#like any promise of getting better would just be soothing words to assuage my friends and family before inevitably disappointing them again

[m0thkiller]

It just hit me that its been a long time since ive self harmed in August. ive cut it close a few times but im getting close to 100 days clean heresoon. thats like, kinda insane to me.

[foundress0fnothing]

what lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why

Summary: Elain and Lucien make a bargain. When it’s time to call it in, however, neither of them remembers what it is—or that they made one in the first place.

Part 2/2. 10.1k words. Read here on ao3 or below the cut!

So many thanks to @popjunkie42 for being my brilliant beta reader as I finished this monstrosity of a chapter.

Elain had been itchy all week. 

It had started in the tips of her fingers, a tingling that spread gradually until her hands were almost numb from the sensation. 

And then there was a tickle somewhere between her ribs, niggling and persistent until she was forced to press her hand into her side to gently massage away the feeling.

And now, as she sat in a meeting with Feyre about her plans for a new community youth garden and attempted to focus on flowers and classes and permits, she could feel a buzzing across the bridge of her nose and behind her eyes. She tried to rub at it discreetly, hoping it would alleviate some of the ache, but her sister’s eyes caught the movement.

“Are you feeling okay, Elain?” 

She waved Feyre off, pasting a smile onto her face and hoping it would be enough to assuage her sister’s concerns. But she should have known better.

“It’s just—you’ve seemed off all week. And the twins have told me that you’ve been spending a lot of time in the kitchens. Which,” Feyre said, setting aside the notepad she had been taking notes on to turn her attention fully on Elain, “is fine! It’s great. I know you like to bake. It’s just…” She paused. “It reminds me of how things were. In the beginning.”

Elain rolled her eyes at that. Sure, she had spent the first few months of her time in Velaris hiding in the kitchens, but it had been years since she had used that to escape the parts of her life that she found overwhelming. 

It’s not that the twins were wrong, although it was irritating that they were apparently still reporting her movements to Feyre. Elain had been in the kitchen a lot this last week. The morning that her fingers started to tingle, she had felt drawn to the easy familiarity of the space to try and settle herself.. It had soothed her all those years ago—the mixing and the kneading and the waiting for her hard work to come to fruition. She hoped that it would work again when the tingling wouldn’t go away.

And it had, at least as a temporary reprieve. Something deep in her calmed the longer that she spent in the kitchens, and so she kept coming back, hoping that if she made enough cakes or cookies or pastries that the itch she felt would just go away for good. She didn’t have any occasion or recipient for what she baked, so she just made whatever felt right—cinnamon twists, apple danishes, molasses cookies, gingersnaps—her hands seemed to want to make anything spiced and warm.

But trying to explain all of that to Feyre—the itch and the baking and the desserts—promised to be more trouble than it was worth, and so she simply said, “I’m fine, Feyre. It’s just a headache.”

“Do you need to go home? We can finish this tomorrow.” Feyre looked at her and smiled gently. “There’s a painting class on alla prima happening now that I’d been happy to go join instead. It’s no big deal.”

Elain almost sighed in relief. By her sister’s usual interrogation standards, she had gotten off lightly—Feyre really must have wanted to make it to the class. Elain had been prepared to smile and bite her tongue and nod along to whatever Feyre said just to get the inevitable conversation about mental health and coping and settling down to end.

Because that was what it always returned to now. Settling down. As if Elain was some old maid. But Feyre, romantic that she was, was certain that Elain could finally, finally feel happy and content with her place in the Night Court if she just found someone to marry.

It’s not that Elain wasn’t content. She was—she had her gardens and her family and a few friends she had made in Velaris over the years through her gardening efforts. It was a small life, perhaps, but it was comfortable. After so much uncertainty in the first two decades of her life as a human, she liked being able to visualize the immortality that stretched before it. It was predictable and safe and, yes, perhaps a little dull. But it was hers, and her choice to make.

And she had met a few males, thank you very much, Feyre. And she’d had some fun. Lots of fun! But not enough to bring them home to meet the family and subject them to the inevitable chaos and innuendos and—worst of all—the revelation that she had a mate out there somewhere.

Wherever he was. Elain hadn’t heard from him since Nesta’s mating ceremony.

He had been in and out of the court for a while, mostly coming to give reports to Rhys about the other high lords. Then he’d go back to his humans. Elain heard whispers about the three of them when people didn’t think she was around—mostly speculations about the depraved things they got up to in their house together—but she ignored them. Mostly.

But then the revelation of his true parentage came to light, and suddenly he was whisked off to the Day Court to be the High Lord’s heir, of all things, needing to learn the court policies and traditions and expectations for a future High Lord. He left his humans and the Night Court without looking back, apparently, and Elain had heard little of him since.

Feyre still saw him, she knew. The Night Court came back from the annual High Lords meetings with stories of the other courts, and her mate’s cunning mind and pleasantly acerbic tongue always featured heavily. By all accounts, he was happy, fulfilled, and didn’t seem to mind that he had left his mate back in the Night Court. The bond was still present, of course—Elain had heard too many stories of males losing their minds after a rejection to want to sever it completely—and, although they had never discussed it together, he seemed content enough with that arrangement as well. It was just something they ignored. Simple as that.

Although—some private part of her wondered if they just should have accepted the bond after things had settled with the war and let fate push them together like Feyre and Rhys and Nesta and Cassian had. She would have had a partner and, cauldron, children probably, and a life in the Day Court that was far grander than the High Lady’s sister-turned-gardener in the Night Court. She would have been a princess, learning to manage a kingdom and devoting her time to some cause that would help an entire people, perhaps, with the influence she would hold, not just a few members of a small city. 

But Elain didn’t let herself daydream about that alternate life too often. Daydreams like that were dangerous, especially for her—she already had a propensity for getting lost in her own head when one of her visions was coming on, and so she tried to limit how often she indulged the daydreams of another life, no matter how lovely they were. And besides, she didn’t regret wanting a choice—no, that was something she was grateful to have protected for herself, even if she only got that protection from ignoring the bond. But still, she wondered what might have been—what life would have looked like if she had spent the last ten years bound to Lucien.

As she thought his name, the buzzing in her head, which had retreated briefly as she talked to Feyre, returned in full force, insistent and pulsating and electric. Elain stifled a gasp at the sensation. “I think,” she said, gripping her sides of the chair she was sitting in to keep herself from digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, “that I do actually need to go home.” The buzzing increased again, and she hissed, quickly standing up, needing to just get out to do something, anything to make the feeling go away. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, Elain. Should I send someone to check on you in a while? Or should I call Madja? I don’t want you to miss Nesta and Cassian’s anniversary party tonight.”

Elain grimaced. She knew that Feyre was thinking about sending Azriel to check on her as part of some harebrained matchmaking scheme. As if that particular ship hadn’t sailed a decade ago. And as if Azriel wasn’t still quietly panting after Nesta’s priestess friend. “No, Feyre, I’ll be alright. It’s just a headache. That’s all. I’m sure it’ll pass before it’s time for the party”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Elain said, and all but ran out of the room. 

The kitchen. She had to get to the kitchen. That was the only thing that had worked all week. She made her way there as if in a trance, hardly conscious of each step she took or if she passed any of the River House’s other occupants. She didn’t care if she did—she just had to get there before the pounding in her head drove her insane.

It was blessedly empty when she arrived, the twins apparently out doing other work for the court, and absentmindedly, Elain looked around the kitchen for inspiration for what to make as she tied an apron around herself until she spied a bowl of apples on the small work table in the corner. Perfect. 

She grabbed a few and brought them over to the counter as she let her mind wander to what she might make with them. Tarte tatin? Apple fritters? A pie? Yes, a pie, but—hand pies, she decided. They weren’t complicated, but still required enough physical activity to occupy her mind as she worked and shaped the dough. 

Elain gathered what she would need for the dough—flour, ice water, butter, sour cream—and began kneading them together, folding and pushing until a ball started to form. The motion was good and necessary and soothing, and Elain felt the pressure in her head decrease slightly as she began dividing her dough and rolling it out into small circles to chill. The sensation was still there, and she still felt on edge and antsy, but it was tolerable now, at the very least. 

As the dough rested, she began peeling and cutting apples, doing each meticulously by hand. There was magic for this, of course, and the twins had shown her years ago how to channel some of her powers into making this part of cooking go faster, but Elain never tried. She liked the slow pace, the deliberate effort of it, and so she peeled, cored, and chopped until she had filled a bowl with small chunks of apple. Without measuring, she liberally dumped brown sugar and cinnamon and cardamom and ginger over the chunks before diving into the bowl with her hands to mix everything together, coming away sticky and sweet-smelling. 

She rinsed her hands and set the mixture on the stove to simmer, pausing her frantic preparations for a moment as she allowed herself to luxuriate in the smell of fruit and spice and sugar. She thought of fall back in the human lands and the sweet few weeks that were a reprieve from the summer’s heat before the reality of winter set in. It had always been her sisters’ favorite season too, and she wondered idly if she could bring these to Nesta’s anniversary party later that day as proof that she was fine.

But the buzzing didn’t like her stillness, apparently, and began to ratchet up again, spreading down her face and throat until it took up residence in her chest and sides and paused there as if wrapping around her heart and ribs. It was painful and heady all at once, and so Elain propelled herself into motion again. She just had to finish the pies. Things always settled after she finished baking. For a while, at least. She began filling the circles of dough with the apple and spice mixture, folding each over and crimping the edges once they seemed like the circle couldn’t possibly hold anymore before laying them out on a tray to go into the oven and brushing the pastry with an egg wash.

The sensation in her chest didn’t abate however, growing more insistent and sharp with each second that passed, and as she all but threw the tray of hand pies in the oven, Elain wondered if she might need to call Madja after all. This—the buzzing and the pain and its persistence—couldn’t be normal. Maybe Feyre was right to be worried.

She rubbed at her chest and side absently as she sat on the floor in front of the oven and stared at the pies as they baked. It’s not that she was watching them bake, not really, because that would be insane, she acknowledged to herself. But she didn’t feel like she could leave them—her eyes were glued to the small window in the oven door where she could just barely make out the gradual changes to her creations, and the thought of looking away for a moment to clean up the kitchen or do literally anything else seemed impossible.

Elain could see herself reflected in the window as well, although just barely. She looked—well, Elain didn’t really want to acknowledge what she looked like, what with her tangled hair, flushed cheeks, and slightly glazed over eyes. She had only seen herself look like that a few times, and often after evenings spent with some of the Velaris males her family didn’t know about. And there was absolutely no reason for her to look like that now.

A timer Elain didn’t remember setting went off, startling her out of her absent reverie. She shook herself and stood up, pressing a hand to her side with the pulse of fire that seemed to reignite as she moved, now burning and searing through her with such intensity that she could have sworn she was being incinerated from the inside out. Take the pies out, Elain, and then go see Madja, she told herself. Madja will help. She had to—this had gone on too long, and Elain wasn’t sure how much more she could take before something broke in her.

She moved to set the pies, golden and smelling like autumn, on the counter, but it was covered with the errant flour and dough scraps and sticky patches of apple filling that she hadn't bothered to clean up earlier, and so she set them on the work table instead. She breathed in, anticipating the relief that finishing the pies would bring. The tingling, the buzzing, the burning—all of it would go away and she could just be Elain again. She was ready for that now—she’d go see Madja while she was still clear-headed and try to— 

But the relief never came.

No—if anything, the burning sensation only grew until Elain cried out, dropping down onto the floor by the table. She was hot—too hot—and her head was buzzing again and she couldn’t think and she couldn’t breathe and she needed water or Madja or relief or—

She tore her apron off without bothering to stand up and yanked at the laces at the front of her dress to try and loosen the bodice. She loved this dress and the buttery yellow fabric that gathered at her waist before flowing loosely to her knees, but right now, she didn’t care if she ruined it. She just knew that it needed to come off.

Finally, she managed to loosen the ties just enough until the front of her dress gaped open and she could breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out, in—

“Elain?”

The sound of her name lingered in the air as a voice she hadn’t heard in ten years washed over her. 

She looked up and took in the male standing in front of her. He was just as lovely as she remembered—lovelier, even, with his red hair tied up in a ponytail, his mismatched eyes burning with some inherent inner heat, and a Day Court chiton wrapped around his broad frame. But as she looked a little closer, she noticed the way he was fraying at the edges slightly: stray hairs were falling messily out of his ponytail to frame his face, and his eyes seemed ringed with exhaustion, and the chiton was wrinkled to a degree that surprised her for a male raised in Autumn. Not that she knew many Autumn males, but—their reputation as fastidious and fussy dressers was one of the many well-known rumors about males from that court that circulated throughout Prythian.

He had glanced at her as he arrived, but now she noticed that his gaze was pointedly turned away from her, and Elain realized that he was trying to be a gentleman.

She forced herself into a more upright sitting position and tried to rearrange her dress, hoping that he hadn’t seen too much. What a greeting that would be, she thought, cursing herself for so dramatically disrobing a few moments ago. It’s been a decade since we last saw each other and you’re a future High Lord now and by the way, here are my breasts. 

“You?” Saying his name felt like too much, but she had to acknowledge his presence in her kitchen somehow. Especially after so long. “But why are you here? It’s been—” 

He interrupted her before she could finish. “I don’t know—I—” He rubbed his side as if it hurt. Some distant part of Elain’s brain noted that it was exactly the same place that ached in her side. “This week has been—” He shook his head, forestalling whatever he had been about to say. “It’s like something was calling me here and then,” he said, sounding lost, “I was burning. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

“So you winnowed here. From Day?”

He nodded. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to.”

“Why? How did you know you had to come here?”

“I don’t know. It felt like you needed me.” He frowned and finally turned his gaze to her again, looking her up and down. “Are you well?”

She scoffed. What an asinine question to ask someone after a decade of being apart. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not though, are you?” He snorted. “A fine person wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of her kitchen half-naked.”

Elain scowled up at him but held her tongue, deciding that snark wouldn’t help them figure out whatever was going on. Instead, she asked, “Did it itch for you first? Before it burned?”

Her mate cocked his head. “It…did.”

“Mine too.”

“Is it still?”

Elain hummed in agreement because, although the sensation had banked with his arrival, she could still feel it under the surface of her skin, moving throughout her body as if it was something alive and sentient.“It’s why I’m—” she gestured to her position on the floor and her open dress. “It was—I thought I couldn’t breathe.”

“But you can now?”

Elain nodded. She could see him try to work out what was happening—why they were both affected—his eyes flicking quickly between them. She wondered if he could see something with his metal eye, some cord or spell or bond—“Is it because we’re mates? Is it something with the bond?”

He didn’t answer her, but her questions seemed to trigger something in him, because he dropped to his knees beside her with a sharp intake of breath and closed his eyes as if in pain.

“What are you—did you figure it out? Are you okay?”

He clutched at his chest and, gritting his teeth, spat out, “Bargain.”

“What bargain?”

“There’s apparently a bargain between us. Not just the bond.”

“I don’t remember making a bargain with you.”

“Nor I you. But—” he sighed heavily, “I woke up in my Velaris apartment a decade ago with a tattoo behind my ear and no idea where it came from.”

Elain felt something cold wash over her. “A larkspur?”

He nodded.

Elain had spent the first few months after the tattoo trying to figure out what it meant, or why she had it. She didn’t want to ask anyone from the Inner Circle because she knew that they wouldn’t rest until they had pried every last detail about the bargain out of her. Not that she knew what those details were, but still—Feyre would be insufferable and Nesta would be disapproving and the Illyrians would all look at her pityingly and offer to hunt down whoever it was she had made a bargain with and Elain wanted none of that, thank you. She kept her hair down all the time so that no one would see the petals of a flower peeking out behind her ear.

She had found books on bargain tattoos and flower meanings at some of the Velaris bookstores, but none of them discussed the two together, a fact that frustrated Elain and left her with few concrete answers about the nature of her tattoo or her bargain. She had learned about accidental bargains, and how some theorized that there had to be a strong connection between the two parties before one could form, and she had learned that larkspurs meant beautiful spirit, positivity, and—horrifyingly, in light of what she had learned about accidental bargains—strong bonds of love. But she didn’t know what to do with those two pieces of information.

Not to mention the fact that nothing happened. She kept waiting for someone to appear to call in their bargain or to spy someone else with a larkspur tattoo, but there was nothing. And so gradually, she began to think about the bargain less and less. She wore her hair down out of habit, not necessity, and she stopped trawling through bookstores for information on bargains. She returned to her family and her flowers and her fine, straightforward life.

And now that the mystery of the tattoo was starting to unfold, Elain found herself wishing that she had read more about bargains and, more importantly, if they could be broken. Her mind spiraled as she tried to imagine what she could have possibly promised him a decade ago.

“How do you know that there’s a bargain?”

“I can see it. Day Court,” he said dismissively, as if the ability to see magic was barely something worth commenting on at all. “I had just thought…” he began, hesitating.

“What?” He sighed again. “It’s wrapped up in our bond. I didn’t notice it at first.”

Elain frowned slightly. “What do you mean it's wrapped up?”

“It’s like a braid. The two are twisted together.”

“So it has to do with the bond?” Had they decided to actually do something about it? And, cauldron, what could they have decided? She wracked her brain trying to remember, but a decade and too much whiskey left her with nothing but the certainty that she absolutely wanted to kill her former drunken self for the mess she had made with her mate.

He frowned and rolled his eyes in frustration. “How would I know, Elain? It’s not like I knew about this before today. Just like you.”

“Well, you were the one who said it like it mattered. I wasn’t implying anything else, Lucien.” 

As she said his name, she could feel the itching and the pounding and the fire in her body began to intensify again, just like it had earlier with Feyre when she thought about him. Elain sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. It was just pain now, an agonizing immolation that had tears springing into the corners of her eyes. A quick glance over to Lucien showed that he was similarly affected. He was hunched over, one hand placed on the floor to brace himself while the other alternated rubbing his forehead and his ribs.

“Lucien, I need to do something. It’s burning again, I don’t know what—”

“It’s the bargain, it has to—we just have to figure something out.” He paused, and then groaned, “Elain. I don’t know what—”

“I’ve been baking.” Something warmed in her. It was like she was a child again, stuck in the cabin playing a game of hot and cold with her sisters, albeit an infinitely more agonizing version. But at least she knew this feeling—it was the same kind she got before one of her visions, a sense of certainty, of rightness, that she couldn’t quite explain. So it was the baking—that was the answer, somehow.

But Lucien, still hunched over on the floor, scoffed. “Not helpful.”

“Yes, helpful.” Elain was right. She knew she was. “I just mean—that’s the only thing that’s made the feeling go away all week. I bake something and then it quiets down for a while. It’s what I did today.”

“When you were on the ground?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

He grimaced. “Sorry. I’m just—”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and Elain looked around the kitchen, letting her mind work and trying to ignore the pain in her side. She saw the mess in her kitchen, and the pies, still cooling on the counter, and her mate, sprawled on the floor next to her.

And then it hit her, and she felt stupid for not putting the pieces together sooner.

She took a breath in. “I know what we bargained.”

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“The bond. We must have agreed to—” She paused, swallowing as she got up the nerve to say it, “—to accept it.”  

Lucien blanched. “There’s no way.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s been exactly ten years since Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. I’ve been baking all week. And it’s all what I’d imagine Autumn’s desserts to be. You felt like you had to be here, with me. We both have pain in our ribs.” She ticked them off one by one. “It can’t be anything else.”

 “I think you’re right.” He sat up and raked a hand across his face. “Shit.” 

“Do you not—are you mad?” Elain wondered if he had someone in Day waiting for him. He didn’t have his humans anymore, she knew that much, but maybe there was some lovely female or male that he met in his father’s court who had caught his eye. It would make sense politically, some piece of her that remembered her mother’s lessons about the marriage market thought idly, for him to look for someone who could show him how to navigate a court he only began to learn as an adult. “Is there someone else?”

“No—no one else. And I’m not mad,” he clarified, and something warm and possessive bloomed in her chest with the reassurance. “But Elain, we can’t—I’m not the kind of male who would make you—” He cut himself off sharply. “I won’t honor this bargain. We’ll find a way to break it.”

“Break it? Can you break a bargain?”

“There has to be a way.” Lucien hauled himself to a standing position and began pacing as he thought, although he still kept one hand pressed to his side to soothe the sharp pull that Elain could now recognize as the mating bond and bargain clamoring to be accepted and fulfilled.

She remained on the floor, watching her mate as he stepped in the small piles of flour that had ended up on the ground, tracking it back and forth until the sharp footprints gradually blended into a large off-white smudge. 

He muttered as he paced. “There has to be a way, because we can’t be the first idiotic fae to make a drunken bargain and then be stuck with the consequence.” He reached the edge of the kitchen and turned. “No, I’m sure we’re not. And I’m sure we’re not the first to do something stupid like this with a mating bond.” He turned again, heading back the way he came. “There has to be something in the libraries about this. Some spell or flower or agreement or something that lets us break the bargain.” He turned again, his muttering fading slightly, and Elain imagined that he was desperately trying to remember the spell or flower or agreement that would let them out of the mess they made a decade ago.

But as she watched and listened, she wasn’t sure that anything of the sort existed. It wasn’t something people talked about doing, breaking bargains, and she had watched Cassian and Azriel make enough small drunken bargains at Rita’s over the years to know that whatever magic governed the land didn’t particularly care if one was sober or not. It was the same as what she had read in all those books years ago—as long as the intent was clear between the two parties and the words were said, the bargain would take. 

And hold, apparently.

Lucien suddenly came to a stop in front of her. “We can’t honor the bargain, Elain. I won’t hold you to it. I’m going back to Day. I’ll ask Helion—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Lucien doubled over and, gasping, dropped to the floor on all fours beside Elain. She could still feel the pain of the bargain as it pulled against her ribs, but it was nothing compared to what it seemed like he was experiencing. Tears sprung into his eyes and beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and, as Elain stared at him in horror, a small trickle of blood began to drip from his nose and onto the floor beneath him.

“Lucien, what—”

He groaned and listed to the side, nearly falling onto his side, and Elain reached out a hand to steady him. His skin was hot—too hot, although maybe that was just his Autumn heritage—and even with her support, he kept swaying.

“Here, no, let me help you lay down.” He nodded in understanding, and she guided him down to lay on his side. He was shivering now and began heaving slightly, but didn’t make any attempt to move or reposition himself even as he convulsed slightly.

The bond or the bargain or both pulled at her to help, protect, save, and Elain bit her lip as she looked down at her mate. Her dying mate. She couldn’t watch anymore.

“I think we need to accept it.” As she said it, she was struck by that same feeling of rightness as before, blisteringly hot and certain that accepting the bond was the only answer that didn’t result in pain and suffering and punishment for a broken bargain. 

He groaned and shook his head slightly.

“It’s too late to break it. You’ll—I think you’ll die.” She tried to say it as gently as she could, but Lucien’s eyes still squeezed tightly shut as if he could will away the truth of her words.

He tried to argue. “But Elain, it’ll mean—”

She cut him off. “I know what it means.” And she did—a new home and a new family and a life bound to a male she didn’t really know. And yet—she thought she could like him, once she got to know him. Her past self trusted him enough to agree to this, even back then. Something deeply rooted in her—call it intuition, call it the Sight—knew she could trust him now too. “I know what it means, Lucien,” she repeated, “and I’m agreeing.” She pulled him into a seated position and cupped his face with her hands until he looked at her with feverish eyes. The movement felt so familiar somehow, but she shook off the feeling of deja vu and asked, “Are you?”

Something seemed to settle in him at her touch, and she watched as his gaze cleared as he studied her face, looking it over for any indecision or regret. She made sure there was none for him to find. He nodded slightly, then, even with her hands still holding his face. “I am, Elain.”

She nodded back, eyes still on his. They were doing this. They were going to accept the bond. There was something so absurd about the situation that, even though pain still twanged through her side as the bargain continued to make itself known, she couldn’t help the small, hysterical giggle that slipped from between her lips as she lowered her hands back down into her own lap. 

Lucien huffed a laugh as well, and the two of them sat in anticipatory silence for a moment.

He was the first to break it, looking around the kitchen. “So are we—here?”

Elain wrinkled her nose at the thought. She couldn’t think of a worse decision to make—accept the mating bond in the Night Court and be immediately subjected to her family’s snooping and bawdy jokes after she and Lucien managed to emerge from their frenzy. 

She knew, too, that they’d be stuck in Night for a while if they accepted the bond here. It’s not that she thought Rhys and Feyre would keep her from going to Day with her mate—he was heir after all, and since she was his by Prythian’s possessive understanding of love, she would soon have a claim to Day as well. But still—Rhys would want to scheme about it and Feyre would worry about Elain’s choices and the thought of not all being together. It would be tense and guilt-inducing and drawn-out and emotional at best, and she would do anything she could to avoid that mess. 

“Not here,” she declared, and Lucien laughed at her tone. She imagined he felt the same way. He knew the Inner Circle well enough to predict their chaotic brand of familial bonds. “Do you have somewhere—”

He nodded, anticipating her question. “I do. It’s back home—in Day.”

Elain looked him over. They were still sitting on the floor, and although Lucien no longer looked like he was on death’s door, she imagined that he was still feeling the pressure of the bargain just like she was. “Can you winnow there?”

He paused, considering, and then nodded. “I think I can if I’m bringing you with me.” He smiled at her then, wry and rakish all at once, and she felt something long-dormant inside her spark in heated interest. And it didn’t help that the small part of her that had always wondered what it would have been like to accept the bond right away preened at his admission that he would need her to get home. He needed her. It meant that there was a place for her—or at least the possibility of a place for her—in his life. And she wanted to take it.

“Let’s go then.” She stood and pulled him to a standing position beside her.

Lucien chuckled at her eagerness, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any embarrassment. What reason did she have to linger in Night? 

“Do you need to bring anything?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I have that would be appropriate for Day.”

“Probably nothing,” He agreed, and then continued, half in thought, “Not that you’ll need much—for…”

Another slightly hysterical laugh burst from her, cutting off however he was about to end that sentence, because no, even for a court as open and hedonistic as Day was reported to be, she didn’t imagine it would do to share her frenzy with anyone other than her mate.

She forced herself to calm down and shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. “I have a few things, but I can get them later.”

“Elain, I—” he paused, frowning. “I’m not trying to take you away from your home forever. We could figure something out to keep you in Night, at least part of the time.” “I don’t want to stay in Night, Lucien. I’m ready for something new.” The words rang true as she said them. She had meant them to alleviate the nerves and guilt he clearly felt, but as she sat with the declaration for a moment, she acknowledged privately how much she meant it.

He grinned at her again, bright and flirtatious. “Then I’m sorry for not coming to get you sooner.”

But she shook her head. “I’m not sure I would have been ready.”

“And now? Have you had enough time?”

“I have. Have you?

He smiled. “I have.” There was not a hint of doubt in his voice as he said it.

He made to take her hand to winnow away, but paused before their hands could touch. “We should leave a note.” 

Elain nodded at the wisdom of that. It wouldn’t do to have the Night Court descending on Day in the middle of their frenzy, accusing Lucien of kidnapping her. Quickly, she grabbed a flour-covered notepad from one of the utility drawers and scrawled a brief message, hoping it would be enough to postpone an interrogation for a few weeks. She put it next to the now-cooled hand pies, hoping that they’d help mollify her family enough to keep them from doing something rash once they realized what had happened.

Lucien looked over at the pies. “Bring one for us?” A quiet blush swept across his cheeks as he asked, and she laughed—a real, true laugh—at the sight of it, because he looked like nothing more in that moment than a bashful youngling trying to steal extra sweets.

Still, she grabbed a tea cloth and carefully wrapped one up. She had made them for him, after all.

He smiled at her. “Ready?

“I am, Lucien.”

He took her hand tentatively, and then the world disappeared into a whirl of color and woodsmoke-scented warmth. 

As the world rematerialized around them, Elain was struck by how bright and warm it was. The room where Lucien had winnowed them was open to the elements, with tall arching windows that led into a private garden with a small pool in the center. The windows were framed with gauzy light-golden curtains that blew indolently on some invisible breeze, and as she continued taking in her surroundings, she realized that the golden motif extended into the rest of the room, broken up by accents of white and a deep turquoise blue. It was as if the sun had descended into the room and made itself at home, so much so that she almost closed her eyes to savor the feeling of this new world on her face. But she shook off the impulse, instead asking, “Where is this?” She knew it had to be somewhere in the Day Court.

“My chambers.” 

She snorted. “Chambers, plural?” 

“I am heir,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“And so modest.” She grinned at him to make sure he knew it was a joke, because it’s not like they knew each other’s humor yet, not really. Even if they did seem to have a knack for making each other smile.

There was a pause between them as Elain continued studying the room, noting and then letting her eyes skip over the large bed dominating the space, and then they spoke at once.

“So should we—”

“How do you—”

They smiled sheepishly at each other, and then Lucien gestured to her. “You first, my lady.”

She swallowed. “So—do we want to accept it? Now?”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to hold it off much longer.” Elain nodded as he spoke, agreeing. She wasn’t in pain anymore, but she suspected that she would be if they tried to wait any longer than necessary. The bargain and the bond thrilled in her as each second brought them closer to fulfilling one and accepting the other, dizzying and seductive.

With a breath out, she began to unwrap the pie that she had brought, keeping her eyes focused on it because she was afraid that if she looked anywhere else she might lose her nerve, but Lucien stopped her hand.

“Elain,” he said, moving his hand to her chin and tilting it up until she had no choice but to look at him. “I am honored to be your mate, and to accept the bond today.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “And I’m excited to know you. Even if we are doing this out of the order we might have preferred. I had wanted to give you so much more—cauldron, a proposal at least, but still—”

She smiled at him and the sincerity she heard in his voice, and gently cut him off. “Eat, Lucien,” she said, carefully unwrapping the pie and offering it to him.

He took it, and without breaking eye contact, brought it up to his mouth and took a bite. As he chewed, Elain found herself getting lost in the movement of his mouth, noticing the fullness of his lips as they closed around the pastry and the quick dart of his tongue as he licked off a lingering crumb. She imagined what it would be like to feel those lips on hers—lush and warm and devouring and—

As he swallowed the first bite, however, Elain’s rapidly devolving thoughts were brought to a halt as she felt something inside her shift that brought her attention back to herself for a moment. There was a tug in her ribs and a feeling like something was locking into place, eternal and unbreakable, and strong enough that she was certain it must be branded everywhere upon her body. There was a quick pain behind her ear as well, and she realized with an odd pang of mourning that her tattoo must have disappeared after they fulfilled the bargain. 

She wondered if Lucien felt the same, and if he too had lost his tattoo, and she looked up to ask him, only to find him watching her with an expression on his face that she had never seen before. Gone was the reserved courtier and his careful, elegant manners. The fae standing before her was fiery and possessive and sinful as he smirked, setting the pie down and licking some errant stickiness off his thumb before pronouncing it, “Delicious.” 

From the way he looked at her as he said the word, however, Elain suspected he was talking about more than the pie, although some animal part of her warmed at pleasing her mate with the food she had prepared for him. She hated and loved the feeling in equal measure, the reminder that she was no longer human and now beholden to the ancient magics that governed Prythian.

But then the bond began to crackle like fire in her veins, heating her blood as she took in the male that was hers hers hers for the rest of their lives, and she found that, at least in this moment, she didn’t care much for her lost humanity anymore.

Because he was here, and he was hers, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to claim him, and be claimed in return.

Lucien clearly felt the same way. He stepped toward her, snaking a hand behind her waist and pulling her body flush against his, and Elain couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out of her at the feeling of their bodies pressed so tightly together. It was the closest they had ever been, and she wanted—needed—more.

“Mate,” he growled into her ear, and Elain shivered at the sound of the word on his lips.

“Yes,” she said, far more breathily than she would have liked.

“Say it.”

She knew what he wanted to hear—the verbal acceptance of what they were to each other after going so long without acknowledging it at all.

She looked up at him, and letting the longing and the desire she had held within herself for so long shine through her eyes and bleed into her voice, she said, with a smile, “Mate. You’re my mate, Lucien.”

And then she pressed up on her toes and kissed him. 

It was like coming home, if one could marry the feeling of ease and comfort and acceptance with the sensation of being absolutely consumed with sheer need for the other person. Lucien made a surprised noise at first, but then quickly sank into the kiss, his lips curious and exploring and claiming all at once.

A bolt of desire shot through Elain, settling heavy and warm in her lower stomach, and she moaned into his mouth, moving her hands up to thread them through his hair, not caring if she loosened his ponytail as she did so. The movement prompted Lucien to deepen the kiss, demanding and desperate as he nipped at her bottom lip. She had known pleasure before, but it had been nothing like this, nothing so all-encompassing and heady, and all from just a kiss. 

She pulled away, gasping, and whined. “Lucien, I need…please—” She broke off with a whimper, feeling frantic and hungry and overheated and needy all at once.

 “There’s no need to beg, mate.” With a wink, and a laugh at the swat she directed toward his shoulder for mocking her, he picked her up easily and brought her to the bed, depositing her gently among the brocade pillows by the headboard. Her hair and her dress spread out around her, and she waited for the feeling of Lucien’s body on top of her before she realized that he had taken a few steps back to stand at the foot of the bed and was simply gazing at her with a small smile on his face.

She pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him, surprised. “Aren’t we going to—?”

“Elain,” he admonished with a playful click of his tongue. “So impatient.” But he began climbing onto the bed anyway, moving with a graceful, predatory ease that had Elain nearly panting.

He inched himself up her body, rucking the skirts of her dress up and peppering kisses on her legs as he went until he reached the apex of her thighs. She could feel the heat of his body as he hovered there briefly, and in a moment of wanton desperation, she tried to grind down into him.

But he placed a hand on her hip and pinned her in place, moving away from her core and instead pulling himself up until he was face to face with her. He smelled intoxicatingly of woodsmoke and nutmeg, and she tilted her face up to his to see if he would kiss her.

But he only gave her a gentle peck before sitting back on his haunches and letting his hands ghost alongside her ribs and the underside of her dress. “I want to take my time with you, Elain,” and she hummed in annoyance. “I want to learn every curve of my mate’s beautiful body.” He leaned down to give her another peck. “But first I need to see you.” His hands came up to the ties at the front of her dress which, miraculously, still held the dress together despite her episode in the kitchen. He looked at her in silent question, and she nodded her permission, and deftly, he began to work the ties open until they were loose enough that he could lift the dress up and off over her head.

She rarely wore a bra—she hadn’t inherited the full breasts Nesta and Feyre had gotten from their mother, instead trending toward the fuller hips and round backside that were more common in the women from her father’s side of the family—and so there was nothing to hide herself behind as Lucien stared down at her chest, apparently struck dumb.

He was silent and still for long enough that she started to ask if he was alright, but before she could get the question out, he had leaned down and gently taken one of her nipples in his mouth, laving over it with his tongue, and Elain forgot to ask her question entirely.

Lucien moved to her other breast and groaned as she arched into him, relishing the feeling of his mouth on her. All too soon, he pulled away and began kissing down her stomach, trailing small licks and kisses down her sides as he inched his way back down her body until he was settled back between her thighs.

His hands reached to squeeze the soft curves of her hips, and he growled as he closed his eyes for a moment as if savoring the feeling. “These will be the death of me.”

Elain flushed at his praise and wiggled the objects of his attention slightly, desperate for him to actually do something, anything. The savoring and the teasing and the thrumming of the mating bond were driving her insane.  

He only gripped her tighter, and so she whined, “Lucien, I need—”

“None of that, lady, don’t worry. I just want to get to know you,” he said with a too smug smile, releasing his hold on her hips, although he stayed where he was with his face between her thighs.

“What do you mean, Lucien?” She drew out the mean petulantly, and huffed in irritation when it only served to make him look more pleased with himself. 

He breathed a laugh at her expression, and the feeling of the air ghosting against her core made something inside her clench. 

“Let me show you.”He reached up and grabbed the sides of her underwear, pulling the cream and pink lace down until she was bared completely to him. A deep and throaty sound spilled out from him as he took in her sex, already glistening with arousal from his teasing and the need to claim and be claimed. 

“Already so wet for me, lady?” She moaned in response, and he clicked his tongue. “Words, Elain.”

“Yes, Lucien, gods.”

“Good girl.” He leaned down and licked a slow, languid stripe up her center, and Elain nearly bowed off of the bed at the feeling of pleasure that shot through her..

“Cauldron, Elain, you taste—” He cut himself off with a groan and bowed his head into her like some neophyte worshiping at the altar of his deity for the first, rapturous time. “Tell me another thing about you so I can taste you again,” Lucien breathed into her.

“Tell you—what?” She didn’t understand what he meant.

“It’s how I want to get to know you, lady. For everything you tell me about yourself, I’ll reward you with my mouth until…” He trailed off.

“Until what, Lucien?” She felt like she was on fire, the feeling of him so close to what she needed without the satisfaction of it was exquisite torture she wasn’t sure she’d survive..

“Until I know you well enough to claim every inch of you.” He paused, and then muttered under his breath. “Or until my control snaps.” 

Something in her purred at the thought of breaking the tight control she was learning he held over himself, and so she asked teasingly. “Is that a challenge, mate?” She watched him shiver at the way she claimed him, and she smiled smugly to herself. 

He arched an eyebrow. “It’s not one you’ll win, mate. Tell me your favorite flower.”

She stared at him for a beat, a little incredulous that he actually intended to go through with this game of his. It was irritating how calm he looked as he waited—Elain thought that if she didn’t get some relief soon, she might burst.

So she sighed dramatically and gave in. Let Lucien drive himself insane with the taste of her then. “Larkspur. Or tulips.”

Lucien hummed, apparently pleased with her answer. “Very good, lady.” He rewarded her with another few teasing licks to her core, and between his praise, the heat of his tongue, and the magic of the bond coursing through her, Elain already felt like she could fall apart at any moment.

He pulled away again, and Elain bit her lower lip to keep from crying out from the loss of contact. Breathlessly, she asked, “Wh-what’s yours?”

“My—?”

“Favorite flower.”

Surprise flitted across his face before it pulled into a small smile. “That’s not the game, lady.”

Elain frowned at him, distracted from the pulsing in her core for a moment. “But I want to know you too.” He didn’t look convinced, and so she added for good measure, widening her eyes as she did so, “Please, Lucien”

He raised an eyebrow, but gave in anyway. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. My favorite flowers are mums.”

That fit him, she decided, not that she knew him very well yet. But they were joyful and hardy and that combination seemed to match the male who knelt before her.

Not privy to her meditations on the appropriateness of favorite flowers and what they had to say about someone’s personality, he leaned his head back down to plant kisses on her inner thighs, working her up into a panting mess as he thought of another question and banished all thoughts of flowers from her mind.

In between kisses, he asked, “What would be your perfect day?”

She answered him quickly. “This, just this.” Another Elain might also imagine lazy days filled with sunshine and swimming and too much food, but none of that mattered to her right now. There was only Lucien and his maddening tongue.

“Perfect answer, love. Mine is the same.” He began lapping at her again, teasing her clit with gentle flicks of his tongue as she shook beneath him.

But once again, he pulled away before she could finish. “Tell me your greatest accomplishment.”

“I stabbed the King of Hybern.” She answered him quickly, glaring at him as she did so. And I might stab you too, mate, if you keep edging me.

He chuckled at her expression, and so she shifted one of her feet to brush against his cock where it strained against the fabric of his pants in retaliation. Take that. She couldn’t see it, but even from the brief touch, she could tell he was achingly hard and almost unfathomably large. A frisson of wanton lust shot through her at the thought of how full she would be once he finally claimed her. 

He groaned and, almost unconsciously, began to grind down into the bed as he praised her. “Cauldron, of course you did. Brilliant, perfect girl.” His mouth resumed its efforts, but this time he attacked her clit in earnest, alternatingly sucking it into his mouth and teasing it with small licks. 

It was everything, and just the right kind of almost-pain as her body tensed, desperate for relief, and Elain found herself babbling, “Gods—yes, Lucien—I need…” But he didn’t give her anything more, only continuing to teasingly lick and suck, and so she answered him again, hoping that a new answer would prompt him to finally, finally give her what she needed after doing as he told her. “And I was starting a community youth garden, before, and…” She trailed off, grinding down onto his face in desperation. She hardly knew what she had been saying, just that she needed more.

“We’ll do it here,” he breathed out, letting her ride his face and barely stopping his movements to get the words out. “Any project, any cause. Whatever you want—my generous, lovely mate—perfect Lady for me—”

Elain was close. “Lucien, it’s too much, I can’t wait—” She thought she might die if he ruined another orgasm.

He seemed to be nearly pushed to his limits as well—finally. She could see the need flare brighter in his eyes as each second passed, like he too was being driven to the edge of sanity. 

But he still managed to demand, “Two more questions before you can come, sweet thing.”

“I can’t—Lucien, this is silly—”

You’re wasting time.” He made to pull away, but she reached down and grabbed the long strands of his hair that hung around his face, yanking him back to her. 

“Tell me three things that you like about yourself.” Question asked, he began to tease her again with his tongue, but this time he pulled a hand away from her hips to begin rubbing tight circles on her clit..

“I—” she said breathily, awash in the new sensation. “My—I like my softness. And my hips,” she said, surprising herself with the answer that popped out of her mouth, but Lucien moaned in agreement, pulling his face away from her to allow his hand more room to move. “Fuck, Elain, yes.”

“And my foresight, for making this bargain ten years ago.”

“You are a Seer after all.” 

She hummed at his quip, far too distracted by the fluttering she could start to feel building in her as she got closer and closer.

As if he could tell she was about to fall apart and not wanting to waste any more time, he kept playing with her clit as said, “Final question, Elain. Are you ready?”

She whimpered. “Yes, I am—yes.”

He lowered his face back down between her thighs. “Tell me one thing you like about me.” 

The question was whispered directly into her core, and for a moment, all the lust and the need she felt fell away. There was only her mate and the raw honesty of his question and the hope that flared through their mating bond.

“Every single thing, Lucien. I like it all.” And she did—the awkwardness when they first met, the glint in his eyes when he was about to drop his courtly demeanor and say something scandalous, the way he drove her to the edge of madness but still held her secure and safe, the sunlight—the joy—she saw when she looked into his face. She thought she might never grow tired of discovering every new thing she liked about him. The hand that she still held wrapped in his hair moved to gently cup his cheek. “My mate.”

“Elain.” He said her name with a deliberate firmness, thanks and recognition and something close enough to love in his voice that she felt a perfect, crystalline joy spark in her chest.

“Then come for me, love.” And with those words, he leaned back down, licking and sucking like a male possessed, driving her further and further toward the edge until finally, blissfully, she shattered against his mouth. 

He crawled his way back up her body, murmuring words of praise as he did so as she twitched with the aftershocks of her orgasm—perfect, lovely, delicious, mine—before claiming her mouth with a searing kiss. He tasted of arousal and her sex, and even though she had just come, she felt herself begin to clench at the thought of what came next.

Lucien broke the kiss to quickly shuck off his shirt and trousers, and Elain pressed a hand to his chest to give herself a minute to study him. He was stunning, she thought as she took in the deep brown of his skin, the shock of his hair, the expanse of his chest, and the magnificent cock that hung heavy and already weeping between his legs.

Her mouth dried out, and she felt an ache begin to build in her pussy at how terribly empty she felt now that she had seen him, all of him. Mine, mate, claim— “Now, Lucien, I don’t want to—I can’t—wait any longer. I need you,” she begged, reaching down to slot his cock against her core.

“And you have me, Elain. Forever.” And with that promise, he bent to recapture her mouth as he pushed into her.

She had thought kissing him was like coming home, but this—it was better than that, perfect satisfaction and pleasure and joy at having someone who was hers, all hers. And having it be him.

He thrust in and out of her, picking up his pace as he went until the two of them were locked in a glorious, fast dance of bodies and heat and desire. It was everything and not enough, perfection and need all at once, and it did not take long before she shattered again, pulling Lucien along with her until he spilled inside her and the two of them slumped, sated, against each other. There was no need to say anything—not yet, at least. They simply basked in the glow of the other and the mating bond that thrummed with satisfaction between them.

Later, although Elain had no idea how much time had passed, lost as she was to the frenzy, she and Lucien stretched out indolently on his bed that would probably need to be burned after this. He fed her honeyed figs and grapes and cheese, asking her between bites things about her past and her hopes for the future. She did the same, marveling with each new answer at the depth and the kindness and the cleverness that made up the male that was irrevocably, bargain-bound and bond-accepted, hers. Each new answer made her love him a little more, although it was too soon to tell him that, she knew. The right time would come—they had eternity, after all.

————————————————————————

Chapter Notes: The recipe for Elain's apple hand pies is loosely glossed from this recipe: https://www.browneyedbaker.com/apple-hand-pies/. I've never made them, but the vibes seemed right.

The questions Lucien asks here are loosely based on the idea of the NYT 36 Questions to Fall in Love. A lot of the language for Elain's thoughts around their first kiss and first time in this chapter is inspired by a quote of Wendell Berry's that I adore: “The room of love is another world. You go there wearing no watch, watching no clock. It is the world without end, so small that two people can hold it in their arms, and yet it is bigger than world on world, for it contains the longing of all things to be together, and to be at rest together. You come together to the day's end, weary and sore, troubled and afraid. You take it all in your arms, it goes away, and there you are where giving and taking are the same, and you live a little while entirely in a gift. The words have all been said, all permissions given, and you free in the place that is the two of you together. What could be more heavenly than to have desire and satisfaction in the same room?”

[ahlis-xiv]

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me."  Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- The Fountain of Fair Fortune

Harry made to hand the book to Remus out of habit, but Lily offered, "I'll read the next one." She was enjoying the honest bliss Harry seemed to be carrying while reading these, something she'd been afraid would be long absent with his recent bout of memory returns, but thankfully just being in Sirius' presence seemed to be holding him in good spirits for now and she wanted to keep this up however she could. So she passed her infant along to her husband and happily found the next story.

"I call dibs on my favorite then," Sirius declared at once as he watched Lily skip around their order.

Remus got a bad feeling about letting Sirius do that, because he was now worried about that look he was being given like his mate was going to be picking the story for him as well, but Lily was ignoring the both of them and starting.

High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune.

Once a year, between the hours of sunrise and sunset on the longest day, a single unfortunate was given the chance to fight their way to the Fountain, bathe in its waters and receive Fair Fortune for evermore.

On the appointed day, hundreds of people traveled from all over the kingdom to reach the garden walls before dawn. Male and female, rich and poor,

"Why would a rich person show up? Judging by the tale, that person should automatically know they're not getting picked," James rolled his eyes.

"Rich people can be unhappy," Sirius shook his head at him, "I'm sure they think their woes are justifiable enough even if no one agrees."

"I still doubt the fountain would ever choose someone with gold to spare," James shrugged.

  young and old, of magical means and without, they gathered in the darkness, each hoping that they would be the one to gain entrance to the garden.

Three witches, each with her burden of woe, met on the outskirts of the crowd, and told one another their sorrows as they waited for sunrise.

"My mother always told me they were sisters, not strangers met," James said in surprise.

"Like the one before, I'm sure they all get tweaked with every retelling," Sirius shrugged.

The first, by name Asha,

"Ooh," Lily couldn't help but coo with a small smile as she turned to Harry and explained, "that's what we were going to name you if you were a girl."

"That's what she wanted to name you," James corrected. "I wanted to name you Poppy, or Rose."

"The flower thing is getting ridiculous James," Lily sighed with a small smile saying otherwise.

"I disagree," James defended, "the one thing I ever remember Petunia telling me was all the women in your family being named for flowers, and I don't need your mother to have another excuse to dislike me if I break that tradition."

"You're being ridiculous," Lily said in exasperation, but James was still going full steam to Harry.

"Her mothers name is Delilah, her Grandmother was Fern, and then there was her sister Iris-"

"Of all the things you remember from that one dinner," Lily blushed faintly as he tried to keep going.

The two parents began arguing the point, leading Sirius to lean over and whisper to Remus, "think they're arguing about this a bit more than necessary?"

Remus started to smirk and say, "those two? The ones who argue like that about what to eat for dinner?" Then he paused, kept watching, and muttered, "though Harry was a surprise as well."

Sirius couldn't help but snort, but then Harry got their attention and they decided to keep going.

was sick of a malady no Healer could cure. She hoped that the Fountain would banish her symptoms and grant her a long and happy life.

The second, by name Altheda, had been robbed of her home, her gold and her wand by an evil sorcerer. She hoped that the Fountain might relieve her of powerlessness and poverty.

The third, by name Amata, had been deserted by a man whom she loved dearly, and she thought her heart would never mend. She hoped that the Fountain would relieve her of her grief and longing.

"Must be some magical fountain to have the potential to heal any of that," Harry muttered.

"The things we still wish magic could do," James agreed.

Pitying each other, the three women agreed that, should the chance befall them, they would unite and try to reach the Fountain together.

"I think Asha wins from that group outright, she's the one most likely to die, the other two's fortune could change without some mystic help," Sirius muttered with a sideways look at Remus, who was blatantly ignoring him.

The sky was rent with the first ray of sun, and a chink in the wall opened. The crowd surged forward, each of them shrieking their claim for the Fountain's benison. Creepers from the garden beyond snaked through the pressing mass, and twisted themselves around the first witch, Asha.

Lily smiled brightly, gaze flickering to her child and back to the story with even such the silly happiness of the character she liked best being chosen.

She grasped the wrist of the second witch, Altheda, who seized tight upon the robes of the third witch, Amata. And Amata became caught upon the armour of a dismal-looking knight who was seated on a bone-thin horse.

The creepers tugged the three witches through the chink in the wall, and the knight was dragged off his steed after them.

"Seems a bit ridiculous all four were let in," Remus couldn't help but scoff at this logic. "What was to stop the whole crowd from just forming a chain and all going in together to reach the fountain."

"Clearly it's because they didn't expect idiots like you to be sitting around questioning them when they made up this fairy-tale," Sirius snipped.

The furious screams of the disappointed throng rose upon the morning air, then fell silent as the garden walls sealed once more.

Harry shivered heavily, at the reminder of being in hedges that blocked out the noise of a crowd. He was being ridiculous, he told himself sternly without looking at any of them who had surely noticed. It had already happened, no need to get spooked over a kids story!

"It's alright Harry," James kept eyes on his infant as he spoke calmly and softly, though the child was gurgling with delight and for once looked better off than the adult watching.

Asha and Altheda were angry with Amata, who had accidentally brought along the knight.

"Only one can bathe in the Fountain! It will be hard enough to decide which of us it will be, without adding another!"

Now, Sir Luckless,

"Much nicer than I would have called him," Sirius snickered.

as the knight was known in the land outside the walls, observed that these were witches, and, having no magic, nor any great skill at jousting or duelling with swords, nor anything that distinguished the non-magical man,

"Then, why was he a knight?" Harry asked, trying to picture in his head and not coming up with anything.

"Anyone can put on a costume I suppose," James chuckled.

was sure that he had no hope of beating the three women to the Fountain. He therefore declared his intention of withdrawing outside the walls again.

At this, Amata became angry too.

"Faint heart!" she chided him. "Draw your sword, Knight, and help us reach our goal!"

"Honestly I'd have tried to retreat too," Sirius rubbed at the back of his neck with his face pinched up. "Being stuck around three women who are assuredly going to get into a fight, I'd happily stay out of that one."

"Faint heart indeed," Lily sniffed, now easily picturing Sirius in that get up instead of Sir Cadogan from before.

And so the three witches and the forlorn knight ventured forth into the enchanted garden, where rare herbs, fruit and flowers grew in abundance on either side of the sunlit paths.

They met no obstacle until they reached the foot of the hill on which the Fountain stood.

There, however, wrapped around the base of the hill, was a monstrous white Worm, bloated and blind. At their approach, it turned a foul face upon them, and uttered the following words:

"Pay me the proof of your pain."

Harry couldn't help but shift restlessly again, despite the description, his mind flashing to a Sphinx from so long ago, but then the infant burst out laughing as James continued to make faces at him, and Lily kept reading in such an assured voice with a warm smile it easily soothed the dusk filled night from his nightmares.

Sir Luckless drew his sword and attempted to kill the beast, but his blade snapped.

"Credit for trying?" Remus offered with a halfhearted smile.

Then Altheda cast rocks at the Worm, while Asha and Amata essayed every spell that might subdue or entrance it, but the power of their wands was no more effective than their friend's stone, or the knight's steel: the Worm would not let them pass.

The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, and Asha, despairing, began to weep.

Then the great Worm placed its face upon hers and drank the tears from her cheeks.

"Eww," Lily muttered with a crinkled nose, while James started snickering at the expression and promised her, "don't worry Lily flower, I'm the only one who can do that to you."

"More eww," Sirius told the pair while Lily rolled her eyes at them and kept going loudly.

Its thirst assuaged, the Worm slithered aside, and vanished into a hole in the ground.

Rejoicing at the Worm's disappearance, the three witches and the knight began to climb the hill, sure that they would reach the Fountain before noon.

Halfway up the steep slope, however, they came across words cut into the ground before them.

Pay me the fruit of your labors.

Sir Luckless took out his only coin, and placed it upon the grassy hillside, but it rolled away and was lost.

"Poor bloke," Remus tried to smile at what was likely meant as a joke or just another instance of the characters trying to take the story too literally, but sadly he had an idea of being down to your last Knut.

The three witches and the knight continued to climb, but though they walked for hours more, they advanced not a step; the summit came no nearer, and still the inscription lay in the earth before them.

All were discouraged as the sun rose over their heads and began to sink towards the far horizon, but Altheda walked faster and harder than any of them, and exhorted the others to follow her example, though she moved no further up the enchanted hill.

"Courage, friends, and do not yield!" she cried, wiping the sweat from her brow.

As the drops fell glittering on to the earth, the inscription blocking their path vanished, and they found that they were able to move upwards once more.

"You think that's just what this magical fountain is full of? The sweat and tears of all the witches and wizards over the years?" Sirius pondered.

"That was vaguely gross, and yet I kind of believe it," Remus chuckled.

Delighted by the removal of this second obstacle, they hurried towards the summit as fast as they could, until at last they glimpsed the Fountain, glittering like crystal in a bower of flowers and trees.

Before they could reach it, however, they came to a stream that ran round the hilltop, barring their way. In the depths of the clear water lay a smooth stone bearing the words:

Pay me the treasure of your past.

Sir Luckless attempted to float across the stream on his shield, but it sank. The three witches pulled him from the water, then tried to leap the brook themselves, but it would not let them cross,

"You'd think by the third time they'd realize something was up other than just try to go around," James snorted.

"Yeah, these dense broads should be asking the fountain for something more to do with smarts than love or whatever," Sirius smirked.

"Remind me again how you're not the one married," Lily muttered, though she couldn't help but agree with him, these witches weren't exactly using a lot of problem solving skills.

and all the while the sun was sinking lower in the sky.

So they fell to pondering the meaning of the stone's message, and Amata was the first to understand. Taking her wand, she drew from her mind all the memories of happy times she had spent with her vanished lover, and dropped them into the rushing waters. The stream swept them away, and stepping stones appeared, and the three witches and the knight were able to pass at last on to the summit of the hill.

"There they have it," Remus mock applauded.

The Fountain shimmered before them, set amidst herbs and flowers rarer and more beautiful than any they had yet seen. The sky burned ruby, and it was time to decide which of them would bathe.

Before they could make their decision, however, frail Asha fell to the ground. Exhausted by their struggle to the summit, she was close to death.

Her three friends would have carried her to the Fountain, but Asha was in mortal agony and begged them not to touch her.

Then Altheda hastened to pick all those herbs she thought most hopeful, and mixed them in Sir Luckless's gourd of water, and poured the potion into Asha's mouth.

At once, Asha was able to stand. What was more, all symptoms of her dread malady had vanished.

"I thought the worm did that," James scratched at the back of his head as he tried to recall his mothers old retelling with this instead. "The three trials cured the other three and then Sir Luckless didn't because he no longer needed to or some such."

"You've got to stop comparing retellings," Lily shook her head at him before continuing.

"I am cured!" she cried. "I have no need of the Fountain, let Altheda bathe!"

But Altheda was busy collecting more herbs in her apron. "If I can cure this disease, I shall earn gold aplenty! Let Amata bathe!"

Sir Luckless bowed, and gestured Amata towards the Fountain, but she shook her head.

The stream had washed away all regret for her lover, and she saw now that he had been cruel and faithless, and that it was happiness enough to be rid of him.

"Good sir, you must bathe, as a reward for all your chivalry!" she told Sir Luckless.

"What do you think he'd even ask for? To have his name changed?" Sirius kept picking at the idea while Remus and James snickered along.

So the knight clanked forth in the last rays of the setting sun, and bathed in the Fountain of Fair Fortune, astonished that he was the chosen one of hundreds and giddy with his incredible luck.

As the sun fell below the horizon, Sir Luckless emerged from the waters with the glory of his triumph upon him, and flung himself in his rusted armor at the feet of Amata, who was the kindest and most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. Flushed with success, he begged for her hand and her heart, and Amata, no less delighted, realized that she had found a man worthy of them.

The three witches and the knight set off down the hill together, arm in arm, and all four led long and happy lives, and none of them ever knew or suspected that the Fountain's waters carried no enchantment at all.

"Dun, dun, dun!" Sirius cried, throwing his arms in the air for emphasis.

"I've got to give him that one," James chuckled.

"I can see the moral it was going for, but remember it had chosen Asha first," Lily said with a creased brow. "If the water wasn't meant to heal, and the poor thing would have died by the journey of just getting up to the magical herbs that did heal her, than it's still a good thing she dragged someone along who knew what they were doing."

"Agreed, teamwork seems to be the point of it all," Harry said watching those around him, his mind on a much more recent memory from his past where he was sure he wouldn't have made it out anymore than his godfather if not for his friends backup.

Albus Dumbledore on "The Fountain of Fair Fortune"

"The Fountain of Fair Fortune" is a perennial favorite, so much so that it was the subject of the sole attempt to introduce a Christmas pantomime to Hogwarts' festive celebrations.

"Oh, this was it!" Remus burst out laughing.

"You mentioned the school tried to put on a play once, should have known it was Dumbledore's actual idea," Sirius snickered.

"Let me finish," Lily scolded, having read ahead and contradicting him.

Our then Herbology master, Professor Herbert Beery,1 an enthusiastic devotee of amateur dramatics, proposed an adaptation of this well-beloved children's tale as a Yuletide treat for staff and students.

"Ah well, lets see why it was such a disaster then," James said eagerly.

I was then a young Transfiguration teacher, and Herbert assigned me to "special effects", which included providing a fully functioning Fountain of Fair Fortune and a miniature grassy hill, up which our three heroines and hero would appear to march,

"We absolutely should have got those parts," Sirius huffed.

"Padfoot," Remus began slowly and kindly, "think about what you just said."

It took him a second, but his slightly pouting expression didn't change much. "Flip it to three hero's and a heroin then, Lily could totally be a knight."

"Thanks," she muttered, "I always do feel luckless with you around."

Sirius went wide-eyed but defended his claim, "come on Lily, you know it's perfect! Remus is Asha-"

"Because no one saw that coming," Moony said while giving him the stank eye.

"Prongs is Amata," he kept going on the same breath while James put his arm around Lily without contesting being love sick most of his life.

"-and you're the random person that got plopped down with us but we'd never replace."

She eyed him for a moment like she couldn't decide if she was supposed to be insulted or warmed by that, Sirius had a gift of managing both at the same time.

"Since when have you ever been poor and down on your luck?" Remus accused. "I think I should just play both parts."

"Let you steal the show?" Sirius gasped. "I can play a part!"

"Honestly, I think he has enough energy to play all four main characters," Harry muttered.

while it sank slowly into the stage and out of sight.

I think I may say, without vanity, that both my Fountain and my Hill performed the parts allotted to them with simple goodwill. Alas, that the same could not be said of the rest of the cast. Ignoring for a moment the antics of the gigantic "Worm" provided by our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Silvanus Kettleburn, the human element proved disastrous to the show. Professor Beery, in his role of director, had been dangerously oblivious to the emotional entanglements seething under his very nose. Little did he know that the students playing Amata and Sir Luckless had been boyfriend and girlfriend until one hour before the curtain rose, at which point "Sir Luckless" transferred his affections to "Asha".

"May as well have done a play over A Midsummer Night's Dream." Lily chuckled at how confusing all this could get.

Suffice it to say that our seekers after Fair Fortune never made it to the top of the Hill. The curtain had barely risen when Professor Kettleburn's 'Worm', now revealed to be an Ashwinder2 with an Engorgement Charm upon it,

"Whose terrible idea was that?" Remus muttered, then he remembered his old Care of Magical Creatures teacher hadn't exactly been any more steller than Harry's in recognizing when particular magical creatures should be in a situation.

exploded in a shower of hot sparks and dust, filling the Great Hall with smoke and fragments of scenery. While the enormous fiery eggs it had laid at the foot of my Hill ignited the floorboards, "Amata" and "Asha" turned upon each other, duelling so fiercely that Professor Beery was caught in the crossfire, and staff had to evacuate the Hall, as the inferno now raging onstage threatened to engulf the place. The night's entertainment concluded with a packed hospital wing; it was several months before the Great Hall lost its pungent aroma of wood smoke, and even longer before Professor Beery's head reassumed its normal proportions, and Professor Kettleburn was taken off probation.3

"And the school didn't want to try again?" James demanded. "Where's their sense of adventure?"

"Safe in the hospital wing," Lily giggled.

Headmaster Armando Dippet imposed a blanket ban on future pantomimes, a proud non-theatrical tradition that Hogwarts continues to this day.

"They are really missing out," Sirius insisted.

Our dramatic fiasco notwithstanding, "The Fountain of Fair Fortune" is probably the most popular of Beedle's tales, although, just like "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot", it has its detractors.

"Of course it does," James rolled his eyes.

More than one parent has demanded the removal of this particular tale from the Hogwarts library, including, by coincidence, a descendant of Brutus Malfoy and member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Mr. Lucius Malfoy. *

"Is Malfoy on the board of governors already?" Lily spluttered in pure disgust. Admittedly more outraged than anything he'd pulled so high in the Ministry while only being a few years above her and she was still at the bottom.

"There's a nightmare we need to fix soon," Remus agreed in disgust.

Mr. Malfoy submitted his demand for a ban on the story in writing:

Any work of fiction or non-fiction that depicts interbreeding between wizards and Muggles should be banned from the bookshelves of Hogwarts. I do not wish my son to be influenced into sullying the purity of his bloodline by reading stories that promote wizard-Muggle marriage.

"How dare he hear someone else's opinion on something," James mocked.

My refusal to remove the book from the library was backed by a majority of the Board of Governors. I wrote back to Mr. Malfoy, explaining my decision:

So-called pure-blood families maintain their alleged purity by disowning, banishing or lying about Muggles or Muggle-borns on their family trees. They then attempt to foist their hypocrisy upon the rest of us by asking us to ban works dealing with the truths they deny. There is not a witch or wizard in existence whose blood has not mingled with that of Muggles, and I should therefore consider it both illogical and immoral to remove works dealing with the subject from our students' store of knowledge.4

"And Malfoy didn't take to this idea? What a genuine astonishment," Sirius said dryly.

This exchange marked the beginning of Mr. Malfoy's long campaign to have me removed from my post as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and of mine to have him removed from his position as Lord Voldemort's Favorite Death Eater.

"A children's novel got those two started against each other," Lily said deadpan.

"Ah, it would have been something, I'm happier it's something memorable," James rolled his eyes.

"Oh look, they're are notes at the end of this one," Lily said in surprise.

"The man has notes on his notes?" Sirius demanded in disgust.

1Professor Beery eventually left Hogwarts to teach at W.A.D.A. (Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts) where, he once confessed to me, he maintained a strong aversion to mounting performances of this particular story, believing it to be unlucky.

Harry blinked slowly at the mention of that, suddenly a world of questions about other wizarding schools popping to mind he'd have to ask about later. He was more surprised than anything Sirius hadn't gone there.

2 See Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them for a definitive description of this curious beast. It ought never to be voluntarily introduced into a wood-panelled room, nor have an Engorgement Charm placed upon it.

"Anyone sensible could have told them that," Remus rolled his eyes.

3 Professor Kettleburn survived no fewer than sixty-two periods of probation during his employment as Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

"Kettleburn just got better in my memories!" Sirius burst out laughing.

His relations with my predecessor at Hogwarts, Professor Dippet, were always strained, Professor Dippet considering him to be somewhat reckless. By the time I became Headmaster, however, Professor Kettleburn had mellowed considerably, although there were always those who took the cynical view that with only one and a half of his original limbs remaining to him, he was forced to take life at a quieter pace.

"A shame, we might sympathize with Hagrid more since Kettleburn seems exactly like him when he started," Remus chuckled.

"On the plus side, if the pattern continues, hopefully that means Hagrid will continue to mellow out as well," Harry said with a wry smile.

4 My response prompted several further letters from Mr. Malfoy, but as they consisted mainly of opprobrious remarks on my sanity, parentage and hygiene, their relevance to this commentary is remote.

"I disagree, those sound extremely relevant!" James protested.

He was ignored as Lily told this one was done.

HPHPHPHPHP

*First and only time, hopefully, I'll have to edit these books for my purposes. The actual line is 'one-time' member of the board, but of course he hasn't been taken off yet. I believe the timeline of Dumbledore writing for this happened sometime between books two and three, when he was still looking for the other Deathly Hollows as a side project, but due to the purposes of this fic it's obviously been modified a bit more.

[mrsrhys23]

I wish you'd write a fic where Riley is really worried about the costume ball. I feel like PB did do a great job there, I find it difficult to believe they would all just go back into the ballroom without a fuss after what happened in there at the Homecoming ball I'd also like it if Riley had been shot that night as well as Drake just to make it more scary for her to go back in there.

Thanks for the request Nonny!

I got quite carried away with this and now I have 2077 words...

I agree with you that  Riley and everybody else probably wouldn't, in real life, be able to just go back in there after what took place. 

Warnings: Angst, PTSD.

Permatag: @itschoicesstuff, @addictedtochoiceslove,@desiree-0816, @cordoniaqueensworld

It was the night after the art gallery that somehow, despite all the odds, Riley managed to make into something salvageable and not a complete disaster, like it was destined to be at the start of the day.

She had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling for most of the night, unable to sleep. Sleep hadn’t been something that had been coming easy for Riley since the homecoming ball.

After spending another half an hour staring at the celling she climbed out of bed and headed to Liam’s room. Liam answered after a few knocks.

“Riley, you alright?” Liam asked, his brow creased  in concern.

“Can we talk please?” 

“Yes,” Liam nodded, allowing her into his room. They took a seat on his bed. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“The wedding,” Riley muttered. 

“What about it?”

I’m not sure we should go ahead at least until we know who’s behind the assassination attempts and the videos,” Riley explained, twisting her hands together nervously. “At the homecoming ball people got hurt…. another social event like that one, especially with it being the royal wedding its seems like the perfect time for them to try again. The anti- monarchy wants us dead. I know we have to appear that we are not frightened but I am. After I… after I got shot… the wedding, the costume ball tomorrow,  I don’t know if I can do it.  I’m probably just being stupid, but that thought of being in the sort of situation again Liam…”

“Mara and Bastien will have the security side of everything covered,” Liam reassured, but that did very little to assuage his fiancée’s fears. “Do you really want to postpone the wedding?”

“No.  No, I don’t. I’m scared, Liam, I am really, really scared. I want to marry you more than anything. This was all a lot simpler when I came here, when I was ‘the mystery woman’ from New York. Everything I do, every move I make I’m being watched. My life is an open book there for everyone to see. It’s tough. I’m expected to be perfect and I don’t know how to be. I suppose it’s easier for you because you’ve grown up in the spotlight. You probably think I’m being ungrateful,” Riley explained, fighting back a few tears.

“No. I understand,” Liam told her, reaching for her hand.

“It’s not just that… The thought of tomorrows ball….It’s just bringing a lot of memories from that night back…”

Liam squeezed her hand tightly, prompting her to look up at him instead of at her hands in her lap. “Do you maybe want to talk to someone about it?” Liam asked, his thumb rubbing soothing circles along her knuckles. 

“The duchess needs counselling,” Riley scoffed, “Wait until the press get hold of that. All that will prove is that the crown was affected.  

“You got shot that night people will understand.”

 “I’m going to ask Madeline in the morning to set up a press conference. There’s a few things I want to say, and I want It to come from me before it ends up in the papers another way.”

“Okay,” Liam  nodded. “It seems like a good idea to probably consult our friends, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Riley said, giving Liam as small smile. 

“We better get some sleep,” Liam suggested.

“Yes. I better go back to my room. Maxwell will be worried if I’m not there as he is my alarm clock,” Riley explained, getting to her feet and walking over to the door with Liam.

“About that…When we can actually sleep in the same bed can we get a proper alarm clock?”

“Yes,” Riley chuckled. “Good night your majesty.”

“Goodnight duchess.”

_

The next morning Riley  met Madeline in the boutique at Kiara’s estate before going outside doing the press conference, that Madeline had set up extremely quickly, then heading back to the palace for the ball later that evening.

 “Everything for the conference is set up, now you need something to wear,” Madeleine said, looking through the different clothes on the racks.

“You know Madeline I can pick out my own outfit,” Riley mentioned.

“Yes,” Madeline sighed, turning to face the future monarch, “Do you know what you’re going to say today?”

“Yes. Me and the king discussed it last night.”

“Well I hope that you know what you’re doing.”

I do. As does Liam.”

“I have no doubt that Liam does but you on the other hand, Duchess Riley.” 

“Thank you for your concern Madeline but I am getting the hang of this. I have an announcement of my own to make.”

”Just don’t screw it up,” Madeline snarled.

“I won’t.”

_

The royal couple stepped outside of Kiara’s lovely home and over to the podium that had been set up on the steps, herds of people and press swarming around.

Riley stepped up to the podium, Liam standing just behind her letting her take the lead. She adjusted the microphone slightly, took in a deep breath then started talking.

“So most of, if not all of you are probably wondering why this press conference if even being held. I, as future queen want to feel like I’m doing all that I possibly can…I watch the news, I read the newspapers, I’ve seen the headlines…After the attack, the videos, the orchard it’s getting harder to reassure everyone in the kingdom.  You all absolutely have a right to be worried, but we are doing everything in our power to find whoever is doing this. But how can we expect you all to feel like you’re safe if we don’t share the information as we receive it? We have reason to believe it is someone from the anti- monarchy and after their assassination attempts failed they resort to terrorising you, the people of Cordonia. Just because of this it doesn’t mean you have to abandon your normal day to day lives and be scared, because if you do that then they win, I understand that more than most,” Riley said, turning to Liam, who gave her a reassuring smile.

Liam stepped forward, sensing Riley’s reluctance. “As everyone knows the night of the homecoming ball Duchess Riley was very unfortunately injured during the attack at the  palace. In an effort to help my fiancée, you’re future queen in getting back to herself she has decided, with the support of myself and our friends to attend some counselling sessions-”

When Riley heard the crowds murmurs she stepped forward again, adjusting the microphone on the podium slightly.

“I know what you must all be thinking....We’ve made out that the crown was not affected and that was wrong, I think everyone in a way was affected by what happened, one way or another. And that’s okay. If we continue to make out we werent then everything we say and do will be dictated by that lie. By the anti- monarchy. I will not be stepping down from any of my royal duties, I hope I will be able to do more afterwards though.

“How did the shooting affect you exactly?” Ana asked, stepping forward in the crowd.

“I nearly died,” Riley blurted out.

“Are you saying that the press and people were misinformed of the severity of your injuries?” Anna asked.

Riley swallowed hard, looking down at the podium then back up at the people. She felt Liam grab her hand, squeezing it tightly. The simple action made her believe she could do this.

“It was a very emotional time,” she explained.

“It’s okay,” Liam whispered in her ear.

“It was not released to the public domain at the time and maybe that was wrong, but I got shot. When you get shot Miss de luca then you can tell me why you wouldn’t want a whole country to know the severity of it. I have never and will never let that get in the way of ruling this kingdom. I will continue to do my best for everyone here, for every man, woman and child and that is a promise. On the unity tour, while we were in Applewood, there were two children who used to play where the orchard was, but they couldn’t because of the scorched ground so we played with them, we spent time with them and that just reminded me of how important our roles are. How many people rely on us. When you are relied upon so much you will not, and you will never let anything, not even a bullet stand in your way. I’m not perfect and I’m done trying to be. I’m just a woman trying to do her best. Isn’t that what everyone here is trying to do? That’s all I have to say on the matter.” 

_

After the Constantine drama, they all returned to the palace. In the early evening, before Riley needed to get changed she trotted through the halls of the palace to the ballroom where staff were finishing all the preparations.  

She opened the doors, taking in a deep breath then walked in. Flashes of that night going through her head, she closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly as if that action could make those memories that were flooding back go away.

She turned, facing where it happened. It all happened so quickly, the lights went out, they came back on and she was staring down a barrel of a gun, frozen, unable to move, think. She remembered being tackled to the floor, she remembered Drake landing on her, his blood going everywhere, the fiery pain she felt in her stomach as the world darkened around her, hearing Liam pleading with her to stay awake…

“What are you doing in here?” Drake asked, snapping her out of her daze. Riley opened her eyes, noticing the staff had all left, leaving only her and her friend in the massive ballroom.

“Tonight we’re supposed to come back in here and act like nothing happened…This is the first time I’ve been back in here,” Riley explained.

“Me too.”

“I’m glad the unity tour is over.. But being back properly at the palace especially tonight… I just don’t know if I can do it. I thought maybe coming in here now before tonight would I don’t know… Do you ever think about that night?” She asked, turning to him.

“No,” he insisted shaking his head.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes widening, she thought about it all the time.

“Well occasionally,” Drake shrugged.

“We still don’t know how they got in.”

“But at least precautions have been put in place.”

“Yeah but…”

“At the homecoming ball it was unexpected, no one thought it was even a possibility. But this time everyone’s ready. You need to stop worrying about it Brooks,” Drake said, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“You know Neville’s going to be here, right?” Riley said, eager to change the subject.

“Don’t remind me,” Drake grumbled, “I promise I will try my best not to punch him.”

“He is irritating,” she agreed.

“I thought the future queen was supposed to like everyone?”

“I can just about tolerate him but liking him? Never,” Riley shuddered, causing herself to smile and Drake.

“How are you, Brooks?”

“I’m Fine. why?”

“After the press conference...”

“Yeah, that was eventful,” Riley reminisced. “I know marrying Liam that the press will always be involved, but it’s just… it’s exhausting. Questions about that…I just don’t know how to answer them without yelling at her. Sometimes I just wish we were all normal and did normal things.

“Normal? Normal is overrated. And me and you we were normal. Would you really want to go back to that?”

“No, well maybe sometimes.”

“’Sometimes’ meaning when your yelling at the press?”

“Yeah,” Riley nodded, “Me and Liam are being announced together to night. I can’t believe this is actually happening, that we’re actually getting married. When that stuff with Tariq happened and then he was engaged to madeleine and it was all just a mess and it wasn’t that long ago. At the coronation it all fell apart, and I can’t help but feel it will again.”

“It won’t. Your marrying Liam in two weeks,” Drake told her.

“A lot can go wrong in two weeks. It took five minutes for that to happen.”

“Oh, you need to lighten up Brooks. You really do,” Drake advised.

“Drake?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” Riley smiled, pulling him into a hug.

[kawaiikichi]

Always Have, Always Will (Kuroken Week Day 5)

Fifth post for Kuroken Week 2018! The prompts for today are Pining or Swap (body, gender, etc) AU. I chose pining because who doesn’t like characters pining for someone? I decided on doing something along the lines of mutual pining (at some point, I didn’t even know what I was writing about anymore XD).

Title: Always Have, Always Will

Prompt(s): Pining of Swap (body, gender, etc) AU

Summary: Kenma has liked Kuroo for as long as he could remember, keeping his feelings a secret in fear that their friendship would fall apart because of it. Kuroo also feels the same way, but believes that Kenma doesn’t like him that way, so he gets himself in a relationship in hopes of getting over Kenma. Distraught by the news, Kenma decides to vanish from Kuroo’s life and doesn’t show back up in it until ten years later...

One-Shot Notes: I promise you that endgame is Kuroken, it just takes some time to get there; some angst sprinkled in here and there

One-shot is under the cut!

Kenma couldn’t recall when exactly it happened. All he knew was that he was in love with his best friend, Kuroo.

It had started as admiration towards him before developing into affection and eventually, love.

He had these feelings for Kuroo and yet, he couldn’t do anything about them. He certainly couldn’t tell Kuroo how he felt about him. He feared that if he did, then their ten years of friendship would ultimately be shattered. Kuroo would become disgusted by him and decide to distance himself from him so that he would have nothing to do with him. Just the thought made Kenma sick to his stomach.

So, he decided it was best to keep quiet about his feelings for him.

It didn’t matter if it hurt.

It didn’t matter if his feelings were never reciprocated.

He had to protect their friendship.

If he could keep their friendship the way it was, then he wouldn’t mind keeping his love locked away.

He could bear with it...couldn’t he?

❤️🖤❤️🖤

Kuroo could clearly recall when exactly he had fallen for his best friend, Kenma.

It was his tenth birthday. Kenma had come over for a sleepover at Kuroo’s house. At the time, Kuroo’s parents weren’t exactly on good terms and fought frequently. That day wasn’t any different.

His parents had started arguing loudly after the two boys went to sleep for the night. Kuroo had started crying upon hearing the arguing and Kenma held him, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words to him. He then wiped away Kuroo’s tears and kissed him on the forehead, causing Kuroo to calm down and stop crying.

To Kenma, who was nothing more than an innocent nine year old at the time, he probably did it because he believed that a simple forehead kiss would be enough to assuage Kuroo and get him to stop crying. But to Kuroo, it did things to him. He started feeling things that a ten year old boy wouldn’t have ever imagined feeling.

That night, he had fallen in love with Kenma Kozume.

But, he had this feeling that Kenma didn’t feel the same way. He still acted like he usually did around him. Lev kept insisting that Kenma liked him too, but he knew better than to believe anything Lev said.

Eventually, he began to lose faith in his love for Kenma. He started convincing himself that Kenma didn’t feel the same way and that he should just hurry up and move on.

So, when Chinatsu, a girl in his grade, had approached him with a confession letter, he saw it as an opportunity to move on from Kenma.

Maybe a relationship with someone was something he needed at the moment.

He looked up as Chinatsu made her way over to him, dirty blonde hair pulled into a simple braid.

“G-Good afternoon, Kuroo-kun! I heard that you wanted to talk to me?” she asked.

“I did, Hashimoto-san.” he pushed himself off the wall and turned so that he was facing her. “So, I thought over your confession. I wouldn’t mind if we started going out.” he said.

“R-Really?” her cheeks flushed red as she stared at him in surprise.

“Yeah. Besides, I think you’re pretty cute.” he smiled. “I have a thing for girls with long hair, after all.” he said.

“I...I see...” she trailed off.

“So, seeing as we’re dating now, you don’t have to be so formal with me. It’s only natural to be on first name basis. Don’t you think so, Chinatsu?” he asked.

“Ah! Y...You’re right!” Chinatsu exclaimed.

“Indeed. So, I’ll call you Chinatsu and you can call me Tetsurou. Sound good?” he asked.

Chinatsu nodded.

“Yes...” he watched her expectantly, waiting for her to say his name. “...Tetsurou.” she said.

Kuroo smiled.

“Great.”

❤️🖤❤️🖤

Kenma and Lev were in the gym later that evening, Kenma helping the first year with his spiking practice. Yaku was there as well, throwing the volleyballs so that Kenma could set them for Lev.

As they went through the motions, they talked about what happened during school hours. Yaku brought up some gossip that started floating around the third years pertaining one of the professors, Lev talked about his home ec class, and Kenma mentioned the cat he saw during lunch break.

Kenma set another ball for Lev, watching him spike it as Yaku spoke.

“Man, practice felt so weird today.” he commented.

“You mean when Kuro ended up leaving early, right?” Kenma asked.

Yaku nodded as he grabbed for another volleyball.

“Yeah! That guy never leaves early, especially when it comes to volleyball!” he pointed out.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Kuroo-senpai has a girlfriend now!” Lev chirped.

Yaku threw the volleyball for Kenma to set for Lev, but it ended up hitting the net instead. Kenma stood where he was, eyes slowly widening.

“Wait...what?” he asked.

“He didn’t tell you? That’s surprising. I thought that since you’re his closest friend, he would’ve told you first.” Lev noted.

Kenma slowly shook his head.

“No...I never heard anything like that...” he trailed off.

“He actually has a girlfriend? What a shock.” Yaku drawled sarcastically.

“He does! Her name is Chinatsu Hashimoto. She’s also a third year, just like Kuroo-senpai!” Lev explained.

Lev’s voice sounded far away as Kenma tried to make sense of what was going on.

Kuroo is dating someone.

Kuroo is dating a girl.

Kuroo is dating someone and he never heard about it.

Kuroo.

Is.

Dating.

Someone.

He felt sick, his stomach turning as Lev spoke.

“It kind of sucks that he’s dating someone now, though.” he shot a glance at Kenma. “If you had just told him how you felt about him, then this could’ve been avoided.” he stated.

Yaku arched a brow in confusion.

“Huh? Tell Kuroo how he feels?” he reached for another ball. “Am I missing something here?” he asked.

“Yeah! You see—“

“No, you’re just imagining things. Lev’s spouting out bullshit, as usual.” Kenma cut Lev off, raising his voice a little higher than he would like.

“I’m not spouting bullshit! It’s the tru—“

“I need to go to the locker room and grab my jacket!” Kenma reached up to rub his arms. “Man, is it cold in here or is it just me?” he asked.

He began to make his way out of the gym.

“I’ll be back soon!” he called out from over his shoulder.

“Uh...alright?” Yaku answered uncertainly as Kenma stepped out of the gym.

Once he was out of their line of vision, his hands dropped from his arms and he began running towards the locker room, his heart constricting painfully.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

He should’ve known that this was bound to happen eventually. Kuroo was going to find himself a cute girlfriend that suited his tastes and start going out with her. He was going to spoil her and spend more time with her and forget that Kenma existed.

He knew this was eventually going to happen and yet it hurt so damn much.

He pushed the locker room door open and he stumbled in, closing it behind him just in time for the tears to start spilling out of his eyes. He choked on sobs, body shaking as he slumped down onto on the floor with his face in his hands.

He knew unrequited love hurt, but was it supposed to hurt this much?

He sobbed louder, head tipping back to rest against the door.

Maybe he wouldn’t have loved Kuroo if he knew being in love with him would hurt to the point of him breaking down.

If he had known earlier...he wouldn’t have loved at all.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

Kenma stopped coming to school. He even stopped coming to practice.

It was like he had mysteriously dropped off the face of the earth.

And that concerned Kuroo.

He hadn’t heard anything from his friend ever since he had gotten together with Chinatsu. He never texted, he never called, and every time Kuroo came by to see him, he would claim to be feeling under the weather. He didn’t even show up for the third year’s graduation ceremony.

Kuroo found himself in front of Kenma’s house after the graduation ceremony. He gripped his diploma in his hand.

You can’t turn back now, Kuroo. It’s now or never, he told himself.

“Um...should I knock on the door?” he heard Chinatsu speak hesitantly beside him.

“Ah...uh, yeah, you can.” he replied.

Chinatsu nodded before reaching over and knocking on the door.

The door opened moments later to reveal Kenma’s mother, who had a grim look on her face.

“Oh...Tetsurou...” she trailed off.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kozume.” he greeted.

She then looked over at Chinatsu.

“And this is?” she asked.

“Ah, this is Chinatsu. She’s my girlfriend.” he looked at Chinatsu. “Chinatsu, this is Kenma’s mother.” he introduced.

“Ah! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kozume!” she greeted as she bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.” Mrs. Kozume replied.

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrowed at the distressed look on the older woman’s face.

“Is something the matter? You look really upset, Mrs. Kozume.” he commented.

Almost instantly, she burst into tears.

“Oh, it’s just so terrible...” she trailed off.

Kuroo swallowed as he looked at her.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Kenma, he...he’s not here!” she exclaimed.

Kuroo felt his heart begin to pound against his rib cage.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I...I found a note in his room...I think he ran away...” she spoke in between sobs.

His heart dropped.

“I need to see it for myself.” he said before stepping into the house and making his way over to the staircase.

“Ah! Wait up, Tetsurou!” Chinatsu called out as she took off after him.

He raced up the stairs and stormed down the hall to Kenma’s room. The bedroom door was open slightly when Kuroo approached it, stepping into the room.

The room was abnormally clean, the window open to let a cool breeze blow through. It felt like Kenma had never slept in there, to begin with.

His eye caught a yellow piece of paper sitting atop the bed sheets. He made his way over to it, picking it up and reading what was written on it.

I need to disappear for a while. I don’t know when I’ll come back, but I just need to be alone. I’ll try and contact you once I get settled in. I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. Also, make sure to tell Kuro not to worry about me. I’ll be fine. Also, make sure he’s not lonely. I’ll become worried if that’s the case. Again, I truly am sorry.

-Kenma

Kuroo felt a constricting pain in his chest as he read the note. He felt himself begin to choke up as he heard Chinatsu speak.

“Tetsurou?” she called out, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder.

He stiffened at the touch.

“I...I need to be alone for a little bit. Can you please go downstairs and comfort Mrs. Kozume for me?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Oh...yes, of course...” she trailed off.

She removed her hand from his shoulder and she left the room. As soon as she left, something warm and wet began trickling down his cheek. He reached up to swipe it away and realized that he was crying.

“What the...why am I...?” he wondered out loud, his voice was thick with tears.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he stared at the note again.

He had trouble pinpointing what caused him to start crying. He didn’t know if it was the note Kenma left behind, how empty his room was, or the fact that Kenma had run away to begin with, but it was something about this situation that cued the waterworks.

A lump had begun to form in his throat as he tried to think of what made Kenma decide to run away. He knew that Kenma had been acting strangely as of late, but he couldn’t think of anything specific that would upset Kenma enough to push him to leave. But, for some reason, he felt like it had something to do with him.

The thought stung a little.

He swallowed, hoping to get rid of the lump in his throat as he continued silently crying.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

Kuroo had decided to help find Kenma.

He went to places where he felt Kenma would be at, turning up with nothing each time.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

Months turned into years.

Eventually, Kuroo just...gave up.

Maybe Kenma didn’t want to be found, he would tell himself sometimes.

And that hurt more than anything in the world.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

-Ten Years Later-

Kenma finished pulling his hair back into a small ponytail as there was a knock on the door.

“Yes, come in.” he called out.

The door opened to reveal a male with curly black hair and blue eyes behind white-rimmed glasses.

“Are you almost ready? We have to get going to the venue.” the male asked.

“I know, Keiichirou.” Kenma replied.

He gave himself one last look in the mirror, watching himself in the tuxedo that he wore. He found that he had changed quite a bit, choosing to stick with black hair and he had gotten two, silver hoop helix piercings two years ago. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip before standing up.

“Alright, let’s go.” he said, turning to face Keiichirou.

“Alright.” Keiichirou replied.

Kenma’s hand slipped into Keiichirou‘s as they stepped out of the room. They headed out of the apartment and proceeded to take the elevator down to the lobby.

“So...” Kenma watched the floor numbers decrease. “You were saying that the engagement party is for one of your coworkers, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. He proposed to her about two months ago.” Keiichirou explained.

“Oh...is that so...” Kenma trailed off.

They arrived at the lobby and they headed out towards Keiichirou’s vehicle, which was a deep blue Audi. They got in and Keiichirou began to drive them to the venue.

Soft music played on the radio. Keiichirou had his eyes on the road while Kenma stared out the window, watching the city lights whilst drumming his fingers along his clothed thigh.

Keiichirou released a small sigh as he turned onto the highway.

“You’re still not over him, are you?” he spoke.

Kenma’s breath hitched, his fingers coming to a stop. He rested his hand flat against his thigh as he continued staring outside.

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about, Keiichirou.” he stated.

“You do, Kenma. I’m talking about Kuroo.” Keiichirou said.

Kenma bit his lip, thoughts of Kuroo beginning to swirl through his mind. A single day hadn’t gone by when he didn’t think of him. He wondered if Kuroo worried about him, if he had tried searching for him.

When Kenma had gone to the States with Hinata and Kageyama for college, he had met Keiichirou and decided to date him in order to distract himself from his feelings for Kuroo. Yes, he had developed some feelings for Keiichirou.

But, in the end, he could never love Keiichirou as much as he loved Kuroo.

“You know, you seemed like you were having a bad dream last night, so I tried to wake you up. Then, I heard you say Kuroo’s name. So, I kind of figured that you still aren’t over him.” Keiichirou commented.

“I’m over him. I’ve been over him for a long time now.” Kenma stated.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re over him, Kenma.” Keiichirou said.

Kenma swallowed at Keiichirou’s request. He breathed a small sigh before turning to look at Keiichirou.

“I’m over him, Keiichirou. I don’t have feelings for him anymore.” he stated.

Keiichirou exited off the highway and stopped the car at a traffic light. He turned to look at Kenma, examining his features. He then shook his head.

“I can tell when you lie.” he reached out and poked at Kenma’s cheek. “You have this thing where you bite the inside of your mouth after you tell a lie.” he stated.

Kenma lowered his gaze, knowing that he couldn’t fool him any longer.

Damn him for choosing to date a psychologist.

“You don’t need to feel bad, Kenma. I knew that this was going to happen eventually. Besides, you only began dating me because you wanted to stop thinking about Kuroo.” Keiichirou stated.

“But Keiichirou, I—“ he cut Kenma off.

“I know. You did begin to develop feelings for me at some point, but in the end, your feelings for Kuroo overpower your feelings for me.” the light turned green and Keiichirou turned left. “You know, I’ve been thinking this over for a while, but...I think we should break up.” he stated.

Kenma watched Keiichirou in surprise.

“Keiichirou—“

“I just don’t think it’s fair for me to be with you when it’s obvious your heart belongs to someone else. So, after tonight, we’ll break up.” the engagement party venue, which was a fancy hotel that looked like it came straight out of Paris, came into view. “I’ll begin to move everything out and I’ll just stay by a friend of mine until I’m able to find a place for myself. So, you don’t have to worry about moving out or anything.” Keiichirou explained.

Kenma wanted to say something in response, but decided not to as Keiichirou pulled into a parking spot. He cut the engine and the two of them got out of the vehicle.

“...I’m sorry.” Kenma apologized.

“You don’t need to apologize, Kenma.” Keiichirou replied as they made their way into the hotel.

“Okay...” Keiichirou pulled out the invitations from his tuxedo pants pocket and he looked them over. “So, the engagement party is being held on the second floor in the Mockingbird Ballroom...” he trailed off.

Keiichirou led Kenma up a spiral staircase to the second floor and they headed down the hall towards the ballroom. Kenma observed the vintage decorations in the hallway as they approached the ballroom. Keiichirou pushed the door open and they walked in.

The venue gave off an elegant feel with the fancy decor used to decorate the venue. There were many people crowded around by tables, conversing casually with one another.

Kenma swallowed as he looked around at his surroundings. He had never done well in social situations and this time wasn’t any different.

He then felt Keiichirou slip his hand into his own.

“It’ll be fine. Just stay close to me.” Keiichirou said.

Kenma slowly nodded as he let Keiichirou lead the way.

“Hm, I can’t seem to find Heisuke...” Keiichirou spotted someone up ahead. “Ah, that’s one of my coworkers. Maybe she knows where he is.” he cleared his throat. “Hashimoto-san!” he called out.

Hashimoto turned, smiling upon seeing Keiichirou.

“Ah, Tachibana-kun!” she responded.

She nudged the male standing beside her and said something to him as Keiichirou and Kenma got closer.

Kenma couldn’t help but notice that the male next to Hashimoto looked oddly familiar. The male turned and then, Kenma felt his breath catch.

The same hairstyle.

The same eye color.

The same facial features.

Kenma couldn’t mistaken him for anyone else. It was him.

Kuroo looked just as surprised the moment they locked eyes. His hazel eyes were wide as he continued to stare at him.

Hashimoto smiled as she waved.

“Hi, Tachibana-kun!” she greeted as she moved in to hug him.

As Hashimoto and Keiichirou engaged in small talk, Kenma found himself gazing at Kuroo.

Kuroo looked like he didn’t change much in the past ten years. From his hairstyle to the build of his body, he looked like the Kuroo he had known from way back then.

All at once, his feelings for him sprung up to the surface. He felt tears begin to fill up in his eyes as Keiichirou spoke.

“Ah, I should probably introduce you guys. This is—“

“Kenma...” Kuroo trailed off.

“K...Kuro...” Kenma breathed out.

A look of surprise momentarily flashed through Keiichirou’s eyes, but it quickly vanished as he cleared his throat.

“Do you two...know each other?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re childhood friends.” Kuroo replied.

“Is that so...” Keiichirou trailed off.

Kenma noticed how Hashimoto was eyeing him curiously and suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable.

“Ah, I’m thirsty. I’m going to go get something to drink.” Kenma looked at Keiichirou. “I’ll be back.” he said.

Keiichirou nodded.

“Alright.” he replied.

He brought Kenma’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles as Kenma’s hand slipped out of Keiichirou’s. Kenma failed to notice the look that crossed Kuroo’s face as he disappeared into the crowd.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

After downing three glasses of red wine, Kenma found himself on a balcony overlooking the hotel’s courtyard with a bottle of wine that he snuck out from the ballroom.

He hiccuped, clumsily popping off the cork and taking a swig as he leaned against the balcony banister. He let out a yawn as he heard a voice call out to him from behind.

“Finally found you.”

Kenma didn’t respond as he watched Kuroo move to stand next to him out of the corner of his eye. Kuroo rested his arms against the balcony’s banister, leaning against it.

“It’s been a while. Ten years, to be exact.” Kuroo shot a glance in Kenma’s direction. “How have you been?” he asked.

“Meh...been fine, I guess...” Kenma mumbled, eyes trained on the fountain in the courtyard.

“Is that so...” Kuroo trailed off.

Kenma brought the bottle back to his lips, taking another swig from it as Kuroo spoke.

“That guy...who exactly is he?” Kuroo asked.

“Mmmm...my ex...” Kenma mumbled.

“Your ex?” Kuroo arched a brow in confusion. “With the way he was holding and kissing your hand, it didn’t seem like he was your ex.” he pointed out.

“Iz cuz we broke up on the ride here...also...” Kenma turned his head to the side to look at him. “The hell do you care...? Go back to your chick or something and stop bugging me...” he grumbled.

“My chick?” Kuroo questioned.

“You know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout...” Kenma hiccuped, pushing himself away from the balcony. “If you ain’t gonna go, then I’ll just go first.” he said.

He took a small swig from the bottle before turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. As he was about to step back into the hotel hallway, he heard Kuroo call out to him.

“Why did you leave?”

Kenma turned, eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed red.

“Huh...? What you talkin’ ‘bout?” he asked.

“Ten years ago. Why did you leave? You never contacted me or anyone else during that time. We all thought something had happened to you! I was worried out of my mind! So, why?! Why did you up and leave like that?!” Kuroo asked.

“I left because of you, you stupid Kuro!” Kenma snapped.

Kuroo blinked his eyes in surprise.

“What?” he questioned.

“You heard me! I left cuz of—hic!—you!” Kenma took another swig from the bottle. “These feelings...everything I felt towards you...it all hurt! It hurt and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it!” he shouted.

“Wait, what? Feelings? Kenma, I don’t think I—“

“Goddammit, Kuro, I’m in love with you!” he threw the bottle on the ground, letting it smash into pieces as tears streamed down Kenma’s cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long that I can’t even remember when I started feeling this way towards you! I wanted to confess to you so badly, but I feared that if I did, you would find me disgusting and end our friendship! So, I kept quiet about it. And then...And then that stupid girl came into the picture and when...and when Lev told me you were dating her, I couldn’t take it anymore! I stopped coming to school because I didn’t know how I would’ve reacted if I had seen you with her. I felt like I was going to become a hindrance to your relationship and I just decided to up and, well, leave. I tried getting over you, I really did. Hell, I even began dating Keiichirou when I had gone to the States with Hinata and Kageyama and yet, I couldn’t let you go. I wanted to stop loving you, but here I am, still in love with you!” he screamed.

Kuroo could only stare as Kenma dissolved into sobs, hugging himself tightly.

“You’re...in love with me...” he trailed off.

“You see...?” Kenma hiccuped. “You’re disgusted, I knew you would be...!” he shouted.

“I’m not disgusted! It’s just...I wasn’t expecting the reason behind your disappearance was because of that...” Kuroo trailed off.

Kenma snorted.

“That? That’s all it is to you? Just that?” Kenma let out a halfhearted chuckle. “I figured it wouldn’t mean much to you...” he said.

He diverted his gaze to the ground.

“Go back to that girl you were with...I just need some time to compose myself—“

“Kenma.”

“What n—“ Kenma drew in a gasp as Kuroo strode over to him.

He began backing up until his back hit the balcony door and Kuroo pinned him to it, cupping his head and leaning in. Kenma had little time to react as Kuroo captured his lips in a kiss.

Kenma’s eyes widened in shock, tears spilling down his cheeks. He moved his hands to try and push Kuroo away, but he found his hands fisting themselves in Kuroo’s coat as Kuroo pulled away.

“I really wish you had said something ten years ago.” Kuroo said.

“Huh...?” Kenma questioned in surprise.

“If you had just confessed to me ten years ago, then we wouldn’t be here right now. We could’ve been together by now. Hell, we could’ve even be married at this point.” Kuroo stated.

“I don’t understand what you mean...how could we possibly date and get married if you were with that—“

“I never loved her, okay?! I only dated her out of pure convenience!” Kuroo cupped Kenma’s cheeks. “The only reason I was with her to begin with was because I thought you didn’t like me back! Can’t you see, Kenma?! The person that I’m in love with is you!” he shouted.

Kenma blinked up at him, heart beating rapidly against his rib cage.

“You...love me...?” he whispered out.

“I always have and I always will, Kenma.” Kuroo said.

Kenma choked on a sob as Kuroo leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

“I...I love you so, so much, Kuro...” he said in between sobs.

“I know you do. I love you just as much, Kenma.” Kuroo said before closing the distance between them.

[olicitysecretsanta]

We Three Queens

We Three Queens

Hi Kathi (@smkkbert), I am your Secret Santa! I hope this season has been filled with much love for you and your loved ones. I adore so much of your fanfiction, and for your gift I’ve written you a Queen family holiday fluff fic. I hope that this story brings you some joy! Merry Christmas xo - Shelley (@smoakmonster)

Summary: A look into three Christmas adventures of Oliver, Felicity, and William.

Word Count: 3810

xoxo

2017

“What about this one?”

Oliver adjusts his grip around the eight-foot frasier fir, spinning the tree for inspection, sap sticking to his fingertips and branches prickling his skin.

Yet even as he struggles in the bitter cold–not quite as cold as Lian Yu, but his hands seem to be forgetting that–and feigns more casual control over the tree than he actually feels, the matching frowns both his wife and son are wearing fill his chest with an inexplicable, bubbling warmth and help keep him steady.

“I don’t know.” Felicity tips her head, biting her lower lip as she studies the tree with about as much intensity as she often studies her computers in the bunker, as though the decision were a matter of life and death and not merely a few inches in height preference.

At the rate his family is taking to make a decision, propping up this tree for another five minutes just might be the death of him.

Masked gunmen and Mirakuru soldiers and doppelgangers…and the Green Arrow is going to be undone by a Christmas tree. It’s fitting in a way, he supposes.

“What do you think, William?” she asks.

William shakes his head. “Yeah, this one’s no good. I think we need to go taller.”

“Taller?” Oliver counters.

“I agree,” chimes Felicity, ignoring Oliver’s huff of impatience. “And more poofy at the bottom. More Christmas-y.”

Oliver shoots her a half-irritated-half-amused look as he begrudgingly relinquishes the tree still clinging to his skin and moves into the nine-foot section.

But before he can so much as reach for yet another potential candidate, his wife lets out an excited shriek and darts ahead of him, running with unabashed glee to the large, easily ten-foot display tree standing at the center of the lot.

“William? What is your expert assessment? Should we do the lean test?”

William nods enthusiastically.

Oliver just shakes his head with a slow, contented grin, watching Felicity and William sway from side to side in synchronized fashion and walk the circumference of the base of the tree and run their hands through the long, bristling branches.

“Dad, I think this is the one.”

“I agree,” Felicity nods gleefully under her gray beanie, her face beaming with a smile he’s never had the strength to refuse and her cheeks blooming with a radiant pink from the cold that somehow makes her even more appealing than usual. She’s even more giddy about this endeavor than William.

“And it’s a noble fir, so it’s less likely to shed–not that we’re allergic, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“Felicity,” Oliver practically whines her name.

“Oliver,” she whines right back, matching his deep tone. “Come on, this tree is perfect.”

“This tree is excessive.”

“Says the guy who once told me his friends were participating in a–” she lifts her hands to perform a playful air quote, her ring catching a brief flick of sunlight– “‘scavenger hunt’ using black-ops level security.”

Oliver shuts his eyes, moaning a sigh, feeling the weight of determination drain from his body.

He knows he’s lost. But strangely, it doesn’t feel like a defeat. Surrendering to her is nothing like his battles on the streets or the cosmic battle that used to rage within himself. No, this surrender is peaceful, easy, right. This is why he’s kept fighting his enemies and chasing his fears for so long, for the sake of silly, simple, wonderful little arguments about tree decor. To have gingerbread house competitions that involve more face stuffing and flour throwing than actual crafting. To watch and learn and listen, in awe, as the woman he loves lights eight candles with quiet reverence and dignity and teaches his son to do the same. To delight in storing Queen family heirlooms inside of old MIT moving boxes. To race out of bed in the middle of the night to answer the cries of his son, only to crawl back into bed and curl his body around his wife and press his feet in between fuzzy socks and whisper words of comfort against her neck to help keep her nightmares at bay, too.

As a husband and a father, it’s his job to protect his new family. And yet, they’ve done more to save him than he can ever do to save them in return. He’s used to protecting a city of strangers through violence. While he has the physical training, at times he feels unequipped to lead his family to an emotional safe haven. How does he protect the hearts of the people closest to him?

By savoring the simple pleasures and slower rhythms. By enjoying the little, life-building things. By keeping his promises and coming home to these two remarkable people who grow a little more remarkable every day, the people who’ve taught him how to laugh and love and live again.

Like today.

“Well, if money is a problem, Mr. Mayor,” Felicity continues, pulling him from his thoughts, “then I would be more than happy to contribute to the Christmas fund.” She tips her head at him, giving him the I’ve-never-had-a-real-Christmas-before-and-we-are-doing-this-for-William look. But she’s also teasing him, enticing him.

Exactly like the day they met.

He shakes his head as the warm memory floods his senses like that afternoon cider. He can still see her so clearly, so vibrant, so young and innocent. He can still see that cherry red pen being plucked from neon pink lips. He can still feel himself shaken by the encounter, down to his innermost being. So much so that that was the first day his hand stopped twitching.

But like all old habits, they find a way to wander back. And he feels his hand twitch again now, one last time. Only instead of an incessant nervous tic, his thumb runs in a lazy circle back and forth, just enough to rub against the metal wrapped snugly around his ring finger, the cool texture soothing him deep into his soul.

“Okay,” Oliver concedes. “I think this is the one.”

He lingers on her for an intentionally long time, unguarding his thoughts and pushing his heart out and open onto his sleeve, just for her. When she finally sees that he’s referring to more than just the tree, she smiles and blushes slightly, of course. She still blushes often under his steady gaze, because like him she’s still learning how to be loved. If only he could show her how desirable she remains to him, how being with her feels a bit like waking up Christmas morning every morning, filling him with hope and wonder, as startling as it is settling.

2018

Waking up next to her husband on Christmas morning hits Felicity with unexpected giddiness. For one, she is miraculously up before him. For two, this day marks only the second time she’s really ever experienced Christmas properly. (Vegas showcases and her time in the hospital do not count.) For three, she really cannot wait to give him his Christmas gift.

Hopping out of bed, Felicity makes her way to the kitchen to begin working on breakfast. It’s taken a year of being the wife to a masterchef, but Felicity has finally learned how to make a decent omelette. And by decent, it is literally the barest of minimums. Because nothing can compete with Oliver Queen’s superior cooking skills.

To be honest, not much can compete with Oliver Queen’s skills in general.  

“Hey.”

Including the ability to sneak up on her like a big cat.

“Hi,” Felicity breathes, as his hands wrap around her middle, pressing her back against his warm chest. She sinks with ease into his embrace.

“You didn’t have to do this.” He nuzzles her neck, sending small, happy thrills peppering down her spine.

“I wanted to.”

Oliver gives her head a quick kiss, while his left hand slowly meanders underneath her (his) shirt. The cool brush of his ring over her belly button shoots an eager chill straight to her core, and on its own her own left hand comes up to join his on top, their rings clinking against one another like a small toast.

They spend a long time like that, wrapped around each other, swaying softly in the kitchen. Moment by moment, Felicity realizes she likes the feel of his hands over her belly a lot, especially now since…

“Is this my surprise gift?” he whispers at her ear.

She starts, and for a moment panic floods her veins that he has somehow read her mind or that she’s reverted to old habits of just blurting out her thoughts.

But when he doesn’t elaborate, she sighs in relief, realizing he’s just referring to the omelette. And she knows what he’s doing. The man may have given up torture, but he still knows how to get the information he wants.

“Hm, nice try, mister, but–” She spins around, and her words get caught in her throat at the site that greets her: Oliver wearing a pair of long, Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer pajama pants, that on anyone else would look absolutely ridiculous but on him are surprisingly adorable.

He was most definitely not wearing those last night.

Or any night.

Where has he been hiding them?

“Felicity.”

She glances upward, nibbling on her lower lip.

“My eyes are up here.”

“Right.”

He’s wearing that annoying charming smirk of his, and normally she would rise to the obligatory marital banter occasion, but right now she is far too preoccupied.

Immediately, his demeanor sobers, matching hers, and he closes what little distance there was between them, running his hands in slow, soothing strokes up and down her arms.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she answers immediately, to try to assuage the fear he wears so openly now, now that he has more to lose, now that they are a real family. “Well, not nothing. Something is going on. Besides just…this.” She waves to the Christmas tree and pile of presents containing a blend of blue and white and red and green wrappings.

He waits for her to continue, staring at her with that intense marksman’s gaze, those deep sea blue eyes pouring into her with so much vigor, the waves of his love crashing into her, slowly eroding away all her haunting self-doubts. She’s never been able to resist this power he has over her heart, a power that he never abandons or abuses.

“I um…I wanted to wait to do this until William was up but–”

“Are we opening presents yet?!” William bursts into the kitchen, full of energy, effectively severing the moment.

“Later,” Felicity mouths.

Oliver nods and lays a soft kiss on her forehead and then leads her into the living room to begin their first annual Christmas morning ritual.

Felicity loses herself for a while in the joy of watching Oliver her husband and mini Oliver her sweet stepson laugh and comment on each other’s wrapping “skills” and stick bows in each other’s hair. William revels in her presents to him, a new video game and Star Wars: The Last Jedi ultra HD blu ray special edition, which he gets her to promise to rewatch with him that night. And she wholeheartedly agrees.

For so long, she’s never known what’s it like to have a normal family. Being an only child raised by a single mom who didn’t fully understand her was a lonely time. She never wants William to feel left out of his own family. Not that she regrets her childhood. She loves her mom. She loves having her dad back in her life.

But she also loves her new family–their family. They’ve always been a kind of family, a mix of broken hearts coming together form a beautiful mosaic; but making it official has given Felicity a renewed sense of peace, filling in the last of the cracks of her insecurities, like cement in between bricks, keeping her grounded, giving her a foundation, a sense of belonging, a home.

She’s loved the slow and steady and chaotic mixing of their lives this past year, the merging of traditions of three legacies and the subtle making of new ones, like Felicity teaching William about the festival of lights and him helping her light the menorah, like Felicity and William volunteering to be the guinea pigs for Oliver’s mayoral holiday party dessert contest, like listening to Oliver and Thea reminisce about extravagant Queen Christmases past.

Of all of them, William has certainly had the most traditional of Christmases growing up. And Oliver and Felicity have tried to treasure and sustain that sense of familiarity in his life, to teach him that it’s okay to celebrate, even after you’ve lost someone you love, to give him everything their own parents never could.

The evidence of William’s sense of security and gentle spirit comes in his own gift giving, in an ugly snowman sweater for his dad that Felicity and William spent an hour searching for at the mall, and in the small sterling silver Star of David necklace he gives her, along with a smile.

Seeing the little star, a piece of her heritage, twinkle against her skin takes her breath away.

“Do you like it?” William asks in a quiet voice, so unsure.

She can only bring herself to give him a wobbly smile in return, barely holding back the happy tears. She knows hormones are partly to blame, but still. It means a lot.

And suddenly, she can’t hold back her secret any longer.

“Wait,” she cries, stopping Oliver and William in the midst of picking up discarded ribbons. Two pairs of blue, searching eyes meet hers, both drawing her in, both filled with such surprising innocence and deep need to protect the innocent.

“How about some coffee?”

“What?” Oliver asks at the same time William says, “I can have coffee?”

“Umm…” Oliver frowns, and she misses whatever else he says to William in Dad Voice, because she’s darting away to the kitchen to find the hidden mugs she stashed away yesterday.

No going back now.

And she doesn’t want to. Keeping this from Oliver for almost a week has been torture. She wanted to tell him right away, but things with the team have been stealing her and her husband’s time and attention, and he’s been so worn from dealing with crime on the mayoral front. They’ve barely seen each other all week, and it’s a Christmas miracle he’s managed to get the day off–

“You’re not having any?” William asks, when she sets down the half-filled coffee mugs.

Felicity sighs a short laugh at just how perceptive her stepson can be. Are all kids his age like this, or is he just super smart and special? Maybe she’s biased, but she likes to believe the latter is true. Maybe she needs to start researching kids in general, all things considered.

“Um…no. Let’s just say I’m giving up coffee in the new year–pretty much all caffeine in general. But I was thinking the two of you could have some for me…for the both of us.”

With a shaking hand and a pounding heart, Felicity runs her fingertips over her stomach just as the two Queen boys examine the mugs in front of them.

When Oliver looks up from his WORLD’S BEST DAD mug, he’s not wearing the jaw-dropping look of shock she was expecting find. In fact, he barely looks surprised at all, more…contented, almost as though…

“You knew? How did you…” she breathes as he stands up and approaches her, her words cut off when he bends down to quickly kiss her stomach.

“I found the pregnancy test in the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

He runs his hand through her hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear.

“Are we ready for this?” she whispers.

He smiles with his eyes first, her favorite smile, the corners of his eyes boasting deep wrinkles that mark a life filled with so much endurance and recently so much laughter. And just like that, she remembers what she’s always known: Oliver will be the best daddy ever.

“It’s not like we’ve never been parents before,” he replies easily.

“But this is different. Oliver, a baby–”

“I’m going to be a brother?!”

William abandons his one chance at coffee (his own mug stamped with the words Brother, Est. 2018 in baseball jersey cursive white font) to join them.

“Yeah, buddy,” responds Oliver, far too casually, like this sort of thing happens every day, pulling his son into a side hug.

“Is that okay?” Felicity asks in a quiet voice, her own insecurities sounding very much like this young man’s own fears from just a few minutes ago. They share a kindred-spiritedness, her and William, both knowing what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age, both too smart for their own good sometimes, both needing Oliver Queen on a very deep and terrifying level. Their respective loses have bonded them in some ways, while keeping them apart in others.

It’s also one thing to accept being a parent, to accept that this child will call her mom and there may never come a day when William will be able to do the same. She knows he’s happy to have her in her life, and she’s happy just to have the chance to be a part of it. But it’s another thing entirely to ask William to be happy to have a sibling right away. One day, he might. She can wait for someday.

She doesn’t have to wait very long, though. Because the next thing Felicity knows, she’s being swallowed into a group hug as two different arms wrap snugly around her. The Queen boys give the best hugs.

“It’s more than okay,” mumbles William against her side.

The words are simple but profound. Life-changing in the best way.

Suddenly William jumps back. “I’m not hurting it, am I?”

Felicity chuckles. “No. No, the baby’s like the size of your finger right now. It’ll be awhile till I start to…show.”

Felicity glances up at Oliver, who’s beaming at her, his face mirroring the tingling joy spreading through her. She may be the one pregnant, but she’s pretty sure he’s the one glowing.

2019

Another loud wail has his dad calling his name.

“Hey, William, can you come take her for a minute? I need to check the oven.”

Despite her loud cries in protest, William happily accepts the squirming baby into his gangly arms, moving her soft little head upright into the crook of his elbow with practiced ease, like holding a football. A very loud, always wiggling football.

“Shh, it’s okay, Ladybug. It’s just me,” William tries to soothe his baby sister, rocking her gently as he takes her around to look at all the pretty, bright Christmas lights sprinkled on the tree.

His little Ladybug just makes an unamused face, turning as red as her namesake, and lets out another unpleasant scream.

“She’s not hungry, is she?” William calls over his shoulder.

“Felicity just fed her,” Dad hollers from the kitchen.

William groans, wishing he could help but never knowing exactly what to do to calm his wild sister down. Sometimes she just wants mommy, and of course tonight mommy has to work late via a conference call in the bedroom.

“It’s okay,” coos William, over and over, whether to ease her cries or to repress his own anxiety, he doesn’t really know.

For a while, nothing works. None of his dad’s tricks work, no amount of soothing strokes or back pats or half-lullabies or ornament distractions. And he’s pretty sure he’s about to be partiality responsible for this baby crying herself to death, when an idea finally strikes him.

“You don’t mind if I show you your Christmas present early, do you?” he asks gently.

And like magic, her crying slowly subsides, sending the whole loft into an overwhelming, peaceful silence, like the sudden end of a rainstorm. He can tell she’s likely about to start up again and soon, as she throws him a skeptical look, waiting for her promised entertainment.

He smiles brightly, digging with one hand into the box tucked under the far corner of the tree, and then pulling out two rattling objects.

He shakes the first one, a small dreidel covered with soft, fuzzy blue fabric, which captures her fancy immediately. She reaches for it with a gleeful squeal.

“That’s for your mom. Your mom’s Jewish, and every year we celebrate Hanukkah She taught me how to light the menorah, and I can teach you one day, if you want. I know a couple of words in Hebrew, too, but I’m not really good at saying them.”

His baby sis smiles at that, giving him her best toothless grin, shoving one soft corner into her mouth to gnaw on it.

William lets her play with that for awhile, pulling out the second rattle covered in more baby-friendly fabric, this one a deep forest green.

“Dad helped me make this one.”

Her eyes latch onto the little arrowhead rattle, one that looks exactly like the arrows recovered a numerous crime scenes. And he knows that look of wonder and intrigue. It’s the same look he no doubt wore the first time Dad brought him down into the bunker, the first time he officially met the team and watched Dad put on the Green Arrow suit.

“I know it’s hard being the kid of a superhero,” William whispers, softly slipping his index finger into her small open hand, her tiny little fingers curling around his to make a fist. She’s already so strong. Just like her parents. Just like them, their family.

“But I promise, I won’t ever let you end up alone,” William vows, echoing the same promise Dad made to him years ago, back when he tried giving up saving the city to be there for him. But William doesn’t need his dad like he did before. This baby, though, needs him, needs all of them.  

She listens to him in rapt attention, like he’s telling one of his classic comic stories.

In the absence of Auntie Thea, and with his dad and stepmom and extended family taking up the mantle of saving the city, William feels it is his job to ensure this very loud, very lovely little human knows how precious she is to this family, to him. He intends to show his sister what it means to be a part of this unpredictable but always loving family. Just like his dad did for Auntie Thea.

“Merry Christmas, Ladybug.” And then he gives the fourth and his favorite Queen a kiss on top of her silky smooth head, snuggling her close, keeping Star City’s most important treasure safe.

[allorana]

Bruising Waters

Someone order mermaidLance, lots of Hurt/Comfort (Whump and Illness/Injury of course;) and gratuitous bonding and angst??

Happy Birthday my lovely friend!! @sailormew4  I hope this week has been really good to you!

I’m posting in parts because I apparently cannot write anything in moderation and my word count will never cease to get away from me.

Link to AO3 (for full fic directly)  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Bruising Waters Pt. 1: Honey, We Hurt the Fish

Lance murmured softly to himself as he slept, turning over in the warmth that the water provided as it gently glided around him.  He felt a current run its fingers through his hair, playfully jostling the strands and Lance whined, batting at it and rolling back over to try to continue his nap.  A soft giggle belled out around Lance at his antics.  He blinked his eyes open, awake with a smile and small hands reaching upwards for the smiling face that was hovering over him.

“Mama!”  Lance cried with a grin and he surged upwards into her waiting arms.  His mother laughed, curling backwards from the force of his hug, bouncing him against her.

“Hello, my little one; it’s time for you to wake up.”  Lance’s only response was to hum lightly and bury himself further into his mother’s arms, sighing contently as he closed his eyes against her chest.  “Oh, I see.”  Lance’s mother raised an eyebrow as she looked down at her son, eyes glittering mischievously, “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

Lance frowned in confusion before shrieking loudly, eyes flying open as his mother lifted him up and gave him a merciless rasberry right in the center of his stomach.  Lance squealed and twisted against his mother, whacking his little blue tail against her shoulder in an effort to get her to stop.  Lance’s mother just laughed loud and hearty and spun her son around once more, her long green tail kicking up bubbles around them before letting him go.  Lance shot away from his mother, panting hard and trying, but failing, to fight the grin that kept pulling at his mouth as he gave her a put-upon look.  Lance’s father swam up behind his mother, snickering at the pout on his youngest son’s face.

Lance gave his father an indignant look and opened his mouth to tell his dad just what he thought of his father snickering at him when Lance was bowled over by his eldest brother from behind and they went spinning through the water towards their parents.  Lance screeched and flailed as he tumbled through the waves, his brother’s tail and arms wrapped tightly around him and laughing hard at Lance’s surprise.  Mrs. McClain shot out of the way but their father was hit directly by his children and sent reeling with a startled noise that gave way to a booming laugh.  Lance giggled breathlessly as his brother’s flipping came to a slow stop, beaming up at him and crying “Again, again!”

Lance’s craned his neck around as he heard his other siblings calling out to him, chuckling and swimming towards them.  He grinned lopsidedly at them and reached back a hand, opening his mouth to call out their names-

Lance yelped as he slid off the bed and onto the floor with a crash.  He lay awkwardly on the floor, stunned for a moment before letting out a low groan and pressing his face into the cold ground.  The lights were too bright, his head was pounding, and for some reason his nose felt completely clogged.  Lance groaned again.  He resituated himself more comfortably on the floor and let out a soft sigh, frowning.  He hadn’t had a dream like that in a year, since he first enrolled at the Garrison and was dealing with a bout of homesickness.  The dream had been a memory from when he was little and his family had still lived in the ocean off the coast of Cuba.  It was necessary for Mers to live underwater when they were first born in order to develop their gills, fins, and tails properly.  They’d lived there for a few years until Lance was strong enough to switch between human and Mer without trouble.  After that, his family had moved back onto the surface to the house they’d been living in before Lance had been born.  His grandparents had been taking care of the house while they were gone, and they were thrilled to have Lance and his family back with them where they could be safe from prying human eyes.

Lance groaned again as he pushed himself up, tossing his blankets haphazardly on his bed and padding towards his bathroom for a quick shower.  He missed his family.  He missed their weekly trips to the ocean so much that he physically ached.   But, Lance mused as he turned on the hot water, shedding his blue lion pajamas and stepping in, maybe the dream had been because of their recent mission.

They’d gone to a new planet on one of their diplomatic missions, hoping to convert the locals to their cause.  What Lance hadn’t know is that the planet had been largely based in aquatic species, with large cities like lanterns and beautiful glass domes covering the seafloor, some of them rising like beacons above the surface.  It had been so warm, colorful, and brightly lit, teeming with several species of humanoid-esque sea creatures of all colors and sizes.  There were even a few ancient-looking Mers the size of whales!  Lance bit back a nostalgic sigh as he turned over every detail of the city in his mind.  The ancient Mers had turned out to be the elders that Allura and the paladins were to meet with for negotiations and their low, grating rumbles had echoed through him like the sea itself.

Lance had wanted nothing more than to swim with them; to shed his human form and feel the water rushing across his gills and the scent of the ocean and its life wafting between his fins.  It’d been so long since he stretched his tail and seen his scales reflecting the sunlight in the clear water.  Lance smiled lightly to himself as he let the water run over his face, soothing some of the ache in his head and nose.  Lance loved his human form, truly.   As far as he was concerned he had the best of both worlds!  Lance’s smile faded as he let his thoughts wander from the beach and his favorite haunts and back to the water.  Another pang passed through him.  He longed desperately to be back in the ocean.  He needed it.  Lance hadn’t gotten a chance to transform since they’d entered their wild space adventure, and his skin was starting to feel uncomfortable and wrong.

Maybe there was still enough time before training...  Lance frowned as he thought it out.  He could skip breakfast and that would give him a chance to just transform real quick in the shower so he could check out his scales and air out his fins.  He could feel the water on them again and see if there was any problems that needed taking care of!  Lance quickly grew excited at the prospect, the promise of feeling water against his tail outweighing the fear of his team finding him.  His skin was itching and crawling with the anticipation of switching to his scales.  Lance decided that he’d just take a quick second to switch when he heard the telltale Beep of the castle comms.

*Paladins.  Please come to the dining room for further debriefing on yesterday’s mission.*

Lance groaned loudly.  Of course Allura would call everyone in for an impromptu meeting.  Lance sighed and reluctantly shut off the water.  There’s no way he could switch now.  If he was late the others would come looking for him, and then what was he supposed to tell them?  Hi, forgot to tell you but I’m half-fish and the reason I’ve been hiding it is because of past traumas and what I’ve been taught and trained since birth by my family.  Please don’t reject me!  Lance grimaced, wincing at the twinge in his legs as he dried off and put on his paladin armor.  Yeah, that would go over well.  Lance’s head wasn’t pounding any less, but at least the hot condensation had cleared up his nose a bit.  Lance headed out to breakfast, hoping training wouldn’t be too bad.  The buzzing beneath his skin didn’t go away.

**********

Holy crow, forget everything he’d previously said Lance felt like he was burning.  His skin was crawling and he kept twitching in discomfort, rubbing his legs against each other to assuage the itching.  Allura droned on about the successes of their mission and where each of the paladins could have done better, not noticing Lance’s movements, or if she did, was electing to ignore him.  The congestion had come back with a vengeance and this time it had settled in Lance’s lungs making it really hard not to cough.  He stifled another bout just barely and received an annoyed side-eye from Allura as Shiro began addressing her and the team.  Yep.  She’d noticed.  Lance huffed and hunched down more, trying to stay out of the line of fire.

He was so caught up in trying not to cause a scene that he didn’t notice Hunk leaning over to him.  “Are you ok?”

Lance jumped slightly as he felt Hunk’s breath flicker past his ear but quickly composed himself.  He nodded, leaning his head slightly down to Hunk’s to murmur back, “Yeah buddy don’t worry.  It’s just a little congestion.”

“Are you sure?”  Hunk frowned.  “You’ve been squinting pretty hard there too.”

Lance sighed.  Of course Hunk had noticed.  He took a deep breath, trying to calm his lungs before responding.  “It’s just a little headache.  Really Hunk, I’m fi-”

“Lance, Hunk!”  Lance and Hunk both jerked away from each other and shot up straight.  Lance saw the other three paladins startle in his periphery, equally alarmed by Allura’s outburst.  She glared down at Hunk and Lance, nostrils flaring slightly.  She took a deep breath and spoke calmly, but her eyes were glinting in a manner that had Lance wincing more than the stupid, overly bright lights above them.  “Is there something you’d care to share with the rest of the team?  Since you obviously think it’s so important that it cannot wait until we’re done.”

Lance shook his head violently, then stopped when he saw spots dancing in front of his eyes. “Nope, no we’re um, we’re good Princess sorry.”  He coughed pointedly at Hunk who was giving him a disbelieving look.

Shiro frowned at Hunk’s expression.  “Hunk?”

Hunk glanced at his leader who was gazing at him, patient but worried, then back at Lance who was glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.  Hunk bit his lip nervously. “Lance is sick!”  He blurted.

“Hunk!!”  Lance threw his arms in the air and turned on his best friend, annoyed glare in full force now.

Hunk huffed a protest.  “I’m sorry buddy, but you always do this.  It’s not good for you!”

The other paladins sat up straighter, Allura looked slightly confused and Shiro was already making his way over to Lance, concern coming off of him in waves.  Lance reeled back from everyone and pushed Shiro’s hand away from his forehead, scrambling up.  “Guys I’m fine!  It’s just a little headache and congestion, probably just caught some dumb space cold or something.”

Shiro frowned but backed away some.  Keith was studying Lance like he could determine what was wrong if he just looked hard enough.  Pidge just made an exasperated noise.  “Oh my gosh Lance.  It’s fine if you’re sick, ok?  Just let us know so you can take things easy if you need to.”

Lance grit his teeth.  “I said I’m fine.  I don’t need to ‘take it easy’ it’s just a little cold.”

Pidge gave him an unimpressed look.  “Garrison, Monday November 23rd?  The Physics test?  You said that was just a ‘little cold’ too.”  Keith glanced at her a curious expression on his face while Hunk groaned, muttering under his breath “I remember”.

“Okay in my defense-”

“Enough, all of you!”  Shiro cut in, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  He looked up at Lance once everyone quieted down and addressed him directly.  “Are you good to train today?”

“Yes.”  Lance replied without hesitation.

Shiro and Allura shared a look before she nodded and turned to Lance.  “If you’re not too bad then I think it would be fine if you continued training with the team for the day.  However, a sick paladin is a serious thing because it could affect our readiness to form Voltron.  So if you do get worse, you are to inform Coran or I so we can take care of it, understand?”

Lance huffed.  “Yes, ok fine.”

She smiled at him and hesitated a moment, before reaching out to ruffle his hair, eliciting a squawk from Lance.  “Besides,” She smiled warmly, “We can’t have our Blue Paladin getting too sick on us because he didn’t take care of himself.”

Lance gaped at Allura as she turned around and began giving Coran the training instructions for the day.  Well that was unexpected.  He thought, as everyone quickly filed out of the room after Shiro.  Keith and Hunk shot Lance suspicious looks a few times but he ignored them.  He would be fine.  He was just a little irritable because of the dream and the weird itching.  Lance decided he’d just take it easy and maybe check over his scales later.  There.  Lance nodded to himself as he activated his bayard, beginning the training sequence with the team.  Now that he had a plan, Lance felt better already.

**********

Lance groaned as he face-planted into his bed, sighing into the mess of blankets from earlier that morning.  How many times was he going to be wrong in one day?  The universe was against him.  Lance was sure of it.

True to her word, Allura had kept the paladins training the entire day.  They’d mostly worked on combat training and had ended the day flying formations in their lions.  Blue was worried the instant Lance had stepped into her cockpit.  He managed to convince her that he wasn’t about to die, and that he was just a little sick.  But Blue still kept up a soft undercurrent of purring behind his head as they flew, and if she took control a little too much during the harder maneuvers, well there was nothing Lance could say to change her mind.  She ignored his indignant exclamations each time.  Blue just snuffed at him through their connection, causing Lance’s hair to fluff up as if she’d actually blown on his head, then continued flying.

Needless to say, Lance was exhausted.  Everything ached and the itching that had been running in random bursts and patches in his legs had moved to his hips and arms.  It was at the point where Lance felt like there was a semi-constant, dull fire underneath his skin.  He wanted nothing more than to sleep it off and wake up better.  Too tired to do more than toss his armor on the floor and call out in a croaky voice for the lights to dim, Lance buried himself in the blankets and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

The next day didn’t get any better.  In fact, Lance seemed to be steadily getting worse.  The burning was now continuous through his legs, but alongside the burning, new patches of pain were creeping up.  Lance had to cover up a wince more than once at a sudden flare up during meetings, training, and meals.  Hunk had noticed he seemed to have a difficult time moving and was now keeping an annoyingly close eye on him.  He’d conscripted the others into watching Lance as well.  This meant that whenever Lance tried to go off alone, someone else inevitably showed up to keep him company.  Which was great and all, usually Lance would be ecstatic, but he hadn’t had a moment’s peace to check his tail because of it, which only served to further sour Lance’s mood.

He managed to brush off most of his friends’ concern.  Blue, however, was having none of it.  When it came time for lion training she refused to allow Lance to perform any maneuvers she deemed “too hazardous” for his current condition, leaving Lance seething and at his breaking point.  He was tired, in constant pain, and his congestion had decided to permanently move to his lungs making his voice scratchy and sore.  Allura was at a loss as to what to have the paladins do next, so Shiro took over and proclaimed the rest of the day be spent with light paladin bonding activities as a team.  An evening of playing games and trading jokes and stories had Lance’s spirits lifted considerably, something that everyone on the team noted with some relief.  The pain hadn’t subsided any, but Lance was grateful for his team anyways.  They went to bed relieved that Lance was finally feeling well again.

It wasn’t until Lance’s third day of dealing with the random bursts of pain, lightheadedness, coughing, and discomfort that everything finally hit the fan.

**********

Lance yelped as his body spasmed underneath his sheets, jerking up onto his elbows as he tried to get the convulsions in his torso and legs under control.  They only lasted for a few seconds but it was enough to leave Lance sweating and panting for breath.  He threw back the sheets and checked the time.

Crap.  He’d missed breakfast and morning training was starting in 10 minutes.  Lance jerked himself up, swaying slightly before steadying himself.  Ok, there was no way he could do training today.  The others were bound to notice and honestly he was not interested in dealing with whatever this sickness was today on top of Allura’s regularly scheduled torture fests.  Lance haphazardly threw on his gear, praying and begging that whatever was going on had nothing to do with his other form.  If it did, Lance didn’t know what he’d do.  The thought of having to reveal his heritage was paralyzing.

Every step Lance took towards the training deck was agony.  Pain like barbs shot through his feet and up his hips making him let out small cries every few steps.  He needed help-- now.  Lance staggered into the training room just as his team was finishing their first sparring session.

Shiro glanced up at the sound of the door opening and gave Lance a smile.  “Nice of you to join us Lance!  We weren’t sure you’d be up for it, so we were planning to let you sleep in a litt-”  Shiro froze as he turned fully to face Lance.  Lance was sickeningly pale and sweating profusely, clinging to the wall to hold himself up.  There were dark reddish bruises under Lance’s eyes, and he was shaking so hard his knees were knocking together.  Shiro immediately straightened up and strode over.  The other paladins stopped sparring at Shiro’s sudden halt.  They looked up and when they saw Lance, deactivated their bayards and ran up behind Shiro.

“Lance?  What’s wrong?”

“Jeez, you look way worse than yesterday.  What were you thinking coming up here in your armor to train?”

Lance tilted his head down and sneezed a hacking cough into his chest, his arms preoccupied with keeping him upright.  “I wasn-”  He coughed again, sucking in quick shallow breaths before continuing, “I wasn’t.  I don’t want to train.  Everything hurts.”  Shiro came around Lance and gently lifted his hands so he was leaning against the Black Paladin instead of the door frame, hands braced against Shiro’s arms as he spoke.

“Wait, Lance.  If you weren’t planning on training today, why did you get into your paladin armor?”  Hunk wrung his hands nervously.  Pidge frowned, confused.

“Technically he didn’t even make it into his armor”  Keith muttered.  Lance blinked long and slow at Keith, then glanced down to look at himself.  Oh.  Lance’s arm guards were on the wrong sides, he was missing his left boot, and his chest plate was hanging somewhat loosely.

Anxiety flickered in Keith’s eyes at Lance’s lack of response and he sucked in a sharp breath.  Without thinking, he leaned over and put his hand on Lance’s forehead, instantly recoiling at the intense heat under his gloved palm.  “Shiro, he’s burning up.”

“Ok.”  Shiro shifted Lance slightly as he thought.  “Keith, take Lance to his room and get him out of that armor and into something more comfortable.”  He nodded and moved to take Lance from Shiro, swinging Lance’s arm over his shoulders and pulling most of Lance’s weight onto his hip.  “Hunk and Pidge prepare the Medbay.  I’ll send Coran to you as soon as I find him.  I’ll let Allura know the situation as well.”  Hunk and Pidge wasted no time replying, taking off in the direction of the Infirmary.

Lance swayed against Keith, taking in Shiro’s orders blearily, stumbling as they suddenly twisted around to move down the hallway.  Oh good.  Maybe they were going to take Lance somewhere he could cool down.  Cold sounded nice right now.  Also water.  That sounded good too.  His skin was raw and crawling rapidly.  Water would help.  Lance was confident in that.  They staggered down the hall, Keith trying to talk to him but Lance wasn’t having any of it.  Keith’s voice kept fading in and out and Lance just knew he was doing it on purpose to mess with Lance’s headache.  So why should Lance bother to listen to anything Keith had to say?  Maybe he’d be nice though and bring Lance some water when they got to wherever they were going.

“...es Lance… get you some water… but please try to focus…Hunk and...okay?”

Lance jolted and hissed, movements uncoordinated.  The pain was building and he felt so sick oh by the seas, please make it stop.  Lance felt Keith pull him forward, speeding up at the pained sounds Lance was emitting.

“...We’re almost there…-old on Lance.”

Lance was gasping by the time they got to his room.  He felt like he was choking on the phlegm coating his throat.  Keith set him down and started ripping the armor pieces off of Lance in a panic.  His hands were shaking and he was trying to talk to Lance, but Lance still couldn’t hear him.  Water, he needed water.  He needed to change please, he begged.

“Ok Lance…getting you some water…-tay here.”  Keith turned and raced out of the room, sprinting for the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone Lance pulled himself up and staggered, panting over to the shower.  He threw the water onto its coldest setting and started pulling desperately at his black undersuit, dragging it off as the shower cascaded down him until he was shuddering there in just his boxers, arms wrapped tightly around himself.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t think.  Everything was tearing underneath his skin.  Off, he needed it off.  Lance scrabbled desperately at his legs.  Sharp stabs hit his chest and stomach repeatedly and he doubled over.  He heard a voice screaming but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.  He arched back as he clawed at his legs.  Lance barely registered his mouth wide open or his raw throat as the agonized screams filled his ears.

**********

Keith moved down the hall towards the bedrooms as quickly as he could without spilling the large glass of water he was carrying.  He’d never seen Lance so sick.  The desperate way he’d cried for water made Keith uneasy.  It was his crying that had finally pushed Keith over the edge and sent him for a cup for Lance.  He didn’t like leaving him alone it that state, babbling incoherently and moaning in pain, but Lance had sounded so desperate.  Keith sped up slightly.  The sooner he made it back to Lance the better.

Keith had just made it to the hallway closest to the bedrooms when a horrible screaming pierced the air.  His body went numb and the cup slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor.  Racking screams tore through him and Keith was sprinting, calling Lance’s name over and over again.  He shot past the door and burst into the bathroom, skidding to a halt as he took in the horrific sight before him.

Lance’s torso was covered in reddish bruises and he was screaming, tearing at his legs and hips so hard that they were bleeding.  But the biggest shock were the stone-like pieces he saw stuck randomly along Lance’s hips, legs, arms, torso; they were everywhere.  He was faintly aware that they were probably once blue, but the color was ether faded or hidden under dark growth that clung between the pieces and stretched across Lance’s skin in patches.  A white, filmy substance was curling out from his ears and along his arms and spine.  Keith’s throat closed and he froze, stricken with more terror than he’d felt when the Red Lion had stalled while he was facing Zarkon.  Another gurgling scream had Keith throwing himself down at Lance’s side.  He grabbed Lance’s hands and drug them away from his legs as Lance fought against him, hissing and twisting to escape Keith’s grip.  Keith pushed down a wave of nausea as he took in Lance’s hands.  His nails had sharpened and extended considerably, causing deep gouges in his legs that made the water run a sickly pink.  It pooled beneath their feet and swirled down the drain, leaving trails along the tile floor.

This was beyond Keith’s capability to handle-- beyond any of their capability to handle.  He felt hysterical as he pinned a struggling Lance’s arms to his sides.  And now Lance was actually snapping his teeth at him.  Whatever this illness was, it was far more serious than Coran or anyone else had assumed.  Keith crouched down and with a grunt hauled Lance over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, keeping Lance’s arms as secure as he could.  Keith whipped around, not even bothering to shut the water off as he ran from Lance’s room, hitting the emergency button by the bedroom door on his way.  What kind of sick alien virus could have transformed Lance into this?

Keith burst into the Medbay, skidding to a halt in front of his startled teammates who’d gathered frantically at the sound of the alarm.  Panic coursed through the other paladins as they took in Keith’s gasping form and Lance twisting and screaming over his shoulder.  Hunk screamed and Pidge shot forward.

“Oh my gosh, Lance!”

“Keith!  Keith, what happened, what’s wrong with him?”

Shiro and Allura lifted Lance’s squirming form off of Keith’s shoulder and pulled him over to the pods, immediately preparing one for stasis until Coran could help them figure out what was wrong.  Lance’s screams had died down to choked gasping, eyes blown wide and his back still arching with each pained exclamation.

Coran was fumbling with the pod’s controls as Allura and Shiro finally managed to get Lance inside.  Keith leaned against Pidge, breathing hard.  He squeezed his eyes shut against Lance’s cries, and flinched when they were cut off by the pod closing.  The weight of what had happened crashed down around Keith and he slid against Pidge who yelped and struggled to help him sit down.

Keith saw Hunk staring into the pod, face gray at the sight of his limp best friend.  He was frozen, hands pressed against his mouth like he’d forgotten they were there, eyes teary and blown wide.  Pidge shot Shiro a slightly desperate look as she held Keith.  Shiro left Coran and Allura to hover by the pod and watch for the results of the scans to come over to Keith and Pidge.  Shiro placed a firm hand on Keith’s shoulder and Keith drug his eyes over to look at his oldest friend and older brother figure.

“Keith.  I know this is rough, but I need you to tell us what you saw.”  Shiro smiled gently down at Keith, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  Everyone except for Coran stilled and looked at Keith, hoping he could provide them with some answers.

Keith swallowed hard, then spoke shakily.  “He was incoherent when we were walking to his room.  He kept muttering and asking for water.”  He gulped and Shiro squeezed his shoulder.  Keith sucked in a deep breath, grounding himself in the familiar presence before continuing.  “He seemed like he was in so much pain.  I just wanted to get him back to the Medbay, but he sounded so desperate, and he kept pleading.  I don’t even think he realized it.  So, I left him and ran to get him some.”  Keith hunched into himself with a moan, pressing his hands into his eyes.  “I’m sorry Shiro I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that; I should have stayed with him.  If I hadn’t then maybe-”

“No Keith, no.”  Shiro knelt down and pulled his little brother into his arms.  “It wasn’t your fault.  You didn’t know.  None of us did.”

“But we should have.”  Pidge interjected bitterly.  “We saw he was sick.  We should have known when Blue refused to let him do any flying that something was seriously wrong.”  Her hands were clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palm as she shook.

“Well, Keith leaving was probably a good thing in the long run.”  The paladins startled and turned to Coran who was gazing intensely at the readings before him, brow furrowed.

“What do you mean, Coran?”  Allura asked as she walked over to him.

“I think I know what’s happened, but with Lance only being partially transformed, I can’t tell for sure.”  Coran pressed the button to open the pod ignoring the shocked and protesting exclamations from the other paladins.  Hunk yelped and scrambled forward, catching Lance who started twitching and shaking violently the moment he was free from the pod.  He was completely unconscious.

“Coran!  What the heck, man?  Why would you let him out?”

Coran ran over to a different edge of the room and started pressing buttons, causing a chamber to come out of the wall.  “In case of aliens who are primarily aquatic, we have this chamber to help treat them in a more natural environment.”  The paladins watched wide-eyed as the odd tank filled with water.  Hunk tightened his grip on Lance.  “Get him to the water quickly.  He needs to finish transforming.  Being in this half form is only doing him more harm.”  Hunk looked shocked.

Keith’s mind reeled.  Half-form?  Transforming?  What was happening to Lance?

Allura seemed to take Coran’s instruction in stride.  Before Hunk could do more than protest she’d lifted the Blue Paladin out of his arms and placed him in the water.  Everyone held their breath as they watched.  At first, nothing happened.  Then, Lance started to change.  He whimpered and squirmed in the water before settling as his legs elongated and fused together, the stone-like pieces along his hips; scales, Keith’s shocked brain helpfully supplied, soon covered his lower half.  Fins grew out from his ears and back, and a few trailed along his arms.  Keith couldn’t believe it.  Pidge let out a soft “oh” and Hunk squeaked in shock.  A mermaid.  Lance looked like a mermaid.  No, not just ‘looked like’, Lance, somehow, was a mermaid, er, merman.

Even in his daze, Keith knew instantly that something was wrong.  He felt it in his gut, a pooling sense of deep anxiety as his eyes took in the dropping, haggard fins.  They were almost see-through now instead of just white, and still seemed foamy and wisping.  His scales were darkened and oozing an unnatural substance all over his tail.  The patches of rotted and grayed scales continued up Lance’s torso, along his arms, and on his cheeks.  Everywhere the scales were they were cracking and covered with a gray substance.  The tips of Lance’s fingers and his carefully manicured nails had extended into unnaturally blackened claws, chipped and bleeding.  His skin and the area around his gills were bruised and red, the dark bags under his eyes looked worse than yesterday.  His gills looked inflamed, a foamy, white substance oozing out whenever Lance breathed.  Keith felt like he was going to be sick.

Hunk gagged at the sight of his friend.  Shiro’s grip on Keith had tightened to the point that it started to hurt.  He was staring at Lance as if seeing him for the first time.  Pidge’s eyes were wide as saucers and brimming with tears.  Allura and Coran inhaled sharply.

Lance whined pitifully and began to cry, tears streaming from his closed eyes.  His fins fluttered weakly against his head and he lifted his face towards the paladins, like he was trying to sense them.  Lance’s hands raised weakly towards them.  A desperate keening call broke from his throat and shot straight down Keith’s spine.  Keith ran towards Lance without hesitation, Shiro right behind him.  Without even thinking about it he grabbed onto Lance’s outstretched hands and began rubbing soothing circles into them.  Lance’s keening sobs quieted at the touch and he leaned towards Keith, unconsciously seeking him.  The other paladins looked on in shock.  Tears were rolling down Hunk’s cheeks, and Pidge was clinging wide-eyed to the edge of the tank.  Keith noticed that at Lance’s cry, everyone in the room had moved closer to surround the tank and Lance from all sides.  He seemed to quiet slightly at the proximity, but his whimpers didn’t stop.

Coran stepped forward purposefully, breaking the tension.  “The good news is, I know what this is.  The bad news, he’s in the final stage.  Which means we need to get him into a healing pod-- now.”

Pidge piped up, “Final stage?”

“Yes.  His fever is dangerously high and he’s begun hemorrhaging.  Shiro, Hunk, lift Lance and get him into that pod.”

Keith and Pidge balked at Coran’s blunt explanation.  Horror gripped Keith’s gut.  Shiro managed to rouse himself enough to pull Hunk forward and together, they gently lifted Lance out of the tank and carried him towards the pod that Coran was busily setting up.  “The pod should take care of the internal bleeding and any other injuries he’s sustained, but the rest of the infection will have to be waited out the old-fashioned way.”

Hunk grunted as he held onto Lance’s arms, Shiro supporting his tail.  “Jeez Lance, and I thought I was heavy, what the heck man?  What are you eating?  Also, Coran, Coran my man what do you mean internal bleeding.  What is going on, why is my best friend a fish?  I thought those pods were supposed to fix everything?  Wait, how are we supposed to stand him up in that thing with this tail?  Also, is this because of that illness or was Lance a fish all along, because I think I’d know if my best friend was half-”

“Hunk.”  Shiro called,  “Breathe.”

Coran, for his part, look offended.  “Of course he was already part- er, whatever he is!  This illness doesn’t do that!  It’s an infection that’s common on Vellugher.”

Keith gaped as Pidge pulled him to his feet with a sharp grunt.  They trailed nervously behind Hunk and Shiro.  “Wait, you mean that water planet we just visited?” She asked.

“Yep!  That’s the one!”  Coran’s voice was slightly high and he nodded jerkily as he helped Hunk and Shiro somehow muscle Lance into the pod and shut the door.  He typed rapidly at the keys, jittering.  “See the virus is actually really common on Vellugher.  It starts with congestion in the lungs, for the aquatic creatures that have them, and mild scale and fin rot in patches.  That’s when most people are able to recognize the disease and get it treated.  After that comes a gray/white growth that starts eating away at the scales and the sensitive skin underneath and between them.  The pre-final stage is a dangerously high fever that overlaps with the final stage which is hemorrhaging of the internal organs.  That’s indicated by reddish bruising around the eyes, gills, and on the skin.  The screaming was likely due to the sensation of the infection finally eating away at the internal tissues.  At that point, most of the infected don’t have the kind of advanced medical treatment required to fix it so they end up dying.”  Coran was visibly shaking now, voice climbing higher as he spoke.

Allura looked confused, hands clasped in front of her dress as she glanced worriedly at Lance.  “But Coran, I thought that it takes at least a week, sometimes more, for the symptoms to run their full course.  Was he suffering like this for the past week or longer, and we just didn’t know?”

“Oh no, Lance most definitely caught this on Vellugher.  He couldn’t have been exposed to it recently enough otherwise.  Normally the aliens who visit Vellugher get immunized but I-”  Coran was pulling at his mustache, muttering and fussing as he started putting away various instruments and pulling others out to set the room up for when Lance came out.  Allura frowned at him in concern.  “I didn’t-  I should’ve-  I had no idea any of you possessed aquatic characteristics.  Otherwise I would have gotten you all vaccinated.  I should have anyways, this never would have happened if I’d just-”  Coran shook violently as he spoke, voice thick with guilt and eyes far away.

Allura placed her hand gently over Coran’s, effectively halting his erratic movements.  Keith watched worriedly from where he stood near Shiro.  “It’s not your fault.”  She whispered.

Shiro sighed, running a hand dejectedly through his hair.  “Allura’s right.  I’m the leader.  I should have noticed Lance was hiding something from us.”

Angry exclamations met Shiro’s words.

“What?  Oh come on Shiro, we’re just as much to blame as you.”

“Keith’s right.  We’re all at fault here… even Lance.”

“Yeah, Shiro.  I mean, Lance is my best friend.  If I didn’t know how could any of the rest of you?”

“Ok, ok.”  Shiro raised his hands against the protests.  “I get it.”

Keith turned to glare at Pidge.  “How is this Lance’s fault?  We never gave him a moment’s peace alone; when could he have found out about this?”

Pidge gazed at him in disbelief.  “Do you really think that Lance would have told us even if he’d known what was wrong?  He has a history of pulling crap like this.  He hides that he’s feeling under the weather until he’s sick as a dog and passing out.  And how do you even know he wasn’t aware of it, and just didn’t want to tell us?”  Her lip wobbled slightly as she spoke.  “He didn’t trust us, Keith.”

Keith flinched and Hunk looked sad.  Shiro seemed conflicted, and Keith could tell he was still blaming himself.  Allura glanced at the pod with a sigh, “I suppose we’ll just have to ask him when he wakes.”  Everyone nodded and turned back to the pod, guilt and anxiety flickering across their faces as they gazed at Lance’s limp form.  There was nothing they could do now but wait.

[denimwrites-archive]

Flowers and Feelings

Prompt: I saw this headcanon on @lovethyfanperson ‘s page (created by @nosemeocurrenada77) and I thought it was too cute to pass up Original Post

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Pairing: Connor Murphy X Reader

Summary: Senior year is really sinking in, and you don’t want to leave behind all that has grown to be familiar. Connor shares your sentiments and assuages your fears, but Evan doesn’t quite agree with his way of going about it.

Word Count: 1,778

Warnings: Language, slight talk of mental illness, fear of the future, nothing super major I don’t think

A/N: A big thank you to @nosemeocurrenada77 and @lovethyfanperson for allowing me to use this prompt. I hope I did okay since this is my first time writing anything for DEH and I still haven’t been able to read the book yet, so if anything is ooc I probably don’t know. And I kind of focused more on Connor and flowers than Evan but I think that’s also because I don’t think he’d want to be very confrontational idk (Also it’s not like I’m projecting on the reader or anything, so what if I’m a senior and slowly dying from the prospect of imminent adulthood? Nope totally not about me)

~~~

It had been another long week of hell, a.k.a. school, and you were ready to collapse from the amount of shit you still had to do. Why does getting into college have to be so hard? you thought, flipping through yet another SAT prep book. Your eyes weren’t even absorbing any of the words and your head was starting to hurt. I can’t believe I’m subjecting myself to this on a Saturday. Why can’t I just watch cartoons?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a text from Connor. You gave a tired smile before opening it to see he wanted you to meet him at the park. Gratefully accepting a break from killing your brain, you replied that you would be there in a few. Grabbing your keys and other necessities, you headed out the door.

When you got there you saw Connor spread out on the grass in his normal spot, looking at the clouds. You laid down next to him and you both sat quietly for a good while, just enjoying each others company and the nice autumn day. The leaves were starting to change color and the breeze was getting colder, but the change was that much heavier this year because of its finality.

Soon the year would be over, and then it was only a few months until the rest of your life. College, job, and whatever else the world had in store for you. It seemed that everything was riding on ending your high school career on a high note, and after years of monotone repetition, you were unsure if that was even possible.

You were dragged out of your thoughts by a hand in yours. Turning to look at Connor, you see that he was already studying you. You squeezed his hand and he squeezed back before refocusing on the clouds rolling by. A few more minutes of silence stretched between you two, with your hands still intertwined, before he raised his other hand to point out a cloud shape.

“That one looks like Mr. Montgomery.” He gestured towards what looked more like a hippo, making you laugh lightly. That teacher did usually act like one while trampling through the halls.

“More like Mr. Johnson,” you retorted thinking of the biology teacher who made it a habit to just sit at his desk and play videos as a way of teaching, reminding you of the lazy mammals. You could tell Connor was contemplating your observation before making a noise of agreement and then moving on to the next cloud. This continued for a while, until the sky was empty.

Connor sat up and looked down at you before squeezing your hand and getting up. You followed him over to a park bench in the shade where you sat and leaned against his chest, soon getting lost in thought again.

You felt him nudge you softly and looked up at him. His brow was furrowed and you could tell that he wanted you to say what was on your mind. You didn’t want to talk about it though, Connor was getting better and you would not have your negativity bring him down.

“It’s nothing,” you lied, with the attempt of a smile on your face. He just gave you a look that screamed If it’s nothing then I’m Jared Kleinman. You roll your eyes with a sigh before looking at your shoes.

You can feel Connor roll his eyes before grabbing your hand in his and rubbing his thumb on the back of it, something that’s become a thing between you two when either of you need to show support. Your lips perk at the soothing feeling of his motions, and you let out another sigh before turning to look at him.

You see the patience in his eyes, and turn to look back at the park before speaking.

“Everything feels like it’s ending.” You can feel him slightly tense up at your bluntness, but his hand is still there, keeping you weighted. “Senior year is already a month over, and that leaves so little time before the rest of the world crashes in. Yeah, we’ve all been wading into the world of adulthood with jobs and stuff, but that’s nothing compared to what’s out there. And then there’s college to think about and…” you trail off, getting lost in your thoughts again.

Connor squeezes your hand and you take a deep breath before continuing. “Nothing is permanent, but I really wish we could just stay here, trapped in a perfect moment forever. Everything seems to be going too fast, and I’m not ready for it. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You glance at Connor, kind of expecting him to go on his own talk about how the future is a daunting thing, but he sits in silence for a few minutes. You look back at the park and people watch, until he finally speaks.

“I understand why you feel that way. I kind of think everyone does senior year. But…” he stops, trying to get his thoughts together, “just because the future is uncertain and there’s all this stuff that feels like it could drown you, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to swim. If you need help, there are life preservers and lifeguards and fucking floaties for god’s sake.”

He trails off, and you can tell that he’s trying hard to make sure that he’s delicate with his response while also saying what needs to be said. “I know that it seems like things might not work out, but that’s just the fear of the unknown creeping into your mind. And the whole point of having friends and stuff is so that you aren’t facing it alone,” he gives your hand another squeeze, “and I promise that I’ll be there for you, just as you’ve been there for me during the past few months.”

You look at him before leaning in and giving him a kiss, which he returns in earnest. You know that it’s still hard for him to fully verbalize how he’s feeling, but his words put your mind at ease, at least for now. And if what he said was true, which you really believed it was, he would be there to remind you when these thoughts ultimately returned.

After you broke away, he kissed your temple, and you sat there for a few more minutes in silence. Then Connor pulled you up and you began to walk one of the park’s many paths, kind of just wandering. Your hands were intertwined and every once in awhile he would bring your hand up to his mouth and give it a quick peck, drawing a smile to your face.

As you continued your walk, you became more and more relaxed. When you came upon a patch of flowers, you stopped to admire them. Following that old saying, you smelled them and were about to continue on your walk when Connor picked one and put it in your hair. Your cheeks warmed and Connor smiled at the sight.

The next thing you know, he dropped your hand before going back to picking flowers, this time trying to wrap the stems into a sort of circle. You stand and watch him for a good ten minutes, just admiring the way he’s putting such effort into whatever he was doing.

Finally he was finished and he turned to you before placing it on your head. You look up as it slightly falls over your eyes and move to adjust it, but Connor does it instead, incredibly gently so that it stays together.

“How do I look?” you ask, striking a silly pose. You hear a camera shutter and see Connor’s phone pointed towards you. He shows you the photo and you admit that you look good in your custom made flower crown. You lean in and kiss his cheek and you hear the shutter again. You roll your eyes, but smile at his antics. Seeing the photo of you kissing him and his big smile just makes you happier than you could describe.

Then you’re walking along the path, hands linked once again. You feel like the weight on your shoulders is just a little bit lighter, and give Connor’s hand a squeeze. He looks at you and you just smile at each other, happy that you’re together.

When you come around the next bend, you bump into Evan and you greet him, but you can tell he’s a little preoccupied by something. Then you see him staring at your head. “Admiring Connor’s handiwork, are you? I’m sure if you asked nicely he’d make one for you too, Hansen,” you tease him slightly.

You see his cheeks turn slightly red before he stutters out, “Where did you find the flowers?”

“Somewhere off the path back there,” Connor answered, gesturing behind you. You could see Evan try to peer around you to see if he could see the flower bed, but he turned his attention back to Connor when he couldn’t see it.

“Y-you shouldn’t just go and p-pick flowers, it can damage the plant,” Evan said, sounding almost stern. You share a look with Connor before carefully pulling one of the flowers out of your flower crown and handing it to Evan with a small smile.

“Flowers are to be admired Evan, but we promise not to disturb the nature of the park in the future, okay?”

He takes the flower from you, returning your light smile, and you pat his shoulder before pulling on Connor’s hand and continuing your walk. Throwing a quick, “See you later Evan,” over your shoulder.

Your walk lasts another hour or so, with a little bit of random conversation interspersed throughout. You pass by Evan again, and see him tending to some of the plants, pulling weeds and such. You give him a small wave and he waves back before going back to looking after the nature of the park. You know that he’ll make a good park ranger or botanist if he chose to become one.

Soon enough you and Connor had looped back around to the parking lot and you were saying your goodbyes. And as you drove home, now thinking about the things you still had to get done once more, you felt more calm.

Connor had become your rock over the course of your relationship, and you his. The future still wasn’t spelled out in black and white, and you sure as hell weren’t prepared for everything, but that wasn’t going to stop it from coming, or stop you from facing it with your handsome support system at your side.

[themarginalthinker]

A Voice Inside - It’s Who You Are

Another little piece for @bismuthsnowflakes and I’s Divine au - otherwise known as the DemonxAngel au. Here’s a large chunk of the very basic storyline and plot of the story, but feel free to ask questions! Thank you!!!!

(Angels and demon genders and gender expression is...different from humans. Children are all given nonbinary pronouns and are without names until they come to the age when they determine their own names and identities themselves. Also to note, this is not mpreg or any implication of - angels and demons create children through a combining of their powers and core energy.) 

------

Jean and Marco had talked about it. At one point, it was but a dead dream, something to haunt their dreams at night on Earth with the bittersweet torturous thoughts of maybe and what if...But now they’re here. They’re here and Marco can now ponder new possibilities. 

Who are you, little thing...who will you become...

It wasn't like there was a ceremony to it all. Well, there could be if the parents wanted one. So...it was really a matter of how important a child discovering their full identity for the first time was to the family. 

Marco didn't remember when it had happened to him. Doesn't remember the day, the time, where he was or what was happening around him at that point - he'd been pretty young to have made the discovery according to his parents, ahead of his peers by a bit. But...he remembers the feeling. The thought that suddenly came so easily. Like breathing. Like having to tell your own heart to beat - you didn't. 

Just....he'd known. Known it like he knows his own name now, with just as much confidence and an iron-solid assiduity. I'm Marco. I'm me. I'm a little angel boy who's name....is Marco. 

In one of their innumerable conversations he'd engaged in with Jean, this one being from before they were banished to Earth for their undeserved and lengthy time-out, they'd talked about it. About each other, learning, slowly, about customs and rituals and beliefs and how the other ticked. Marco hadn't been surprised to learn that Jean's own name-finding had been so similar to his own - the sudden and absolute knowledge of oneself bursting into fruition within the heart of their beings - but...he supposed that at the time, they had still been still tentatively dancing around the ingrained belief that each of them were still 'supposed' to be on opposite sides of some invisible line. 

Marco cooed softly to the buzzing little body in his arms, curled around his child while they fussed, irritated at their parent, at their own tiny sleepy body, and if Marco was to resign himself to the honest truth, at the fact one of their fathers was not currently present. A low hum started to build up in Marco's chest as he paces about t he room, feet sinking into the soft carpet surrounding the crib, one hand smoothing over four small twitching wings, the down feathers finer than any cloth, human or Divine-make. 

Their tail lashed against Marco's bare chest and belly, a pitiful wail finally making it's way out of their chest giving voice ot their frustrations and Marco nodded along with it. 

"Oh, I know, dearest...just an angry little bean tonight, aren't we..." 

Jean, though he took his fair share of crying jags and inconsolable nights to remedy, seemed to find it a mortal failing of his that their child had formed with Jean's personality as a blueprint for their own. His Lust and Pride translating even this early into a heal-digging stubbornness and sweet-tooth for whatever affection anyone thought to give them (which was a near-constant stream from Jean, Marco, their numerous friends and even an emergency nanny or two.) 

Yes, their little nova was already quite the personality all their own, and Marco had no doubts that one day in the future that seemed so distant, yet would inevitably still creep up on him unexpectedly, they'd be wiggling about with a barely-contained excitement as they revealed to Jean and Marco just who they were, thank you very much. 

Marco found he couldn't contain a goofy smile at the thought. Their child's name...oh, he'd cherish the day he finally got to speak it, hear it on the winds of the worlds and shake them to their cores for eternity.

  There was the sound of claws against the polished stone somewhere down the hall and Marco sighed with relief a little, the whimpering of the baby cutting off at the noise. He turned just in time to catch Jean's head peer around the corner and the rest of him follow into the dark, quiet room. 

The two celestial beings shared a quick kiss, Marco leaning his head briefly against Jean's, wanting more connection for the moment, despite the fact they'd probably be curled around each other for the rest of the night in bed, the demon all to himself. It was just...still disconcerting, Marco supposed, to not have Jean with him, or have immediate contact with him as before. Some part of him still stuck in that dark place where Jean had been taken away from him, disappeared from his sight for a moment with the promise of return only to meet again days later on the court floor in chains... 

Jean's eyes narrowed, the light spilling out from Marco's glowing against his own luminous, catlike gaze. He reached up, delicate fingers tipped with will-kept obsidian claws gently taking the angel's face. 

I'm here now. I'm home.

The angel's face broke into a second smile, giving his husband another well-earned kiss before pulling back a little, irrational fears assuaged. 

"Miracles of miracles..." he muttered, looking down at the little Divine in his arms. Quiet. Still. Easy in rest now that Jean's energy had entered the room and was soothing the back of his hand over those downy wings. 

Jean quirked an amused eyebrow. "We need to teach 'em about playing favorites sooner than later, you know. Not good for the next ruler to be partial from birth - especially about one side over the other." 

"Spare the thought..." Marco mumbles, moving carefully to the crib now that they were finally down. "I wouldn't wish politics on anyone. Besides, it's not hereditary hierarchy, as much as they play the little monarch around here. And with you." He tilted his head at their child. 

Jean only shrugged, not confirming, and certainly not denying. He moved to the other side of the bed, fluffing up the nest and lifting up a blanket so Marco could place their child under, lightly tucking it around them. It was sort of amazing how much Divine children resembled human offspring. Well. Aside from a few extra limbs and eyes here and there...

"Do you think they will?"

Jean looked up, unexpected question hanging in the air between them in the intimate space above the one in question. 

"Think...what?"

Oh. Well...maybe Jean had been joking then, before. It was hard to tell sometimes...or maybe Marco still tended to take certain things rather literally. Marco cocked his head, deliberating how to...phrase it. You'd think spending so much time with the other, countless words passed between them about anything and everything in the universe to talk about would make this easier, the words come as they should have. However, it didn't, and they didn't. In fact, if anything, the only thing that became easier was that Jean had grown some patience for Marco's form of talking and the way his head worked. 

"They're half of us. One half of - of everything about us," he whispers, and Jean leans back, nodding but silent. Marco struggles for a moment to keep his ground, and Jean steps around back to him, takes his hand and with a last glance backwards, tugs him out of the nursery. 

Having this conversation before bed was probably not the best idea, but waking their child because of it was The Worst Thing. 

The angel sighed, feeling...a little better now that the actual object of his concerns wasn't right under his nose, pressing his hands together in front of himself while Jean somehow waited. 

"What I mean to say is," he begins again, "that they're neutral. They're me any you - my people and yours, and yes, there is still a big damn difference. I mean, though...well, we've run into people on Earth that come from wildly differing cultures. From different sides of the planet, and they usually take one over the other, or choose one to participate in more." 

Marco held out his hands a little, imploring. Jean...for the most part stood back a little, tail flicking idly and a simple two oculars narrowed in considering. 

"I think...I get it," he said, hand moving to comb through his own hair. "You're worried about them leaning towards one side over another, rather then be a true neutral, right? Like, because they already have a bit of a temper they might be 'more' demon then not, right?" 

He tried not to wince slightly at how that must have sounded to Jean, when the both of them knew full well that's /not/ what Marco meant at all. There wasn't a thing about his husband that Marco would trade or wish away - certainly not what he was, after all they'd been through and learned. But, jean was still looking at him cock-eyed, hand presses against his mouth like he was contemplating something and hiding half his expression. 

Marco shook his head. "Not - not worried, I don't think. It's...look, even if they do end up leaning, it wouldn't matter. They're still what they are, if they decide to join with an Incubus gaggle and have their fun with unsuspecting humans or take up a staff and defend the highest towers of Heaven." 

Jean snorted behind his hand, a nice mental image forming in his head no doubt as he actually /knew/ an Incubus or two (and Marco was mostly joking anyway.) He sobered soon enough as Marco shrugged, beginning to move down the rest of the hall, making for their bedroom. Sleep was needed, and soon...might as well finish whatever this discussion was in the comfort of their own nest. 

"I'm worried more about how other people will react, if that's the case. I...I just want them to be happy with whoever they are. Angel, demon...both, neither, something else entirely." 

Jean followed after him, closing the door behind them but remained lingering. Watching as Marco shut the balcony doors, the air lately growing just this side of too cool to have open during the night. The two went about their evening routine in silence after Marco'd had his say - something that, any other time would have weighed on Marco's mind, knowing Jean and his tendency to work his thoughts out aloud, others inadvertently his suffering soundboards. Folding his day clothes and settling the long nightshirt over himself, waiting on the pulled back covers of their bed while his man finished up in the bathroom, Marco allowed himself to breath and quell the little bubble of anxiousness. If Jean was silent, then it meant he was either too tired to offer his full opinion of the moment just yet, or he didn't /have/ a full opinion just yet. 

At least Jean liked to be sure of himself before he spoke, something Marco found forever easier to deal with then the half-notions and too-ambiguous statements of his peers. 

The demon joined him in bed as Marco was leaning over to dismiss the little baubles of light that meandered about the room. Marco blinked as a lean body sidled up to his, hands resting lightly on his hips and a peppering of kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders suddenly. Looking over his shoulder, he hummed in wondering. Jean chewed at his bottom lip before burying his face into Marco's back. The angel closed his fist, and the room was pulled into darkness, the shadows fading a little under the light of the universe overhead.  Wiggling a bit, Marco managed to gently convince his beloved hellsprite octopus to let him roll over so they could hug properly, Jean's tail curling around Marco's leg, and the angel's wings draping over the covers like a second blanket of protection. A little space all their own. 

"Hey Marco?" 

Dark fingers threaded through mouse blond hair, and the angel hummed again. Jean let his own thoughts wander with his gaze, tracing eyes over the constellations on the galaxy of Marco’s skin.

"...Me too." 

[owlish-peacock36]

Bid Ye Soft Farewell- Ch. 3

Finally! This past week has been hectic, but I hope that you won't have to wait that long for another chapter again! At least for a while. 

A couple of things first. One, I would like to give a shout out to my significant otter for helping me get from point A to point B in this chapter. Just want to brag on him for a second. Also, I've created a fanfic archive page for my fics. You can find it here. I know there isn't very many at the moment, but there will be! Like I've said before, I'm a Tumblr baby, so if there are any issues with it, just let me know! 

Now, on with the show!

Chapter 3: The Storm and the Shadow

With morning came the glowing sun, and a hangover shared by all the men. Jamie himself was squinting in shimmering light, eyes blurred and head heavy. Made even worse by the fact that he had to perform double duty; every man did. And they would still be off schedule, if what Dougal said was to be believed. A week until they reached Port Royal.

           The only man who was seemingly in perfect spirits was Rupert. He could drink a man to his death.

           “Oh, lads! IN AMSTERDAM THERE LIVED A MAID…” He waited for the men to respond in kind, but only a few half-hearted grumbles permeated the air.

           “Mark well what I do say…” The loudest complaint came from Murtagh, who was in no mood for song and horseplay.

           “Shut yer hole!” The disappointment on Rupert’s face was palpable. Angus patted his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, and they both turned back to their work. Jamie was glad for the relative silence. The only sound was the breeze whipping about his ears. It was an unusually strong wind, and it worried Jamie.

           “There’s a storm brewing,” Murtagh murmured to him, as if deciphering his thoughts. “We’d better tell Dougal, or we’ll all blow awa’. Bloody man wouldna know a sunny day if it blinded him…” And with that, he crept away to the captain’s quarters, and Jamie trailed behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie and Murtagh entered the captain’s quarters, temporarily blinded by the light coming in from the windows. Dougal was sitting at his desk, facing said windows. His black-clad shoulders were hunched, quill in one hand, his head in the other. The corners of a map were fluttering off the edge of the desk. Murtagh cleared his throat.

           “There’s a storm on the horizon, Dougal. Its best we batten down the hatches.” Dougal rose from his chair, and swiftly spun around to face them.

           Dougal was a handsome man, if what the lassies said could be believed. Tall and imposing, he was the perfect build for a captain. He had no hair on his head, but made up for it with the long, chestnut-colored beard, peppered with gray. His face was weathered from the sun, ruddy and freckled. But perhaps it wasn’t his looks that the women were attracted to, but rather his charm. He could convince a man to kill his own mother, if he wanted. Hell, he convinced Jamie to join this crew.  

           “Shit. Tell Rupert an’ Willy to make sure the cargo is secure. Tell Angus to trim the sails, and tell Duncan to douse the galley. We’ll need all hands on deck fer this…”

           “Aye.” And with that, Murtagh turned to leave, and Jamie made move to follow.

           “Wait, lad.” Jamie tensed. Dougal never spoke to him privately unless he needed something.

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie asked carefully. Dougal sauntered next to him, and flung his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. This caused Jamie’s tension to increase tenfold.

           “I’ve something to ask ye.”

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie repeated.

           “I’ve heard rumor about a hefty prize, aye? Located near the Southern Cay.”

           “Aye?”

           “Aye. A ship, ken? Wrecked upon the shore. Gold glittering upon the shore…” Dougal sighed, painting this pretty picture.

           “Weel, sounds an easy prize then.” Jamie turned to make his leave, but Dougal stopped him again.

           “Tis not so simple, lad. There are sentries, aye? Dozens of them. Watching over the treasure until a proper ship can come and collect. That’s where want you to come in.”

           “Dougal, I dinna want any part of this scheme. Ye told me once we dropped anchor at Port Royal, ye’d let me free, with my fair share.”

           “Aye, weel, I changed my mind didn’t I?” Dougal said this with annoyance and frustration. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. But just as quickly as the anger came, it went, replaced with arrogance and a deceitful grin. “Besides, you willna get your share until ye do this for me.”

           “Ye’ve said this for years Uncle! ‘Do this, and I’ll give ye yer share. Do that, and ye can go back to Scotland.’ And how much more must I do to please ye!” Jamie’s face was hot, his eyes wild. Dougal had seen this look before. Best to assuage his frustrations now, and deal with the repercussions later, when he wasn’t alone with him. He was a big man, but Jamie was bigger.

           “This is the last time. I promise,” Dougal soothed, giving him his best reassuring smile. In his heart, Jamie didn’t believe him. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

           “What is it?”

           “Scout the place, lad. Take a couple of the men, and see how the place looks,” Dougal said, as if it were the easiest task in the world.

           “If what ye say is true, we’ll be shot on sight! Its suicide!” Jamie didn’t much feel like dying in the near future.

           “Nay. ‘Twill be perfectly safe. Beside, yer a braw fighter. Ye could take the guards down if ye needed. Ye’ll have a few men with ye.”

           “5 men against dozens? Braw fighters or no, it will no end well.” Dougal just shrugged. “And if I refuse?”

           “Ye won’t. For I am yer captain, and I hold yer future in my hands.” It was the plain, God’s honest truth. Dougal knew it. Jamie knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.

           “Aye.”

           “Good lad.” Dougal clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Now, get back out there, and get to work. We’ve a storm to prepare for.” Jamie made yet another turn to leave before being stopped by Dougal’s voice. “And tell the men not to leave their orange peels lying around. I’m no their mother, and I’ll no be picking up after them.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

             The storm came upon them slowly and deliberately. The wind began to shriek, crying out to those that would listen.

           “Oi, sounds a bit like your mother last night. Eh, Duncan?” Angus hollered above the howling gusts.

           The dark sky crept quickly upon them, skipping through a day’s worth of sunlight in an hour. Soon, the world was shadowed in an unearthly gray, the clouds lit from behind from the lightning within them.

           The men grew serious, bracing themselves for what was coming their way. A storm was never a happy occasion. Lost crew members. Lost cargo. Lost ship fragments. That was what the crew had to look forward to; they just wondered which one it would be this time. Perhaps all three.

           As the waves grew higher, the men’s brows sank lower, absorbed in the task of keeping the ship afloat. No men would die tonight. Not if any of them had a say in it.

           The booming of thunder echoed the crashing seas. The waves struck the ship. The men tumbled, tripped, fell. Screams and yells fell on deaf ears.

           Fighting a storm was like fighting a man, Jamie thought. The relentless movements of the opponent. The struggle to stay alive. The worry for crew members, and knowing that the worry is futile.

No rest until it’s over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           The hours of laboring finally drew to a close, as the blasts of air calmed to a warm breeze, and the rain danced lightly over their bodies. The sea was still choppy, and jolted the men off their feet on occasion.

           “Least we survived, eh?” Murtagh grumbled to Jamie, as they surveyed the ragged sails.

           “Aye. They’ll get us to Port Royal, though.”

           “Ye never did tell me what Dougal said to ye.”

           “Later, all right?” Jamie didn’t want speak badly of the captain in front of his men.

           “Aye.” Murtagh gave Jamie a knowing look. He knew how the lad felt: disgusted by things he did, wanting out of this ‘trade.’

           “I’ll tell ye this, though. I’ll no be leaving at Port Royal, like I thought.” Murtagh nodded. He expected as much.

           A crash from underneath them broke them out of their conversation. It was a familiar sound. Barrels tumbling and rolling across the wooden boards. Glass breaking. Wood splintering. All from the cargo hold.

           “HELL! Rupert! Did I no tell ye to secure the cargo, ye idiot!” Dougal screeched from somewhere above them on the quarter deck.

           “Aye! I did! Must’ve broke loose!”

           “Weel, you and Jamie go tighten back up! And ye better pray to God that nothing’s broken…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie led the small party down the creaky steps to the hold, Rupert mumbling curses the whole way.

           “Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuckin’ cargo.” Jamie grinned at Rupert’s colorful language. He had a way with words.

           The smile quickly disappeared, however, when he caught sight of the hold. Not because of the fallen cargo. It was a mess, but could be easily cleaned and reorganized.

           He stopped grinning, because there among the jumbled barrels and crates, was a small shadow picking its way carefully around them.

           A human shadow.

           It stopped in its tracks as it caught sight of him. Frozen, like prey trapped by a predator.  Rupert was the first to move.

           “Jesus Christ!” He yelled, as he jumped over the railing, directly into the hold. The shadow sprang into action then, jumping over barrels to escape Rupert’s sizeable presence.

           “Ach, no ye don’t!” Jamie himself was frozen, watching this cat and mouse game taking place in front of him. Rupert was a strong, capable man. Jamie had seen him take down three men at once. But the shadow was agile, like a large cat, jumping and twisting just out of reach.

           But the hold was small, and there was only so much room to jump and twist. Rupert had the shadow trapped in the far corner, his strength overpowering its agility. Their two shadows became one as he pinned its arms behind its back, and pushed it toward Jamie and the stairs.

           The mess was all but forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie was in charge of holding the weapons Rupert had removed from the stranger: multiple daggers and pistols, and one long sword. Jamie wondered where the stranger hid it all.

           They stepped into the dull light of late afternoon, the stranger tensed, awaiting its fate. It did not struggle, though.

           Only in the diffused light could Jamie see the stranger for the first time. Wild dark hair, clubbed back and topped with an askew tricorn. Loose breeks and a too-large jacket hid the body, but the face gave it away.

           A face soft and pretty, as only a woman’s can be. Large lips, pressed into a perfect straight line. Eyes, the same color as the setting sun, fringed with black lashes. He noticed a scar, running from the end of her right eyebrow to the prominent cheekbone.

           “Weel, what have we here, Rupert?” Dougal sauntered over to the three of them, a devilish glint in his eye. He noticed the lovely face, too, then.

           “Found this in the hold. Put up a good fight.” Dougal nodded.

           “What’s yer name, lass?” But the woman stared through Dougal, eyes bored and mouth tensed. She would not answer.

           “We found these on her, cap’n,” Rupert interjected. He nodded toward Jamie, and he dropped the weapons at Dougal’s feet. Dougal knelt, and rummaged through them, nodding in appreciation at the well-made weapons. He held the sword up to the light, recognition dawning on his face. He stood, and faced his crew.

           “I’ve heard tales, as ye all have as well,” Dougal began. He spoke strongly and loudly so all men could hear the story about to be told. “Of a woman. A pirate lady. A well-bred English woman, thrust into piracy. Some men say she’s a witch, others a ghost. They say she could kill a man wi’ the edge o’ her sword, and heal him wi’ the other.  She could hypnotize a man to betray his own kin. She’s done it before.” The men were nodding and mumbling. They had heard this one before. “A bonny fighter, quick and nimble. Could disappear in front of yer eyes, only to reappear behind ye. Recognized only because of her sapphire sword. The last thing some men see.” At this, Dougal help up the sword in question, blue light glinting off the hilt. The woman narrowed her eyes, but otherwise, her face didn’t change. Dougal turned to speak to her, but still used his storytelling voice so the men could hear:

           “Welcome aboard The Thistle, La Dame Blanche.”

[sanctumslider]

Fic: Glass Houses, Chapter 33

Summary: In an alternate universe where all humans are empaths, Kurt Hummel is the odd one out. Registering at a mere 0.5 on the Hawkins Scale of Empathic Sensitivity, Kurt has resigned himself to a lonely life, empty of touch or true love. That is, until the mysterious Blaine Anderson transfers to McKinley, and everything Kurt thought he knew was changed. But finding love is never easy, even in a world where everyone’s emotions are shared. This is the story of the boy who could not feel, and the boy who felt too much.

[Go to Chapter 1]

[FF.net] [S&C] [AO3]

Blaine was gone.

It was the first thing Kurt registered when he opened his eyes, and the immediate panic that swamped him banished any restfulness he had gained from sleep.

He rocketed upright, fighting against the too-tight sheets binding him. He would have fallen out of bed if it hadn’t been for the strong hands pressing against his chest.

“Kurt, Kurt, calm down it’s okay, you’re okay,” his dad wrestled with his flailing arms, voice soothing.

“Where’s Blaine? Where have they taken him?” Kurt cried urgently, refusing to let himself be placated.

“It’s okay, Blaine’s fine. The doc’s just taken him for some more tests. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Burt said calmly.

“No, no I promised I wouldn’t leave him!” Panic clawed cold at Kurt’s rib cage, erratic adrenaline fuelling his struggles against his dad.

“Kurt!” Burt said sharply, “Look at me. Look at me. Would I lie to you? Blaine will be back soon. I promise this isn’t a trick.”

With his dad’s soothing voice, Kurt began to feel his heart slow, and found himself nodding as he forced himself to sit back against the pillows. “I just, I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” Burt sighed. “You’re not the only Hummel with a problem with these places. Now, will you stay put if I sit down again? Or are you going to run away again?”

Kurt blushed, the barbs of guilt in his stomach suddenly coming back full force. He looked down at his hands, taking a breath before looking up to once again meet his father’s gaze.

He might not be able to sense anyone’s emotions other than Blaine’s, but he didn’t need any extra sense to be able to read his dad’s eyes. He never had.

Sadness, pride, worry, stress… they blended into a mixture that reminded Kurt just how much he had hurt his dad over the last week.

Burt sighed, “I just wish you would have trusted me more, Kurt. Why didn’t you come to me with Blaine’s letters? We’ve had our differences in the past, but I always thought we did pretty well overall. We used to talk.” Burt reached over and took Kurt’s hands in his own. They were rough and warm, and Kurt felt his throat close as he tried not to cry. “I know why you did what you did. You’ve always been a bit look-before-you-leap. But, god, Kurt… have you any idea how terrified I was for you, and Blaine?”

“Dad…” Kurt said brokenly, anything to stop the pain in his father’s voice.

Burt shook his head, “Forget the fact my son broke the law, dragging his brother and friends into it to boot. Forget the police, the Dalton teachers, the experts all saying how we shouldn’t expect to find Blaine alive. Because screw that, I never believed that for a second. I was more scared of what would happen if the wrong person found you boys. There was a god damn witch hunt going on in this town, in the whole of Ohio! And all it would have taken would have been the wrong person to find you boys first, and all-” Burt broke himself off, his voice cracking as he tried to compose himself, “And all we would have gotten back would have been your bloody body, and Blaine too far gone to care.”

Kurt shook, tears running freely down his face as his dad’s words brought the horrible might-have-been to his mind. “I’m so sorry Dad…”

His words broke, chest constricting, and his body heaved with sobs that had been waiting to be released for so long, tangled dark emotions that he had tried to hold in for Blaine’s sake flooding him. And then the bed dipped, and his dad was right there, taking Kurt in his arms and making everything okay again. Kurt clung on, willing his dad to make everything better, just like he always did.

When Kurt pulled back, he said, “I just wanted to help Blaine. I never meant to hurt you. I just… panicked. I didn’t think, and I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Burt smiled softly, clasping Kurt’s shoulder, “I know you are, Kurt. And despite everything, I am so proud of what you’ve done for Blaine, of how strong you’ve been. But how about you let me be the parent for once, and look after you?”

Kurt nodded jerkily, “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, buddy.”  Burt pulled Kurt back for another hug, and then asked, “So, do you feel up to more visitors? Carole and Finn are in the waiting room, and I know they’d both love to see you. Your whole damn glee club were out there as well, but I sent them home an hour ago. A lot of people have been worried about you boys.”

Kurt blinked, overwhelmed. “What time is it?” The little double room they had been given the night before was bright with filtered sunlight.

“Nearly midday, you slept for about twelve hours.”

“But what about the garage? Saturday is the busiest day,” Kurt said guiltily.

“Kurt. You’re my son, and in hospital. I’ve got better places to be than the shop. Besides, one of the perks of being the owner is I get to decide when I go in, and the guys are fine without me,” Burt rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Kurt only had a minute to gather himself before his Finn came bursting into the room, followed closely by his dad and step-mom, as well as Cooper Anderson. Carole surprised him by sweeping down and giving Kurt the tightest hug she could, and then when she pulled away, Finn scrunched his face oddly and grasped Kurt’s hand warmly for a full five seconds before retreating, “It’s good to see you bro.”

Kurt was overwhelmed. He loved his family, but Finn was like everyone else at McKinley and usually avoided his touch like the plague. And Carole, while she’d been making a determined effort of touches since she had married his dad, was still on the higher end of average on the scale, and had never tried to hug him before. Until now, the only hugs he had ever received in his life had been from his mom, his dad, and Blaine.

Cooper grabbed a few more chairs, smiling at Kurt’s unasked question, “Dad’s with Blaine, and Mom’s gone home to grab him some clothes. Figured I’d stick it out here if you guys didn’t mind. You had me worried as much as Blaine.”

“We’re so glad you’re okay Kurt,” Carole smiled warmly, leaning into Burt where they sat.

“Yeah, dude, seriously, it has been mental.” And then Kurt found himself subjected to the enthusiastic retelling of the last week as seen through his brother’s eyes, from Rachel’s enjoyment at the ‘acting challenge’ covering for them had provided her, to Tina and Sam projecting so strongly at a group of teens in the Lima Bean that the nasty gossipers had burst into floods of tears, and of how Brittany had confused everyone for a good twenty four hours with her claim that Lord Tubbington had seen both boys heading for the Mexican border.

Somewhere in the middle of Finn’s account of how Santana had nearly bodily attacked one of the sense agents, Blaine was returned in a wheelchair pushed by Dr Monroe, accompanied by his dad.

Blaine smiled tiredly, but assuaged any of Kurt’s immediate fears that he might have gotten worse as he levered himself out of the chair, perching on the edge of his own bed, “Your turn.”

Dr Monroe nodded, smiling reassuring at Kurt, “It’s nothing scary. I just need to take some scans, a few blood samples. Pretty standard stuff. Your dad can come with you if you like.”

Kurt looked to his dad, who nodded without needing to be asked, turning to his wife, “Why don’t you and Finn go home for a bit, grab some lunch?”

“Sure, I’ll come back this afternoon with some of Kurt’s stuff. God knows you wouldn’t know where to start.” Carole kissed Burt, smiling fondly at him before looking at Kurt, “We’ll be back soon sweetheart.”

“See you later Kurt,” Finn grinned.

“Bye,” Kurt gave them a tiny wave as they left, before swinging out of bed. He walked over to Blaine without asking permission from the doctor, and tried not to think about how both their dads and Blaine’s brother were still in the room.

Blaine grinned, looping his arms around Kurt’s shoulders and kissing his lips briefly, filling Kurt with calm, “It’s not that bad really. The MRI machine makes a horrible noise, but it’s not any worse than Rachel’s complaining and you’ve dealt with that for long enough without going crazy.”

“Come on you, back into bed,” John sighed exasperatedly.

“And you, in the chair,” Burt gestured at Kurt.

“I can walk!” Kurt said indignantly.

“Hospital policy, especially for wayward teenagers,” Dr Monroe said sweetly, before turning to John. “Someone will be back in a moment to fit Blaine’s cannula.”

“Wait, what? What’s wrong?” Kurt demanded.

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand comfortingly, “It’s fine, it’s just a little tube in the back of my hand. My blood sugar is still too low, so they want to connect me to an IV. Nothing to worry about.”

Kurt took a breath, taking strength from Blaine’s nonchalance. For a moment, Finn’s stories had helped him forget why they were here.

“Then I’ll see you when I get back,” Kurt smiled, forcing himself to let go of Blaine’s hand. The sooner he had these stupid tests, the sooner this might all be over.

00000

“Okay, Kurt, just hold your head still for a second for me?” The nurse smiled reassuringly as he placed a strange headset to sit over Kurt’s hair, and began fixing the little metal discs at spaced intervals over Kurt’s head. “There we go, all set.”

“Thanks Tom,” Dr Monroe said from where she was fitting a similar headset on Blaine. “Could you make sure the camera is set up okay for me please?”

“Starting to feel a little bit like a lab rat here…” Kurt quipped, trying to offset his nerves with humour.

Dr Monroe smiled, “I know it all looks very sci-fi, Kurt, but an EEG is very simple.” She attached the last disc to Blaine’s head, “These electrodes are going to allow us to monitor your and Blaine’s brain activity in real time. Any time either of you want to take a break, or stop entirely, just say the word.”

“Camera’s all ready to go and recording,” Tom gave the thumbs up. Burt and John had agreed for the boys to be filmed to ensure the results couldn’t be challenged. For the moment, the authorities had taken a step back in deference to the hospital and ultimately Dr Monroe, but that could always change. It had been five days now since they had been admitted, and Kurt for one was sick of the tests.

“Great. For the record, I am Doctor Fiona Monroe, with Nurse Tom Winters behind the camera. The two patients are Blaine Devon Anderson, aged 16, registered with ES 4.8, and Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, aged 17, registered with ES 0.5. Kurt will be shown Visual Card Set A23 and B65, and Blaine will be shown Visual Card Set A45 and B09.” She rattled off the facts so blandly that Kurt’s stomach twisted even more. “Okay boys, I’m going to raise the divide curtain. Kurt, we’re going to start with you.”

Kurt stole one last glance at Blaine before the doctor drew a curtain divide between their two chairs. She then sat down in front of him, pulling some large cards out of an envelope, “Are you ready?”

“Sure, why not.” Kurt forced himself to relax.

“Okay, starting with test A, no contact. Kurt, just let yourself react to the pictures. And Blaine, when and if you feel anything from Kurt, just say what you feel.”

For the first few cards, Kurt was too tense to feel anything other claustrophobia and discomfort. But then Blaine’s voice floated from the other side of the divide. “Kurt, relax. Seriously…” His voice sounded amused, and Kurt felt his tension leak a little bit.

And then Blaine started just saying random words, sometimes a little before Kurt himself even registered what he was feeling.

A piano – “Joy.”

An elementary school – “Loneliness.”

A roast chicken – “Happy sadness?”

A doctor – “Distrust.”

A cop – “Anger.”

A picture of his dad – “Safety.”

After about thirty cards, Dr Monroe paused. “Okay, great, now see that slit in the curtain? Reach through it and hold hands. We’re moving onto test B, contact.”

The results of that one were much the same, except this time at the back of Kurt’s mind there was a constant echo of Blaine’s peaceful concentration, and a slight shadow of Kurt’s own feelings floating back at him.

“That was the last card. Do you boys want a break, or shall we keep going?” Dr Monroe asked.

They were still holding hands, and Kurt knew it was his itching desire to get out of the stupid thing on his head that prompted Blaine to say, “Nope, we’re good.”

Dr Monroe threw Blaine a look, but her eyes sparkled, “We haven’t started your test yet, Blaine.”

“Sorry,” Blaine chirped. Kurt suppressed a giggle. He knew for a fact Blaine wasn’t sorry at all.

“Alright, Blaine your turn. Test A, no contact. Please let go of each other’s hands. Kurt, by now you should have an idea of what we’re looking for. Just remember there are no right or wrong answers.” And then she disappeared to sit on Blaine’s side of the curtain.

There was nothing. Kurt wasn’t especially surprised. He had sensed Blaine twice now without contact, but those had been special cases. Sometimes, if he really thought about it, he was pretty sure he knew Blaine was there, but that could also be wishful thinking.

Fear-powerless-lost-selfhatred-terror- “Blaine! What the hell did you just show him?” Kurt yelped as a boiling pot of nasty emotions arrowed through his body and he instinctively reached out to the other boy.

There was a lead-weight pause. Kurt was vaguely aware of the nurse behind the camera staring at him in utter shock. And then Dr Monroe’s voice came from behind the divide, too-neutral, “Kurt, if you just felt something from Blaine, please describe it.”

“He’s scared, of whatever you showed him, but also of himself. He feels out of control, like no one’s on his side…” Kurt trailed off, voice choking. “Can we take a break? Please, I…”

“Of course, Kurt.” As soon the words were out of her mouth, Kurt was up out of the chair, shoving the divide out of his way. The stupid wires attached to his head trailed after him, catching slightly. “Kurt, careful!”

Kurt ignored her, grabbing Blaine’s hands, “Are you okay? What was that?”

Through the contact, Kurt felt whatever had shaken that response out of Blaine recede slightly. His boyfriend smiled comfortingly, but it was there was an edge to it. “Sorry I scared you. It was a picture of one of Dalton’s sense teachers. I guess it’s all still kinda fresh in my mind.”

Kurt huffed, squeezing Blaine’s hands, “You’re not going back there, and I am always on your side.”

Blaine nodded, and Kurt felt their shared love sparking between them. “I know you are. You okay to keep going? These things are getting itchy.”

“Sure,” Kurt laughed at Blaine’s adorably scrunched nose, impulsively placed a delicate kiss there before straightening.

Dr Monroe was looking at them both with an unreadable expression. “Alright, Kurt if you sit back down, I think we’ll move onto test B, contact.”

Kurt nodded, taking Blaine’s hand through the divide and closing his eyes, letting his attention focus entirely on his boyfriend. The warm hand in his fitted perfectly as ever, and Kurt felt the lingering tension from the last card wash away.

A tickling flicker of gold, and Kurt smiled, “Something funny.”

Pinpricks of sparks running up his arm, “Excited.”

Dimming stars swallowed in a blanket of dark sky, “Sorrow.”

Ribbons of skittering light on still water, “Nervous.”

Kurt let himself drift, floating under an ever changing sky, saying aloud the emotions he read in the stars.

And then the sky exploded in a breathtaking galaxy that was all Blaine, every hope, every dream, every wish.

Kurt smiled, and even though it wasn’t part of the test, he pushed back the same to Blaine, a mirrored starscape lighting fire to deep blue waters.

“Love.”

Chapter 34

[alargebear]

Some Questions

Summary: Honoka asks Umi some questions about love. Umi isn’t sure what to make of it.

Pairing: HonoUmi

Word Count: 2500

Links: FFnet AO3

Note: I love HonoUmi cheese.

It didn't take a mind-reader to understand that Honoka had been holding in some sort of question. The rapping of her knuckles against the table, the quick glances up from her notebook, and the complete lack of focus on the work before her had told Umi everything she needed to know. This supposed study session wasn't going anywhere productive any time soon.

"Hey, Umi?"

"Yes, Honoka," Umi said, setting her book down onto the table and turning to Honoka who sat in the seat to her side. The club room was empty and Honoka seemed enthusiastic so she would indulge her. Anything to try and get her back to work.

"Can I ask you some questions?" Honoka slid her notebook to the side and leaned back into her chair.

"Will you get back to work if I answer them?"

"Yeah, but you have to answer all of them. Got it?" Honoka said with a wide smile. "No backing out if you get embarrassed."

Umi rolled her eyes and sighed. That wasn't a very good start to this whole thing, but Honoka was too far gone at this point to argue. "I'll be the judge of that. Ask your questions so you can get back to work. We've got tests coming up next week, and I don't want you falling behind and making an excuse like last time."

"I know. This will be quick, don't worry."

Honoka's bright smile didn't do too much to soothe any of the growing irritation worming its way into Umi's stomach. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared, urging Honoka to continue.

"It's kind of a hard question to ask." Honoka chuckled, her eyes wandering about the room as she scratched her cheek. "Do you know what it's like to be in love with someone."

Umi sputtered, eyes wide and cheeks flushed a very dark shade of red. "What kind of question is that Honoka! I absolutely refuse to answer that."

"Oh come on, Umi.," Honoka pleaded. "You said that you'd answer whatever my question was."

"That was before I knew that it was going to be something so embarrassing." Umi held her hands to her cheeks, doing her best to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. She wasn't sure that it was coming from the question, or the girl asking. She didn't want to be hearing any of this from Honoka of all people. Not when she was starting to understand her own feelings.

Honoka leaned in closer. "But you promised."

Umi pulled back, head turned to the side and nervous palms gripping at her skirt. "Why are you even asking me something like this. Wouldn't Kotori or Nozomi be better at this."

"But I wanted to ask you about it." Honoka continued staring.

Umi gnawed on her bottom lip. "You know how I get with stuff like this."

"I know," Honoka said. Umi glared, forcing Honoka to shirk back. "But I wanted to ask you about it. I thought you might know what it's like."

"What would I know about that." Umi's voice was mumbled. A few small beads of sweat formed on her forehead, forcing her to take some deep breaths. Her erratic heartbeat and deep breaths making it hard to focus on anything.

"You write all those love songs for us, and they're all so beautiful. So I thought that you might have some experience with this."

"I-I have no idea what you are talking about," Umi stammered. "And just what kind of experience would I have anyway?"

Honoka sighed, her shoulders going slack. "Oh come on, you don't have someone you think of when you write those lyrics?"

Umi's voice caught in her throat, the truth almost slipping out in a fit of embarrassment. She wasn't one for lying, but it wasn't like she could come out and tell Honoka. Not when Honoka was the one asking the questions. Especially not when it seemed so much like Honoka already had someone on her mind. Someone who Umi had decided long ago wasn't ever going to be her.

"I don't think of anyone, Honoka," Umi answered, the reality of the situation sobering her voice.

"Then where do all those pretty words come from?" Honoka asked. "Because I can feel all of your feelings in your lyrics, and they always sound so amazing every single time I hear them."

Umi could feel a restlessness in her stomach but would continue to lie all the same. "I read a lot of romance novels. So I guess it all comes from there. It most certainly does not come from 'experience'."

Honoka tapped at her chin seemingly deep in thought.

Umi found solace in the few moments of silence. She took a few deep breaths to steady her wildly thumping chest, and a quick wipe of her brow to stop the oncoming sweat before it could form, but she couldn't shake that nagging and uncomfortable feeling somewhere between her throat and the pit of her stomach. Just what was it that brought on such a strange few questions? Umi could think of a few answers. Though they weren't anything that would help in assuaging that oncoming strange and uncomfortable feeling.

"Can I ask you another question, Umi?" Honoka asked, breaking the silence.

Umi shook herself from her thoughts, turning and looking back to Honoka. "As long as you promise to get back to work after."

"I will." Honoka licked her lips and eyes searched about the room. "I know this might be a little weird to hear, but I think I might be in love with somebody."

"Oh."

It was the only response Umi could find, Honoka's statement taking her wholly off guard. She looked down at her knees, large blush taking over her cheeks. It was one that she wasn't sure was completely out of embarrassment. Her stomach knotted and her throat clenched. She balled her hands up at her side and tried to force her ever growing uncomfortable emotions down.

"T-That's not a question," Umi muttered, gaze still locked on her legs.

"Well, I know." Honoka scratched her cheek which had more color to it than usual. "I just wanted to know what it's like to be in love with somebody because I'm not sure. I know I like them and I want to kiss and stuff, but I'm not sure if I'm in love with them."

Another few deep breaths were all Umi could do to keep the stinging in her chest down to a bearable level. Explaining love to someone wasn't something Umi had ever seen herself doing. Honoka was close to everyone, why did it have to be her to explain. It was cruel, but Umi would do whatever she could to help, especially if that person was Honoka.

"I think if you love someone you always want to see them happy," Umi started, looking up to meet Honoka's full attention. "You want that person to smile and laugh, but you also want them to do their best all the time and achieve what you know is possible for them. Because they might not be able to see it in themselves, but you know how amazing that person is and you want them to see it too. You want to do all of that together with them."

"So," Honoka paused for a brief second "you really want that person to be happy, and you get happy when they're happy."

Umi stared down at the table, twiddling her fingers together. "Something like that, but that's just what I've read. I've never felt like that before." Another lie, but Honoka didn't need to know that. Even more so now that Umi was certain it wasn't reciprocated.

"So it is love," Honoka said, her voice quiet, as if only speaking to herself.

Umi didn't like that she was learning all of this. Honoka had someone to love. She knew that it was inevitable, that didn't make any easier to hear from the young woman herself.

"What do you think I should do?" Honoka asked, breaking out of her self-induced daze.

"Tell them." Umi's answer was curt, more emotion leaking out than was necessary.

"I don't know about all that." Honoka hunched over and rubbed her neck. "I doubt they would ever feel the same way."

The uncertainty from Honoka wasn't anything new for Umi. She had seen it before. You don't know Honoka since childhood and not catch the bits of self-loathing that could, at times, bubble to the surface with no one else around. That didn't mean it made Umi any less upset when it did come up.

"And how would you know that?" There was an edge to the words that Umi hadn't intended. A mixture of pain and longing she hadn't meant to come forward.

"I just kinda know," Honoka answered, leaning back with a sigh. "They're amazing. Like, they're smart, beautiful, always helping others, and they even put up with me all the time. They're a really really good friend. I know that they wouldn't like me like that. So I think I should just keep it to myself."

Umi mulled the words over, tossing them back and forth in her head. She could pin it down to Eli, not that she wanted to. Eli was an amazing and beautiful person who Umi knew cared for Honoka just as much as she did her. It wasn't fair, Umi thought. Why should she have to hear all this?

Tears forced their way into the corner of Umi's eyes, but she could blink them back. "And how would you know that person doesn't like you?"

"Sometimes you just know, I guess," Honoka responded with a shrug.

"That's not true!" Umi let her feelings get the most of her, hitting her fist against the table with a thud. "You are great, and you are amazing Honoka. I don't understand how you can't see that. I'm sure whoever this person is can see that, too. So don't you ever think you aren't good enough for someone because I know that is not true."

"Do you really think so?" Honoka asked, eyes wide and voice small. Umi only nodded, she couldn't trust anything more. "Then what do you think I should do?"

Umi clenched her fist harder and grit her teeth. It was her last hope at keeping back another sudden outburst of uncertain emotions. "I already told you. Just tell them."

"You think they would say yes?"

"I don't know what they will say. I'm not that person." That sentence stung more than Umi had anticipated. "But I know that if it's you, Honoka. As long as you are honest and straightforward, like you always are with everything else you've ever done, then things should work out fine."

Honoka tapped at her chin. "That does sound like a good idea."

There was a beat of silence, Umi couldn't handle the tension that it seemed only she felt. Images of Eli and Honoka walking together hand in hand barged their way into Umi's mind. Thoughts of Honoka smiling in a special way for someone that wasn't her were all she could think about. She didn't want to be around this anymore.

Umi lifted her bag up onto the table and stuffed her book into it without a second glance. She stood up from her seat, prepared to sling her bag over her shoulder and leave before her thoughts got any worse. Honoka didn't need to see any of that. The last thing Umi wanted was for Honoka to feel bad for any of this, it wasn't her fault. Not that the thought made it any easier to cope with.

"Wait, Umi!"

Umi felt a tight grip on her hand as she was going to head off. She looked to her side, Honoka stood up and latched onto her hand. "It's getting late. I should really get going." Umi brought her free hand to her face and tried to push back any tears.

"Can you look at me? I need to tell you something." Honoka said, her voice was lower than usual. The cheer still there, but mixed with something that gave it more meaning..

Umi lifted her free hand from her face and turned to face Honoka. She got caught up in Honoka's smile like she almost always did. But instead of the bright cheer that almost always came with it, there was a sense warmth that Umi had never seen before. It was inviting and new, something Umi wanted to see more of.

"It's best if we head home. Our parents might wonder where we are." Umi was doing everything she could to deflect. She wanted out of this.

Honoka's grip on Umi's hand continued to tighten. "This is important. Please let me say this."

As the grip grew tighter, Umi knew she couldn't resist any longer. She fought back any underlying emotions and looked into Honoka's eyes. Waiting for whatever would come next. She had long since resigned herself to all the sadness and disappointment that was to come.

"Umi," Honoka said, she was doing her best to keep her voice even and steady. She looked up into Umi's eyes. "I love you."

It took a moment for the words to register. Umi couldn't be sure that she heard that right, but Honoka still held her hand, and the large smile on Honoka's face only seemed to confirm it. This was all real, as much as Umi wanted to deny it.

Umi cried, she couldn't hold back the emotions anymore. "I can't believe this."

She was getting to see an affectionate look from Honoka that only she would ever be able to see. Nobody else would ever get to bask in Honoka's tender and loving smile that her blue eyes only accentuated even better. It was very selfish, Umi thought. To know and take pride in the fact that she would be the only one to ever see Honoka look so beautiful, but it didn't matter now.

Honoka stood up, face only a precious few inches from Umi's. "I didn't want to make you cry."

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me again." Umi returned a quick squeeze to Honoka's hand, her tears still streaking down her cheeks.

"What do you mean. Did you not like it?" Honoka's cheer dropped.

"No no, that's not it. That's not it at all." Umi was quick to placate, happy to see Honoka's smile back as soon as it went. "This whole time I thought you were talking about someone else. I was getting so upset because I didn't want to hear about you falling in love with someone else. I don't how I would ever deal with that."

"I'm so sorry Umi. I didn't mean to do that." Honoka wrapped Umi into a tight hug that lasted a few seconds before pulling back. "I never thought you would love me back."

"Well don't think like that because I do love you. I love you a lot, Honoka." The words tumbled out, surprising Umi with her own frankness. She could feel the color rushing back to her cheeks.

Honoka pulled Umi back into another tight hug, this time Umi hugging back with as much vigor as Honoka. It was a blissful experience, one that Umi felt put her own explanation of love a few moments earlier to shame. Feeling Honoka pressed up against her was a much better feeling than she ever thought she could feel, and Honoka pulling her in closer wasn't too bad either.