with Levi, but Hanji practically dragged her to join the dinner with her, and y/n couldn't refuse.

Things cold down for a little while, that was until something had trigger Jean and Eren... Again.

y/n squeeze the bridge of her nose with her index finger and her thumb suppressing a laugh, as a squad leader she had to seem objective, but it didn't matter because everyone's attention was on the two men, who were insulting each other and throwing punches. After a while, a very familiar voice resounded in the room. It was him, of course. The battle that was going on was ended by Captain Levi, no dialogue or warnings. A kick for Eren, and a punch for Jean, fair enough. y/n face had a disgust expression when she saw some of the guys throwing up, but her expression softened at the moment Levi gave the instructions for everyone to go to sleep, and also to clean up the barfed meat.

She noticed how Eren, Armin, and Mikasa left the room, and then from one second to another, she couldn't find Levi anywhere. y/n knew he was worried, yet she wanted to give him space. So she did, she helped taking some of the plates back to the kitchen, after all everything was a mess and she wanted to help someway somehow.

The silence filled her ears on the way back to her room, she was hoping to find Levi there but once she got in the room was empty. She took a deep breath while sitting on the edge of the bed, letting her back make contact with the mattress. Once she closed her eyes, time was endless. But she wasn't asleep, there was no way she was going to bed without giving Levi a kiss goodnight.

The sound of the door being opened and soft steps fill the room, slowly she sat back on the bed, looking at the Captain with a soft smile.

—Thought you were asleep.

—About to, but I was not going to until kiss you.

—I don't see you doing it. —He stopped in front of her —

—So demanding.

y/n rolled her eyes with fun and stood up, walking towards him. She crossed her arms trough his neck, melting her mouth against his lips. The kiss was soft, needed, worried. She noticed and separate from him, looking at his eyes.

—Levi... Things will go fine tomorrow. —She said in a soft voice, using her hand to touch his cheek.

—Are you always that optimistic? —Levi furrowed his eyebrows just a little bit.

—Are you always so grumpy? —Imitating her actions, she furrowed her eyebrows but stole a small kiss from him. At the second she left his lips, he held tightly against his body. y/n knew what Levi was thinking. —Hey, you will not lose me. —She mumbled against his chest. — And you will be fine too. We will make it.

—What if everything gets fucked up? I can't lose you, not you. — He took her by her shoulders, looking at the woman he loved.

—Ok, maybe I was just a little bit optimistic, predicting things that are beyond what I can handle but I can promise you that... I will do everything on my power to stay safe and look after you at every opportunity.

—You should take care of yourself, I'll be fine — He said — Maybe you should stay —Levi raised an eyebrow.

—Forget it, not a chance. I'm a squad leader, Levi. I'm not staying here and definitely, I'm not letting you go alone.

—Have you always been this stubborn? —He used the tone of voice that he used anytime he would give in.

—Yes, and I won't stop being stubborn. I will be with you until the end, and you won't make me change my mind.

Levi embraced her body against his. It was a tight hug, afraid of if he let her go she would vanish, but that was not going to happen. He was going to fight tomorrow, for humanity, for her. For a future by her side. It was funny, before meeting her there was no vision of the future on his mind, only kill their enemies, protect humanity, that was the meaning of his life. But now? Now it was her, he wanted to be by her side as much as possible, he didn't want to lose her.

—Promise me you'll take care of yourself.—He said, his voice was plain, but she knew he was worried as fuck—

—I promise. And I promise you that as I have the opportunity, I'll go and find you.

That was enough, he knew he was not going to make her stay, but he couldn't help feeling scared. Those missions could take a different turn in a matter of seconds, it was unpredictable but on the other hand, he knew that y/n was strong and smart, and he trusted her. He knew that she was going to do everything to stay safe and come back to him, she has always done that, and so did him.

In a soft movement, he cupped her cheek on the palm of his hand, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb, she couldn't stop feeling the air trapped inside her lunges every time Levi did something like that, so soft, so pure, so real. He analyzed every detail of her face as if he wanted to remember it by heart. His thumb went over her cheek, then to her lips parting them softly. Levi tilted his head to the side, without drifting his eyes away from her. Damn woman, what had she done to him? He was cold as a stone, stoic, no expressions, his emotions always under control. And there he was, looking at her as if she was the most precious work of art, the same hands that had killed titans and even humans were caressing her face more than softly, the eyes that never say anything were screaming how much he loved her. y/n was hypnotized by the man in front of her, and before she could say anything else his lips were over hers, holding her by her nape, pulling her closer to his body.

Levi's lips were not the softest, and honestly, she loved the roughness that they had. He used his free hand to let it rest on her lower back, and daringly he drifted his hand under her shirt, caressing her soft skin. Both of them gained distance so they could breathe and in less than five seconds they were kissing each other again as if their lives depended on that. y/n took the end of his shirt and got rid of the piece of clothing, immediately Levi moved both to the bed, using his hands to hold his body weight while she was still kissing him. It was a rough kiss, full of desire, necessity, love, and emotions, they were craving for each other. y/n got rid of her shirt, removing his bra as well. The sensation of his warm body touching her made her let out a small gasp. His lover used his mouth to kiss her neck, biting it softly, breathing her perfume, and marking her as his. Levi's lips moved to one of her shoulders, then to one of her breasts, smiling internally when he heard her moaning, and the hell how could she not? His lips were giving attention to her already hard nipples, biting them softly. Levi moved his mouth down to her stomach, leaving wet kisses all over her. He moved back up to her mouth, feeling the need of kissing her. A few seconds later, Levi kneeled on the bed unbuttoning his pants and thanking the Gods he was not in his uniform, so in this way, it was easier to take them out. y/n sat on the bed, holding tightly to her lover's body. No one could ever show physical affection to the Captain, he was so respected that some cadets wouldn't even look at him, but y/n was the only exception and she loved it. While she was kissing his neck, his collarbones and part of her chest she felt the luckiest woman on earth, Levi was hers, and it was a huge turn-on for her to be able to touch him as much as she wanted.

After struggling with his and her pants, Levi held both of her arms up to her head, using his knee to make space and put himself between her legs. By instinct, y/n moved her hips against his hard length still trapped inside his underwear. Nor he nor she knew how they were able to get rid of her panties and his boxers, but eventually she found her self needing his touch, needing to feel him inside her. In a different contextual moment, he would have teased her as much as he wanted, but now it was different. It was passionate, soft, needed. Both knew that the day next was going to be tough, so they needed to feel each other completely and using time wisely. Levi used one of his hands to align his erection against her wet entrance, moving his hips against. A grunt left his lips at the feeling of sliding into her, and y/n arched her back while she closed her eyes moaning with no shame. H

Levi pulled back, but then he thrust inside her again, the pace was slow, but the movements were firm and strong. This time, their hands tangled together at the same time Levi put his forehead over hers and immediately y/n kissed him as hard as she could, somehow hiding her moans on his mouth.

—Levi...—She said once she broke the kiss—

He didn't say anything, he was not a man of words. Instead, he hid his face on the crook of her neck, breathing heavily against her skin. His movements were flowing naturally, and with every thrust y/n was feeling her body on flames. She was lost in pleasure, giving herself to the man she loved. Again, her back arched against his toned torso, and Levi uses his hand to held and squeezed her leg.

—So fucking tight—He said with a low voice, completely lost in every single sensation.

y/n nails left marks on Levi's back, feeling how his muscles stretched under her touch, god, he was driving her insane. Every time he moved back and then thrust into her again was like swimming in a sea of desire, her entire body surrendering to Levi's actions. She felt a very familiar pressure building on her lower stomach, knowing she was getting close every time Levi slide into her.

He was not far from her, he felt electricity running through his spine when her inner walls clenched around his dick, making him aware that y/n was as close as he was. His movements became just a little bit faster as he was increasing the strength of his hips.

—Fuck.—He said, pressing his forehead against y/n forehead for a few seconds.

—I'm close— She was already a moaning mess, moving his hips against his so she could meet his movements and found a rhythm to follow along with him.

—Look at me— Levi demanded while holding his body weight on his hands again, looking directly at her eyes. When she did, she felt coming to an end, but she was way lost in the moment as to articulate any other words— Let it go, with me.

His voice was now demanding, and at this point, it was hard not to slow down his pace. It was after a few minutes midnight when she let out a shameless moan, holding on his biceps. y/n was fighting hard at no closing her eyes, and honestly, being looking at Levi's eyes was far way better. She felt his dick twitching inside her, and with one last thrust, she let her self go, feeling her orgasm in all her body. Soon after, Levi followed her, his hips still while he was inside her and a low grunt escaped his mouth. After a few seconds, he kept moving slowly while trying to catch his breath. He leaned so he could kiss her lips, a long and deep kiss.

He pulled out letting a small 'tch' at the feeling.

—I love you. So damn much.

Levi said while leaving kisses on her jaw, neck, and collarbones, collapsing then on her chest. y/n hand touched his undercut, caressing her hair in a loving way.

—I love you too, Captain.

She laughed at the nickname, smiling as she heard him laughing quietly while she continued whit the soft touches on his hair. It was just them, dim light and a messy bed. Just y/n and Levi showing how much they love each other, without thinking, at least for a few minutes about the upcoming events. He looked at her and gave her another small kiss on her mouth, it was time for them to take a shower and go back to bed so they could sleep for a while, at least in each other arms, nights were easier for both. In the end, they had promised that they would spend and enjoy nights like that one as much as they could.

#levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman #attack on titan #attack on titan imagine

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clinioelerrante · 3 years ago

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The house elf

Lovingly dedicated to the director @divagonzo and participants of romioneficfest 2021 ( @romioneficfest ) posted on Tumblr.

Finally, in English.

All my appreciation to @headcanonsandmore, without whose help the realization of this translation would have been impossible.

He did an OUTSTANDING job revising the original, something I can never thank him enough for. Any errors or inaccuracies in the text will be my fault, not his.

Even after reading @headcanonsandmore's annotation and, because the text is basically the interaction between a male character and an elf, I will using using he/his/him would perhaps have given the text a lack of freshness, as it was continually making 'notations' to clarify which of them is speaking. I hoped this would make it easier for the reader. I apologise if this may offend anyone in any way.

The home elf

When the first rays of sunlight broke through the windows of Grimmauld Place, the sapphire eyes of Ronald Weasley greeted them open.

He hadn’t slept much that night and there was a good reason for that. In a few hours Hermione, Harry and himself would infiltrate the Ministry to try to obtain Slytherin’s locked.

The first of the Horcruxes they must locate and detsroy brought with it the real meaning of what they were getting into and the terrible dance that they would be facing from them on.

Not that he had been unaware of it before, but he had always felt protected under Dumbeldore’s magic and presence. It was the attack on his own home that reminder him what that protection was over.

Just once, he had felt like this. So exposed, so vulnerable, so insignificant, so useless and scared. It was when Hermione had been injured in the Department of Mysteries. If it were up to him, he would have hidden Hermione with her parents on the other side of the world. This was a nice dream to find solace in but he was aware that without her, the mission would be doomed to failure.

The night when the first lights of dawn were coming to an end had been a constant succession of lucid nightmares in which he had envisioned the thousand and one dreadful fates they might face once they passed through the Ministry’s atrium, and all but two of these nightmares had as their protagonist a witch with thick bushy hair and chocolate-coloured eyes.

For a moment, resentment against Harry nested in Ronald Weasley’s heart. He had no problem sharing the fate of his best friend. If Harry asked him, Ron would be able to go down to hell with one hand tied behind his back, which in fact was exactly what he was about to do! Ron wasn’t stupid. The experience of previous years had given him a realistic perspective of the war. The price that was paid day by day and the price that was still to be paid, but that price should not include a stubborn witch who was wise, crazy and with a mouth he wanted to kiss. Harry should have insisted and forbid her to endanger herself by traveling with them.

As if you or he could have stopped her! A voice whispered in the back of his head causing a hint of a smile to play on the redhead’s lips as images of a platinum blonde ferret getting a superb punch to the nose replayed in his mind.

Besides, you know that if it weren’t for her, you’d both be perfectly dead and He-who-not-to-be-named would be walking the land of Merlin long before.

A brief growl escaped Ron’s smile at the thought that the little voice seemed to have the echo of a too familiar ‘I told you so’.

Even so, he could not refute that claim. Had it not been for Hermione and her prodigious beaded bag, their situation at this very moment might have been very different. They would not have had the supplies to survive until they had reached the Sirius’s residence and had been able to carry out all the surveillance of the ministry...

A thunderous grumble from his stomach put an end to all that introspection.

"I wonder how she’s arranged the food thing? She’s been reminding me of Gamp’s laws for six bloody years," he muttered as he sat up.

Knowing that he was unable to stay in bed for even minute longer, and hoping to calm his nerves and nightmares with a good cup of tea, he started towards the kitchen when he found the light leaking under the door of the room in which he had left Hermione the night before.

This had not ended in one of their famous arguments because he had preferred to bite his tongue rather than go to bed with both of them angry at each other, but he had been very close to grabbing her by the hip, throwing her over his shoulder, and throwing her over the nearest bed to force her to sleep, when she insisted on staying awake, going going over the details of infiltrating a Ministry dominated by Voldemort to the point of exhaustion. The rage he had barely managed to control returned with full force when he realised that she had to keep working on it.

With typical Weasley outburst, he burst into the room ready to end this madness and force her to rest for the few hours that remained, when he froze in the doorway while all the anger that had once made his blood boil evaporated as if it had never been.

Under the flickering candlelight, a sound-asleep Hermione, rested her head on a book on the theory of magic and a countless number of scrolls scribbled with diagrams and plans of the Ministry.

Ron needs to lean against the doorjamb when he feels his legs turn to jelly as he watches the flickering candlelight catch infinite shades of copper from the petite witch’s hair, how, despite the small trickle of drool that escapes from between... Oh, merlin; her lips! They look softly pink and absolutely adorable. The long lashes, blessing eyes that would be able to get anything from him just by looking lovingly at him, and the seven little freckles she has on her nose. He never told her, but he learned the configuration of the constellation Orion when he saw it perfectly represented on that little nose. But above all that, what touches his heart is to see the look on her face completely relaxed, as if for a moment, sleep has blessed her with a few hours of peace, oblivious to all the madness that has been raging around her.

For a moment he tempted to take her in his arms and take her to a bed where she rest properly. H is arms tingle at the mere thought of touching her, but he knows that if she wakes up, she will insist on continuing her crazy review, losing the little rest she so desperately needs, something he will not deny her. Although a part of his heart cries out for the set image of indulging in what has so far been only one of his craziest dreams like taking her to a marriage bed like a bride, the rest of her whole being makes him close the door slowly while casting a soundproofing spell her to prevent any noise from disturbing her sleep.

Only then, as he resumed his journey to the kitchen, does he allow himself to wonder. When she became so important to him? What at point did she become his whole world?

Surprisingly he couldn’t find a specific moment. Somehow, Hermione had been infiltrating his heart without him being fully aware of the stealthy invasion. Evidently, he had realized that what he experienced in the fourth year was a storm of jealousy, so big! That seemed to have turned his brain into jelly and incapable of thinking. But only when he faced the possibility of losing her at the end of fifth year did, he realized the “the sheer extent” of emptiness his had inside if she wasn’t in his life.

And while his mind is lost in the memories of a bossy little girl who scoldes him for having a dirty nose, with a young girl who looks amazing meanwhile she glides majestically through the great dining room with the hand of a pumpkin-headed arse with a ridiculous goatee; Ron finds himself in the kitchen just as he sees the old Sirius’ home elf, stirring between pots and pans, probably anticipating the housework of the day that begins with breakfast for the three tenants of the old Black House, while the Regulus’ locket hangs around it neck.

Well. Not ‘Sirius’’. It’s Harry’s elf now, he rectifies in his mind as he remembers that Harry’s godfather had been the biggest victim of that fateful night...

“Good morning, master”, the broken voice of the old servant interrupts the thoughts that again caused a shudder in his spine. “Perhaps Master Weasley woke up too early? Can Kreacher help his lordship with a cup of tea? ”

“Yes, Kreacher. Please.” He thinks he’ll never get used to the elf’s sensitive ears. Somehow, the little servant always seems to sense what is happening around him, even if it was turning its back on him at the time. Ron’s heart still comes out of his chest when he remembers the time he sneaked into the kitchen looking for something to eat at midnight, and when he closed the cupboard door, he found a pair of bulging eyes within an inch of his face staring suspiciously at him.

“Master would like something more substantial to go with his tea?”

Ron has not gone unnoticed by the change that had taken place in the Elf’s attitude since Harry had given it the Regulus’ locket. Its previous hostility towards Harry had turned into a quasi-devotion after that small act of kindness. He wondered, what would have happened to Kreacher, if all of Hermione’s ideas about S.P.E.W. and dealing elves with dignity and kindness had been applied by Sirius? Perhaps the tormented elf wouldn’t have found the flaw that allowed it to alert the Deatheater. In a twisted way, the last of the Black had forged his fate by treating his servant miserably.

Then, perhaps, he thought, Sirius could have stayed alive and Harry could have had a real family, where he could have felt the love and warmth of a real home.

“Master?”

“No Kreacher, thank you very much”, he replies kindly and with a smile when he returned to the present. Here is another one of Hermione’s crazy ideas for the magical world and which, however, she is right; he thought. “Tea will be enough.”

"As Master Weasley wishes. Should I to prepare breakfast for the other guests, perhaps?" A furry eyebrow rose with doubt.

“I don’t know. Have either of them woken up?” Ron wasn’t about to let either of them lose moments of sleep, so he considered finding out what his friends’ current situation was first before the elf mistakenly interpreted that it was time to wake them both up.

“Master Potter is still asleep, though he hasn’t stopped hanging around in bed and grumbling all night,” Kreacher seemed to know where Ron’s thoughts were headed, “as for the mudblood...”

“DON’T EVER! NEVER! YOU WILL NEVER CALL HER THAT AGAIN, KREACHER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DON’T EVER!”

Ron was not even aware of his reaction, until he saw the terrified eyes of the elderly elf as he lifted his arms in an attempt at self-protection.

He was unaware that the chair on which he was sitting slammed against the wall when he stepped abruptly, nor of his agitated breathing, nor how his fist looked white like snow leaning on the table, nor of how he had projected his body towards the elf like the wolf that stalks its prey.

Ron had not been aware of any of it, until he saw an elderly house elf, trembling with terror and with the certainty of supreme punishment in his eyes. That’s when a cascade of revelations is triggered in his mind, like if they had always been there, only now they seem to fit perfectly together.

To see how a being, with a magic infinitely more complex and more powerful that human wizards is so shackled by his social conditioning and fear, to the point to be unable to react even only to save its own life or the lives of its own, to become less than vermin in the eyes of it oppressors. And as he gazes into the terrified eyes of the elf, before her mind’s eye is the image of other eyes. The sweet chocolate eyes full of love and compassion for any living thing of a girl with big front teeth, who wears a hideous S.P.E.W. badge on her chest and that makes him feel so vile, unworthy and miserable that he feels nauseous of himself.

“Kreacher,” his voice sounded harsher than he intended with the try to control the gags that haunt him, causing the elderly shudder before him.

“Kreacher,” he repeated, this time with much more warmth. “Please, have a seat.”

The elf is so scared that it went like the victim of the ‘Imperius’ curse, to the nearest chair to sit, ignoring all the social conditioning that prevents it to sitting under the presence of a wizard.

“Kreacher,” Ron took a deep breath, as if he wanted to draw from the air the inspiration he needed to face the task before him. “I’m sorry; please forgive me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or frightened you.”

If previously the elf’s expression was one of absolute terror, it was replaced by one of utter shock.

“Is… Is Master apologizing to Kreacher?” Its voice sounded like a frog’s and his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as the thought finally pierced its skull.

“Yeah. You see,” the redhead graded his hair trying to focus. He had a difficult problem before him. On the one hand, he couldn’t put into crisis all the old servant’s beliefs at the stroke of a pen. That would only cause the elf to close itself to listen to him, but on the other hand, he had to make it see or at least consider, the abomination of belittling the mere existence of a sorcerer for the simple fact of his magical origin. “I didn’t mean to hurt or frighten you. Just don’t use that word again when you mean Miss Granger. She really doesn’t deserve it. ”

The elf’s stupor had not disappeared, but a glimmer of curiosity appeared in its gaze.

“Look, I know how all that purity of blood crap goes, but I’m asking you to disregard it for once, okay?” Kreacher’s face implied without a shadow of a doubt/beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t understanding a word Ron was trying to explain.

“Kreacher. Imagine for a moment that you didn’t know Miss Granger’s origin. That you didn’t know her at all, and that the first time she had set foot in this house, instead of appearing in Muggle clothes and accompanying a handful of outlaws and bloog-traitors, she would have come at the hand of Master Regulus, dressed with fop’s elegant tunics and looking absolutely beautiful and relaxed, as if this had been her social environment all her life.”

“Master Weasley,” the elf looks absolutely desolate, “Kreacher can’t do that. Kreacher can sense the magic of the wizards. Its origin, its intensity. It is impossible that Kreacher would not have realized that she had been a charlaton.”

Ron felt his jaw clench and his back tended to stiffen with pure stiffness as he heard it refer to Hermione as a fake. Getting his point across seemed like an impossible mission. The elf’s behaviour seemed to be conditioned by the first impression of perceiving the origins of a wizard’s magic in conjunction with all its training. Once the conditioning of a lifetime, nay, a whole dynasty, intervened! There was no room to look at anything else....

“… Anything else…” he whispered, “Anything else. There is no second chance.” Ron’s eyes opened like plates.

“Is Master right?“ Kreacher had left the chair and cautiously approached the wizard who seemed unconcerned.

“There is no second chance,” he whispered again, and on his face appeared the smile and glow in her eyes that her opponents in chess they knew so well. “KREACHER! ”

The unsuspecting elf jumped backwards so much that stumbled upon the chair it had previously occupied and began to stumble with its own feet until the fall proved imminent, only to be taken in scooped up and gently placed on its original chair by freckled and plenty scarred arms.

“Are you okay, Kreacher? Ron’s voice had genuine concern. It was not only because of the continual jolts to which he was subjecting the old heart of the weak elf and the fear of destroying any bridge of understanding that might have been created between the two, but that he might have really suffered some injury.

“What did the master just do?” The elderly’s eyes were locked on Ron’s.

“I... I, I’m sorry Kreacher. I’m not good at mastering my impulses. I didn’t mean to scare you again.” Ron’s eyes turned to the ground as shame flooded him again. It was the second time he had frightened the elf. It was only logical that it would never trust him again. Any chance to make it understand the human greatness of the curly-haired witch had gone out the window thanks to his blatant and never well-measured combination of stupidity and impulsivity... “Shit!“ He moaned.

“Did Master help Kreacher?” its eyes widened like saucers. “Master protected Kreacher!”

“Errr...? “ Ron’s face was the manifestation of absolute astonishment.

“Master protected Kreacher! He didn’t forbid Kreacher to punish itself, no. He protected it.” Ron’s face clearly showed that he still did not understand what the servant was telling him. “Only Master Regulus did something similar once.”

“Hermione does it all the time” Oh Merlin! If that’s not a good opening, I don’t play chess.

“What?” Poor Kreacher looked as if it was being carried away by a stream of revelations that prevented it from being able to structure its thinking properly. It had been days since a half-blood Master who it hated had given it the treasure that had belonged to the best Master a house elf could wish for, at the same time forbidding it to punish itself even when it had betrayed him and alerted his enemies. Kreacher knew that it was a mere technicality that it could justify its actions on the basis of Master Harry’s vague instructions. Kreacher was aware that any action taken by a house elf that could directly or indirectly harm his master, could be severely punished, even with life and, in any case, a master did not need much justification to punish his servant if he chose to do so. Now a pureblood had used his own body to protect it, he had apologised for his action and was now letting it know that a mudblood was in the habit of protecting other house elves all the time. Its brain could not quite take it in and the question had slipped from his lips unconsciously.

“Ms. Hermione does it all the time. She loves every magical creature. She’s not worried about its origin. She always says it’s the actions that give greatness, not the origin. Kreacher, is it true that you can sense magic?“ He asked hopeful.

“Kreacher can, master.”

“And is it true that you can feel the intensity of a wizard’s magic, Kreacher?”

The elf nods.

“Then: How do you perceive the power of Miss Hermione’s magic?

The elf blinked, as if had never stopped to properly evaluate that point.

“Magic is very strong with her. Kreacher can remember only one witch with such intense magic, though the muggleborn witch’s might be stronger.”

“Who was the witch, Kreacher?”

“IS. Lady Lestrange, Bellatrix.”

An icy finger runs down the Weasley’s youngest son’s back cutting off his breath.

“She’s nothing like Bellatrix, Kreacher,” Ron can feel, almost physically, as if his heart is being squeezed out of his life. “Hermione has sweet eyes, full of curiosity and affection. They don’t exude hatred and madness like that motherfucker,” there is a dull anger growing in Ron. A roaring fire of anger, fear and hatred.

“It was she, the one who tortured Neville’s parents to madness. Two purebloods whose only sins were to defend innocents people who had never harmed anyone or anything from her madness and hatred. It is people like her who are responsible for Neville and Harry not having parents. It is people like her who drag sensitive people like Regulus down a path from which there is no return Kreacher. It’s people like her who bring pain and suffering into the world just because they think they are superior to everyone else,” he says as he tries to pull himself together.

“The point, Kreacher, is: Hermione...” there is genuine passion, there is a palpable devotion in every word that comes out of his mouth... “not only she is the most brilliant, studious and beautiful witch of this generation, but she is the best person you can imagine. That she’s a witch is a fucking blessing because, instead of the Muggles being the ones who have the opportunity to benefit from her privileged intelligence, her bravery, her desire for justice and her infinite love for any creature, it’s the magical world that has that opportunity because of “He-who-must-not-be-named” and People like Bellatrix, we’re being assholes refusing to accept that gift and all that magic that far surpasses the rest of the three of us and...”

“That’s wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her magic is not the most powerful of the three of you.” The elf’s narrow eyes remain nailed into the ocean of the youngest of Weasley’s men, like if they were contemplating something only they can see.

“Right. Obviously Harry has to be a hell of a wizard if he has to face the Dark Lord”, he says, looking away from the elf as he feels a pinch of envy in his heart for not being good enough and losing missing the surprised look Kreacher gives him, “but I’m sure her magical power must be very much like Harry...”

It is then when the emotional teaspoon that is Ronald Weasley is aware of how this crucial game of chess is unfolding.

Kreacher himself has just breached its own defence when the idea of a muggleborn can be as powerful as the most abominable Deatheater in the host of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But that is not enough. That may have shocked its brain, but to win the game, to truly win it, Hermione must win the heart of the tormented being.

“She’s the smartest witch I’ve ever met, to the point where not even that smug git Snape, someone who enjoys making everyone look like fool , has been unable to keep her from scoring less than Outstanding on all his tests.” He proudly recalls all the times Hermione managed to get a pure curl of irritation out of the pitiful professor. One for every time she gave him the right answer even when that wasn’t the lesson of the day. "Continuously defeats any pureblood by doing a magic they aren’t even capable of dreaming of. By sheer intelligence she solved a lethal riddle in her first year and in her second she brewed an NEWT level potion that only master alchemists are capable of performing, discovered a fucking basilisk crawling through the castle’s pipes and survived an encounter with the damn thing using a simple hand mirror."

Ron can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine when he remembers the image of a little girl in a bed too big for her, stiff, limp and cold as snow. It was then that he realized there was something different about Hermione. He didn’t know what it was, but something was bloody wrong with him if she got hurt.

“You should see her when she’s studying, Kreacher. She’s quite a sight to behold. When she’s studying a particularly difficult subject she frowns adorably, her eyes sparkle with determination and she leans over whatever she’s reading so hard she looks like she wants to get inside the book and when she’s about to master all that new knowledge, she bites her bottom lip so hard I sometimes fear she’s going to hurt herself, but there’s an immense joy in her gaze. Just like when she is reading something she particularly likes. Then, she starts playing with one of her crazy curls by twisting it around her finger. I think she must be the only person in the world who flirts with a book while reading it,” there have been so many times watching her study in the library that Ron doesn’t even need to concentrate to conjure up such images. They are so deep in Ron’s heart that they are already a part of him, and the memory of them brings a smile to his freckled face.

“She is also courageous, determined, and just, like the day she shook a superb punch at the ferret’s nose in her third year...”

“Did she hit a ferret?” The elf’s jaw dropped as listened to the redhead.

"What do you mean...?" Ron’s initial surprise is quickly replaced by wide eyes as comprehension washes over him, given way to a thunderous laugh. "Not at a ferret, Kreacher. ‘The Ferret one.’ She gave a fucktastic punch to the only and genuine heir to Malfoy’s House," he completes with a chuckle meanwhile he watches the poor elf’s eyes pop out of their sockets as it imagines how she attacked a renowned pureblood with something as mundane as a punch to the nose. "Oh come on, Kreacher! That was great and she looked awesome. Besides...” his face suddenly turns serious as he looks at the elderly servant who still doesn’t seem to have come out of its stupefaction. “She was only defending an innocent creature from a spoiled child willing to gloat over its death just because it hurt his self-centred pride. She spent sleepless nights searching through old treatises of magical law for some way to save the life of a creature that wasn’t even human. Only because it was the right thing to do. Only because it was innocent.” A weight settles on Ron’s soul when he remembers that she was alone all those nights and he wasn’t there to help her.

“I’ve seen her support for her best friend and almost lose her life for it even knowing that he was wrong,” the lump in his throat threatens to keep him from talking. “I have seen her risk losing that same friendship just to protect him, and I have seen her be taken for eccentric or crazy just to defend that creatures like you, should be treated with dignity, regardless of race and origin.”

In his troubled speech, Ron feels the moisture flood his eyes and he wipes it away by running his sleeve over his face, unaware of how the elf has cocked its head slightly to one side and is watching him intently.

“She is also kind, sweet and loving.” The weight of his heart disappears when a warmth envelops him. “At eleven years old and not knowing him at all, she helped the shyest, most insecure guy look for his lost pet. Even if she wasn’t a prefect, she was always willing to take first-year tadpoles under her wing, to look after them and guide them when they were stunned by how great Hogwarts is. She helps them find their way around the castle, helps them complete their homework, hugs them when they miss their parents and tells them incredible stories that only she knows from the thousand and one books she has read,” she says as her eyes sparkle with pride in her best friend, “and she will do it with each and every one of them. To all of them she will give her incredible intelligence and her boundless love regardless of any other condition”.

That’s when he realizes that Kreacher is staring at him with its eyes and mouth wide open, like if it can’t believe what it’s seeing.

“Errr... ahem... This... This doesn’t mean she doesn’t have flaws, she does. She has a temper worthy of an explosive potion,” he says as he rubs his tingling arms, “So many times she’s so convinced she’s right, she forgets that the people concerned also have a say for themselves. Like that time when as prefect she sent extra homework to the OWLs students because she thought they weren’t preparing them,” a smile creeps onto his face. “Kreacher, you should have seen when McGonagall found out. She asked her if she wanted her position as head of Gryffindor house and Hermione turned so red she looked like a real Weasley.”

He doesn’t know why he said it, but as soon as he finishes saying it, the image of the most beautiful Hermione, dressed in a flowing white satin robe at the beginning of a hallway and holding a small bouquet in her hands, suffices that her heart seems to have lost the ability to beat properly.

“Kreacher”, he says softly looking at the elf with the intensity of one who is trying to convey the most important message of his life and fears that his words will fail him, “It’s not that she wants to offend you. Not you or the rest of the house elves when she wants to give you freedom. Freedom is a divine gift, yes, but it’s like a good roast rib. It may be tasty and crunchy, a fucking delight to the palate, but you can’t force it through a baby’s gullet. That way all you can do is to kill him with almost complete certainty.”

“It is simply that she loves you too much. She loves you so much, she loves every creature in Merlin’s green fields so much that, she cannot wait to give you what you all deserve. That is why she is wrong. She does not yet see that you are not ready for freedom, “he says to the servant’s curious gaze.“ No... I don’t mean to belittle you, the house elves, I mean, “he completes in a stammer, raising his hands in peace. But it is true nonetheless. Freedom frightens you, it breaks the scheme of things and the rules of your world. She cannot see it yet, Kreacher, but in time she will, and you will have no better ally and no better friend than she.”

“Is that her greatest flaw, Master?" It seems impossible, but Ron would be willing to swear to Merlin that the elf is leaning towards him as he looks deep into his blue eyes, as if it wants to discover something hidden deep within the troubled red-head.

“Well, not really," a sad smile creeps across his freckled face. “She has a pitiful interest in pumpkin-headed wizards with horrible accents and pompous nasties too full of themselves, as long as they’re great quidditch players."

“Still, Master is very impressed by Lady Granger.” The elf’s eyes are practically flashing before him and yet Ron can’t find a shred of contempt, mockery or hostility in his voice, if anything... recognition? And then something breaks in Ron when he realizes that the little bastard has just called her ‘Lady’ for the first time.

“So much that I would gladly give my own life so that she would have a full and happy magical life. Away from all the horror and war, away from the absence of her parents and the fear of being killed at any moment just because they are Muggles. Even if she was married…” his voice breaks,” she was married to either of those two bloody gits and their kids were...

Maybe it’s from years of involuntary training trying to save his life or their other two very best friends, maybe it’s from the keen senses of a quidditch keeper or maybe it’s just instinct, but Ron feels a tingling on his back on his neck, a feeling of a presence behind him just before he hears the crackling of the wood of the floor behind him and Ron can see how, for a moment, Kreacher’s eyes abandon his own eyes and turn to the space behind the redhead to open like plates when they focusing one specific point behind him. It may be again for all those years lurking around death, for all the trainings that have sharpened your reflexes or just warrior instinct, but without waiting to the command of his brain, he right hand goes to his wand, his body shrink to minimize as target and he moves around looking for a twist to shield midway between the servant and the place where the sound came from and, when he does, he does it in such a natural way, so instinctive, that seems that protecting a little body was often his only goal in life. And it’s when his head is close to complete the turn that will lead him to face the threat, when he feels a rough hand holding his wrist tightly enough to unbalance it and stop the rotation of his body. Even so, the arm with his wand continues its trajectory to point to the space that a few moments ago was behind him and one nonverbal ‘Protego’ unfolds from it while her eyes search for the owner of the hand that has stopped his movement to meet, face to face, with other eyes. Bulging, wrinkled eyes, gazing intently at him and glowing with the light of understanding.

“Master loves her.”

“With all that I am and with all that I will be, Kreacher. With so much intensity, it hurts. It hurts as much as hell itself.”

It is not a question. It is a truth revealed and as such it can no longer be shrouded in the shadows nor can it be denied, but needs to be proclaimed because it can no longer be contained.

And the elf nods. Once again, her eyes turn to the space behind Ron as he feels that the prey that the little character exerted on his arm gives way, allowing him to regain full mobility. That’s when Ron turns his head to face whatever is behind him just for his eyes can see an empty door.

“This damned house and its creepy noises are going to drive me bloody mad”, he says as his shoulders sink as all the tension he has been building up escapes from him.

“She didn’t know”, he murmurs. “Master hasn’t told Lady Granger.” Kreacher ignores the insult to Black’s ancestral meanwhile its inquisitive eyes turn to the tormented redhead.

“No, Kreacher. Not yet, and I can’t do it now. What’s at stake is too important and much bigger than us”, he says, shaking his head, as if he was trying to get some thoughts out of his brain and clear his own ideas. “When I confess to her and she tells me she doesn’t share my feelings, I’d have nothing left to fight for except to keep them both safe and sound, and leave if we win them. And if by some miracle she shared them, I couldn’t fulfill that mission. I could endanger Harry because when it came to protecting them, she would always be my priority.”

It is when the rays of sunshine flood the old kitchen that Ron realizes how far the morning has gone and the dreaded moment has come. It’s time to complete the final preparations to infiltrate the Ministry. With a snort of resignation, he heads for the door to wake up her friends when he feels the elf’s hand again on his arm, only in this case it is a gentle grip. Very similar to the touch of a friend who’s just trying to get your attention.

“No”, he says in a calm but determined tone. “Kreacher will take care of waking up the rest of the wizards.”

“No. Kreacher must to insist. Master Harry and fellows have a long day ahead.” The little servant surrounds the tall figure of Gryffindor’s old guardian while gently pushing him towards a chair in front of the large kitchen table. “Master Weasley will finish his tea and then Kreacher will return so that all of them can have a proper breakfast.”

Resigned to the now familiar elderly elf’s stubbornness, Ron nods and takes a seat in the chair as he lifts his cup of tea to his lips and watches it leaves the kitchen.

As soon as it has crossed the threshold of the door, the last servant of the ancient and honourable Black House turns towards the bedrooms, passing by the figure who leans against the wall, tries to keep herself hidden into the shadows while holding her hands over her face, trying to silence the desperate sobs that make her small body shake all over.

“Now Lady Granger knows”, it whispered as it turned to face the young woman.

Between sobs and shudders, a slight nod of her head is her only response.

“Perhaps it is time Master Weasley knew too."

The elf’s voice sounds firm, but there is a decided edge of pleading in it.

A head full of curls sharply denies, sending the wild locks flying in all directions, while the hands covering the face wipe away the tears that run down it.

“It is not possible, Kreacher. Like Ron said, the stakes are too high. Much higher than the two of us, and I can’t let Harry stop being Ron’s priority. Without Harry, there’s no future for anyone. Without Harry there’s no future for both of us.”

“Master Harry is not the most powerful magician under the roof of this house”, says the elf as if it had not heard the prodigious witch’s answer as its eyes turn to the kitchen door.

“I know,” she says in a sob as a sad smile insinuates over a face that is once again, streaked with tears and whose eyes focus on the same point the elf is looking at as if she expects to be able to see the redhaired man on the other side of it at any moment.

“However”, Kreacher’s eyes now turn fixedly to Hermione’s eyes, “he is not the most self-confident wizard either.”

“I know that too, and I curse myself every day for what I have contributed to his self-loathing.” The girl’s eyes briefly meet the elf’s and then search the threshold of the kitchen again, like has unwittingly become the border between the will and the duty." But we’ll both have to wait Kreacher," and her eyes, now full of fire, meet the elf’s again. "Though right now, my whole being is crying out for the desire to walk through that door and on the kitchen table, make him my own like only a woman can make a man her own to seal the deal. Because I’ve been his, forever.”

“That’s not fair to him.”

“Nothing in this war is fair, Kreacher.”

It nods in understanding and just when it seems that he is going to resume its path in search of its rightful master, it stops and looking carefully at the muggleborn, makes its fingers snap making Hermione feel a rejuvenating freshness running through her red eyes and her eyelids swollen by tears.

“Master Weasley doesn’t need any more worries at this time.”

“Thank you, Kreacher”, she smiles, “and thank you for not giving me up earlier”, she says, pointing to the treacherous loose piece of wood on the floor, just outside the kitchen door.

And for the first time in its long life Kreacher, the last proud servant of the ancestral, noble and elitetist pureblood House Blacks, gives a genuine smile to a muggleborn witch.

“It will be our secret Lady Granger”, it says as it completes a graceful bow and leaves the place to look for its rightful master, even though it feels that something inside its has changed forever.

Months later:

“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us —”

It only takes a moment, but for Hermione Granger it’s as if she’s been hit by the ‘Arresto Momentum’ spell. A lifetime of feelings and images flashes through her privileged mind so real, so sharp and clear, it’s as if she were reliving her own memories in a pesieve...

Terderness

A beautiful boy with a stain of dirt on his nose...

Loyalty

A rough stick falling over the head of a mountain troll...

Nobleness

Slugs vomited in a bucket...

Courage

Badly wounded, covered in dirt, sweat and blood, standing, with a broken leg, like a bulwark between two teenagers and a serial killer…

Jealousy

The broken arm of an action figure at the foot of a bed...

Devotion

A male figure with horribly scarred arms, who watches over her when she wakes up with a terrible wound in her chest...

Excitement

The smell of parchment, freshly cut grass and a soap with scents of wood and clove when hug that glorious body...

Hope

A broom that materializes in front of the burrow driven by a metamorpagus witch...

Confort

Hands joined, just before sleeping at Grimmaud Place...

Love

Blue eyes that watch over her when she wakes up at Shell Cottage...

Fear

A small boy, with a large head wound on a chequered floor...

Panic

A freckly face, as white as a sheet, on a bed surrounded by a bunch of redheads who look scared...

Terror

A mangled arm that bleeds so much that it is impossible to believe that a human being can contain so much blood...

Desperation

A soaked figure, with his face crazed with pain and anger, just before disappearing in the pouring rain on an autumn night...

Everything is a stormy maelstrom that consumes her, takes her breath away and threatens to blow her head up incapable of bringing together so many emotions at once, and that’s when a picture emerges above all that emotional explosion. A scene watched sneakily from the half-light, under the threshold of a door in an old manor house.

The image of a humble old house elf listening Ronald Weasley’s confession of love for her.

And the feeling that neither can, nor wants to be hidden any longer, breaks through. The imperative need, greater than breathing, to take what is rightfully hers and which she has been denying herself for far too long.

She is barely aware of what is going on around her, drunk as she is, of the emotion that envelops her. She does not hear the sound of fangs striking the ground, nor does she see a lightning-shaped scar warp as the eyebrows above green eyes rise as they widen, nor the movement of her own legs, nor the surprise reflected in a freckled face. Her heart is all she feels, the love overflowing from it and then the trembling of her own body and the feeling of to be at home when she jumps up and embraces the impressive hunk before her. The tremor in the core of her belly as she attacks lips that seem to have been made just for her. The vertigo she feels when Ronald Weasley, "Ron", her first, one and only true love, makes her flutter like a schoolgirl in the embrace that envelops her as he kisses her back with such intensity that she feels her toes curl and the shudder of her centre becomes so intense it burns. It burns like the very fires of hell within her.

He loves her.

She loves him.

And both will fight like hell, against any power in heaven or on earth that tries to separate them again.

The End.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33865393

#Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ron/Hermione #ROMIONE #Kreacher

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soundofseventeen · 5 years ago

Text

When I Grow Up 1.5 (Lee Seokmin)

I am both in my soft emo hours and unsure when I’ll post again, so here it is! If you haven’t read the first part yet, that’s totally fine, but it ties together with this one hence why it’s short!

Word count: 2366

You tapped your fingers against the table nervously. Seokmin wouldn’t just stand you up, especially when he was the one who placed the reservation and because it was his idea to meet up with you. Is this what you got for readily agreeing to meet the boy? The waiter had been fairly kind to you, letting you know everything was okay and that this happened often...the boys running late that is. But they always showed up. He poured you a glass of wine while you waited and the sweet taste calmed your nerves a little. You also ate some of the breadsticks so the alcohol wouldn’t affect you. He hadn’t texted you or given you any other indication that he was on his way over.

But before you could leave, he came running to your table, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “I was getting ready to come over….when Soonyoung hyung called….me about working on one...of my dance routines and time flew by. I left mid practice.” He reaches into his flannel and pulled out a rumpled yellow daisy....a couple stray petals falling. “I picked this….for you before….I came in.”

Seokmin’s thoughtfulness hadn’t gone away, you noted. You accepted it graciously and he finally sat down. “Thank you for waiting,” he said when he could breathe. “I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” you admitted. “The waiter was quick to get me to stay.”

“Yeah?” He seemed surprised. “I mean we’ve lost our reservations a couple of times with how late we were but this, this is the best restaurant in town.”

You twirled the wine glass between your fingertips, believing him. “I can drink to that.” He didn’t have to know that was more expensive than everything in your house put together...including your slowly growing kpop collection.

“Great.” He removed the flannel leaving him in a plain white shirt, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. He was your friend, someone you used to watch, someone who grew up in front of your eyes. “So tell me, Y/N, what have you been up to since the last time I saw you.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way he still addressed you so casually, especially with that smile he wore. “Well, I finally moved out of Yongin.” Obviously. Why else would you be there?

“What do you do now?” He thanked the waiter for his glass of wine and he smiled at you both, letting you know he’d be back to take your order.

“I'm studying psychology but right now I work at a gardening store.” You realized how much your dreams had changed now that you thought about it. You remembered telling him how you wanted to be a teacher and own your own public library.

“That’s cool,” he nodded, and you briefly wondered if he thought the same thing you did. “And how are your friends?”

“I hope they’re good. I haven’t seen them in a couple weeks. Life has been hectic...today was my first free day in awhile, and well I met you. How about you Seok? Now is the idol life treating you?” If you kept him talking, it’d be easier not to let your attraction for him get in the way.

“It’s been so fun!” He replied happily. “I didn’t think I could ever be friends with so many people! And Carats really love us! It seems like a distant dream that I thought I couldn’t do something like this.” The wistful expression lingered for a moment and then his usual smile returned. “We go on tour a lot and we practice nonstop! Woozi hyung really knows how to put a song together and give us lines so it comes out perfect!”

“You’re living the dream,” you mused, raising your wine glass and taking a sip. “I’m very happy for you. You have a gift and you used it wisely.”

Seokmin requested another bottle of wine once the waiter wrote your orders down along with more appetizers as you caught up on the insignificant parts of your daily lives like how you completed your shopping for the week and how he chose to take a day from the gym because he didn’t seem to have as much time for more days. You didn’t know if the warmth was from the room or the way the alcohol coursed through your system but the constant blush on your cheeks from giving and receiving compliments felt nice, natural even. He kept you laughing as if you hadn’t been separated for years as he reminisced the details you thought he had forgotten, mostly because you did.

You thought you had been there a couple of hours but when the waiter abashedly told you it was almost midnight and they had to close soon, you were brought back to a sad reality where you and Seokmin would go your separate ways and tomorrow you’d go back to your normal life and he’d be an idol again and who knew when you’d cross paths again, assuming you were that lucky, that is.

“Gosh, has it really been that long?” He asked, handing the waiter his credit card to process their payment. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go just yet.”

There was the Seokmin you knew. He enjoyed people’s presence and wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. But you knew that if you didn’t end it here, it’d hurt more when actually said goodbye. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to spend more time with him, tomorrow if he had the chance or whenever the weekend called for it. You missed him a lot and finally felt like you had gotten the friend you always wished him to be. But still, you could feel the tug in your heart at rejecting his request.

“Actually Seokmin, I should probably get going. I have to work tomorrow and-”

“No worries. Can I at least take you home? I don’t want your boyfriend thinking that I left you by yourself.” He finally stood up and stretched, letting his bones crack in the process. “How is he anyway?”

“Good, he’s good.” At least according to his Facebook posts whenever you logged on. He got married and started a family, moving somewhere to Jeju City. You did remain amicable, even commenting how he and his husband looked adorable on their wedding day and he congratulated you when you moved into your own place...all via social media of course. “But we broke up before I moved to Gangnam. His family keeps him on his toes.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” He yelled goodnight to the host as he held the door open for you, and you just wanted to believe how hopeful he sounded.

“Not right now. I mean, I want to get back into it once my life gets a bit more stable, but right now, I’m content just doing whatever I like. That was something my last boyfriend told me before he pursued his coffee job dream in Japan. How about you?”

“Ohh, uh you know how it is. Dating is a little difficult when someone’s watching your every move.”

“Right, right. I read about how you got outed. I’m sorry.” You felt embarrassed for even asking now. One of the gossip magazines broke the news sometime during one of your midterms and the only reason you found out was because you heard someone screaming about it. (How you didn’t know you went to school with multiple Carats you didn’t know but then again, you didn’t exactly wear too much of their merch. It felt embarrassing in a way.)

“I mean, it’s over now, but I have to be careful about everything now.” He hailed a taxi and let you slide in first. “What’s your address so you can go home first?”

You gave it and then rode the way in silence, an unusual thing for DK. Every time you glanced over at him, he seemed to be lost in thought, the only light coming from his phone. You wanted to say something, anything before you never saw him again...unless he went on tour again. But you couldn’t with the butterflies making their way to your throat. You weren’t sure why you nervous but you knew you wanted to hold his hand.

The years had been very good to him in the time you been apart. You were staring but you couldn’t help it; the jawline cutting your something inside you, his moles being your favorite feature of his. You reached up to touch one, but when he turned, you chickened out and patted his head instead, loving the way his hair felt between your fingertips. It had always been his favorite method of comfort and your go-to whenever you didn’t know what else to do.

You saw when his eyes closed and he let out a hum of approval. “This feels good,” he said softly.

“Sorry, it’s a habit,” you apologized.

“I like it. It means you’re still comfortable with me.”

“You’re still Seokmin...you’re just famous.” Telling him that he was still somehow 10 years old to you didn’t feel right, and you knew it would’ve ruined the mood. “You’ve grown up well.”

“Have I made you proud yet?”

“Seokmin, you have no idea how proud I have been of you.”

“When I felt like nothing, I thought of you. You always helped me.”

There was that warmth that was at the restaurant. Did it follow you here or has it been there a while? You couldn’t be sure, but you liked the warm, tingly feeling. You wondered if he was feeling the same way you were right now. You sighed deeply through your nostrils when the cab stopped in front of your house. “Thank you, Seok. I hope we can keep bumping into you in the future, even if it’s just a few minutes.”

“Yeah, sure no problem. It was good to see you again.”

“You too.” You wondered if he’d give you any other sign he wanted to keep in touch with you, but he didn’t move so you finally got off, feeling somewhat disappointed. So you swallowed your pride. “Do you wanna come inside?”

He shook his head and you could feel the rejection taking it more personally than you should’ve. “You should probably go to sleep. You have to work and I do too. I’ll call you next time I’m free. How does that sound?”

You nodded, trying to ignore the stinging. Rationality was new. He normally would’ve jumped at the chance to spend more time with you, but that was years ago. He was grown up now, still a little naive but a good person nonetheless. He waved at you until you went inside and you let out another sigh. This time, missing him felt different. It was like an ache in your heart that you knew wouldn’t go away until you saw him again. And who knew when that would be again.

The knock on your door made you jump, and you weren’t sure why you were surprised when you saw Seokmin standing there.

He took your hands in his, not quite sure what to say. “Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, still being unable to speak. You just knew that you liked it.

“I missed you every day that I was away, and I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I know that if I went back home, even just to visit, I wouldn’t have found you there. I know that I’m still like a child, but I promise I have grown up. I’m not the kid you used to know.”

“I know,” you finally said. “I’ve known that for a long time.” He wasn’t the child who cried whenever you killed a fly anymore or the one who hid behind you whenever he was scared. He was now considered a man, one who was big and strong but still carried a fragile heart, and that made you so happy. All the vlives, the interviews, the persona he portrayed in front of people wasn’t so much of a stretch of the person you knew. You could even tell in the way he held your hands; he squeezed them, not enough to hurt you but to get your attention. “You have grown up.”

“Y/N, do you still see me like a kid?”

You shook your head, wondering when that changed. You met him when you were barely a preteen and he was still using a nightlight to keep the monsters away. How did he suddenly become someone who didn’t need so much looking after? He was just a kid at some point to you. When did he become someone you were interested in? “I...it’s been awhile since I have.”

He squeezed your hands again. “You don’t know how long I waited to hear you say that. Y/N, please, can I have a chance? It doesn’t have to be now, but whenever you’re ready?”

You nodded. “Seokmin, if you asked me right now, I wouldn’t say no.” You understood now that you wanted him to say this or something like it. “I’m scared though,” you found yourself whispering.

He hesitantly brought one of your hands to his lips, kissing the skin softly. “Why?”

“What if this is a dream? What if we mess this up? Seokmin, what if we rushed into this?” You tried not to listen to your heart disagreeing with you because maybe for once, it was right.

“Then tell me to take a step back and we’ll take it from there.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Only that you’ll slip away again.”

“Seokmin-”

He tilted your chin slowly, gazing at you until he could cup your cheek. He finally pressed his lips to yours, kissing you softly. “When we grow up, I hope you can see that we can do this right. Things, I think, will change. Just don’t you dare let loose of my hands.”

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adhd-sorcha · 5 years ago

Note

Im trying to get into the medical field and I have a super hard time with adhd. Any advice for getting through all that schooling?

I am soooo sorry I took so long to answer this (good thing you didn’t go on anon!). I have no excuse, I’m just like this.

Before I get into anything, I just want to say that I was only diagnosed a few months ago, so I didn’t go through school consciously coming up with ADHD-busting strategies and there were definitely mysterious difficulties that I’m only now understanding but at the time I never managed to sort (*shakes fist at essay based subjects/exams*). I will tell you what I think were my accidental ADHD-helping techniques though! One other thing, I have predominantly inattentive ADHD ( or formerly ADD) so if you or anyone else are looking for tips on how to stay seated for extended periods or anything like that, I’m afraid I’m no help there. Sorry!! Also, since I don’t know what stage you’re at school-wise, I’ll include things that I found useful in secondary school too, in case it’s useful.

So, in no particular order! (this may get long...)

- Diary, diary, diary: In the schools (primary and secondary) here in Ireland you get given a diary at the start of the year. At the end of every class, the teacher writes up the homework and we copy it into our diaries. Great system!! The diary is only for school so it never needs to leave your school bag, so it should be hard enough to forget. I used to only write short notes, eg. Maths: pg 20, part a-e or something like that. It makes it easy to look through at the end of the day when collecting your books to bring home. I used to look at one line, put those books in my bag, then look at the next line. One at a time. And I often double-checked. It made me slower to get ready to leave than everyone else, but hey! I remembered my stuff! I got myself a diary for college when I moved on. They are soooo helpful. And it’s so satisfying to tick things off as you do them!!

- Have ONE school bag: Might sound weird, but I know people who, in college, just bring whatever handbag matches their outfit that day. No! You’re going to forget to transfer something over. With one bag, you can keep your school diary and pens and student card and things like that in it. They will always be in there. No need to go moving them around, they’ll only get lost if you do that. It just helps to limit the things that you have to remember to bring with you, if your bag is already kind of packed as a default.

- Take advantage of desk/locker space: Keep spare items at your desk/in your locker so that even if you forget to put them in your bag, you’re still covered. Things that I’ve kept at desks/in lockers include: spare pair of glasses, hair ties for labs, spare writing paper (so it doesn’t matter if you forgot your copy!), pens/highlighters/pencils, socks (it rains a lot here, probably not the most relevant...). Absolutely anything that you think you may be likely to forget and is safe to leave at school just keep a spare one already there! (maybe don’t leave valuables...)

- Set your timetable as your lockscreen/homescreen: I’ve never done this one personally. I kept my timetable in my diary. I find it easier to read. But, I know a few people who used to make out their timetable in Word or something and set that as the lockscreen on their phone. People tend to keep their phones somewhere that’s easy to reach, so it shouldn’t conflict too much with executive dysfunction or anything like that.

- Routine: Having a set routine can really help with getting homework done. It becomes a habit and so a certain amount becomes automatic. I used to do mine as soon as I got home from school/college. And I had a set time for when to start my work at the weekends.

- Bring the lecture slides to lectures: I assume this will vary by college, but our lecturers used to post their lecture slides to the class site before the lecture so you could bring them to class. You could either bring the pdf on a tablet/laptop or print them off. (If you’re using a tablet/laptop you can always download the notes when you get there so it’s okay if you forgot to do it before class!). I found these helpful because I only had to make note of the extra information that the lecturer said out loud or I could just highlight important words, thereby limiting the amount I actually had to write. When I just had blank paper, I was always trying to write everything for some reason and just became lost...

- Make study notes that suit you! I remember being shown in school how to make notes when studying. But I found the standard neat lines, black/blue pen that teachers wanted didn’t work for me. They were boring to look at so they were boring to use. So I made them interesting! I used lots of colourful pens, sticky notes just to create little ‘boxes’, scribbled in the margins, drew labelled diagrams instead of putting some things into words. People would actually ask from time to time how I studied from them XD Study notes are one of those things that we’re taught how to do, but there really isn’t a one size fits all approach to it, so don’t be afraid to do different things with your notes. I used mind maps to study history in school! Here’s an example of my 3rd year pharmacology notes (believe it or not there isn’t any colour-coding XD I just went with what was fun!).

- Have a study buddy: This seriously helped me when I moved from school to college. The two girls I became friends with in first year were so much better at organising study and assignment work between lectures than I was. They’d just automatically go to the library to get stuff done between lectures so I went with them and just worked on whatever they were working on. Having them around kept me on track. We did this informally (by which I mean I’ve only recently come to realise that copying their behaviour is why I got through my first two years so well, they have no idea that that’s what I was doing XD), but you could always formalise something like this with someone. There is no shame in needing someone to help you organise your study or needing someone around to work on assignments together. You don’t have to do education on your own.

- Have multiple study places: I know study advice normally says have one dedicated location for study, but that gets so boring. I might be able to study at my desk in my room this month but then it gets boring and I can’t study. So, I have multiple dedicated locations for study. My desk at my room, the main college library, library on a different campus. People with ADHD like novelty, so sometimes I find having a change in study scenery can help focus on work!

- ASK FOR HELP: To be fair, this is one I still struggle with myself. But honestly, so many problems can be solved so easily if you just tell someone about them. Can’t remember when that exam is happening? Ask. Don’t know how to make that application/do that assignment? Ask. What did those instructions even mean? Ask. Forget where that office is? Ask. So many educators, particularly at third level, genuinely want their students to do well, but they can’t help if they don’t know you need it. I know for myself I don’t want people to know how disorganised or confused I get so I put off asking questions, but the sooner you ask, the sooner the problem gets fixed!

- If you need to do something differently, do it differently: Before I started my leave I was starting to realise that my having ADHD meant that I would have to do things differently to my neurotypical labmates. I was going to need to write more reminders of basic things for myself and stick them all over my bench. I was probably going to generate data more slowly than them because time management and organisation is difficult for me. I was going to need to have a detailed protocol next to me at all times instead of knowing the procedure off by heart like the rest of them. The neurotypical way is not the only way. Doing something differently does not make it wrong.

- Be kind to yourself: The education system is tough enough on it’s own, but those of us with ADHD have some extra obstacles in our way. There really is no point in comparing yourself to someone who doesn’t have ADHD (or similar problems) and berating yourself for not getting as much done as them or doing something slower etc etc. Don’t let ADHD limit you by any means, just remember that the route to success looks different for different people.

I think I’ll stop it here. This is getting quite long! Like I said, I’m newly diagnosed so there are things that I’m still struggling with myself (time-management is a big one!! I am 100% unqualified to give people advice on that one!!) and the things that I have done well have been more lucky accident than anything else. I hope these are somewhat helpful? Feel free to ask anymore questions though! And I wish you the best of luck with getting into medicine!!

#asks #tips #neurodivergent academia #adhd #actually adhd

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seokoloqy · 6 years ago

Text

after dark // jjk (m)

➳ GENRE: vampire/knight!AU

➳ PAIRING: jungkook x y/n

➳ WORD COUNT: 8.2k

➳ WARNINGS: smut, blood

➳ SUMMARY: Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart.

➳ A/N: while i was writing this spotify had the audacity to play an ad about Christian music. i think it’s a little too late for the good words of our lord and savior jesus christ to save me now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

—

Your feet pad against the rugged carpet extending from the foyer to the end of the dim hall. You pass portraits of your family, generations of them hang on that wall, standing proudly for the artist who painted them with precision and detail. The newest addition to the collection hangs below your father with a crown adorned on his head—a much smaller painting of you and your guard, Jungkook. You demanded they add him in the collection after generations of loyalty and servitude to your family. He stood behind your smiling face remaining stoic and professional, but you knew he was secretly elated to finally be included.

You smile at the portrait and gently run your finger along the curve of his cheek. Even in a simple photo he somehow makes your heart race, not that you can ever admit to these feelings aloud. You don’t need to admit them anyway, he already knows, but Jungkook will never allow it to get that far. He sees it—the longing—in your eyes whenever you glance at him across a crowded room. A relationship is not only unprofessional, but his loyalty to your family stops him every time.

You continue the journey to his quarters at the end of the hall, your silk dress flowing behind you. The uncomfortable heels belonging to your outfit clutched in your hands sway beside you. You’re rushing to see him because of the infuriating news you had just heard, the shoes only slow you down.

Your father has planned for you to go off tomorrow and meet another prince as a way to introduce you to bachelors and potential husbands. You knew this day would come, but not so soon after your twenty-first birthday—not when you felt this way about Jungkook.

A sliver of his door is open, letting out light letting you know he is awake and you could barge in unannounced. Maybe you’d crawl into his useless bed too, he has no use for it seeing as he doesn’t need sleep. You could stay there the whole night without anyone disturbing you. No maids coming in to wake you, no mother there to pester you into marrying a man you’ve never met, and feeling the comforting presence of Jungkook was enough to lull you to bed easily.

And as you approach the pounding of your heart in your chest isn’t loud enough to hide the breathy moan from inside. You stop in your tracks, heart stuck in your throat, standing outside his door with your hand against the wood. Another soft whimper reverberates through your ears, like pleasure mixed with pain. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peer through the sliver in the door hoping to find the source of the voice.

His room is void of any personal belongings—just a bed and a closet. Despite his years with your family, he was no collector of fine items. Preferring to keep his space clean so if the situation ever arose where he will have to leave, he will leave nothing behind, it will be easier to cut ties this way. Which is why he chooses to distance himself from you as well. He’s seen generations of your family live and die. Feeling any sort of sorrow when they pass is only weakness, and knowing your time will be up before he can even blink destroys him.

Your eyes first go to the flickering kerosene lamp beside the bedside then upon the blood, dripping to the floor as Jungkook pulls his fangs away from the bleeding neck of the guest straddling his lap. He looks mesmerized by the wound he has created, his pupils nearly black and swimming in desire. With fingers tangled in her hair, he cranes the woman’s neck further back and licks along the trail of blood that has escaped his greedy lips.

He’s feeding off one of the townspeople. They’re selected either by raffle or volunteer to feed the soldiers. You’d heard from maids who have been fed off of that it was merciless but you never realized the act could also seem so intimate and as the woman released another wanton moan you couldn’t help but wish it were you.

You wish it were you he was holding, gliding his rough hands along the curve of your spine to the base of your ass, as he utters in a hoarse voice, “You taste so fucking good.”

He grabs her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip to shift her onto one of his thighs. The woman shudders, gripping his shoulders as she moves against his thigh.

You’ve never seen him so carnal and seductive anywhere else, it’s mesmerizing. The feeling—that foreign pit in your stomach—begins to grow as you lean against the wall catching your breath, thighs clenching instinctively to satisfy the throbbing between your legs. He doesn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his own lust.

His other hand, not occupied in her hair, pushes the velvet material of her dress higher up her thighs until they’re revealing the seductive lace of her underwear. His eyes roam freely over the design.

“You didn’t wear these for me, did you?” He teases, the satisfied smile adorning his lips makes your heart flutter. You know that smile, but not in this context. That smile is for the times he praises you for acing your studies or when he cracks a wise joke to cheer you up. Perhaps it is a hundred times better seeing that smile here.

You don't realize your pesky heels slipping through your fingers until they’ve hit the floor with a thud and the shock of it seems to echo through the halls and chill you to the core. Jungkook’s head snaps up first, locking onto your figure peeking through the gap in his door, then it’s his partner scrambling off his thigh and onto the bed, flustered.

With your cover blown, you don’t know whether or not to play it off and act as if you weren’t standing there the whole time. Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything and you can pretend that you haven’t seen a thing.

He’s quick to his feet, expression unreadable, as he crosses the room to the door where you’re stood. The blank look on his face convinces you he must be angry. You intruded on his personal time and during his feeding. You scramble to pick your shoe up from the floor as he swings open the door, feeling the guilt weigh down on you.

“Shall I walk you back to your room, princess?” He asks, all the signs of lust and desires vacant in his voice and he returns to his simple tone as he addresses you endearingly. Ever so the excellent and professional guard with you—almost infuriating.

“N-no, I just… No.” You stutter, unable to meet his gaze. “Have a good night.”

You turn and begin to walk away, wishing you had said ‘yes, take me back and finish what you started’. What would it be like to finally have him for yourself?

You thought about him that night, pressing himself against you as his fiery hands roamed your body freely and without shame. You thought about his voice and the way it deepened as he spoke, imagining him instructing your hands to slide off the material of your nightgown and press a finger to your clit while encouraging the silent moans falling from your lips. And as you brought yourself over the edge, you remember the stoic expression he wore as he looked at you, his voice devoid of any real feelings. Would he ever see you this way?

—

A knock comes to your door just as the sun rises. You can’t be bothered with your chattering maids after last night, bringing the sheets higher over your head to avoid the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

“The carriage has arrived.”

You jolt out of bed, surprised by the voice of Jungkook at the foot of your bed. He’s in not in full armor yet, just a simple white tunic hanging low across the smooth expanse of his captivating chest with a hand over the hilt of his sword hanging at his hips. His eyes are immediately drawn to your exposed breasts, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look up at your startled expression and remain in control. The sheets that pool around your waist taunt his imagination and the hand around his sword becomes tighter as his thoughts cloud and judgment has nearly left him.

You don’t realize that you’ve left your nightgown discarded on the floor until the weight of his gaze on you becomes suffocating. You pull the sheets up around your chest, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks which he could undoubtedly hear including the erratic beating of your heart.

“I’ll be just a minute.” You clear your throat, looking at the sheer nightgown laying on the floor. How could you be so careless? You shut your eyes and sigh, this is not how you should present yourself as the princess even in the eyes of your personal guard. You let yourself succumb to your powerful desires, but it won’t happen again. You know your feelings are wrong. The immortal guard who has served generations of your family was meant to be just that and maybe the care he had for you was only part of the job, but the kindness wasn’t. He didn’t need to comfort you everytime your mother would go off on a tangent about meeting suitors or hold you in his arms when you felt frustrated and powerless as every diplomat turned your suggestions away and called you a child. He is far too kind for the tough exterior he wants you to believe in.

When your eyes open again, Jungkook appears at your bedside, nightgown in hand. He extends his arm and leaves it in the palm of your outstretched hand. He doesn’t utter another word and turns, taking long strides out of your room trying to rid plaguing thoughts of you naked and writhing underneath him.

—

“Wow,” the young prince exclaims, reaching for your outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’m Jimin and I’ve been so excited to welcome you to my beautiful kingdom.”

He seizes your hand abruptly to plant a kiss on your knuckles, perhaps a little too eagerly because your body jolts forward slightly and both your heads collide. You wince on impact as his pointed crown lightly scrapes the surface of your forehead and Jungkook comes in front of you immediately to block Jimin from making another move towards you.

Jungkook takes your chin in his hand and inspects the minuscule red scratch on your head. The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing against the mark soothe your nerves. This entire trip is stressing you out. It’s not what you want and no matter how much you protest to your mother and father they refuse to let up. But as long as you have Jungkook by your side, you’ll always feel better.

“Should I kill him?” He whispers under his breath, searching for signs of distress on your face that will give him permission to throttle the awkward prince.

“W-What? No! It was just an accident,” you stammer. You wish the look on his face tells you he is only joking or is just overreacting because he’s on new, unfamiliar territory, but his facade doesn’t crack into a lopsided grin nor have a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jimin regains his composure, adjusting the lopsided crown atop his head and makes haste to apologize to you despite the guard in his way. This will certainly put a damper on your relationship already and he was hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself during the first impression.

“Forgive me, princess! I’m just so clumsy sometimes; I forget my own strength.” He pokes his head over Jungkook’s shoulder, pleading eyes staring at you.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” you assure both parties, pressing your hand flat against the cool metal of Jungkook’s breastplate to move him aside. Instead of retreating back to his original position behind you, he sticks to your side with a curious eye on Jimin, who can feel the hostility rolling off of the guard.

Ignoring the glinting look in Jungkook’s eyes, Jimin kindly offers to tour you around the gardens, his favorite part of the palace. The rest of the day consists of Jimin leading you and Jungkook through various twists and turns of each hedge maze in the expansive garden, trying to entertain you with exciting facts about each flower you come across. He barely tries to woo you with any ridiculous tactics or blatantly flirt. Although during the tour, when he notices you admiring a pink azalea flower from the bushes, he plucks off a flower to offer you.

“As a proper welcome to our kingdom, we’re throwing a party in your honor,” Jimin says, as he escorts you to the dining room.

Your footsteps falter besides his, “A party? For me?”

He sees your bewildered expression and laughs, “Don’t worry about it too much. The people here love to party until dawn and you don’t have to be the center of attention if you don’t want to.”

Jimin’s words ease your nerves only a little, but you’re still wary. A whole party just because of you? Maybe the young prince is going a little overboard with your visit or just too eager to welcome you.

The dining room doors are left ajar, revealing the entire display of food at the table. You gawk at the copious amount of food on the table. It’s enough to feed the entire kingdom, not just two people. Jimin is quick to pull out a chair for you to sit. And just as Jungkook makes his way to the wall next to the butlers to idly stand by and wait for any hint of danger, the young prince lifts his hand.

“No, no, your knight is guest in my home as well,” he says to you. “Come to join us for dinner.”

You cringe looking at the lavish display of food across the table—none of it suitable for Jungkook’s abnormal appetite. The prince must not realize the kind of being he’s let wander into his home.

“I’m sorry for not informing you earlier, your highness, but you must realize that he isn’t human,” you explain, looking towards the prince who has his lips parted in surprise. Realization crosses his delicate features and he begins to nod rapidly, not a single piece of his perfectly gelled hair comes undone.

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of you—the famous vampire guard from Aglastia!” He clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he glances at the food laid out. “I suppose we can have something more suitable brought out for you too.”

“That won’t be necessary, your highness,” Jungkook speaks to Jimin for the first time since you’ve arrived, an unnecessary tinge of annoyance in his voice as he stares at the prince devoid of any compassion.

Perhaps Jimin heard the icy tone in your guard's voice as he scrambles for another solution.

“Or do you prefer blood fresh from the source?” Jimin beckons a server over to him with a simple finger. The frightened servant who hasn’t signed up for the unlucky job of being a snack unwillingly shuffles over at Jimin’s order. “My staff would gladly allow you to-”

“You don’t seem to understand how feeding works.” Jungkook looks to you now, his irritation subsiding. “It’s messy and I need a willing participant who’d allow me to do whatever I please. It’s not just about me or the blood. Vampires mix pain with pleasure, your highness, we’re not savages.” He takes on a sardonic tone when he looks back at the prince whose interest he has piqued.

“Enough,” you demand, curling your hand around the wooden armrest.

“Usually they’ll strip naked, and then I’ll have my fingers in-” he continues, ignoring your demand to challenge the prince. Jungkook’s own jealousy clouding his judgment.

“I said that’s enough, Jungkook! Go! now,” you shout, slamming your hand down onto the table causing the silverware to clash against the wood. All heads turn to you, startled by your sudden outburst.

You’ve never been so frustrated with him. Why is he doing this now? Taunting you about last night and embarrassing you in front of everybody here, he’s getting out of line. Which is unlike the Jungkook you’re so used to.

He stares at you with indignation but doesn’t fight it, stalking out of the room to wander the rest of the castle alone.

The prince sinks back into his chair, defeated, the hospitality he struggled to show your guard dwindles to nothing.

You’re quick to comfort him, “I apologize for his behavior. He usually isn’t so blunt.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he takes the glass cup and raises it in the air, regaining a touch of his usual charm and confidence. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

—

Dinner is over quickly when it’s just Jimin gushing about how he admires your kingdoms use of a vampire army and somehow the conversation turns to himself again as he rambles about his kingdom.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since you dismissed him at dinner. His attitude unnerved you, perhaps it’s revenge for last night, taunting you with images that will only ever be your wild imagination.

Jimin had excused himself at dinner to freshen up and allowed you free reign to explore the castle by yourself. As you venture through the castle without Jungkook attached to your hip or Jimin chattering about absolutely anything that comes to mind, you take in the lavish decorum Jimin had briefly spoken about at dinner. The midnight blue walls complemented the golden frames surrounding each painting that hangs across his walls, mostly just images of the garden you can spy from out the window across the way. He told you he had taken an interest in nature and life itself and commissioned a young local artist to paint them.

But what catches your eye isn’t the yellow brushstrokes of sunflowers reaching towards the sky or the colors smoothly blended into the sunset, it is the single painting in the middle of it all that holds a smiling portrait of Jimin and his family. Unlike the painting back home with your family, he is grinning ear to ear, the painting encapsulates the very youth and beauty he radiates. You admire the work and precision the artist took in sculpting his delicate features.

“Do you consider his highness a potential suitor?”

For the second time today Jungkook has managed to sneak up on you and make you jump. He looks up at the painting, glowering like a petulant child.

You hesitate with your answer; he certainly is charming and thoughtful, but you can’t imagine a future with a man who incessantly speaks without a breath in between.

“Luckily he is handsome…” you admit, hoping it will calm the tension you still feel from dinner. It’s the only thing you can say about the prince you know for a fact. To consider him a potential match for you is pushing it over the edge.

Jungkook scoffs, “He’s full of himself. You can do so much better than him, Y/N.”

As his eyes gaze over the painting, he looks at the bright cheeks and smiling eyes of the young prince and grimaces. This human is everything Jungkook will never live up to, someone who can provide for you and not silently watch as you grow old and he stays young: a man with a crown and withering mortality.

But he just can’t stand it. Half of him is telling him Jimin is what you deserve, but the other half wants you to himself, to stop denying himself of you.

“Why are you behaving like this? His Highness has done nothing but show us hospitality and kindness and you dismissed him at dinner. It isn’t like you.”

“Why should I like him,” he turns to you and you can see his slightly sweat-matted hair, wicked ferocity in his eyes as something has changed within him. “When he’s trying to take you away from me?”

The air escaped your lungs, as you stare into the crimson abyss of his eyes. Is there something wrong with him? You know how he feels towards you—nothing. The times he would ignore your subtle hints or the disapproving looks he would give you when you came too close during events. You’ve seen it enough to back off, to know he doesn’t feel the same and stay within your unspoken boundaries. It’s nothing but pain hearing his enticing words.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I would never lie to you, Y/N.” His hand reaches for yours, an action you’ve been accustomed to whenever he tried comforting you after your father dismissed your propositions to help the kingdom. You rip your hand from his calloused ones, roughened from all the training he’s done over centuries. His red eyes look pleadingly at you, however, you don’t notice it too overcome with frustration.

“But you’d never tell me the truth either.”

If he feels the same, even an ounce of what you feel for him, he should tell you and relieve the pain you feel from this one-sided love. You don’t want to get your hopes up and make a fool of yourself in front of him anymore.

You leave him without a goodbye and exit the hall, dreading the rest of the night to come.

—

Jimin was not lying when he said his kingdom loved to party until dawn. When you emerged from your bedroom in the dress you found neatly wrapped and laying on your bed, a gift from Jimin for the night, the roaring laughter and music echoed through the halls. You walked to the ballroom alone, Jungkook nowhere in sight, and even after your dispute you expected him to be at your door to escort you because he’d never let something as trivial as an argument get in the way of his duties.

The room is in chaos with patrons flooding the floor cheerfully moving to the rhythm of the music. Wallflowers stick to the side, but still chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they pass the time drinking themselves into ruin.

“Y/N! You look beautiful!” Jimin suddenly appears at your side, swaying slightly on his feet as his arm hooks around yours to steady himself. “The party is just getting started! Let’s get you a drink.” He shouts over the blaring music.

“I’d rather not,” you reply, tilting your head away from the alcohol lingering on his breath as his face nears yours. “Have you seen Ju- my guard?”

Jimin leans his tired head on your shoulder, sighing heavily, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t, but you’re awfully close to that guard, aren’t you?” He hiccups, “I suppose it’s only fair for me to give up this foolish proposal, you’re already in love. Poor me, I guess.”

You’re listening to a drunk man wallow about the feelings you wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

“I-I’m truly sorry, Jimin. You’ve been so hospitable and y-you threw this whole party on my behalf. I feel like I’ve just used you to avoid my true feelings.”

“Don’t feel bad, princess, I’ll use any excuse to throw a party. I guess we’ve just used each other,” Jimin pries himself away from you, giving you one last glance over with a look in his eye thinking of what could have been. “I need a drink.” He grunts, disappearing for another drink that certainly won’t be the last for the night.

Another scan around the room and there is still no sign of Jungkook lingering in the corner with his eyes trained solely on you. You wonder where he can be. The palace may be enormously vast and confusing, but he would never stray too far from you.

If you’re supposed to find him, it won’t be in here. You doubt he’d stick around in this crowd if he could help it. He would never like hearing the sound of all these beating hearts in one room.

The glass door that leads into the veranda is left open to air out the room and it reminds you of how peaceful the garden was in the morning. Jungkook will most likely be wandering there for space.

You gather your skirts and excuse your yourself through every sweaty and intoxicated guest blocking the exit. They’re all too occupied dancing and drunk to acknowledge or care about you.

A glint of metal from his armor reflecting the ballroom lights catches your eye as it stumbles into the hedge maze. You finally get past the crowd and head straight to the path Jungkook had just taken.

“Jungkook, are you alright?” You call out, the narrow entry shows no sign of him. With the hedges towering over you there’s no chance of looking over the top. Your best chance is to follow your intuition and call out to him.

The area is barely lit, the only light peaking through the hedges comes from the moonlight above.

You walk straight down the path until a fork appears and you either go left or right. “Jungkook?” You try again receiving silence in return.

You choose the path to your right and follow it all the way to a dead end. A disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you spin on your heels to return to your original position. To your surprise, Jungkook is standing behind you already.

“Oh,” you press a hand to your diamond covered chest. “There you are. I was worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me I’m fine,” he huffs, his breathing turns ragged. “I apologize for not escorting you to the ball, I just - don’t trust myself to protect you right now.”

His sunken, amber eyes tell you all you need to know. He only gets this way when he’s hungry, a look you’ve rarely seen because he always hid it so he wouldn’t scare you when you were younger.

“You’re hungry,” you affirm. He should have accepted Jimin’s offer at dinner. He hasn’t eaten since last night and it’s already taking a toll on him. It must have been affecting him even during dinner, which can explain his irrational behavior.

“Only a little,” he nods distractedly, eyes lingering over your neck.

Images of him with the woman last night flash through your mind. That same hunger and lust from last night is the same way he looks at you right now.

Taking a deep breath and tilting your neck to the side, you nod, “Go ahead.”

He’s never fed from you before, having been forbidden from feeding off any of his charges. If anyone finds out he has bitten you, they’d string him up and burn him alive. But he’s so hungry and the longer he stares, the harder it seems to resist your tantalizing offer.

You stand there feeling completely vulnerable to him. Your dress has a low neckline and your sleeves fall off your shoulders, leaving your neck free and exposed.

He wants it, badly. He craves even the slightest drop of blood, missing the metallic taste of it on his tongue and the way it warms his body as it flows through his system. Temptation drives him mad and you are the source of all his wicked desires.

You brace yourself for it. The searing, unbearable pain from a bite that will paralyze you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his hands begin to tremble. He is starving. “Not here where everyone will see.”

“What?” You open your eyes finding Jungkook’s amber ones fixated on your delicate neck. You are confused. Why doesn’t he do it now? No one will see him behind the bushes when all the guests are too busy drinking.

Jungkook has a little self-control left in him not to make foolish mistakes. A mark like his will be noticed in an instant by your family.

“I’ll leave a scar on your neck.” He sighs, brushing a finger along your collarbone. Your arms are exposed as well and he can’t risk that either, but he is so, so hungry; desperate for a drink. He falls to his knees and clutches your skirts. “Sit down.” He commands.

You comply with his demand and sit on the stone bench, waiting for his next move. It is like you are frozen, not in fear, but in anticipation for what will happen next. There is a dark allure surrounding him, always casting a shadow over him.

“Will it hurt?”

He hums, distracted by the thrumming of your blood flowing through your veins, “Not unless you move.”

The material of your dress is pushed up your legs to your mid-thigh. You shiver as his cold palms presses against your thighs and when you reflexively shut them, his touch foreign and intimate to you. His mouth hangs open, revealing his sharp canines.

“Keep your legs open,” he grunts, becoming impatient with your squirming ghosting his lips over your knee and dragging his teeth towards the center of your thigh.

His hand keeps a firm hold on your leg, hooking his arm under your knee as he positions himself between your legs and giving you no time to react, he sinks his teeth into your flesh. The pain is instant, prickling throughout your entire body. You struggle to stay still, it hurts to move, but it is an instinct to run away from the pain.

You stifle your cries with your hand. The other clutching your skirts, hoping for some way to relieve your pain. As he continues to drain your body, you feel lightheaded. Your vision becomes blurry and you can no longer support the weight of yourself.

Jungkook is lost in a haze of ecstasy, overwhelmed by the addicting taste of you on his tongue. He can’t stop himself, he is starving. A day without blood is the longest he has ever gone. Being a guard in your kingdom ensures he has a constant supply of blood and he never goes too hungry, the feeling is foreign and the deprivation only makes him crave more.

“J-Jungkook, stop,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder. Your eyelids feel heavy and you desperately grab at his hair, tugging and whining. “P-please, stop.”

It takes everything to pull himself away. Your blood drips onto the pavement and from his lips. He sighs heavily, still high off the taste as he licks the remainder of you off his lips. With his head in the clouds, he fails to realize you are on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

You slump over, coming in and out of consciousness with your arms limp at your sides.

“Damn it,” Jungkook hisses, holding you up to prevent you from collapsing on top of him. “You can’t go back in like this.”

He keeps his hand over the wound to stop the blood from flowing out. His other hand reaches to touch your cheek, wiping away tears that had fallen. He feels a tug at his heart as he gazes at your weak, fatigued face, cursing himself for being too greedy.

“Princess, we’re abo- oh!” Jimin finds you in quite the compromising position with your dress pooling at your waist and Jungkook’s hand between your legs but it isn’t what it looks like.

He falls flustered, struggling to find his words. He turns away instantly at the sight, but if his eyes had lingered a little longer he would have noticed the blood on the floor and staining Jungkook’s chin. He would have noticed your pale skin and the way you were limp in Jungkook’s arms. Jimin flees instead of finding his words and doesn’t turn back, hoping it’s all just a bad side effect of the all the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Ju-Jungkook? I’m t-tired,” you say breathlessly, weakly unaware of what has just happened, reaching for his arm that securely holds you up.

“Shh,” he silences you. “Don’t waste your energy. Come here, I’ll carry you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style towards the guest bedroom Jimin had assigned you earlier, away from the commotion of your party. They will no doubt continue the madness without you.

—

The sound of a tray hitting the vanity table rouses you from a deep sleep. As you shift in bed, pain shoots up from your leg. You throw off the sweltering blanket to find your thigh wrapped in white gauze. That’s not all you notice. The dress Jimin had gifted you is discarded to the corner of the room, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and camisole.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, coming to the bedside and offering you a glass of water off the tray. He helps you sit up, arms wrapping around your back and you wince as you shift weight onto your leg. You take the cool glass and gulp up every drop until your throat no longer feels tight and dry and manage to croak out a thank you.

The room is lit only by the kerosene lamp beside the bed, curtains are drawn in and you are unaware whether or not it is morning and if the party's over. Jungkook looks gloomy in the darkness despite having just fed on you. His energy is back, but somehow he felt weak and powerless as he watched you sleep. He is supposed to protect you, not be the cause of your suffering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words come out before he can even think about it. His hand rests on your bandaged thigh, lightly stroking over the area he had bitten. He slowly unwraps the wound to inspect the area, still red but healed nicely with the two puncture marks already fading. “I should have stopped myself, but you just tasted so good.”

“You taste so fucking good.”

Those words again this time he’s talking to you with the same guttural and lustful tone. You shudder as his hand brushes the inner part of your thigh, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his hand higher until his fingers lightly skim the edge of your clothed core. You bite back a moan as he kneels on the bed.

“I just couldn’t get enough of you, Y/N. And this morning,” he sneers, hooking his finger around the strap of your camisole, pulling you closer to his face. “When I walked into your bedroom I could smell you and I wanted you under me so badly.”

In the flickering light, his features are sharpened and the fine angle of his jaw ticks as he analyzes your innocent expression. The amber in his eyes shifts a shade darker into a rich crimson once your lips part.

“J-Jungkook, it was an accident.”

You’re lying if you say you didn’t like the thrill of it though. The way his eyes roamed over you and how they struggled to look away. You held so much power over him at that moment. You could have had him falling on his knees for you and that’s exactly what you want.

“Was it an accident when you spied on me last night too?” He asks, bringing the hand not wrapped around your shoulder strap to your waist carefully bringing the material of your camisole up. “What if I told you I knew you were watching and I wanted you to watch me as I fucked her.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He confessed to knowing you were there the whole time. You couldn’t help but feel turned on by his words.

His cool fingers run along your side. “Tell me you don’t want this.” He leans down, lips nearly brushing yours.

You press your lips together, not saying anything. In the distance, you can hear the commotion of the party still going on and you tune back into the situation right in front of you.

How can you deny it when Jungkook is in front of you, offering himself to you? An image you only dreamed of since you were a teenager. You want it as bad as him.

That’s why it’s you who leans in, capturing him in a rough, breathtaking kiss, teeth clashing together as you wrap both arms around his neck to bring him closer until you’re pressed against each other and sharing the heat between one another. All the years of pent-up desire and love finally burst from you as you pour it all into this kiss.

You’re crossing the line and he knows it, but fuck it all. When you’re in his arms, desperately clinging to him and tangling your fingers through his hair he can care less about the line between love and loyalty.

His hands pull your camisole up, lips parting for a moment as he throws the thin material off your body. You have no time to feel insecure or embarrassed because Jungkook has his hands caressing your breasts, running his thumb over your pert nipples and muttering how beautiful you are between your lips. You love the way his words fall into a mantra of adoration just for you.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful.”

He drags his lips away from yours to line kisses along your jaw and neck. You moan as he licks a stripe from the base of your throat to the sensitive spot behind your ear before sucking a dark bruise over it. He pushes you back onto the pillows and hovers over you, desperate to finally have a taste of you.

You watch as his eyes roam your body pressed against the white sheets, a carnal desire brewing behind his crimson eyes. Feeling yourself dampening your panties under his gaze, you squirm around hoping to get him to do something. You’re completely at his mercy and silently begging him to fuck you right into the mattress.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, running your hand down his hard chest to the waistband of his pants, growing tired of waiting.

Only one finger gets past the material of his pants before he grabs your hand, pinning it beside your head and tisks, “So impatient, princess.”

With his hand still around your wrists, he plants wet kisses down the valley of your breasts to your navel, loving the way you squirm each time his lips meet your feverish skin. His other hand circles the edge of your underwear before he rips it off without warning. The sudden breeze and hot breaths coming from Jungkook’s mouth hovering over your core make you shudder as he spreads your legs apart. He licks his lips, eyeing your dripping core as your wetness leaks onto the bed.

Under the predatory gaze, your legs instinctively close around his head but he keeps them open with his hands, fingers ghosting over the long forgotten bite mark on the inside of your thigh.

“Keep your legs open. Remember?” He growls, eyes flickering up towards yours. This time instead of taking blood for himself he’d make sure to take care of you instead.

You cry out, gripping the bedsheets for support as Jungkook’s mouth abruptly comes down on to your clit as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud over and over. His fingers tease your entrance, running down your slit and slowly inserts his index finger into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans when you clench around just one finger, wondering what it will feel like when he can finally sink his cock in you. All of his lustful thoughts from this morning finally become a reality with each whimper and moan that fall from your captivating lips as his finger pumps into you relentlessly, curling between your tight walls.

You’re moaning—screaming—his name, prompting him to add another finger, making you cry out even louder and drowning out the background noise of the party with your screams. His other hand releases your wrists and comes down to your waist to stop yours from bucking your hips into his fingers.

With your hand freed, they intertwine with the dark locks of his hair and you try and pull him away from your overstimulated clit. His mouth is too much, you can feel the knot forming in your stomach as his fingers continue their attack.

“Jungkook, please… I-I’m-” You pant.

The words die on your lips as soon as he adds a third finger, the stretch of his fingers inside you has your back arching off the bed and your orgasm rips through you soon after. Your eyes flutter shut, the white-hot pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body. He removes his slick coated fingers from you and his mouth comes over your hole and laps your juices up like he has been starved of it for years.

He moves back up to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. It’s slow and sensual, unlike the first time, and he slowly rubs your stomach, allowing you to adjust after your high.

Jungkook hums, “Better than blood.”

The raspiness of his baritone voice sends chills down to your core again.

“Really?” You ask, still trying to catch your breath.

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing your neck again. His hand slips behind your back to lift you up until you’re straddling his lap with his hardness brushing your core and tired head leaning against his shoulder. “Nothing compares to you, not even all the blood in the kingdom. You’re special to me, Y/N, more than you think.”

Your heart thrums in your chest hearing his soft-spoken words. It’s a relief to finally hear what you mean to him. Not just a charge, not just a duty, but as something more. Your arms wrap around his waist as you take a second to sit and embrace his presence. You put your trust in him to protect you with every fiber of his being, and now you're putting your trust in him to love you just the same. You want to give yourself over to him completely.

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your finger delicately tracing patterns along the expanse of his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls back to look you in the eyes, worry and lust mixed behind his dark eyes. There’s no going back. He needs to be absolutely sure this is what you want.

You nod, leaning in to capture a kiss from him again and your hands tug at the hem of his white tunic. It’s not fair he’s fully clothed and you are the only one exposed.

He helps you tug off the shirt and his well toned, tan chest is revealed finally to you. With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you in for a kiss which you accept fully. Your mouths move in sync together and as your clit brushes against his straining cock, begging to be freed from his pants, the sensation arouses you once more and you desperately rock against him for more stimulation.

Jungkook tugs his bottoms off hastily, wanting nothing more than for you to sink on to him. He grabs your hips roughly, fingers digging into your sides enough to leave bruises.

He positions you right above his cock and catches your hungry gaze, verifying your need, and slowly lets you sink down on him. You gasp at the excruciating stretch, it’s nothing like his fingers. You can barely get past the tip before you’re whimpering for him to wait.

“Ah, st-stop,” you grasp the hand at your hips, screwing your eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forcing himself to stop for you. He’s holding back so much for you. He can’t hurt you. He’d never hurt you.

You can see the pain contorted on his face as he strains to hold himself back. So, you push yourself further down on him, sliding easily from your slickness and clenching around his length. The pain is quickly replaced with pleasure as you screw your eyes shut, moaning a string of incoherent words. You slide off of him before going back down, faster than you had intended and you both groan in unison. Your breasts rub against his chest each time you go down on him and you watch with fascination as your bodies come together each time and he disappears inside you.

He feels his canines extending as the sudden bloodlust hits him with your tightness wrapped around him. Usually, when he’s fucking, he’s feeding off some random citizen as he does it. But you’re not just a blood bag for him to fuck and discard.

He shuts his eyes, stilling himself for a moment and tries to force away his sudden hunger. He’s already fed from you and taken too much to the point you passed out.

You stop your ministrations, noticing how tense he’s become. The canines peeking from under his lip are prominent and you understand what’s wrong.

“You can drink from me.”

“No,” he gulps, jerking his hips up in attempt to distract himself from the hunger. The speed he moves at is inhuman and you tremble with each powerful thrust. Your orgasm slowly builds up and you push his head closer to your neck, allowing him the perfect place to sink his teeth in.

“Do it, Jungkook,” you breathe deeply, waiting for his fangs to sink into your flesh.

He pulls you off of him unexpectedly and you whimper from the loss. Before you even realize, you’re pressed against the bed again with Jungkook thrusting into you harder than before. As the bed creaks under the intensity of each swift movement, your hands reach to claw at his back for something to anchor on to, leaving angry red marks for tomorrow.

You cry out his name over and over, but he doesn’t hear it. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your rapid heartbeats and the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him.

The familiar tightness in your stomach returns as you near your orgasm, and Jungkook notices from the way you tremble underneath him. He grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder, allowing him deeper access to push into you.

“K-keep going,” you choke out, feeling him hit the perfect spot at this new angle.

He loves hearing you whimper and beg for him. The pace he sets is even faster, but not enough to break you with his strength. He knows himself enough to not take it too far despite the monster in him telling him to let go and tear you in half.

Another sharp movement of Jungkook’s hip and you come undone beneath him, jerking your hips up to match his thrusts and riding out your high for as long as you can. With a couple more thrusts, Jungkook comes inside you, coating your walls and filling you up.

Overcome by this euphoria, he leans down to your neck and sinks his teeth in taking no blood, instead he bonds with you. A mark that will claim you as his forever.

You’re unaware of this, however, still getting over your own orgasm to realize he’s just sealed your future together.

When he removes his mouth carefully from your neck, licking up the droplets of blood, he falls over onto his back, feeling a new sense of energy flow through him. If he were human, he’d be breathless.

You press your forehead against his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso and close your eyes. There’s no heartbeat, but you’re content believing if he had one, it would be racing just as much as yours in this moment.

“I love you.”

For the first time, it is Jungkook who makes himself vulnerable, bearing all his emotions to you. It’s impossible to know what your future together will be like. He’s marked you and now that scar will forever be a part of you. It won’t be long before your family notices. They’ll realize right away what Jungkook has done to their precious daughter and there’s no doubt they’ll want to punish him—kill him, throw him in prison, or end his centuries of service. No matter the punishment, the mark on your neck ensures that you will be together through all those troubles.

You press yourself closer to him. You don’t need to say anything because he already knows how you feel, he’s always known.

—

The next morning, while the rest of the palace is stuck in bed hungover, Jimin at least makes a groggy effort to wish you safe travels back home. He’s still dressed in his rumpled attire from the night before, squinting as the sunlight aids his pounding headache.

As he looks between your beaming face and Jungkook’s fond expression as he gazes down at you, a hazy image from last night appears when he thought he saw you in the gardens with your guard between your legs. He shakes the image away though, finding himself heating up at the thought. Maybe he had too much to drink last night and began seeing things, but as you wave your final goodbyes and thanks to him and turn towards the carriage with Jungkook’s hand carefully pressed against the small of your back, he catches an unmistakable glimpse of a purple bruise blooming on your neck and fading puncture marks. And for once, the young prince has nothing left to say.

—

tags: @winternightmagic

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moiraineswife · 6 years ago

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Caleb’s Episode 49 Confession Meta

Time for some things that are probably obvious af but they’re Sad and Angsty so I’m going to through them in a meta piece. Because I like to meta about Sad Things and that’s just Caleb through-and-through. So we’re going to talk about Caleb’s episode 49 confession and a few things we can derive from what was said.

I think his comments about Trent were quite telling, both about his behaviour presently, and also about how he thinks about/feels about Trent.

“He believed that the unwashed masses relied on their base instincts and the highest calling was to rise above the muck and control the cattle for the good of all.”

This quote says a lot about why, when he’s trying to hide desperately from Trent, he covers himself in dirt, and mud. Perhaps taking that too literally, but he never thinks that Trent will look for him, or notice him if he’s just one of the ‘cattle’.

When he sees the two elves from the Assembly in Felderwind, the first thing he does is, not just rub dirt on himself, he full on faceplants into the ground and rubs dirt all over himself as an instinctual response. It’s like Nott’s porcelain mask, it gives him comfort, it helps him hide, it makes him feel safe and invisible. Which is exactly what Caleb wants to be.

He’s been special. He’s been singled out. He’s been the top of the class, the one everyone’s watching, and pushing, and believing in him and it nearly destroyed him. Now he wants to be no-one. He wants to be nothing, not least because that’s about how he views himself self-esteem wise. But that’s safe. Being noticed isn’t. He put his hood up in the victory pit. He covered himself with mud so that he blends in with everyone else.

I also think that that little incident with Jester, when they talked about money, it was a rejection of ideals, not Jester’s ideals, Jester I think just accidentally triggered this. But I think it was Trent’s ideals in terms of believing that peasants are lesser in some way, and that was a small rejection of those ideals.

While he’s telling the group his story, he abbreviates part of his story, just saying, “I went a little crazy.” Later, when he’s discussing Trent, he says, “He was a little mad himself.”

This connects him and Trent. That implication in that word ‘himself’ ties them together, he’s effectively saying ‘I went a little crazy, and Trent, he was a little mad, too’ it’s this uncomfortable link that he makes between himself and the man who groomed him, and brainwashed him, and abused him.

After he tells the group about the crystal experiments, he then says, ‘But everything was for empire...We were at war. We are at war. There were many that felt that way, that feel this way.”

That kind of ideology was fed to Caleb, Astrid, and Edowulf so exclusively that all three of them, upon having a false memory implanted into their minds showing their parents had been disloyal to the empire, were willing to murder them at Trent’s command. They killed other people that Trent brought them, dissenters, who were executed by these teenagers under this justification of everything being for your empire, your country, your society.

And that justification becomes an incredible powerful thing within the cycle of Trent’s abuse. Because it’s the justification that Caleb and the others use for the terrible things that they’ve done? So when Trent does terrible things to them, under the same justification, they’re almost forced, psychologically, to condone it. Because if they don’t condone Trent’s actions towards them, how can they condone their own actions against other people?

What Caleb does immediately after he tells the group about Trent’s twisted crystal experiments is to start making excuses for him. ‘It was for the empire’ ‘we were at war’ ‘it was for the greater good’ which also minimises the trauma and abuse that he endured.

A lot of traumatised people do that with their abusers, and I’m not a psychologist or anything, so don’t quote me on this, but I think, definitely in Caleb’s case, it’s again about taking some of the spotlight off of himself. But I also think it’s a fear response. It’s the same reason he smears himself with dirt and mud. He smears these harsh truths with gentling justifications and excuses (bullshit as they are) because if Trent ever found out he had told anyone about this, if he ever found out Caleb had complained about this, and disclosed details of his little experiments, that probably doesn’t even bear thinking about for Caleb.

Trent is a master manipulator that groomed Caleb in a likely very practised, very specific, very targeted way. He found a young boy from a small town with very little means who wanted to prove himself, and make something better of himself, and twisted him utterly. He made Caleb feel special, and important with his little private interviews, and chats, and then putting him into “advanced classes” as Caleb called them.

He twisted and controlled him to the point that Caleb consented (I use that word loosely, because coercion and ‘consent’ under this kind of abuse is not consent at all. Nevermind the fact Caleb was a minor at the time, but in his mind, that’s what I believe he thinks it was) to have agonising experiments conducted on him for this man.

Trent still influences everything that Caleb does, everything he thinks, everything he feels, everything he fears, everything he says. From what we’ve seen, he’s incredibly charming, just as a person, and also via some kind of strange magical influence which he used on Yasha. Imagine that presence, that influence, that power exerted on an impressionable, eager, hungry fifteen year old kid in a very concentrated, very personal manner for over two years.

And that all happened a long time ago, but psychologically, for Caleb, it didn’t. He was in an asylum for eleven years, but during that time, he still had the false memory that Trent implanted in him, and I highly doubt anyone would have been talking shit about the empire there. Abuse like Caleb’s needs to be validated from an external source before it can be believed.

So, really, Caleb spent eleven years trapped inside his own head feeling like he’d failed Trent, he’d failed his empire, his country, his home, the girl that he loved, the other students, literally everything he’d been taught to believe in.

Then one day someone magically zapped his brain and lifted that and he remembered everything. And from there he just went into a state of complete and utter panic. He admits himself that he’s been running for a long time, and that he’s been afraid all that time. He hasn’t exactly had time to process what he went through, to work out literally anything. All he’s been focused on is surviving.

Which makes a lot of sense. Because those memories are painful, and difficult, and it is so much easier to just blame himself, and hate himself, and punish himself than to examine what might have been done to him, how badly it might have damaged him, and how this man that he likely greatly respected and looked up to was always ever only using him.

-The last thing from that conversation/confession I want to talk about is: “I have been using you all” followed up with “If they see you with me they will use you to get to me” and “I don’t want one more thing on my head – you guys....It’s probably too late.”

I am SURE I’ve written meta about Caleb’s feelings towards the group before now, but this is kind of a more canon confirmation of what I thought.

Caleb was literally conditioned to be a weapon. He was made to execute dissenters of the empire from the ages of 15-17. Trent forced him to brutally kill his own fucking parents, I feel like he wasn’t exactly encouraged to care about people.

Caleb was used. He was taught that people were either useful, or they were not, they were ‘unwashed masses that relied on their base instincts’. And by ‘base instincts’ I’m assuming that Trent included ‘basic human decency/respect/caring about others’ in there. Love is a no-no.

So Caleb is battling with two years solid abuse and actual literal magical brainwashing plus torture, plus god knows what else plus eleven years of solitude in which he’s had time to brood on what an awful, pathetic failure he is to everyone and everything, and then like...5 months where he’s been half-starving to death, terrified out of his wits, and on the run. I feel like it’s a bit much to expect the dude to be able to admit that he cares about these people, even when he does.

But that denial, that excuse, that lame lie ‘I have been using you all’ is another dirt mask for Caleb. It’s something that keeps him safe. If Trent were to appear, right now, and demand to know if he cared about these people, Caleb is well practised in being able to say ‘no, I don’t, I’ve just been using them to fulfil my own ends and protect me’. It’s a protection thing, except this time it’s not himself he’s protecting, it’s them.

There’s also, I think, a deeper, far more twisted layer in that by saying this, it’s one way he can not fail Trent. He’s still sticking to this part of his teaching. He’s not being stupid and weak and falling in with the unwashed masses, he’s just using them, the way Trent used people.

I don’t think that Caleb consciously wants to be like Trent, but I do still think there’s over a decade of self-hatred and feeling like a failure, as well as a nice, generous heaping of Stockholm syndrome. I think this is a very strange, twisted combination of his desire, subconsciously, to still be linked with Trent, along the lines of linking their madness which...could not be more different, but hey! Abuse don’t give a shit about ur logic.

I think it’s also the fact that on some level he hates Trent. But he also hates himself. So telling himself that he’s like Trent, and believing he’s doing the things to others that Trent did to him gives him a false sense of power over him, but it’s also a bit like his fire magic? It’s a way of retraumatising himself, and punishing himself, but also I think, a bit like Trent’s crystal experiments, it’s punishment, and it’s pain, and it’s torture being used as a means of strengthening himself.

It’s him giving in to Trent’s teachings which are literally everywhere. He has these slips where he wonders why he’s with this group because they can’t help him achieve his goals, and he tells himself they’re slowing him down, and that’s Trent talking, not Caleb.

But then he utterly undermines it by saying that if anyone sees them with him, they’ll hurt him, and that he doesn’t want their lives set to his account, too. If he was using them, he literally wouldn’t say any of that, because it risks exposing himself in order to protect them.

I think that, in a massively oversimplified version of the real complicated psychological mess that is Caleb Widogast: the things he says and to an extent the things that he thinks, and feels are Trent.

The things that he DOES are Caleb.

He says that he shouldn’t be travelling with these people. That they’re not going to help him. That he’s wasting his time with them.

But he stays.

He says that he’s using them, and he won’t admit that he cares about them (because that’s dangerous, and not allowed).

But he literally rips open the most painful experiences of his life, risks himself to warn them about his past and what he’s been through and what he’s done in order to protect them.

Caleb says that he doesn’t care because he can’t. He can’t let himself care. Because it’s terrifying, and dangerous and has been used against him over and over and he’s spent years of his life believing that it’s wrong. And it tears him apart because he does. He does care. And it’s killing him, because it terrifies him.

Listen the tl;dr of this thing is that i love caleb widogast a whole lot, i think liam is doing an incredible job portraying a trauma and abuse survivor and, uh, i will fight you with thousands and thousands of ranting words of meta if ur rude about him. Have a nice day.

#caleb widogast #liam o'brien #critical role #cr2 #cr2 meta #caleb meta #my meta #critical role meta #listen #this is the monster liam o'brien has made me into #y'all had to know this was coming #u can't escape my bullshit forever #I'M BACK AND I'M SAD ABOUT CALEB WIDOGAST CONSTANTLY #DEAL WITH IT #text post ag #long post #do u want to be sad before tonight's episode?#if the answer is yes: pls read on!

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thewritewolf · 5 years ago

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Inseparable Chapter 18: A Ticking Clock

Ladybug and Chat Noir pay a visit to Master Fu.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

@ladynoirjuly2019

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Adrien closed the door behind him and set his bag on his bed with a sigh. It hadn’t taken long to find Marinette after the battle. Despite knowing she was alright since he had seen her race off as Ladybug, he caught her in a hug when he saw her running up towards him. Maybe that had been the right move - after all, she had seemed confused when he wasn’t still hiding in the bathroom. Or maybe it hadn’t been a good choice - she stiffened up when he held her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes the entire rest of the field trip. She could barely speak afterwards. Did he really bother her that much…?

“What was that, kid?!”

Speaking of being bothered… Adrien took a seat in his computer chair and waited for Plagg to berate him.

“I know… I couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah. I saw that much.” Plagg was floating in front of him, paws crossed and tail flicking back and forth. “I thought you said that today was going to be the day? Reporter girl even managed to do most of the work for you and got the two of you alone. You were all the way there and chickened out at the last second.”

Adrien rubbed at his face with one hand. “Trust me, I get that. I just-” He threw his hands up. “I don’t know! I’m scared, okay? I just want to enjoy what we have for a little while longer before I accidentally mess it up like everything else.”

There was silence as the words hung heavy in the air. “Is that what you think, kid? That she’ll care about you any less?”

More silence. A defeated nod from Adrien.

The quiet was broken with Plagg’s cackling. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. Except maybe that you’re just plain wrong, but we both know that, don’t we?”

“Hey, wait a minute-”

“No. Listen kid - Does Ladybug care about Chat Noir?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess, but-”

“And does Marinette care about Adrien?”

“Sure, probably, but if you’d just-”

“Then why in the name of ME would anything be any different just because those two people she cares about are actually one person?”

Adrien opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find any words to refute his kwami. Instead he groaned and leaned back. “You’re right, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Oh no. A superhero will have to do something slightly difficult. How awful.” Plagg scoffed. “Anyway, you’ve got plenty of opportunities coming up, between school and all those akumas. If we can get to Fu’s next week with this out of the way, then it’ll be great for all of us.”

“I’ll try to bare my soul to Marinette within your precious time frame.” Adrien glared at his kwami, but his attention was already elsewhere.

“That’s great, kid. Now get me some camembert. Dealing with you has been almost as tiring as that akuma fight.”

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

Her eyes darted between the project she’d been working on all afternoon and the clock. It was late, late enough that her parents would be soundly asleep and on a school day she definitely would be too. There wasn’t much time left before Marinette had to meet up with Chat Noir for their meeting with Master Fu and she had to decide now if she was going to attempt to get this next patch done or leave it here for now.

With a sigh, Marinette sat down her fabric scissors and collapsed onto her chaise.

“I’m proud of you, Marinette. It’s very wise to know when to carry on and when is best stop,” Tikki chirped as she appeared in front of her.

“Thanks, Tikki. But that means I don’t have anything else to do while we wait.”

“Well… we could talk, if you want.” Tikki settled down on the chair beside her. “Is there anything on your mind?”

“Chat has been acting weird, I guess?”

“That’s very true. We don’t usually see him so… timid or shy. What do you think is going on with him?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Knowing my kitty, he is probably plotting to ask me to something again. Maybe he has a rooftop picnic or something in mind.” She glanced outside as a cold wind howled. A shiver shook her as she reminded herself she’d be outside in that before too long. “Although hopefully not.”

“So you aren’t too worried?”

“If it isn’t that, then what else can I do for him? Our hands are kind of tied with the whole secret identities thing.” Marinette shook her head sadly. “No, I’ll do my best to be here for him, but there is only so much comfort I can give.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that you two were trading little facts about yourselves. What happened with that?”

Marinette squirmed in place. She was aware that they’d stopped doing it and she had tried to tell herself that it didn’t bother her. But there was a part of her that was disappointed. Chat Noir often felt like he was larger than life, an exaggeration of a person. But little details like his favorite dish? They made him feel more real, more grounded. Maybe that was why she was scared - anything could happen in their fight. She’d already had to see him get erased or turned against her. What would happen if she knew who exactly was under the mask? Knew exactly who she had failed to protect?

She was startled out of her thoughts by a tiny paw patting the side of her head.

“I know it all seems scary, Marinette. But I’m here for you, one hundred percent. And I know that Chat Noir is with you completely. The best we can do is face things together, right?”

Marinette nodded before her eyes widened as she remembered to check the clock. Only five minutes until the meeting started.

“Tikki, spots on!”

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

“Ah, greetings to both of you,” Master Fu said as Marinette and Chat Noir entered the room together. It had been close, but she made it. Apparently Chat had also been running behind since they landed at their usual meet up at practically the same time.

They both gave awkward bows as they hurried to their spots. In front of each of them was already a cup of hot tea.

“I suspect that you have questions for me?”

Marinette shared a look with Chat Noir, who shrugged. How did he know…?

“Yes, master. There has been some weird stuff happening with our powers lately.” Marinette took a hesitant sip of her tea. Delicious as always.

Master Fu raised his eyebrows, but there was a glint of amusement in his tone. “Oh? What sort of ‘weird stuff’?”

“She purred, I got cold, she could see and hear pretty well. Not to mention the weird empathy, thought sharing… stuff that happens sometimes.” Chat Noir raised a finger for each point, but Master Fu seemed unconcerned as he raised his cup to his face. Chat’s cat ears perked up. “Oh! And there was that time we swapped who could do Cataclysm and Lucky Charm. Then that last akuma when we did something weird with Cataclysm.”

Fu jerked back in surprise. “The central abilities of your miraculous were swapped?”

“Yes, master,” they replied simultaneously.

“I see. This is excellent news!” Master Fu folded his hands together and smiled. “You two are moving quicker than I had anticipated.”

“This… is supposed to happen?” Marinette asked in confusion. She didn’t see how it could be helpful to have their powers randomly swap for no discernable reason. Although… the destruction orb had been useful.

“You need not worry. This is perfectly natural.” Master Fu stood and retrieved a tablet from the shelf. He flipped through the familiar pictures of the book they’d briefly stolen from Gabriel before settling on an illustration of the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous. “It is believed that, in the beginning, the kwamis of creation and destruction were one and the same - the kwami of reality.”

“But they aren’t anymore,” Chat mused, as he cupped his chin. “When did they get split? And what does this have to do with us now?”

“Patience, young one. The kwami of reality was to be bound into one miraculous five thousand years ago, but their power was too great. The kwami was split into two parts - creation and destruction - and bound to separate miraculous. Even then, the legendary sorcerer only barely survived. But this origin is unique among all the miraculous.”

He flipped to the next page on the screen, showing another illustration. This one was of a person glowing with energy, the earrings and black cat ring worn simultaneously.

“These miraculous are the only ones that can be safely worn by one person at once.”

“Huh? Are the others really that dangerous?”

“Alone, no. But the miraculous were designed to be worn one at a time. Two at once can overwhelm an individual and cause terrible damage. To themselves, to the people around them, sometimes even to the miraculous.”

Chat sighed. “And there goes my dreams of Dragon Chat…”

Marinette elbowed him in the side. “Be serious!” Despite her words, there was a faint smile at her lips.

“The other unique quality is the power sharing you have mentioned. Essentially, once there is a powerful tie between the users, the miraculous begin reconnecting as well. Energy can be shared between them - minor quirks of those powers are often first, like with cat and ladybug tendencies. But this shared energy has incredibly versatile potential, culminating in the ultimate ability of the two - mastery over reality itself.”

There was silence as the two processed what Master Fu was saying. Eventually Chat Noir spoke up.

“So… a wish?”

Master Fu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Chat Noir. A wish.” He fixed them each with a stern look. “But do not rush to that skill - it requires an immense amount of training to achieve and even then should only be used sparingly. Toying with reality often has dire consequences, although it is necessary at times as a final resort. There are some problems that can only be repaired with a wish.”

“I think I understand.” Marinette rubbed one of her earrings between her fingers. She narrowed her eyes in thought. “You said the kwami were bound to the miraculous. Was that by choice?”

“The kwami are benevolent beings who had yearned to assist mankind since the beginning. The sorcerer merely convinced them that the miraculous was the best way to achieve this.”

“But why?” Marinette tilted her head, remembering the events of Style Queen and her team up with Plagg. “The kwami seem plenty powerful by themselves.”

“Your question holds the answer: The kwami are powerful. Too powerful. The miraculous acts as a filter so that they do not harm the world around them by accident.” Master Fu frowned and stared at Chat Noir - or, more specifically, his ring. “Hiccups in that design have lead to… accidents.” He shook himself out of his memories. “Which reminds me. Hawkmoth has been clawing at these restraints for some time now.”

“What makes you say that?” Marinette ignored the spear of panic that pierced her heart. The idea of her nemesis breaking those filters worried her immensely.

“His akumas have grown more and more powerful, all the while becoming less and less cooperative. More often than not, the akumas turn on their master. Besides the obvious reasons, Hawkmoth dismantling these restrictions can have devastating consequences. At best, the miraculous gets broken, which is something that is not easily fixed. At worst… he gets the power he so craves. More than he could ever hope to handle.”

Marinette shared a look with Chat Noir and was pleased to find the steely determination in his eyes. “We will do everything it takes to defeat Hawkmoth before that can happen.”

“I am glad. For now, the best we can do - short of discovering his identity - is to hone your newfound abilities. I am certain that mastery of them will prove vital in the coming battles.”

With that, they spent the remainder of their time in meditation and the fine manipulation of energy. Once they had a handle on where to find their opposite power, it became easier to draw on it, however crudely they did it. The real difficulty came from their physical reaction to that power. Marinette quickly became nauseous using the power of the black cat, while Chat Noir became exhausted. Master Fu assured them that once they got used to the energy, these side effects would fade away.

It was in the earliest hours of the day that they finally left, Marinette wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep in. But she didn’t make a few steps out the door before Chat Noir had snagged her wrist.

“Um, m’lady? Can we… talk?” His ears were flat to his head and he struggled to meet her eyes. The poor boy was struggling.

She remembered her talks with Tikki. “If this is a romantic thing, Chat, can we please not-”

“No, no, it isn’t like that, I promise. But this is something that I need to tell you…” He looked around theatrically. “...Away from any prying eyes and ears.”

She sighed, already yearning for her warm bed. “Alright, Chat. Lead the way.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #LadynoirJuly2019 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Ladynoir #Plagg #Tikki #Master Fu #ml fanfiction #my writing #Inseparable

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wwwps4 · 5 years ago

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Just Cause 4

For me, Just Cause 4 was in the top ten expected games of 2018. Since the release of the first game on the PlayStation 2, I have loved this series for the freedom and dynamics of the gameplay, with each new part increased thanks to innovations, mainly tied to the hook-cat of Rico Rodriguez, the main character of the series. From the third part of the franchise began to change noticeably, adding serious notes to the previously crazy action, often devoid of meaning, logic and laws of physics. Actually, for which the series was loved by fans. But the degree of seriousness in Just Cause 3 was kept within the bounds of decency and did not destroy the cool atmosphere of madness — we had a charismatic dictator, not devoid of a sense of humor, a huge world and a wide Arsenal of tools of destruction.

From the fourth game it was quite logical to expect only the development of an established formula, and we got it. Partially. With the evolution of some game variables, unfortunately, others have noticeably degraded.

Looking back at the past, on the review of Just Cause 3, today's I wants to meet myself from the past and hit the head with a poker. Because the estimate is too high. But today's I also understand why this happened: against the background of the second part of the previous game looked and played much better, even despite performance problems. The new mechanics looked great and encouraged the player to use them. In Just Cause 4, the situation is different: new mechanics are curious, but experiments with them get boring after an hour or two, and you only return to balloons with boosters when you perform numerous and monotonous tests that make your eyes ripple. Finally, the game itself does not encourage the use of innovations.

Yes, the developers have tried to add some variety to the tasks that are set for the player, and now the mission to weaken the influence of the enemy in the region is not to destroy their bases, but to systematically capture them. On some bases, you need to disable and hack guns, on others-to steal drawings or weaken the protection, opening important rooms for passing with the help of specific models of cars, tanks and boats. But this is where all the diversity ends, because the mechanics of performing different tasks are still the same: find the switch — break the switch, find the generator-destroy the generator.

Story tasks and side activities in the game are tied to completely similar tasks, the variety of which is even more than in the previous parts of the series, but does not save you from the routine. Disabling switches and blowing up generators would be much more interesting if the developers had improved the artificial intelligence of their opponents, because in their current state, only some types of enemies pose a threat. And even then, not the biggest. A much more dangerous enemy of the player in Just Cause 4 is crazy physics, which can suddenly give out some stupid feint, turning the car over on an even spot or blowing up the helicopter from touching a tree branch with the rotor.

Helicopters in Just Cause 4 are your best friends, even though the body kit and weapons available to the player often don't match (for example, we see two types of projectiles and a machine gun, but we can only use one type of NUR and a machine gun). With them, you can perform most speed tests, clean up almost all the necessary enemy bases, and even destroy an enemy General trying to get away on a jet fighter. Yes, you can catch up with him by helicopter and shoot him. Not ask...

But it is worth paying tribute: the shooting in the fourth part is several goals higher than all previous releases in the series. Finally, Rico has learned to fire from the shoulder, which makes it much easier to aim and makes the control more comfortable. You can only praise the work on weapons and opponents. The hero's Arsenal grows as you progress, and each barrel now feels unique: different rate of fire, accuracy, alternative fire mode, reload speed, and so on. Worthily. Types of enemies also pleased — "Ghosts" and "Titans" can not only spoil the nerves of the player due to its elusiveness and strength of armor, respectively, but also send the invulnerable Rico to the next world.

Transport management has also improved, and all at once. The weight of the cars seems large, although they continue to be cardboard boxes, judging by the impact of game physics on them. Even tanks and armored personnel carriers take off here, like Chinese cars made of chocolate foil. Examples are in the video below! More pleasant than in Just Cause 3, was the management of air technology, but this is more due to its ease. But water transport is frustrating clumsiness, although it is most likely just quite realistic. Other things amuse: boats and jet skis sometimes feel good even on land. See for yourself:

There are also outright deterioration compared to Just Cause 3! For example, the tone of the project changed from casually playful and jaunty on "complex SSI", which has a negative effect on the atmosphere. The share of humor in the narrative and side activities has decreased, and attempts by some minor characters to dive into the pool of jokes ends with a painful blow on a newspaper spread out on the water. Alas, in Just Cause 4, there is no charismatic dictator, no cool boss battles, and most of the potentially cool moments are closed under a video lock. Seriously, instead of creating spectacular battles with the elements, the developers have translated all the "victory over bosses" in the format of videos. It turned out even worse than the battle with the final boss in Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception. And there are few things worse than her.

The plot of the game... Yes, someone will now say that the game Just Cause has never been, and so on. True, but the developers themselves decided to change this and tried to take the "new height", which they did not submit. And since Avalanche Studios themselves decided to bring the story of Rico Rodriguez to the forefront, they gave carte Blanche for appropriate criticism. But it is not worth much to crucify and complain about this, either, it is more expensive for yourself. In General, the story has a good potential, but little attention from the authors, who are constantly confused about the details, dates and events of the past.

Moreover, some of the game dialogs simply do not correspond to the events that follow them. For example, in one of the videos, Tom Sheldon, who decided to make peace with Rico and help his precious student, says: "I will lead", which causes an entertaining skirmish with references to the past. But he gets behind the wheel of an armored car, and Rico climbs in after him. And what do you think? The car, of course, is controlled by the player. Either we were temporarily given power over Sheldon, or the developers and writers again forgot to sync the project's cloud.

When performing tests in Just Cause 4, remember that most of the necessary vehicles for "through the ring on a particular vehicle" tests are located near the test itself. From a few meters to a couple of blocks. For example, if the marker indicates that the test at the top of the mountain requires riding through the ring on a motorcycle, do not rush to look for the bike and attach the balls to it, as I did-climb the mountain using a winch and you will surely find a bike waiting for you there.

As for the technical part and scripto, they are a good source of high mood. However, not when you once again can not get the local "fultons" or jet mini-engines of the hook to work humanly, and they begin to turn the raised objects against any logic. Unfortunately, there will be most of these situations. The Avalanche team came up with interesting chips, but it did not work to implement them in a human way, as well as to encourage players to use them. The entire game, story - wise, you can go through, almost without using hook modifications. So what's the point?! The variety of the "set it yourself" level has always worked in Just Cause, but before that, the game mechanics did not go beyond the daily combat comforts.

Even for most of the tests where you need to deliver a car to an island or the roof of a high-rise, it is much easier to use a cargo helicopter with a magnetic grip than to play with balloons that behave as inadequately as possible most of the time they are used. After completing half of the tests, of which there are more than four hundred, I met only two where it was necessary to use balloons. Here just came to the rescue modification for them, allowing you to control the direction of flight crosshair sight.

The moment just got into the video below, which also says a lot about the technical part, artificial intelligence, stupefied since Just Cause 3, and the gameplay in General:

However, I repeat - fans of the franchise will be more satisfied with the new game, because the basic gameplay is thoroughly prettier. Another thing is that game innovations are mostly meaningless, and if they are simply thrown out, Just Cause 4 will not lose anything. The weather conditions that Avalanche was so proud of look great and even work, but have a strictly plot-based meaning. Without the technology developed by the local dictator, Solis seems to have no tornadoes, no winter blizzards, no sandstorms, no rain and thunderstorms. I just want to start packing my bags and looking for air tickets! After clearing objects that control weather conditions, we can turn them on and off with a single button. What for? To complicate your life, for example.

And there is no need for more. Storm and Blizzard limit the field of view, once in them, the enemies become absolutely stupid and blind. And since computer idiots and so ... idiots, send their intelligence to negative values once again do not want to, because the game becomes not interesting. Tornadoes destroy some objects, but only in specific areas. As well as the storm does not go beyond its limits. It turns out that we can again subject to spontaneous rape already cleared and captured areas. What's the point?! Oh, deja vu…

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

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Have Your Cake [And Eat It Too] (Part 1)

Killian can't seem to stop moving. It's a nervous habit. He's a little nervous. Because they've been waiting forever and he's been waiting forever and he really just wants them to be a family. Officially.

Emma needs to keep moving. To win. She's very competitive. And she's needs a distraction. Because they've been waiting forever and trying a bit longer and she really just wants them to be a family. Officially

Or: Another quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with the legal system and Kitchen Stadium.

Word Count: Like 8.5 KILLIAN’S GOT PATERNAL FEELINGS, OK Rating: A pretty low T, but with kissing! AN: Oh hai, internet! I have a lot of fic in my docs that’s been sitting there for months (I wrote this in July, ha) and I’ve just decided to...start posting it. This is another Out of the Frying Pan two-shot sequel-type thing and timeline-wise, it kind of happens during The Anti-Pumpkin Brigade. Like after Henry helps Killian bake, but before it ends. This will make sense once you read it, I swear. Thanks for reading if you do.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll, with Emma’s POV on Friday.

His tie felt like it was going to strangle him.

He kept tugging on it, yanking and twisting and it wasn’t really helping that whole breathing thing, but Killian figured that was a lost cause as soon as they’d been told to wait in the hallway. They weren’t given a timetable.

That felt unfair.

But that might have just been whatever his tie was doing to his windpipe.

He’d definitely knotted it too tightly.

And he hadn’t even knotted it – Emma had, far surer fingers that morning and they’d shook a little, but it was less than him and they were both nervous and Killian couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d taken a deep breath. It might have been before they got in the car.

Regina had ordered them a car.

Killian licked his lips, feet following the same path they’d been marching for however long they’d been in that hallway and he could feel Emma’s eyes on him, gaze following every turn and twist and there was another set of footsteps just behind him, like they were trying to imitate him or something decidedly familial and only a little overwhelming.

He turned, a quick twist of his hips and a far too loud squeak of the dress shoes he’d actually gone out and bought a week before and it was a miracle they hadn’t run into each other before, so it only served that they ran into each other then. Henry’s body was impossibly solid when it collided with Killian’s front, Emma’s gasp sounding impossibly loud in that hallway once they both stopped pacing.

Killian groaned and Henry let out a noise that might have be some kind of grunt, forehead colliding with several different body parts. He, somehow, managed to step on Killian’s right foot as well, an elbow digging into something that may have been his spleen or possibly one of his kidneys, but he didn't need both of those so that seemed like a moot point.

And fatherhood probably required some kind of kidney sacrifice.

Killian would have been willing to go that far if it got them out of the hallway with a concrete answer. Or, at least, let him take off his goddamn tie.

But all of that felt kind of extreme and his arm wrapped around Henry’s middle on instinct and maybe that was more important than invasive surgery.

“God, why are you so immobile?” Henry mumbled, not lifting his head away from Killian’s collarbone. They’d both taken their jackets off at some point, and Emma was wearing one of them, the other tossed in the corner of the bench they’d both ignored for the better part of the last hour.

They’d been in that hallway for an hour.

“You were following me, kid,” Killian argued. He could feel Henry’s answering laugh as easily as he heard it, and it felt wrong to hope that there was a smile there too, but he knew there was and that happened pretty consistently.

Family Court should consider that.

There should have been a teenage-smile quota or something that sounded way better than that did. Killian was obviously going insane. He was going to blame his tie.

And how the walls in that hall seemed to be closing in.

Henry was still standing on his foot.

“Small space,” Henry muttered.

“We should have asked for multiple hallways.” “So we could all pace. I know Mom wants to, too.” Emma snapped her head up at the accusation, eyes bright and smile only slightly incredulous, but Killian knew she wanted to pace too and she really was absolutely heinous at lying. That was probably good for Family Court too.

She wouldn’t have lied about how much Henry wanted this.

“I’m sitting here,” Emma said, waving a hand through the air like that proved her point. Henry hummed, lower lip stuck out slightly and disbelief practically radiating off him. She clicked her tongue. “And it’s a miracle neither one of you sustained any broken bones.” “I don’t think either one of us is quite that brittle, Swan,” Killian countered.

Emma’s mouth twitched, and he hadn’t said it for anything except the habit and the instinct it absolutely was, but it wasn’t quite right either and they hadn’t gotten married to help make all of this easier, but it did help and being married was...kind of fantastic.

Actually.

There were probably better words for it, more detailed adjectives and things that didn’t sound quite as juvenile as fantastic, but Emma’s fingers had absolutely shook when she tied his tie that morning and Killian couldn’t really breathe and the teenager still standing in the same few feet of space as him desperately wanted them all to be a family.

Officially.

Family Court should consider that as well.

Because it really was just a technicality. That apartment three blocks away from The Jolly was their home in the way home was supposed to be, with dirty dishes in the sink that consistently drove Emma insane and her shoes in a pile behind the door that consistently drove Killian insane and they regularly just closed Henry’s bedroom door so they didn’t have to acknowledge what was going on behind it. But there were also Sunday morning breakfasts and handwritten recipes hanging on the refrigerator and Henry had come up with a color-coded scheme on the calendar in the kitchen, with filming schedules and cooking schedules and soccer practices.

He’d made varsity that fall.

Killian baked every home game.

“I’m not suggesting either one of you has brittle bones,” Emma laughed, smile still on her face and Killian shifted his arm away from Henry’s middle to wrap around his shoulders.

Killian arched on eyebrow. More instinct or something. Possibly making sure Henry made that noise he consistently made whenever he saw Killian and Emma kissing in the kitchen of a variety of restaurants and apartments and near his painstakingly accurate schedule. “That’s certainly what it sounded like,” Killian said. “What do you think, kid?” “Totally what it sounded like,” Henry agreed. His hair moved when he nodded, far too long and it was always too long and maybe that’s why they’d been in that hallway for so long.

If that was why they were in that hallway, Killian was actually going to break something.

Possibly the bench Emma was sitting on.

That looked almost brittle.

“It wasn’t,” Emma sighed. She slumped slightly, shoulders dropping and the expression on her face was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“I played soccer, Mom.” “I know, I was there.” “And my foot is like...stronger now or something.” Emma tilted her head, smile shaking a bit and Killian felt like someone had throw ice in the pit of his stomach and let it slink up his spine and maybe they should have mentioned that in the hearings too. Because he’d totally lost his mind.

Henry had only just gotten off the crutches a few weeks before, a high ankle sprain that looked decidedly awful when it happened, the sound of his cry echoing in Killian’s head for days after. It had happened quickly, everything in soccer happened quickly, but he and Emma had been sitting in uncomfortable metal bleachers and suddenly Henry was on the turf and clutching his foot and the kid who’d been trying to defend him was waving for a trainer.

Killian had tried to get on the field.

Emma had tried to get on the field.

And they’d both paced in a different hallway that night, what felt like several thousand x-rays and discussions with a doctor who promised it’d be fine because he’s young and healthy and Henry had mostly been upset he’d miss the run at a city title.

That made some of the ice in Killian’s stomach melt, but he’d never felt quite that terrified and they’d been in the middle of this whole process and he’d been certain someone would see it as a reason he was unfit and Emma’s laugh was watery when he told her exactly that. And then promised it was the opposite.

“You tried to kill that trainer,” she’d said. “I think that qualifies as pretty dominant dad status.”

Henry asked for pecan pie the next day and hopped into the kitchen on one foot, perching on the counter despite Emma’s objections and he knew the recipe by heart.

“I really don’t think that’s how it works,” Killian said, tightening his arm around Henry’s shoulders. He made a teenage noise.

“Nah, nah, I think it is. Like...I’ve got ankle immunity now.” “Those words don’t even make sense together.” “I think you’re jealous of my ankle immunity.” “You didn’t break it, kid,” Emma reasoned, but that just earned her another teenage noise and a wave of both hands and Killian’s smile felt as natural as the breathing he was supposed to be doing.

Henry tugged on his tie, twisting his wrist and loosening the knot until the fabric was hanging around his neck instead. “Super ankle,” he said. “Back with a vengeance, more powerful than anything or ever before.”

They were not talking about ankles, super otherwise, anymore.

Emma stared at them for a moment, lips pursed and Killian swore she was trying to read both of their minds at the same time. He was breathing easier now.

That was weird.

Henry finally moved off his foot. He didn’t move away from his side, though.

That was less weird.

“Are we all collectively freaking out then?” Killian asked lightly, Henry sagging next to him. His head landed painfully on his shoulder, but Killian didn’t make any noise and Emma’s eyes were far too glossy to be entirely comfortable.

She nodded. “I have no idea how bones actually work. I mean Henry drinks milk right?”

“I’m standing right here,” Henry muttered. “What does milk have to do with anything?” “Calcium.” “Is an...element?” “Why is that a question?” “Because I honestly don’t know.”

Killian laughed, some of the tension disappearing from his shoulders and his fingers tapped out a quick rhythm on the fabric of Henry’s shirt. “Definitely an element,” he said. “Right?” “You asking for confirmation makes me think you don’t know either.” “Mary Margaret would probably know,” Emma shrugged.

“I think it’s an element,” Killian answered. “Picture the periodic table or something. Is that what it’s called?” Henry laughed. “You don’t know either, do you?” “I didn’t major in science.” “But like...cooking. Is science. Kind of.” “The kind of is the very important part.” “And he was way too busy being a history nerd,” Emma added. Killian blinked, not entirely prepared for this deep dive into humor as a means of coping with worrying, but that was probably for the best and maybe if the judge heard them laughing he’d hurry the fuck up.

Or something.

“That history knowledge has led to several well received high school papers,” Killian pointed out.

“I’m still standing here,” Henry muttered, but he sounded like he was trying to stop himself from laughing too loudly. “And don’t say it like that, Killian, it makes it sound like you wrote them.” “You wrote them.” “I know I did, but I just want the record to show that I did.” “Very official.” “I mean, play to your setting or something, right?” “I don’t think that’s the phrase you were looking for at all.” Henry deflated slightly, chewing on his lower lip in a move that was all Emma, but he ran his hand through his hair when he looked up and that was all Killian and, honestly, the judge should have just been watching this.

It was like family in flashing, neon letters that were also bolded and underlined and there were probably a few exclamation points.

“Let’s just agree that cooking is not a science,” Emma said. “At least not in a...science way.” Henry’s whole body twisted when he started to laugh, and Killian wasn’t sure he could support his weight while trying to keep his own legs upright, but an admirable effort was made and that felt like a step in the right direction. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Ok, that’s not what I meant at all,” she hissed. “You know what I meant.” “I really don’t, Mom.” “Swan, can you please explain to the jury how science is a science, but not in a real science way?” Killian asked, the words barely audible when his voice shook so much and Henry buried his face in his shoulder blade again.

Emma stuck her tongue out. “You guys are jerks. And collective history nerds as a unit.”

“Ok, but seriously,” Henry continued. “What is a not science way?” “You want to get grounded?” “No, but I really want to know what a not science way is. And to point out that Killian tried to make a law joke. So really we’re all incredibly lame.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Killian said. “That was funny. And timely.” “And you’re freaking out.” Killian swallowed back his laughter and slightly out of place retort because he’d been living in that apartment for years and he and Emma were married and this was a family that knew each other in a way he’d never believed was possible.

God, he wanted this so much.

“Not really,” he lied, but his eyes flickered to Emma and he could almost hear Henry’s disagreement.

“It’s going to be fine,” Emma whispered. “And it’s…” “Fine,” Killian echoed. “It’s going to be fine. No matter what happens.”

“And we can totally ask Mary Margaret about calcium. It’s got to be an element. Right? What else could it be?” “Why are we all looking for constant confirmation?” Henry asked. He hadn’t actually lifted his head off Killian’s shoulder yet, a heavy, but almost pleasant weight there and the walls had stopped moving at some point.

It probably had something to do with the whole breathing easier thing.

Maybe Killian should have taken his tie off too.

He wasn’t sure if the judge would like that.

God, there was a judge.

“That’s a loaded question, kid,” Emma muttered, scrunching her nose. Henry made a different noise, not quite teenage, but a bit more understanding and one of his knees bent when he tried to slump the same way she had. It was harder while he was still standing up.

“Yeah, I know. I just...I mean we did everything right, right?” “More confirmation,” Killian murmured. It worked a scoff out of Emma and half a smile and he couldn’t actually see Henry, but if asked to go back under oath he would have promised he felt his smile as well. Even through his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Henry grumbled.

“I do. And we did. Plus some.” “David absolutely did not have to wear dress whites,” Emma said. The smile on her face was as honest as it had been all day.

“That’s still not what they’re called, love.” “I know, but I really love seeing that little pinch in between your eyebrows when you get annoyed.” Killian laughed, resting his chin on the top of Henry’s head. Emma’s smile widened. “That’s diabolical. And maybe even a little rude.”

“You get very defensive about dress whites.” “It’s the principle of the thing.” “Please,” Emma laughed. “Tell me some more about the principle of it. I’d love to hear it.” Killian sighed, but there wasn’t much frustration to the sound and Henry laughed against his side again. “Is there principle to it?” Henry asked. “Isn’t it just...the rules of the army or something?” Emma threw her whole head back when she laughed, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist so she didn’t slide off the bench and Killian resisted the urge to circle the conversation back around to brittle bones. That felt redundant. And he was far too busy being charmed by his own wife and family and, like, his entire life in general.

He’d lost track of how long they’d been in that hallway.

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Emma said. She glanced at Killian, fingers toying with the ring on her left hand and that felt a little like cheating, but it had been a very involved conversation with far too many metaphors and he kind of wanted to keep flirting. “At least he didn’t say Coast Guard.” “Aw, c’mon, I wouldn’t do that,” Henry shouted. “That’s just...disrespectful.” Emma nodded, a look of complete disbelief on her face and something that felt a little like the expression she made when Henry promised there’d be parents at several different weekend parties. “Sure it is, kid.” “It is! Killian, I need you to back me up on this.” “On how much better and more efficient the Navy is than the Coast Guard?” Killian asked.

“Yes, exactly that. And to ignore my Army joke.” “Ah, it was a joke then?” “A better one than Mom’s, honestly.” “Grounded,” Emma yelled, throwing her arm into the open space in front of her like pointing made it more official.

“The joke didn’t even make sense,” Killian added.

Henry blinked. He didn’t seem all that worried about being grounded. Maybe that was why the judge was taking so long. “Wait, why? Whose? Mine? Or Mom’s?” “Either or.” “Why not?” Emma asked.

“It’s winter.” “And?” “And,” Killian repeated. “You wear dress whites in the summer, Swan. Because they’re lighter and...summery.” Henry made a noise, something that sounded like a laugh and a snort and Emma’s nose was probably going to stay scrunched for the remainder of their hallway encampment. “We are all lacking in some pretty basic knowledge, aren’t we? Is summery even a word?”

“You know what I meant. So, really, everyone was wrong. Dress blues in the winter, which is exactly what David would have worn if he wore an actual uniform to his testimony.” “Do we not know what he wore?” “I didn’t think to ask, honestly.” “Yeah, that’s fair.” “Generous of you,” Killian mumbled, but Henry laughed again and he kept tugging on his hair and that had to mean something.

Maybe they’d make pecan pie later.

They had a party to go to later – some kind of no matter what happens extravaganza that Mary Margaret and Ariel had come up with when they first got the letter about this and the day and one of them had cried or maybe both of them had cried and that might have been the last time Killian had taken a deep breath.

“Ah, whatever,” Emma mumbled. “I’m still not hearing anything about the principle of dress whites and how you’re the only one who gets ‘em.” “I think it had something to do with that previously discussed history degree actually and several rather large ceremonies and ships.”

“Mmmhm.”

He kept drifting back to oaths and Bibles and right hands lifted in the air, but Killian figured that had something to do with the ridiculous amount of time they’d spent in that courthouse and the teenager plastered to his side and how much they all wanted in some great big overwhelming way and he swore Emma’s eyes got greener when they met his.

He smirked.

“I think you’ve got quite a few opinions on dress whites, love,” Killian muttered. He pressed the tip of his tongue onto the edge of his mouth, appreciating the slight rush of color in his wife’s cheeks and that was a very appealing sentence.

“I never said that.” “It was implied.” “That’s not how this place works,” Emma objected, waving her hand again like the far too ornate ceiling above them proved her point. "Gross,” Henry groaned, dragging out the word until it sounded like testimony in some kind of federal case. They were in the wrong courthouse for that. “This is super gross.” “Ah, but this is what you signed up for, my boy.” The words were out of Killian’s mouth before he’d considered them entirely – vaguely possessive and even more honest and he hadn’t been breathing all that consistently, but his tie suddenly felt even tighter and he was only a little concerned about the oxygen levels in that hallway. His eyes practically flew to Emma, her mouth open slightly and it didn’t appear she was breathing much either, but she blinked and there were tears on her cheeks and a wobble to her lower lip that was only kind of disconcerting because it ensured Killian started thinking about her lower lip.

Killian tried to swallow, to get rid of the wad of whatever that had taken up residence in the back of his throat, but everything felt a little impossible and he desperately needed to blink.

The room felt like it was starting to spin.

That might have been the Earth – flying off its axis with less gravity involved or something else that was far too scientific for a family of TV personalities with absolutely no knowledge of the periodic table of elements.

And the door opening down the hallway sounded impossibly loud.

“Swan-Jones?” a voice called, far too confident and far too even and Killian didn’t look away from Emma, certain the moment he did he’d realize every single inch of him was actually on fire. That was probably just his lungs.

Oxygen was important.

Science.

He’d started reciting recipes in his head at some point.

He was going to bake pecan pie and then eat the entire, goddamn thing on his own.

The voice was also wearing heels and a cautious smile when she moved into the hallway, expression unreadable when she took in the scene in front of her, which, really, was fair because Henry’s tie was still hanging around his neck and Killian’s face was probably blue from a lack of air and Emma was still wearing his suit jacket, one of her feet halfway out of her shoe.

They’d done everything right.

David definitely hadn’t worn dress blues to his testimony.

But Robin had promised it went great and Mary Margaret probably burst into song during hers and they had written statements and they were famous. And that was kind of an unfair reason for any of this to work when plenty of not-famous people deserved to get their adoptions recognized by the state of New York as well, but Killian was almost willing to be a selfish asshole if it meant he got to call Henry his in a way that didn’t seem totally strange.

“Swan-Jones,” the woman repeated, not a question that time and Killian hoped he nodded. He couldn’t actually feel his head move though, so maybe he hadn’t. Emma definitely hadn’t.

“Yeah,” Henry said quickly, when it was clear that neither of the adults in this situation were going to do anything. “That’s us.” The woman smiled, encouraging and hopeful and Emma’s eyes widened. “We’re ready for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

He started walking as soon as the heels did, only stopping when he realized Killian and Emma were still frozen and his suit jacket was on the ground. His eyebrow did something absurd. Killian had more or less resigned to simply dying of oxygen deprivation in the hallway.

“So, you guys going to move or, like, what’s your deal?” Henry asked, tugging on the hair behind his ear and Emma let out a strangled noise. Her hand found Killian’s as soon as she stood up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma stammered. “Of course we are.” “Should we all put our hands in or something? Go team?” “We’re not doing that,” Killian said.

“Good, because that would have been totally lame.” Killian nodded, next to Henry in a few quick steps and Emma’s hand tightened or his hand tightened, but it didn’t matter because they all kind of moved as one unit when they walked towards the room at the far end of the hall and that felt a bit like a sign.

It all happened fairly quickly.

He didn’t remember it happening that quickly when he was a kid, but he’d been a kid and Killian assumed the justice system had evolved in the last few decades, but he refused to linger on any of those thoughts when he was so goddamn happy.

Emma cried.

Henry might have cried. Killian absolutely cried, blinking quickly and breathing almost evenly, holding onto the very solid teenage body that collided with his front when a judge he couldn't remember the name of told them congratulations or good luck or something. It all sounded a bit like white noise, a buzzing in the back of his consciousness that wasn’t nearly as important as the feeling of his heart – possibly expanding or bursting through his chest.

Henry’s arms wrapped all the way his middle, face pressed into Killian’s chest and he wouldn’t have minded if the kid stepped on both his shoes.

His kid.

“I knew it’d work,” Henry said, barely loud enough for Killian to hear, but he did and there was probably something to that. Some kind of emotional reason or adrenaline and he really needed to stop thinking about science he didn’t understand.

Killian held on tighter, like he was trying to preserve the moment or push it into every single dark and dismal part of his brain that still inexplicably existed, that was still worried this whole thing was some kind of long con. He squeezed his eyes closed, letting his cheek rest on Henry’s head and there was hair everywhere, muttered voices in the background that were probably saying something important, but neither one of them let go.

That was way more important.

Emma nearly knocked her chair over when she moved, ignoring a different official voice, and it took a few moments, but Killian moved his arm and kissed the top of her hair and it sounded like someone took a picture.

“Figured it was a good moment,” the voice from the hallway explained, shrugging slightly with half a smile on her face.

Killian’s laugh felt like it shook its way out of him, blinking even more. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It absolutely was.” They did, eventually, sign more paperwork and listened to more voice and Killian briefly wondered if it was safe for all of their necks to move that much, but they just kept nodding and smiling and wiping away tears and neither he nor Emma could seem to move more than a few feet away from Henry.

He made the picture his lock screen in the cab uptown.

Henry nearly climbed over Killian when they stopped in front of The Jolly, sprinting into the restaurant with cries of I’m starving on his lips, and it wasn’t quite that cold out yet, but it looked like it might snow later and Emma’s breath caught when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

She slammed into him.

“Your bones, Swan,” Killian mumbled, but he hadn’t stopped smiling in hours or days and probably wouldn’t for the rest of his life and there were still tears in her eyes.

“You were the one who started yanking on things.”

“There was no yanking.” “No?” “No. There was...just….” She lifted her eyebrows when he trailed off, mouth twisting as she tried to do the mind reading thing again and her hands were warm when they rested on his chest. He’d never actually put his suit jacket back on, the fabric hanging off Emma’s shoulders with her own coat in her hand. He hoped she couldn’t feel whatever his heart was doing.

That was a losing battle though.

He was more than prepared to admit defeat.

“You’re usually far more articulate, Lieutenant,” Emma muttered, tilting her head up so her hair fell down her back and he wished his laugh wasn’t so unsteady.

“I’m going to go ahead and blame it on several different and rather large emotions.” “Good ones?” He leaned back at the tone of her voice, still a little cautious and a lot concerned and Emma bit her lip when she stared at the minimal amount of space between them. “Swan,” Killian started, tucking his thumb under her chin. “Emma, love, c’mon, look at me.” It took a moment, but she finally lifted her gaze and not kissing seemed absurd and a little irresponsible. He wasn’t irresponsible.

He was someone’s dad.

Officially.

Killian had to bend his knees to reach her, arm falling back to her waist to tug her against him like occupying the same few inches of space would make this even more official than it already was and one of her feet did land on his.

They started laughing – joyful and easy, the air around them mingling together because neither one of them had been willing to actually pull away and Emma’s fingers brushed through the back of Killian’s hair. She peppered his face with kisses, quick brushes of her lips across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and just under his eyes and it wasn’t like being branded, but it felt a little bit like being chosen and that was ridiculous.

They were married.

They were a family.

There were rings and partnerships and two restaurants that were thriving, but this felt like all of that and then some – a step in a direction Killian had always been sure he’d never take, a family and a home and everything all together with really delicious pecan pie.

“First names and dramatic sidewalk makeouts,” Emma mumbled. “Pulling out all the stops, huh?” “If it’ll prove my point, I’m willing to circle back around to the sidewalk makeouts.” “Oh, that was smooth.” “That was the goal.”

“I’d say it definitely worked, but that might have been partially the whole adoption thing too and I just--” “--I am, Swan,” Killian promised, appreciating her slightly scandalized look when he interrupted her. He kissed her before she answered.

“That is really, really unfair. I’ve been trying to read your mind all day and then you go and pull that? Super lame.” “Well, you were the one throwing out nerd-based insults, love.”

She laughed, something that was treading dangerously close to a giggle and more feeling and other emotions, the warmth of it all seeping through his shirt and possibly into his soul and his fingers started tracing patterns on his back. “That was flirting,” Emma muttered, poking her finger into his side before twisting it through a belt loop.

“Was it?” Emma swatted at his shoulder, scoffing when he caught her around the wrist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “God, you are on a roll here.” “Why did that sound like an accusation?” “It wasn’t. It was just…” “You’re usually far more articulate, Swan,” he grinned, ducking his head to drag his lips along the side of her jaw and it was a miracle no one had come looking for them yet. Henry had probably told them not to.

“I mean, that’s an enormous lie, but apparently we’re way worse at flirting than I thought so who knows what’s happening.” Killian chuckled, more kisses and more laughter and several passersby on the sidewalk had been vocally displeased by their loitering in front of their own restaurant.

Their restaurant.

Their kid.

Theirs.

“You going to finish your thought, Swan, or do you actually want me to guess?” “This flirting sucks.” “I’m really not opposed to scandalizing more tourists or the peanut gallery that’s probably going to press their faces up to the glass sooner rather than later.” “Nah,” Emma objected. “There’s food and Henry doesn’t want to see his…” She bit her lip, drifting off again, but he’d signed all the papers and she’d signed all the papers and they were a collective pronoun in a way that Mary Margaret probably taught all her classes.

Maybe they were also as lame as advertised.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Emma said quickly, rushing over the words like that would make them easier to say and Killian tried to nod encouragingly. “One way or another. It wouldn't have...Henry wouldn't have cared, he still would have thought you made the Sun come up every morning.” “That’s only because I help consistently feed him.” “No, it’s not.” It wasn’t. Killian knew it, as much as some misplaced sense of modesty didn’t want him to. Because he kind of thought Henry made the Sun come up every morning too and he’d never actually objected to the endearment in the hallway and he couldn’t understand how he still wanted more.

Theirs might have become his new favorite word.

“It’s not,” Emma repeated softly, tugging on his belt loop. “God, I can’t keep saying the same things over again, but it wouldn’t have mattered and I know it’s, shit, it’s not a technicality. It’s not. It’s a lot and more than that, something bigger and important and everything. It’s…” She sighed, pressing her lips together and Killian waited, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I wanted this,” Emma whispered. “As much as I’ve ever wanted anything and Henry did too and I just…” She growled, actually growled, throwing her head back and Killian’s laugh wasn’t really that, but his body didn’t know what noise to make when it also knew it probably shouldn’t be kissing her in time of emotional turmoil.

He really wanted to kiss her again.

“It’s not a technicality,” Killian agreed, voice clipped and he hoped his heart didn’t bruise his ribs. “And I know nothing would have changed if that judge was actually an asshole.” That got a laugh out of Emma, head resting on his chest and arms around his middle. The same way Henry’s had been. “But I wanted the label, Swan,” he continued. “I wanted the name and the paperwork and the legal responsibility. I love you, and I love Henry and I...I wanted to be his dad. Officially.” “Good word.” “I like it.” “It’s really not because of the food.” “I know it’s not.” Emma sniffled, nodding half to herself and half to him and it took several pointed coughs from the open doorway for either one of them to notice. “You guys going to come in or what?” Robin called. “Because there’s honestly a ton of food and it’s freezing out here.” “Those are the only reasons we have to come in there?” Killian asked.

“Also because we’re throwing you guys a party. Congrats, it’s a boy!” Killian laughed, Emma’s body shaking against his and Robin made a contradictory noise when they didn’t immediately move. But he really couldn’t blame the day’s emotions for kissing his own wife and Killian glared when he heard several other calls for their immediate arrival inside.

“How much food is a lot of food?”

“You worried about your inventory, Killian?” He shrugged. “I mean...a little. And also Eric’s blood pressure if he had to make all that food.” “Still in Brooklyn.” “Who made the food?” Robin widened his eyes meaningfully, Emma clicking her tongue in something that sounded like frustration. Killian’s lungs were never going to recover. “When?” he asked. “How?” “How?” Emma asked. “Did you just ask me how I made food?” “None of that was on the color-coded schedule.” “That’s because it was kind of a surprise, Lieutenant. That’s usually how that works.” “Also,” Robin added, leaning around the doorway. “The rest of us do have a general idea of how to feed ourselves. Capable of helping or whatever.” “At least of reheating,” Emma mumbled.

“And you were way too busy filming those last few IC episodes to even notice. Plus you were worried this was going to get messed up.” “I wasn’t,” Killian argued, but the words were pointless in the face of two very disbelieving expressions.

Robin hummed. Killian glared again. “Sure you weren’t. Anyway, this is a good thing and was always going to work because as promised I gave a fantastic character witness. So if you guys could come inside and celebrate, Will came up with a drink that I’m sure Killian will hate and Gina wants to talk about the IC filming next week.” “She can’t wait two seconds? I just adopted Henry.” “She asked you about IC in the same sentence as telling you that she’d adopted Roland.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true.” “Exactly. Also it’s seriously freezing out and I don’t know enough about medicine to save either one of you from frostbite.”

“Oh, well, that’s a totally fair reason,” Emma said, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian quick and someone in the restaurant gagged when he chased after her. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. I really made a ton of food. Maybe if we’re eating Regina won’t ask me about filming for IC.”

The entire dining room exploded when they walked in – cheers and shouts and Roland standing on the bar despite both Regina and Will trying to get him down and Killian had some fairly strong suspicions that the handwritten sign hanging above the hallway in the back had been done by him. And Leo Nolan. And possibly Sebastian. Neither of whom, it appeared, quite understood how to color in the lines yet.

“If you guys don’t immediately compliment me on my fantastic drink concoction, I’m absolutely refusing to be a good godfather to Henry,” Will announced, brandishing a bottle of incredibly expensive champagne.

“I need you to backtrack on that immediately,” David muttered. “Also pour the champagne before Killian comes behind the bar and strangles you.” “I’m not going to strangle him,” Killian promised, but that only earned him several different objections and it was difficult to hold onto Emma when Ariel flew at him. The kid in her arms clung to his side, gripping at his collar and Killian was only a little worried about the state of the buttons on his shirt. “C’mere, Seb,” he muttered, pulling the toddler away from the woman who wasn’t really just his hostess. She’d probably made some of the food. “Before you’re an unwilling casualty to your mom’s celebration.” “That’s incredibly rude,” Ariel said. “Also, like, hug me back.”

Killian laughed, but did as instructed. He didn’t let go of Emma, though, one arm around her and kind of around Ariel and Seb didn’t appreciate any of it, kicking several adults in the process. Killian groaned when a pair of knees slammed into his, knocking the air out of him and there were tears in Ariel's eyes and tears in several other pairs of eyes and, possibly, his own because Killian wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually stopped crying yet.

“Is congratulations the right sentiment?” Ariel asked. “It feels weird to say that.” “Why is that weird?” She tilted her, staring at him with something that felt like a jumble of pride and exasperation and joy because she’d been there since the start and knew and wanted, maybe, as much as Killian did, if only so he’d be as happy as she was.

Ariel was far too nice.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just...that kid thinks the world of you and a few sheets of paper weren’t going to change anything, but I’m glad they did.” The whatever was back in his throat, tongue darting between his lips and tongue feeling far too big for his mouth.

The restaurant seemed to freeze.

“Told you,” Emma whispered.

Ariel beamed. And tried to wipe the tears off her face. “He was stupid in love you with from like...the first time he saw you, you know that?” she asked, the flush in Emma’s cheeks only slightly distracting. “And totally terrified to do anything about it. You want to know why?” “Why?” “Ari,” Killian muttered, but she was on a roll and in story mode.

“He was worried about Henry.” Emma jerked back, eyebrows pulled low and Killian gritted his teeth. But that might have been because of the kid in his arms. He had very active feet. “She’s being vague on purpose, Swan.” “I’m not,” Ariel argued sharply. “Really, Emma. I’m not. I...damn, this was supposed to be nicer.” “We agreed on nice,” Robin promised, sitting on top of the goddamn bar with an arm around Roland’s legs. “There was a vote.” “What?”

Ruby nodded, Henry between her and Mary Margaret with tears on both their faces. Henry was holding a plate. “There will be a list of speeches,” Ruby said. “But Ariel got to go first because, as she said in her campaign, she was here for the start. M’s and I get to go after we toast because we claim seeing Emma’s start. She was totally in love with you too. From the get.” “That’s pretty true,” Henry added.

“Oh, my God,” Emma sighed, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder. It wasn’t an objection.

Mary Margaret looked like she’d just seen seventy-six rainbows. “She made French toast before Cutthroat Kitchen.” Killian’s internal organs had dealt with quite a lot that afternoon – fairly certain several of them were still sitting on the floor of the New York Family Court – but nothing had prepared him for that, which, really was kind of absurd. Ariel was tapping her foot.

So was Regina.

She definitely wanted to ask about Iron Chef.

“Anyway,” Ariel said pointedly, nodding at Will when he started passing out champagne flutes. “Killian was totally in love with Emma and Emma was totally in love with Killian, but he was worried that he’d get too involved and he’s...is it super embarrassing if I talk about how much you’ve always wanted some picket-white fence family?” “I mean, you just did it, A,” Will reasoned.

“You’re an incredible orator, Ari,” Killian sighed. He couldn’t actually get angry. That was nice.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever, it’s true. Killian wanted it and didn’t want to get his hopes up, but then Emma showed up here after filming Cutthroat Kitchen and the rest is history.” “Is this your speech?” Robin asked. “A, this is not great.” “God, will you guys give me two seconds, please?”

“You’re losing your crowd,” David muttered, half his drink gone already. He had a phone in his hand, the screen pointed up and a noise that sounded a bit like a crying Ruth Nolan coming from the speakers. “And we’d really like to eat.” “No one was stopping you from eating!” “Can we eat?” Roland asked. He almost jumped off the bar, several adults lunging towards him and Regina actually gasping.

Ariel tried to kick Killian's ankles when he moved, but Emma went with him and Roland didn’t actually jump off the bar, so that was another victory. He really was on a roll. “Hold on a second mate, ok?” Killian asked. “Ari’s got to keep giving a horrible speech.” “Seriously, Killian!” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, Seb moving to sit there and all the fight went out of Ariel. “Seriously, Ari.” “God, you’re heavy handed. Alright, alright, alright. If everyone is done interrupting then, the gist of it is that Killian loves Emma and Emma loves Killian and they both love Henry a lot and we’re all really excited about that and you guys all deserve several picket fences and we made Gina promise she wouldn’t ask about filming for, like, ten seconds at least because she’s going to ask Emma again.”

It had been going on for years – Regina asking Emma to guest on Iron Chef and Emma regularly turning it down and it never really fit in the color-coded schedule and she had her own show and a cookbook that said Emma Swan-Jones on it and Killian couldn’t think about that too much or he was sure his brain would short circuit.

Killian groaned. “We just got here, Gina. Let us eat first.” “I haven’t said anything yet,” she snapped, the heel tap getting louder by the second. “But we do have an opening in a couple weeks when you film because someone cancelled or their restaurant closed or something and--” “--I’ll do it,” Emma said suddenly, and all these changes to the Earth’s oxygen levels could not have been good for the planet.

“Wait, what?” Killian balked.

Ruth Nolan screamed very loudly from Storybrooke, Maine.

It was almost difficult to hear, however, when David dropped his phone.

“Ah, babe, I win,” Will shouted, grabbing another bottle of champagne that they probably should have been selling to customers instead of drinking themselves. Killian’s brain couldn’t process that though, and Belle blushed.

“Let the record show that this was not a nefarious bet,” she said. “It was just...Will thought it was only a matter of time before Gina wore Emma down. His words.” “Aw, c’mon.” “You just announced our bet to the whole restaurant! And it wasn’t really even a bet.” “No?” Ruby asked, laughter clinging to the words. Killian still hadn’t moved. It was way too much for one day. “Please, tell us what it was exactly.” “An agreement,” Belle said.

“For what?” “Gina’s super intimidating,” Will reasoned. “Look at her. Look at that toe tap. Plus, Emma really likes winning too and neither she nor Cap can ever walk away from competition. You should have included that in your speech, A.”

“Oh, shut up, Scarlet,” Ariel muttered. “Make me more to drink.” “And what do you get since you won the agreement?” Mary Margaret asked. Will must have answered, but Killian barely heard them, eyes trained on Emma and the small smile on her face, the way her tongue darted between her lips and her shoulder shifted when she inhaled.

Ruth might have still be screaming.

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and something that sounded exactly like a boulder landed on top of the bar. He hoped it wasn’t Roland.

They both snapped their heads to the noise, Henry already running towards them, food forgotten when he realized what was going on and he was already talking a mile a minute when he landed in front of them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry yelled, jumping up and down and Killian was still holding Sebastian. “Mom, are you serious?” Emma shrugged, eyes flitting towards Killian and his heart promptly exploded. It felt that way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Could be fun,” she said. “Fun,” Killian said, testing the word and the feeling and Henry was still jumping. David kept trying to get Ruth to calm down. It wasn’t working.

“Could be.” “You keep using the same words, Swan.” “That’s how the legal system is supposed to work, isn’t it? Specific. And science too. All very finite and definite and...official.” “Oh, my God,” Henry grumbled. “This is so gross. You guys are so gross. Were you kissing on the sidewalk? Is that why it took forever to come inside?” “Absolutely,” Killian grinned, tugging him against his side and Henry didn’t argue that.

“Ugh.” “So, like, none of us are articulate in this family, huh?” Emma asked, smile wide as she said the words and Killian’s previously destroyed heart knit itself back together, returned to its proper place in his chest and beat out a staccato rhythm that he could probably conduct science experiments to.

They’d harped on that metaphor for too long.

“Nah,” Henry said, an agreement in the opposite and words apparently had no meaning anymore. “Not really. It’s not bad though.” Emma kissed the top of his hair, a hand resting on Killian’s chest when she leaned forward. “No, it’s not bad at all.” “You really want to cook in Kitchen Stadium, Swan?” Killian asked.

“I mean, maybe not if you’re going to refer to it as Kitchen Stadium.” “That’s what it’s called!” “That’s what Ruth calls it,” Henry mumbled. “You calling it that sounds like you’re trying to impress Mom.” “Should I not be doing that anymore?” “Not unless you want an excessive amount of teenage type groaning for the rest of time.” Killian laughed, tightening his hold and letting his chin rest on Henry’s head again. “Yeah, that sounds awful. You help your mom cook before?”

“Maybe.” “You’re an even worse liar than she is, my boy.” He’d done it on purpose that time. And everyone in that restaurant absolutely knew it. Mary Margaret aw’ed in tandem with Ruth.

“I’m going to make fun of her for that later,” Emma whispered. “But this is...God, you guys keep making me cry, you know that?” “Sorry, Mom.” “Sorry, Swan.” “Man,” she muttered, leaning back to stare at both of them. “That’s going to be problematic. Teaming up against me with cute.” “Swan,” Killian sighed, Henry mumbling several choice words under his breath.

“No one’s teaming up against anyone, Mom,” he said. His voice didn’t shake when he spoke. Killian blinked. Several times. “It’s not...you really want to cook on Iron Chef?”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, and Killian ignored the burning in his lungs, eyes focused on his wife and his kid and his family. She nodded. “I think it’d be fun, don’t you think? Force your parents to battle in Kitchen Stadium. A Swan-Jones family extravaganza.”

“We’ll probably use that tagline,” Regina muttered.

“It’s good, right?”

“Better than.” Killian exhaled.

“I told you that was what it’s called,” Killian said triumphantly, moving to rest his chin on Henry’s head and the laughter in the restaurant was catching, more shutter clicks and sniffles and they’d probably frame that goddamn sign.

“Don’t call it that again,” Henry chuckled. “Does this mean I can help judge? Gina, can I judge?” Regina shook her head. “Probably not. But we can absolutely get you on set. Make them give you some food when they’re not too busy flirting on camera.” “We don’t flirt on camera,” Killian said, but that was the worst lie he’d told in several years and he’d spent part of the day under oath, so it felt even more wrong.

“We flirt a lot on camera,” Emma corrected. Henry groaned again. “Kid, you were very excited about this two seconds ago.”

They might not have been talking about Iron Chef anymore.

Emma’s fingers wrapped around Killian’s left wrist. Henry shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he grinned. “And I don’t...I mean it’s good when your parents are super, obnoxiously in love, right?” “Confirmation, again?” “Nah, I don’t really need it.” “Good,” Killian said, another hug and more meaning behind the movement and neither one of them said anything when Henry pulled away, leaving a slightly damp mark on his shoulder. “What’d you make? I want to try that first.” Henry beamed. Emma kissed Killian’s cheek. And they ate far too much food, walking back to the apartment far later than they expected with Henry in the middle as both of his parents supported most of his weight.

It took a few moments to get Henry out of his jacket, eyelids fluttering and shoes landing in a heap that Killian didn’t say anything about, but then he mumbled love you guys and Emma breathed out softly and nothing else had ever really mattered except that.

“Love you too,” Killian said.

He woke up the next morning to Iron Chef – mom and dad on the color coded calendar.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #shoves family feelings at you #here #have some of these

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comicteaparty · 5 years ago

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September 9th-September 15th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from September 9th, 2019 to September 15th, 2019. The chat focused on Ghost Junk Sickness by Kristen Lee and Laura Lee.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Week Long Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Ghost Junk Sickness by Kristen Lee and Laura Lee~! (http://www.ghostjunksickness.com/)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Remember, though, that while we allow constructive criticism, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic. Below you will find four questions to get you started on the discussion. However, a new question will be posted and pinned everyday (between 12:01AM and 6AM PDT), so keep checking back for more! You have until September 15th to tell us all your wonderful thoughts! With that established, let’s get going on the reading and the chatting!

QUESTION 1. What has been your favorite scene in the comic so far? What specifically did you like about it?

QUESTION 2. What reason, if any, do you think is behind Vahn’s red eyes and strange tattoos? For that matter, why do you think Vahn’s health is in such shambles and their tattoos constantly bleed? What does all this have to do with Vahn’s lack of memories and nightmares?

Capitania do Azar

1. My favourite scene is Boggs introduction, which I think it's super well executed (actually, that entire chapter is just ), I mean http://www.ghostjunksickness.com/comic/4-11 ? Good content right here

2. I figure those things are all related, yes, and I'm dying to know in which way and why. However, if I were to make an educated guess, I'd go and say Vahn was in a cult (highly unliky, but IMAGINE that) or at least implicated on something of the sort. Vahn's character is one of the big mysteries that makes this comic so interesting, in my opinion. Trigger hardly reacts to those tattoos and their bleeding, so figures that if he doesn't know how they came to be or what they mean, he knows something.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. At the moment, who is your favorite character? What about that character earns them this favor?

QUESTION 4. Do you believe that June 7 can be saved, or is Fiachra right in that everyone should leave? If it can be saved, what do you think it will take? Further, do you believe Nyr and Alberich even get the chance to do so?(edited)

RebelVampire

QUESTION 5. What has been your favorite illustration in the comic so far? What specifically about it do you like?

QUESTION 6. What do you think exactly caused June 7 to be destroyed? Do you think this ties into current events? If so, how? If not, do you think the characters will ever figure out the cause behind the catastrophe?

Capitania do Azar

3. Favourite Character is a very tough one. Everyone's got a lot of personality here, so it's very hard for me to pick.. But I'm gonna go with Boggs, because she seems to be the most grounded. For all her flaws, she seems to have at least some sort of stability around her, especially if compared to Trigger and Vahn. PS: Trigger is a mess and I love him, even tho the first time I read this comic I really disliked like 90% of what he did. A second read made me softer on my views, but that boy still a mess PPS: Vahn

4. I think from a political standpoint, maybe it's not salvageable... But people have been and will keep on living on it, so does it really need saving? A lot of things have detrioriated, yes, but people are still living on it and it's not getting worse as far as I can see it, so.... But it could be deemed a project hard to back, and maybe it's easier to just call quits and leave, but I personally don't see that happening.

Capitania do Azar

5. Oh, do I have to pick just one? Because I could easily pick all the chapter covers!! The interior arts are also getting progressively better as the story goes, and the choice of halftones is But I love this page, it gives me them feels http://www.ghostjunksickness.com/comic/10-34

6. I can go full-on crazy theorist on this and say that it looks like Vahn has something to do with it, even if they don't really realize or remember it and I'm also gonna say that I got the feeling The Ghost is up there somewhere also participating in this business. Also yes, I think it's gonna come into play eventually and our main characters are gonna have to deal with some harshness on that front (no way something like that could be pretty or easy to deal with).

RebelVampire

1) My favorite scene is probably when Trigger panics about Vahn getting kidnapped and rushing after Vahn to try and save them. Trigger...Trigger is a very flawed character. Boggs is not wrong for calling Trigger out, and Trigger is real shit at expressing emotions. But in that moment? Man, Trigger was ripped raw and we finally got to see that nah, he really, really, really does care. He's just a screwed up individual with a lot of demons in the closet. It was a beautiful moment of character growth if short lived. 2) Honestly, I'm kind of on the same page as @Capitania do Azar in thinking that there's cult stuff going on. Maybe Vahn was meant to be some sacrifice to Vivian or something. Only because Vahn wasnt sacrificed but was fully prepped for it, they're stuck with the bleeding tattoos cause that tattoos really want them sacrifices to be happening. As for the nightmares and lack of memories, I assume Vahn's escape from whoever had them before was not a peaceful and mutual lets go our separate ways sort of thing.

3) My favorite character is ambassador Nyr because Nyr is tiny and wise and very adorable. And like, how can you not like Nyr? Just wants everybody to be happy and careful. 4) I think June 7 can be "saved" but that depends on your definition of saved. Like, the phrase "Rome wasn't built in a day" comes to mind. It will never be what it was, and I think for people like Fiachra, that means it's trash. But I think everyone could get the planet to a place where there's less crime and shortages. That being said, I am skeptical Nyr and Alberich will get a chance to do so. I'm pretty sure this is gonna end with the planet getting more messed up cause some politicians think they know what's best despite not even really being around much.

5) My fave illustration is definitely the first panel on this page http://www.ghostjunksickness.com/comic/10-32. There's a great blend between detail, atmsophere, particles, and blurs in the distance. It makes for a really ethereal view that makes you go, "Yup, Boggmouth was right." 6) Once again, cult stuff. Probably the same cult stuff Vahn was in. Maybe because Vahn wasn't sacrificed to Vivian right everything went haywire and the phenomenon happened cause there was excess energy just released into the world. Or something like that. But I definitely think regardless of the answer, the characters will find out. I would be surprised if there was nothing to it given things we've learnt about it through Andrew.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 7. Which characters do you enjoy seeing interact the most? What about their dynamic interests you?

QUESTION 8. Who do you think the Ghost is, and what is the source of their mysterious appearance and abilities? How does this tie into Vahn given the Ghost had a picture of Vahn? Given material found, how might this also tie into the Crane woman?

Capitania do Azar

6) @RebelVampire oh I like your sacrificial takes, I didn't think of that

Capitania do Azar

7. Interactions between Trigger and Vahn are super interesting and they leave me wondering about so many things, as there's clearly something unstated going on there. Then, Trigger and Boggmouths' are the best because they're so wild no context is needed, ever ahah

8. I think Vahn and Ghost are related somehow, maybe deeper than we know... The Ghost sure is happy to have found them!! And that implies some sort of connection. Figures that should be connected to Vahn's past that we don't know off, their uncharacteristic abilities and maybe even to the destructive events on the planet. And also people did mention that there were some physical similarities, which also make me wonder very much about exactly what kind of connection could there be between the two! (who knows, maybe they were on the same cult)

RebelVampire

QUESTION 9. What sorts of art or story details have you noticed in the way the comic is crafted that you think deserves attention?

QUESTION 10. Why do you think Trigger is declaring he’s in trouble after saving Vahn? What do you think caused him to get into trouble? Further, why do you think Trigger is pushing Vahn away? Is it anger, or is there something else going on? Will he get out of trouble?

RebelVampire

7) I definitely like seeing Vahn and Trigger interact the most. Their relationship exists in this weird place between warm and tumultuous, which makes each interaction between them kind of fascinating. I also kind of feel they bring out the worst and best each other at the same time, which is not something you usually see. Like the only real way I have to describe their relationship is "It's a mess." XD 8) I think perhaps the Ghost is one of the few survivors from the catastrophe, and that whatever happened, the Ghost got mysterious powers from it. Perhaps the Ghost was a cult member if I continue to go with the cult theory. And going with the cult theory, I assume that's how the Ghost knows Vahn, maybe even helped kidnap Vahn from wherever Vahn is from. And the Ghost wants Vahn cause Vahn's sacrifice be needed or something like that. O_O I'm just spitballing mostly.

9) Honestly, the backgrounds. Like those are some nice details on the buildings, random objects, etc. There's a lot of world character going on, and the characters definitely feel integrated into their own world because of it. I feel this comic goes past even what makes for a passable background and takes it a step beyond,, which is always admirable. 10) Honestly, I think Trigger got himself marked for death because he made a deal with the devil to save Vahn's life. And Trigger is pushing Vahn away both out of hurt because Vahn almost got themselves killed, but also cause Trigger doesn't want Vahn to get caught up in whatever his trouble is.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 11. What do you think are this particular comic’s strengths? What do you think makes this comic unique? Please elaborate.

QUESTION 12. What do you think happened to Andrew during the June 7 catastrophe, and what might this have to do with the death of others around him? Further, what do you make of Andrew’s promise to someone named Roderick?

Capitania do Azar

9. Concerning the art (and tbh, storywise a little bit too), I like it that the influences the authors pulled from are clear, but the work still screams very personal and unique. I love the care with which the backgrounds are populated, weather with characters or items that make everything feel very alive. I also really like how we are slowly knowing more about the characters, and how even the silly moments build up on them!

10. If I have not mentioned this before, I am under the suspicion that Trigger knows more than he lets on, particularly about Vahn. There's something about the way he treats them that goes beyond "oh I really care about them", you know? So figures there must be something else that that Trigger knows and we don't (and possible, not even Vahn). Now, I don't think Trigger is pushing Vahn away, at least not on purpose. I just think he's not good at dealing with emotions, his or otherwise, and that anger is a safer bet to make sure he's heard. As for getting out of trouble, I don't think so. Trigger getting in trouble is what this comic has been all about, aha

I assume that's how the Ghost knows Vahn, maybe even helped kidnap Vahn from wherever Vahn is from

@RebelVampire they're from space Scotland, obviously

11. Character Design, for once: all characters are instantly recognizable and even tho they're all so different from each other, they all somehow make sense in the context of the story and none of them seems out of place. There's some really good character design craft in there. I like the balance between goofy/fun advantures and darkness/complicated relationships. It's easier to fall into either extremely problematic relationships with no redeeming features that make you wonder why even the characters are together, to relationships where nothing goes wrong. Between Trigger and Vahn you can see there are good things and bad things, and that's really fresh. Other relationships in the comic are also portrayed very well and are interesting to follow.

12. Honestly, the Andrew plotline gets me a little confused, but I gotta admit it's because I wasn't following it so attentively as I was Trigger and Vahn. So that's my fault in there. But I'm really anxious to find out in which way it's gonna merge with the other plotlines, and how it'll relate to The Ghost's case, ehe

RebelVampire

QUESTION 13. What are you most looking forward to in the comic? Also, do you have any final thoughts to share overall?

QUESTION 14. Why do you think Trigger avoided Boggmouth after abandoning Boggmouth so many years ago? Was it shame, or is there something else going on with Trigger? What consequences do you think there will be for Vahn finding out this past history?

RebelVampire

11) For me, the comic's strengths is probably the world-building and illustration. I've mentioned this before, I believe, but there's just so much detail in regards to how the world is portrayed. From the character designs, the ship designs, to how the society functions and has its own command structure. It's a really fleshed out world that has its own character, so that makes it just as interesting as the character. Thus, any exposition never feels dull, cause it feels just like learning some key development info about a person. 12) Given some of the pieces, right now I think that the catastrophe drove Andrew insane, possibly some of the others, and he started killing people around him. And someone he wound up being the last one standing. With this Roderick dude perhaps being one of the last people Andrew offed or something. And the kid in the picture looks like Vahn, so I'm gonna assume Roderick told Andrew to look out for Vahn or something. Although timeline wise Roderick couldve died much earlier in life. IDK. I definitely think Andrew murdered some people and lives with regret though.

RebelVampire

13) I'm looking forward to getting back to Trigger cause I'm interested to see wtf is even going on with Trigger anymore. He's such an emotional wreck right now, and I want to find out why he's such an emotional wreck. 14) Honestly, I think Trigger avoided Boggmouth both out of self loathing and unsureness about how to approach it. Apologizing isn't easy at all. Even assuming you can let go of your pride regarding it, there's a decent chance the other party either won't accept your apology or will sometimes make you feel even worse, possibly for the rest of your life. And being sincerely sorry but never forgiven is frankly an awful feeling. And I kind of feel this is kind of Trigger's thought process. He feels bad, but how could he reasonably accept Boggmouth to forgive him? So instead of apologizing, he just doesn't deal with the problem because even if he does apologize, it won't fix anything. It probably won't even make him or Boggmouth feel better about it. So thus he stubbornly backs his own bullshit up because he's just not able to emotionally cope with accepting any of that. As for consequences regarding Vahn, I think very little. I think Vahn might confront Trigger about Trigger being mysterious and not sharing stuff like that. But Vahn seems pretty loyal to Trigger so I don't think they'll ditch Trigger for something like that.

Capitania do Azar

13. Right now, looking forward to see Trigger again and what would come off a confrontation between him and Vahn, now that Vahn knows about His Past™. I also can't wait to know more about arm-swapping cults that include planet-destroying ghosts and space Scotland.

14. I think Trigger was a coward, but I don't blame him. It was a very difficult situation, and he was under a lot of stress and didn't know what to do, and his bad side won. I think shame and an unwilling to confront himself is mostly what's behind him avoiding Boggs for so long. But the past does have a way to find you, so he can't expect to stay hidden forever. Ahahah! As for Vahn finding out, I'm a big with @RebelVampire here. I think they may feel hurt and distrustful of Trigger for a while, but at the same time, they have already endured a lot on that relationship and they probably understand it wasn't exactly a conscious decision. Vahn doesn't look like the type to hold grudges anyway

mariah currey

So I didn't read enough of Ghost Junk Sickness to really answer any of the questions I don't think, but I did want to say that I really enjoyed what I did read of it. I got like 20 pages in when the Comment Storm was going on and meant to go back and read more, but life's been crazy. Anyway, I think the main characters and their dynamic were cute/fun and I'm planning to just back into it at some point when I have more time. Also, I really liked big hammer lady! (I even left a comment saying so XD) I feel like she probably isn't important but I thought she was rad.

FeatherNotes

These are all such good and wholesome comments/answers, thank you all for enjoying Ghost Junk!!i especially loved reading the theories the most!!

spacerocketbunny

Thank you so much for all the theories and feedback, it's been a treat to read through all if it!! Thank you so much for lending your time to our comic, I really aporeciate it!!

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Ghost Junk Sickness this week! Please also give a special thank you to Kristen Lee and Laura Lee for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Ghost Junk Sickness, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: http://www.ghostjunksickness.com/

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#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #ghost junk sickness #kristen lee #laura lee

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divagonzo · 6 years ago

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Knight - Ch. 3 of Beloved

Ao3 // FF.net

Ch. 1 - Bishop’s Castle Ch. 2 - Pawn

A/N: To those reviewing and leaving notes in tags, ‘tis appreciated. I also postponed this a week to not take away anything from The Nerd and her work.

Ace safe and rated T for medical drama in this chapter.

Tagging @xweasleyfraserx, @remedial-potions ,@weasleymama @kingronw @vivithefolle @austenpoppy @melimelrockswell1204 @ashleopardd @hillnerd since people asked to be tagged when this first went around. (Sorry @justsaya for the extra tag.)

“Where the hell is my Husband?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why the hell did I have to find out about him from her and not you?”

Harry recoiled.

“Oh, shite,” was all he could say.

“Oh shite is right, Harry!” Hermione yelled.

“That’s enough, Granger,” Hemera stepped in between the two, towering over Hermione by almost a foot. Then again, Hermione never backed down from a fight with Hemera.

“No, it’s not. I should have been told by this git,” She pointed her finger at Harry and he backed up a step, “and not you.” She stared up at the similar eyes staring back down at her. “I hate being woken up at half two by anyone who is not my husband and especially for unpleasant news.”

Harry had to agree with her statement. She was wearing a pair of virulent orange sleep trousers, a plain white vest under a maroon jumper that was two sizes too big on her, emblazoned with a gold thread R on the front. Her hair was up in a bushy ponytail, covered by an orange sleep hat.

“Look, Harry had to be checked out too, so quit being shirty with me.” Jones sighed and slumped slightly. “He’d have come once he got checked out too, as a precaution, right?” She looked over her shoulder at Harry who was nodding frantically. She turned back to the diminutive witch before her. “So there’s no need to be biting all of our arses over this completely cocked up situation.”

“Granger,” Director Robards bass voice boomed in the room. Everyone turned to stare at him. He was immune after all of the years of being an Auror. “Why don’t we find out from Potter what happened so we can have an idea on how bad the situation is going forward?”

Hermione looked at the small gathering before her. “Has anyone contacted Arthur and Molly?”

“I called to the house,” Hemera spoke up. “No one answered a Patronus. I’ll try again in an hour.”

“We can get ahold of the family shortly,” Robards interjected. “But we need to know what happened to Weasley.”

Harry went over the details on Ron’s injury and heard Hermione spat a few vile adjectives towards Trowbridge when his name was mentioned. Harry noticed that Jones and Robards were nodding in agreement. When he finished with him being kicked out of the ward, Hermione was sitting in some of the soft chairs, her head in her hands.

“So you’re saying that he might not make it this time?” She looked up from her hands and Harry immediately sympathized. Her eyes were bloodshot, enormous pale bags under her eyes, and her hair poking out through her hair bonnet. He saw her posture bent, like she was carrying an enormous burden on her back.

“I dunno, Hermione. All of us know head wounds bleed easily and it’s not like last time. He’s got Healers working on him right now, the best ones at the hospital and probably the country, all focused on his care.”

“So now we wait?”

“I know how much you hate waiting, Hermione.” Jones gave her a look.

Hermione shrugged. “You have no idea,” she responded and settled in to wait.

Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like an hour, and each minute a day.

“I’m going to call his parents. They should be up now,” Robards spoke up suddenly. “They should be here when we get the news.” He stepped out of the waiting room.

Harry took a glance at the other two women, seeing both with worry for different reasons.

The boulder in his throat dislodged slightly, making him choke. The two looked at him and he fake-coughed to keep them from worrying about him. He wasn’t important right now. They didn’t need to make a fuss over him.

Eventually, Robards returned and took a seat. “I firecalled them. They should be here shortly.”

“What’s taking so long,” Hermione muttered. “They should have been out here by now to tell us something.”

“I know. This worries me too,” Jones said, not giving Hermione any thought. “The longer it is, the more I get concerned.”

“You’re concerned,” Hermione sniped back. “You’re concerned? That’s my husband in there.”

“I remember Granger,” Jones bit back. “I was there when the two of you exchanged vows and performed the magical bonding. You were gracious to let me have a dance with him, even if he was slightly pissed and stammered half the time we were talking. All he could do was prattle on about you and how damn happy he was, to wear that ring on his finger.”

“Well your partner,” disdain dripped from Hermione, “was talking about how you were only doing it to get him embarrassed.”

“Aurora knows that and he did too, especially after a kiss on the cheek that made your hair frazzle.”

“Guys, enough,” Harry yelled. The two witches stared stilettos at him. “Hearing the two of you sniping isn’t helping.”

“Who says we are sniping?” Jones said, sounding quite calm. “Granger and I are – “

“I’m going for a walk,” Harry got up and stormed out, leaving the others in the room.

The hallway was empty, especially this early in the day. He needed to be away, away from Hermione and Hemera bickering over stupid shite. Why couldn’t they act like Director Robards there, being quiet and waiting patiently for any word on his condition? Why did Hemera have to antagonize Hermione every chance she could get? Why the hell did Hermione always rise to the bait?

Harry ducked into the stairwell. He knew what was coming and he didn’t feel safe enough to let anyone else see him. He pointed his wand at the doors above and below the landing he was situated. No one who he needed desperately was available – from the one who smothered him too much, to the one who could call him out on his shite and love him at the same time, to the one on the table, who had zero qualms being there whether it’s a nightmare or seeing too much on a mission.

The first sob exploded from his chest, wracking him with peels of anger and grief. Salty fat ears flowed down his face, threading through the coarse hairs on his cheeks and chin. He couldn’t lose Ron. Hadn’t he paid enough for a lifetime to not lose anyone else? Why did Ron have to pay for his lack of leadership? He couldn’t lose Ron.

Life wouldn’t be worth living without his best friend. He knew that. Deep down, he knew that Ron was his reason for living. Finishing Voldemort was the reason at the time but losing time with Ron would hurt 100 times worse than anything else he’d gone through.

Admittedly, he needed to live. But it wouldn’t be a good life if Ron wasn’t still in it.

“Harry,” a soft voice from above called out to him. He looked upward and saw Hermione standing in the doorway. She knew well enough. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been friends for over a decade. But she also knew her limits on comforting him. Her patience was thin and limited to helping him – and keeping herself from exploding most of the time.

He scrubbed his hand across his face and smearing salty tears across the lenses of his glasses.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“It’s fine. I wanted to tell you that Molly and Arthur got here and the Healers are waiting on us.”

“I said I’d be there in a minute, Hermione.”

“Fine,” she snapped before letting the door slam on the stairwell.

He stood, trying to make himself look professional, not like he’d been on a crying jag. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at Hermione. She’s on pins and needles too. He’d apologize later, once he knew Ron was awake and working towards getting out of the hospital. He trudged up the steps, removing the silencing charm off of both ends of that section of the stairwell and trudged back to the waiting room.

Sure enough, Healer Greengrass, the chief Healer for the hospital, was present along with another healer, one he didn’t know, along with Molly and Arthur, Hermione, Hemera, and Director Robards.

“Now that you’re here, Mr. Potter,” Director Greengrass started.

“Can we see him?” Molly interrupted. “I need to see my son.” Arthur put his hand on her shoulder. She squeezed it once. “I need to know if – “

“That’s what I’m trying to say, Mrs. Weasley. Your son is critical.”

One hysterical sob escaped and not just from Molly.

“He sustained a serious head injury. Mr. Potter was quite wise to limit his magical assistance in trying to save Mr. Weasley’s life. While it was a physical injury, part of the spell rebound impacted him. Auror protocol healing at that point would have caused permanent damage.”

Harry gulped. It’s a good thing he wasn’t quite confident in his skills there.

“We have him on potions, including – “

“Can we see him?” Hermione interrupted.

“Yes, shortly. But we need to tell you, the next forty-eight hours are the most critical. We,” the healer took a deep breath, “We don’t know if he will wake.”

“What!”

“Hermione, wait,” Harry interrupted, trying to stave off the coming tirade.

“No, I will not,” She cut across him and looked back at Healer Greengrass. “It’s a physical injury, not a magical one. It’s easier with magic than the Muggle medicine.”

“I beg to differ, Mrs. Weasley. Wizards know even less about how a brain works than Muggle Healers do. What little we know is from centuries of mistakes, fatalities, and worse. Even then, the brain and the mind work in ways we can’t fathom yet nor do we understand how to fix them and heal injuries. We stick to proven methods of treatment and rarely if ever deviate into possible protocol changes.” Harry saw her hair frizzing out from barely contained anger. “No wizard’s life is worth ending because of a possible experiment. We leave that to the Muggles.”

“Oh this is bullshit,” She snarled. “My husband gets injured and you’re telling me that he might not make it because you don’t know how to treat him?”

“Mrs. Weasley, please calm down. We’re doing everything we can for him. With brain injuries, it’s a case of letting him rest and heal. The junior healer will be on duty and immediately available should you have a question or there is any change in his condition.”

“Hermione, they are doing everything possible.”

“No they aren’t,” she snarled again. She turned to the two healers. “You need to bring someone else in, someone who knows about traumatic brain injuries and consult with them on his injury.”

“There is no one else, none that understand how potions work and what we are doing medically and magically.”

“No one? What the hell?”

“You do realize, Mrs. Weasley, that the ones we can’t heal, the small few we can’t return to normal, the ones with permanent spell damage, are residents on the fourth floor. We aren’t heartless. We heal everyone we can. Those we can’t are kept comfortable and safe. But you have to give it time, time to let his brain heal from what we did to save his life, to give him a chance to live.”

“What do you mean when you say what you did to save his life?”

“When Mr. Potter brought him in, we quickly determined the problems he had and set to work immediately. Mr. Potter noticed bleeding from his ear which indicated a serious problem, one which needed acute intervention immediately. It’s fortunate he saw it when it started. What we did was remove part of his skull – “

“Do what?” Molly spoke first.

“You did?” Arthur cut across Molly.

“What was so serious you had to do that?” Hermione’s shrill voice overrode the other two voices.

“As we were saying,” Healer Greengrass huffed, “we removed part of his skull to take the pressure off of his brain that was swelling. We had minutes before it became permanent.”

“Permanent?” Hermione’s voice grew strangely quiet and passive. “Hell no!”

“Exactly. That’s why we rushed Mr. Potter from the room. We had to do that work there and not anywhere else. It’s a wonder the landing in the arrival area didn’t do more damage.”

“When we opened him up,” the other healer finally spoke up, “we saw what the problem was. One way or another, he tore an artery in his brain. We repaired it straightaway but because of that, Mr. Weasley needs time to recover naturally. The first 48 hours are critical, especially since we don’t dare wake him up. The problem is a delicate one. He needs to stay under the control of potions but the longer we wait, the less chance he wakes. Too long and he doesn’t wake. Too short and he might not be able to work ever again, much less heal completely. The balance requires delicacy, luck, and quite a bit of faith.”

“So all we can do now is wait?”

“That’s all we can do now. We’ll keep him on the potions we started him on and keep him on them for now. “

“What potions do you have him taking? There’s one he is allergic to, that one of the ingredients – “ Molly dry-washed her hands.

“It’s in his chart and he’s not on that particular one. We have him on – “

“Can we see him now?” Arthur interrupted.

Healer Greengrass sighed. “Yes, on one condition: he is to not be hugged for any reason. His head, chest, and stomach are injured and needs time to heal. While he is bandaged up right sharp and has added protections, following these conditions give him the best chance to wake. He might look like you can, but please, don’t.”

“Is that all?” Molly cut across the Healer, completely unapologetic. “We’d like to see him. I need to see him now.”

The Healer looked at the gathering. “Let me reiterate that: he is not to be hugged for any reason. You can hold his hands, maybe rub his feet and that’s it. We won’t risk any potential setbacks because of enthusiastic family. So please, don’t hug him for any reason.”

“Yes, Yes, Yes, you’ve told us,” Molly interrupted. “I need to see my son, now.” Her voice turned harsh on the last word, expecting immediate obedience from her kids.

“Yes, you can. Come with me and we’ll see him. Don’t worry about talking quietly around him. He won’t hear you at least immediately, or so we think. Some patients tell us that they recall hearing things when they are injured like this and others say that they didn’t hear a thing. It depends on the patient, I reckon.”

Most of the gathered went ahead. The other healer, who looked younger than either of them, kept Hermione and Harry back.

“What is it, Healer?”

“I realize how important he is to both of you, which is why I am saying this to you.”

“Yes?” They spoke in unison.

“I’m not saying this to upset either of you, but we won’t know for certain his condition until he wakes, if he does, and we can run tests on him.”

“But he, the other healer, said – “

“Waking up is one part. Waking up with all of his faculties intact is a different proposition. The first part I’m confident in his recovery. I’m not confident in the second part.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Hermione’s voice broke on the last word.

“I’d rather you know now, before you step into there, that this won’t be easy and it might take everything you have to see it through, for better or worse.”

“He’s worth it, Healer, um, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Junior Healer Cattermole. Mary Francis Cattermole. I played Quidditch my first year with Mr. Weasley’s sister. I was three years behind her. In fact, I’m here because of what the three of you did. My family was targeted, and my Mum falsely arrested. My parents escaped somehow,” The two of them shared a particular look, “which they said was because of the three of you, which makes no sense, and they were able to escape and go into hiding. With Voldemort dead, Yaxley and Umbridge arrested, and sentenced to Azkaban, it was safe enough to come out of hiding. Mum said that I could play professional Quidditch or train as a Healer. I chose this path so I could help other people, like you did. Quidditch was fun but I’ve helped more as a healer than any galleons I could make.”

Harry and Hermione shared a pointed look. They turned back to junior healer Cattermole. “I know I’m a bit old as a junior Healer, but I attended a Muggle university, reading Medicine to become a magical healer. That knowledge gave Mr. Weasley a fighting chance. It was my idea to remove part of his skull. It was my idea to take that part of his skull and tuck it into a pouch in his stomach so it will be ready for when we will heal it back into place.”

“That’s barbaric!”

“Yes, it is, but that is medicine. The bone in his skull is living tissue. It needed to stay nourished to be able to heal back once the swelling goes down on his brain. Replacing it and giving him a day’s worth of skele-gro will fix that straightaway.”

“But you mentioned – “

“What we did, with my idea, is give him a fighting chance, as slim and wild as it might be. If he pulls through, which the odds aren’t there but it’s better than zero, then we have a new way to help patients like him recover completely. Admittedly he is a test case here.”

“But Healer Greengrass said that wizard magic doesn’t use test cases, that it’s too risky.”

“It is but knowing Mr. Weasley via his sister, I know he’d understand. The three of you risked everything to make our world possible. This is the smallest thing I can possibly do to repay that generosity.”

Understanding passed between the three of them. “I will be on duty all day with Healer Greengrass, to monitor him closely. I don’t expect us to try and wake him for several days, to let his brain recover from the trauma.”

“What are his actual odds, Healer Cattermole?”

She blushed, slightly. “Without what we did to save him, zero. Most people who have this kind of injury don’t receive adequate care fast enough and they die from brain hypoxia because of the swelling inside the skull. Because you had him here within five minutes of his injury and we prepped him for the butchering we did within 15 minutes because of Mr. Potter’s keen observation, he has a fighting chance. What we did? Maybe one chance in five. Making a full recovery with all of his mental faculties intact? One in a hundred.”

“He’d have better luck getting struck by lightning.” Harry stole a glance at Hermione and saw her wiping her face. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“If you know anyone who has a vial of Felix Felicis, I’d give him a full vial of it. That might be the only way to up his chances of making a full recovery.”

The junior healer left the room and almost immediately Director Robards and Auror Jones came in. “They’re ready for you in the room. We’re going back to the Ministry and filing all of the paperwork. Potter, I’ll need a statement from you by Monday. We’ll need it for the inquiry.”

“Yes, sir.” The remaining three watched Director Robards go next door for the Ministry Floo portal.

Auror Jones shared a grim look. “While I’m there, I’ll file your paperwork for you, Potter, and speak with your director Granger about taking medical leave.”

“Hemera, I can – “

“I know you can, Granger. I choose to do this for you. He needs both of you. We’ll manage while the two of you are here for him. Besides, once he heals up from this cocked up disaster, I’ll want him helping us change how we have additional help brought in. I never want to go through this again, where an Auror is injured or killed because of incompetence.”

#Dragon's Fic #hpfic #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #harry j potter #OCs #Rated T for now #Ace Safe #Molly Weasley #Arthur Weasley #Fireworks beginning next chapter #because prompter asked for Angst x 100 #and it's gonna explode shortly #Queue Up for the Dragon

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puffyswritings · 6 years ago

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Home Sweet Home (Kacchako One-Shot)

AKA Oh look! It’s another Kacchako short!!

Rating: Teen (for cursing)

Word Count: 2,908

Other Notes: I stayed up last night writing this. I edited it a lot today so it should be better; in terms of flow and detail, I mean. Here, they are all in their late-20′s. You’ll get more backstory as you read along, but this was originally for KPW but I got busy so..... I don’t look at it as that anymore, but just a fic where I can write from Hot Head’s POV and have fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!! The story begins at the link below!

“Thank you so much, Ground Zero! I am so glad you agreed to let us interview you here!” The host continue giving his praises, expressing his happiness through wide gestures. Bakugo nods along, somewhat out of the one-sided conversation.

“Anything for a fan,” the Hero says after snapping back into the conversation a moment later. The host’s smile grows impossibly wider and Bakugo can think of a hundred things he could be doing right now rather than sitting in this freezing studio. Cleaning his apartment could be one; going over remodeling ideas for the agency or sitting through another board meeting. Hell, he’d rather peel paint than be here.

Of course, while all of those things could be something he could have left to do minutes ago, he promised a certain friend that he’d go through an interview. Every bit. From the make-up to the closing notes; even this. It’s annoying and grating his nerves--how far does this guy think he’ll get just by flattering Bakugo anyway?--but he isn’t going to back out. Besides, this guy is saying something at least remotely interesting.

“Are you traveling anywhere anytime soon?”

The Pro shrugs. “I don’t plan on it. But if I need to…”

The host jumps forward, earning a pair of narrowed eyes in his direction. “So you keep contact with Heroes from other countries?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Heroes who have moved--and or visited--another country. The same Heroes who are from Japan?”

What is he getting at? “Of course I do; and not only me. We try to keep good ties with Heroes everywhere. In the case that there is an emergency, say, in, France, and they have been severely attacked and they need backup. Then hey, some friends in Germany would go and assist.”

“What is considered an “emergency”?”

“Global panic, natural disasters, an organized rising of a villain or villains.”

Nodding, the host leans back. To the audience, he seems as if he’s thinking, and hard. To Bakugo, it’s all staged; and he can’t help but feel as if he is playing right along with it. “It’s coincidental you mention that, Ground Zero. Because I actually wanted to ask about the most difficult--most dangerous--organized villains in recent history: the League of Villains.

“Is that alright?”

At least he has the fucking decency to ask first, is the Pro’s first thought. His second is to shrug it off. That would be off-putting and crossing the line to his promise though. Which leaves him with two options: Either give his assent, or tell this guy--with as much professionalism and politeness he can muster--to go fuck himself. Neither are ideal, nor do they leave him with any wiggle room. Because if he says yes, those damn feelings will come back; the ones he has conquered and resolved, but still arise. If he says no, then he disappoints his friend and looks like a little bitch. So.

Bakugo straightens in his chair, uncomfortable leather sliding along his slick suit, only to slide back down. He levels his perfected, “you’re on fucking thin ice but you may speak” look at the man. In the steadiest tone he can manage, Bakugo says, “Go ahead.”

---

“You did amazing!!”

“Eat shit.”

Brushing off the good-intentioned compliment, Pro Hero, Ground Zero, tosses an empty water bottle into the nearby trashcan, making his way to the only person who has believed in him since he was a tiny little fuck up.

Izuku Midoriya--or Deku nowadays--beams his trademark smile, unfazed by the harmless remark. “Though I’m surprised you let him ask you about the League…” The shorter man trails off, eyebrows knitted together in thought. Bakugo remains silent. He isn’t all that surprised he talked about the single most traumatizing years of his life. It isn’t as if he hasn’t before.

As they walk down the hall, leaving the small apartment Bakugo has called home the past four years, he looks down at the green-haired Hero and can’t help but smirk. Izuku has stood by him through thick and thin--though more of the former than any. He couldn’t be happier to call this fucking dork his friend.

His sweating hand hits Izuku on the top of his head, roughly rubbing it. “Don’t worry. It’s just a bunch a questions.”

Izuku slaps Bakugo’s hand, moving away and scowling. “I can worry if I want.”

Crimson eyes roll. “Yeah, do whatever the fuck you want I guess.” Izuku crinkles his nose, but Bakugo ignores it. He stuffs his hands into his pant pockets, eyes looking around them.

It’s a habit he picked up at UA: Vigilance. Not knowing where you are or what’s around you, will fuck you up. You think you’re heading home and end up face-to-face with a pile of shit, barely alive ten minutes later. Being lost has never been something Bakugo liked, or liked admitting. It’s annoying, and a pain in the ass. That’s why his memory is so great; he had unconsciously trained himself to remember his location, how he got from Point A to Point B, vice versa, and everything along the way. Going from his agency to the nearest grocery store is only a fifteen minutes walk at worst and he could navigate himself there with his eyes closed.

The apartments and townhouses begin to grow farther apart as they walk down the street. Civilians come by, stopping the Pros as they pass. Bakugo rolls his eyes at Izuku’s own excitement, the work he put into getting to this point sos obviously paying off. It isn’t that Bakugo would ever admit, but seeing Izuku like this, happy smile stretching across his face as bright eyes widen at every “Deku!!! Please sign this!!” Even Bakugo has a wide arrange of adoring fans; not that it’s all surprising.

When the crowd thins, Bakugo notices they have ended up close to one of the train stations. He looks around them, catching sight of the time on one of the clocks. “Where the hell are we going, Deku?” he asks after the last fan leaves.

Izuku perks up at the question, dropping his hand from waving. He nods to the train station, beginning to walk ahead. “Don’t you remember?” he calls by the time Bakugo catches up to him, huffing in fake annoyance. “We’re going to see Uraraka!”

He stumbles. Bakugo fucking stumbles.

It takes him more than a couple seconds to find his voice. When he does, he isn’t proud of his high-pitched, cracking tone either. “She’s back?”

Izuku nods, either deciding it’s wise not to comment on the two-in-a-row blunders made by Bakugo, or not caring. “Not yet; but soon! A few and the other Heroes and I wanted to prepare a welcome home party for Uraraka before she actually gets back.”

Bakugo’s first thought is to wonder why in the fucking hell this dumbass has Ochako’s keys in the first place. Until he remembers that he isn’t the only who has access to her house.

“What the fuck for?”

“She’s coming back home. It’s been two years, Katsuki... Aren’t you excited?” Not that he needed to be reminded, but fuck you too Izuku.

Of course he knows how long Uravity has been overseas. Training to become a better Hero in other countries; learning their styles and systems to bring back and improve Japan or some shit. It came as no surprise, but Bakugo has to close his eyes over the crashing wave of pain that accompanies the numbers. Twenty-five months. Twenty-five-fucking months.

“Thanks for the reminder, jackass,” Bakugo mumbles. Balling his hands into slick fists, the Pro stuffs them back into his pockets. He kicks at the ground once before stalking ahead. He doesn’t exactly know where Izuku is going, but sticks to the idea that he want to take the train to her house and heads that way. I can’t believe it.

“I’m so--I didn’t mean to upset you, Katsuki,” Izuku says after running to catch up to the other’s fast strides ahead.

“Sounds like an apology,” as tedious as it is. Bakugo has always hated constant apologies. No matter what for. People should only apologize when it matters. Upsetting him doesn’t; it happens. No one can apologize for the number of times Bakugo has been upset or an asshole; and Izuku has tried. “You’re right though,” he grumbles after more than a couple thoughtful moments. It’s painful. Hurts like unlike anything; and he has been throws into a building by a mammoth of a villain before. He’s done his best to forget, to distract, and to push aside the ache that comes with missing her. He’s done it. At least he thought so.

Izuku gives the other a mildly shocked look. “I am?”

Slowing to a stop, Bakugo gives his infamous sharp grin. It wobbles at first, and he panics that maybe it won’t hold. It does. This is familiar at least, pretending to be one thing while all he wants to do is cry alone in his bed. When he finally has Izuku waiting long enough, Bakugo declares with a surprisingly strong voice, “Uraraka’s home.”

---

Urakara is late.

“What the fuck.”

To a majority’s surprise, Bakugo leaves his supposed hiding place. He makes his way to Izuku, Half-and-Half, Earphone Jack, and Pikachu around him by the stove in the kitchen. “What’s going on, Deku?” he all but demands in his barely-shouting voice.

Earphone Jack roles her eyes as Izuku begins to scroll at something on his phone a bit more frantically. “Calm down, Bakugo,” she says in an overly exaggerated tone.

“Yeah man. Are you--I get it.” Pikachu moves a couple inches backwards after being tossed a famous glare. True enough, it has lost some of it luster since his middle school days, but it has gotten easier for his former classmates to tell when Bakugo is not in the mood to be played with. This is one of those times.

Swinging crimson orbs to the left and locking on to his next victim, Bakugo grounds out the same sentence from a moment ago.This time, Izuku passes his phone to Bakugo. “She’s stuck at the airport, Katsuki. I don’t--”

“Are you going to get her?” Bakugo asks, still looking down at the most recent exchange between the two friends. Seems like traffic is backed up again; guess I’ll be here a while:p

For a moment, no one says anything. The other Heroes have gone silent, and when Bakuo looks up, he finds no change in his thought that Izuku is still an airhead. “Since you aren’t, I’ll go.” He pivots on one foot, reaching across one of the chairs for his jacket. Izuku calls out to him, but Bakugo responds in only lifting his hand to flip him off. He stomps across the wooden floors, staring only at the door. The few other Heroes scattered across the living room avert their eyes as he passes them, but he could care less. “Damn extras.”

Once the door is closed behind him, Bakugo realizes that he left his phone in there. “I’m not going back,” he mumble as he jogs down the porch steps, and then to his car. He stops in front of it, keys dangling from one finger. The black thing needs a wash. The few wrappers and papers left behind need to be cleaned out as well.

A passing car’s honk disturbs him from his thoughts. He scowls. Of all the times to worry about cleaning, it’s now.It’s something that strikes a nerve; and a big one. He should be on his way to When pick up Ochako. Ochako.

Exhaling what he can, Bakugo swings open his car door. He slams it shut behind himself, a bit too hard. This is ridiculous. It’s been two years since he last saw her and here he is acting like his teenage self. At least I’m not as shitty as I was back then, he thinks darkly, pulling out of the driveway.

Making his way through the city to the airport, he makes a plan for himself. It doesn’t feel like much, but by the end, he feels...better, but only marginally. The expressway is crowded and the airport is painstakingly more so. By the time he actually gets to the gate Ochako said she would be waiting at--per her text to Izuku--two hours have passed. He feels nerves begin to intensify, gnawing at his stomach. The familiar chemical smell that has become apart of himself intensifies. He tries--stupidly--to wipe his hands on the small towelette in his car. He leaves his car, unbelievably nervous.

The crowd is awful.There is a mass of many brown-haired people, and being as short as she is doesn’t help out all that much. So much so that doesn’t see her at first. He wonders around, standing on the tips of his toes, moving people aside, just to try and get a break through the masses. After a while of passing through people and being stopped, Bakugo comes close to one of the airport shops, and spots a small crowd by the window.

He narrows his eyes, recognizing a familiar uniform. “It’s so amazing to actually meet you!” he hears as he approaches the crowd. A quick scan at the people in the back and he knows they’re fans. Now how many Heroes are scheduled to leave the airport today?

He nears the end, catching the quick reply. “Aww!! Thank you so much!” Bingo.

Bakugo rounds the side of the crowd, pushing newcomers out of his way. He actually feels his heart skip a beat after hearing her soft responses, shy laughs. Along the way, he manages to catch sight of short brown hair; a dimple; the corner of a smile. It’s like falling in love with her all over again.

The window ends up blocking her in. He notices this as he comes to the side, the small opening just ahead of him. But he also sees why she also chose it. The chair to her right block fans from getting as close as the left side, especially when no one notices the opening behind the plastic chairs when someone they admires is standing in a crowded airport.

He moves closer to the opening. Unlike when he was walking around the crowd, people have begun to notice him. He flashes a quick grin, feeling almost giddy at just how close he’s coming to finally seeing all of her.

She’s finishing talking to a fan, her back turned to him as he calls out to her over the crowd. “Oi! That you, round face?”

The moment recognition registers on her face, Bakugo feels happiness swell in his chest. It took her a couple seconds to spot him, and then she runs to him--something he didn’t expect her to do. If he’s being honest, the first time he sees her in two years, he expected for her to--as crazy as it kind of seems--to hit him for being stupid. For not talking to her, almost avoiding her entirely. Even thousands of miles away.

“Katsuki!” she exclaims as she throws bare arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, taking her lift-off and spinning her around. “You’re here!” she whispers.

He chuckles, suddenly choked up. “Why wouldn’t I?” is what he almost asks. He stumbles over the words on his tongue. So instead of being able to say anything at all, Bakugo sets Ochako down, but not yet pulling back from her; just as she continues holding onto him. Looking down at her, he can hardly put it into words; just that it’s making him want to kiss her right now, this warm feeling in his chest.

Brown eyes lift to search his own. From his eyes to his chin, to his hair and ears. He holds his breath as her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something he can’t figure out. He’s as much entranced by her appearance as she is by his. The woman hasn’t aged a day. Her usually short hair seems only a little longer, eyes as deep and beautiful as ever.

He hasn’t talked to her in seven months. He hasn’t seen her in two years. There is a crowd, a packed airport. He is tired and pissed he had to waste two hours in traffic, and search around the building for this woman for nearly an hour. The party is making his eye twitch whenever he thinks about, but all their friends are there. They are the reason he’s here, but he can’t stay angry. Just thinking about going home with her, talking to her--it all makes him want to sweep her up again and take her out of here. He wants to give this woman the world. He’ll suffer a hundred more crappy parties just for her.

There are a so many other things he could be doing the longer he stares down at her; things that he should be doing. Yet he can’t think of a single one as he leans down. He watches her head tip back ever-so-slightly, eyes closed as she leans into him. Seconds later, he’s capturing pink lips in his own.

This is what I missed. He breaks the connection some time later, breathless and face red. The crowd around them--how did he forget?--make assorted noises, but he ignores them. “I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely. Ochako just smiles, an awestruck expression on her face. I feel just right in these arms.

#puffyswritings #kacchako #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #he's the best wingman fight me #i luv all these kids #comment your favorite character and part if you've gotten this far!#(and if anyone finds any errors #let me know #please and thank you!

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