#like he’s left her in this strange and unfamiliar place after basically being her sole confidant

[opera-ghost]

i just think it’s funny how erik criticizes christine, the woman he’s abducted, for not being dressed by 2 in the afternoon

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Soul of a Lion

Sequel to The Smallest Blade.

Summary: After the Red Lion steals them away from the Marmora base and takes them through a wormhole, Shiro, Keith, Katla, and Lance find themselves in front of a majestic castle with nowhere to go but inside. The events that unfold while they're there will change the fate of the universe.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

Happy New Year, everyone! I figured there was no better way to start out 2021 than by posting the first chapter of a new fic! I hope everyone enjoys it.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ 

1 | The Red Lion

Keith tightly gripped the controls, trying his best to redirect the Red Lion away from the glowing vortex, but she didn't respond no matter what he tried. He sent up a silent prayer that they weren't being dragged into immediate danger and then had to tightly shut his eyes against the intensity of the light. It only took a second and then they broke through the other side and he was able to open his eyes again.

“Where are we?” Katla asked, her voice close to him. He glanced to his left as she released her grasp on the back of his seat so she could step forward and get a better look at the navigation system. “Wait... but this is the Javeeno Star System. It should have taken us movements to get here!”

“Instantaneous transport. I know some of our brightest scientists and engineers have been working on it, but none of them have even come close. Not even the empire has been able to replicate the technology that allowed Alteans to travel so quickly, so how did we manage it?” Shiro asked, mostly to himself.

Katla was quick with a suggestion. “The Lion?”

“You think it could have been storing the energy until the right moment?”

While Shiro and Katla debated exactly how they were able to travel so quickly, Keith took his hands off of the controls and turned his attention to Lance instead. The Altean stood off by himself, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the floor, clearly upset about something. Keith assumed it had something to do with the fact that he tried to take off with the Lion on his own.

He wanted to be angry. Furious. But the fire in his veins ebbed away the longer Keith watched Lance. Even after the years the Altean had spent with them, there were still times when he didn't know what to make of Lance. There was something about him that rubbed Keith the wrong way. He was just... obnoxious.

But Keith couldn't deny that he was a good friend and whatever was happening with the Red Lion wasn't his fault, no matter how much Keith wanted to place the blame on him.

“What do you think about all of this, Lance?” he asked.

Lance looked surprised to be addressed, especially by Keith. “Me? I- I don't know about any of this! I swear, Keith!”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything, I just wanted to know what you think!” Keith snapped back.

“Well, you're the one who bonded with this thing! You'd know better than any of us!” Lance exclaimed.

“Forget it!” Keith grit his teeth and turned away from the Altean. Why did he even bother? He focused instead on the screen and the readouts the Lion was giving them. They were rapidly approaching a small, blue-and-green planet which had breathable air and a plethora of plant and animal life. According to what he read, the name of the planet was Arus and the beings who lived there were simply known as the Arusians.

The only thing that made him worry was the fact that the Javeeno Star System was the territory of a fearsome Galra general named Sendak, who was as ruthless as he was loyal to Emperor Zarkon. If they were caught by him or any of his men, he wasn't sure they would make it out alive.

They would have to tread carefully.

“Why have you brought us here?” Keith quietly asked the Lion.

The Red Lion answered with a roar as they broke the atmosphere, rapidly coming in for a landing on top of some cliffs bordering one of the oceans. As they grew closer, the air rippled in front of them and Keith could make out a grid-like pattern resembling a particle barrier. Before he could shout a warning, the barrier split open and revealed a massive white castle perched on the highest plateau. They easily passed through and it closed behind them.

“They've reworked their particle barrier into adaptive camouflage! How cool is that!” Katla squealed in excitement. “I've always wondered if it would be possible to use the electromagnetic radiation emitted by a barrier in conjunction with metamaterials built into the foundation of a ship in order to achieve some sort of invisibility in flight and this might prove that theory! I have to know how it works!”

“You just might get that chance,” Shiro told her as they landed just outside the massive main door.

The lighting in the cockpit went dim as the Red Lion landed and then went perfectly still, clearly indicating that they should all disembark and go into the castle. Shiro reached out and grabbed Katla's arm when she attempted to be the first one off, gently guiding her back into Keith's arms so he could take her place and lead the younger cubs (plus Lance) out of the Lion and into unfamiliar territory.

Katla calmed once they were on solid ground, her excitement over new tech tempered by the fact that they had no idea what they were about to face once they were inside. She easily fell into step alongside Keith, one hand in his while the other was loose at her side, ready to grab her blade if the situation called for it. Keith was much the same, though he was less subtle about the way his hand kept straying towards his knife.

Lance fell somewhere in the middle of their group, weaponless but no less alert to the potential of danger. He stuck a little closer to Shiro as they walked towards the massive main door. They all slowed as they drew close, unsure of how they would get in.

The Red Lion let out a roar that shook the ground with its intensity, which caused all of them to flinch and look around in suspicion. The only thing that happened was that the door opened to allow them inside.

“What is this place?” Katla wondered out loud, craning her head back to try and take in the entire structure. “The architecture... I've never seen anything like it! I wonder who built it.”

“Alteans,” Lance muttered in a surprisingly bitter tone. As if in response to his emotions, the purple of his disguised appearance shifted to a shade closer to blue, serving to better hide the markings high on his cheeks.

Shiro chanced one curious glance back at the only non-Galra of their group. “Anything we need to worry about?”

Lance shrugged.

“Maybe the Lion disabled any sort of security when it brought us here?” Katla suggested.

“Stay alert anyway,” Shiro instructed. “Basic infiltration protocol. Anything happens, find your way back to the Lion. Lance, stay with me.”

Everyone agreed to his commands and then they walked inside. The tick they stepped through the door, the lights of the grand entryway lit up around them, illuminating white floors and walls, all of which had a thin layer of dust coating it and turning it gray. As they walked farther into the castle, the blue lights of a hallway to the left began to flicker to life as though the castle was trying to guide them to where they were needed.

Shiro followed the lights.

There was no sign of life that any of them could tell, though they passed by a number of closed doors along the way.

“It's strange that there isn't more security,” Keith mentioned.

“I guess they're counting on the barrier to keep out any intruders. And like I said before, it could be that the Lion was able to disable whatever security they did have in place,” Katla said.

Keith vaguely gestured down the long hallway with his free hand. “There aren't any cameras. Nothing to suggest any type of surveillance or space for drones to hide until they're activated. None of the doors are reinforced with pin codes. If we wanted to detour, I bet they'd open just by one of us pressing our hands to the panel.”

“I'd rather not test that theory,” Shiro spoke up.

Keith dropped his hand back to his side. “My point is this ship isn't fortified for battle. I'd argue that the barrier is its sole defense.”

“It must have a way of quickly getting out of range of any attack. Maybe it's really fast?” Katla suggested. “Or... Well, the Red Lion brought us here. Maybe that's part of the castle defense as well.”

“If that were the case, then she should have been here and not back on Venadh,” Keith argued.

Katla inclined her head, conceding to his point. “Okay, so the barrier is the primary defense and there doesn't appear to be any internal security. This definitely isn't an Altean warship, which means it must have been used for exploration or maybe as a headquarters of some sort? I just don't see why the Red Lion brought us here if it wasn't important.”

Lance kept his silence throughout their discussion, adding none of his own thoughts or opinions. No one tried to force him to speak when it was clear there was something about the castle that was bothering him.

The debate ended abruptly when they arrived at the end of the hall and the doors slid open to admit them into a strange round room. There was a podium near the center and six circular indents in the ground.

Shiro took a single step into the room and there was a hissing sound as three of the indents cracked down the middle and then opened. Slowly, three cylindrical pods rose from their hiding spot in the floor until they clicked into place. Through the semi-translucent glass, they could make out three bipedal figures.

“Healing pods,” Keith murmured in recognition. “They're different from the ones back on base.”

Katla tried to walk closer to the pods for a better look, but Keith tugged her back to his side.

“We don't know who's in there,” he admonished.

Katla rolled her eyes but didn't make a second attempt. “We won't find out anything if we don't investigate. Besides, this is an Altean castle which means they're probably Altean.” She paused a moment as her brain caught up with her mouth and she quickly turned to Lance, a new question poised on her lips.

Her words died as Lance stepped forward with an unreadable expression on his face and pressed one palm against the tank.

There was a hissing sound as the pod farthest from them suddenly released a frigid fog, the doors peeling open to reveal a young woman with silvery-white hair. She remained upright for a moment before she lurched forward with a harsh gasp.

“Father!”

She stretched out one hand and stepped down jarringly hard with her right leg, managing to stand for less than a tick before her knees gave out and she folded weakly to the floor.

Shiro, despite all of his warnings of caution to the others, was unable to resist walking over to help someone who was in need of it. He stopped a short distance away from her and held out his hand. “Miss, are you alright?”

The Altean woman tensed and slowly turned to face Shiro, her apparent shock rapidly giving way to fear and then anger. Shiro barely had time to react before she was on her feet and unsheathing a small dagger from the folds of her dress, which she held protectively in front of her.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get on this ship? What have you done with my father?”

Shiro held up both hands placatingly and took a step back, doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I'm Shiro and we were all brought here by a Red Lion. We haven't seen anyone else on your ship, but your father could be in one of these pods.”

She didn't take her eyes off of Shiro. “Why should I trust a word that you say? You're Galra!”

“You asked,” Keith muttered barely loud enough for Katla to hear.

And then a second pod cracked open and released a cloud of freezing fog and the mustachioed Altean who sprang forth only added to the tension by attempting to attack Shiro with a loud battle-cry. Shiro side-stepped him with a bemused expression.

When Keith tried to jump in and help, it was Katla's turn to hold him back and stop him from getting into trouble.

“Enough!” Shiro commanded. “We're not any happier to be here than you are in having us here, so if you could stop for a tick maybe we can figure out why the Red Lion brought us here and how we're meant to leave.”

The male Altean froze in the middle of preparing for another attack, his face rapidly paling. “The Red...? You're lying!”

Keith bristled in Shiro's defense. “Why would we lie about that?”

“You're trying to trick us into letting our guard down! Well, I won't fall for it this time!”

“No one is trying to trick anyone,” Shiro loudly cut in, giving Keith a look warning him not to speak again. “Just calm down so we can talk this through. No more arguing. No trying to attack one another. None of us are happy about this situation, so lets take a moment to calm down and try to tackle this reasonably.”

Silence followed in the wake of Shiro's words.

The Altean woman glared at him for a moment, conveying her continued anger without saying a word, before turning so quickly on her heel that her hair fanned out around her and brushed against Shiro's closest arm. She strode over to a podium and began pressing keys on the surface, causing a holographic screen to rise up and illuminate with data in an unfamiliar script.

Shiro could see Katla trying to move so she could get a better look at the tech and was relieved when Keith kept her in place. A quick glanced at Lance let him know that their disguised Altean was behaving himself and appeared to be doing whatever he could to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

The less they aggravated theirs hosts, the better.

It was as the Altean woman let out a loud gasp of shock that the third and final pod opened. The Altean within was heavyset, with dark skin and nearly golden markings painting his upper cheeks. He lurched forward and caught himself on the sides of the pod, closing his eyes as he took a moment to reorient himself.

“...Princess, what is it?” asked the mustachioed Altean after a moment of hesitation, his attention torn between his two companions.

“Coran, I...” She trailed off, her voice trembling as she stared in horror at the screen. “We've been in there for nearly ten-thousand decaphoebs. We've missed so much! Everything... everything is gone! I don't understand how this is possible. What happened to the fail-safes? How were we in the cryo-pods for that long?”

Coran looked uneasy as he joined her at the podium, sharp blue eyes scanning the screen. “I wish I could say, Princess.” He turned his head towards the Altean who was still standing in one of the pods. “Hunk, could you take a look?”

Shiro recognized the exact moment the Altean – evidently named “Hunk” – fully took note of the people around him. Eyes widened, his grip tightened, and breathing quickened.

And then, miraculously, he visibily relaxed.

“You found a Lion?” Hunk asked, his voice a curious whisper.

The Princess whipped her head up. “Impossible. They must be lying.”

“We're not-!” Keith's heated words came to a swift end thanks to Katla's elbow to his side.

Hunk seemed perfectly okay with ignoring his princess and instead continued to speak to Shiro, who was the closest to him. “We wouldn't be awake if you weren't brought here by one of the Lions. It's the only possible way you could have gotten through the barrier without breaking it and setting off a full lockdown. His Majesty made sure of that.”

It was a simple explanation, but more importantly it told Shiro that there was at least one of them who would be willing to hear them out instead of outright dismissing their words.

Shiro figured the best place to start was with introductions.

“I'm Shirotak,” he said, giving Hunk a slight bow. “Those two are Katla and Keith. Behind me is Lance.”

Hunk offered up a tremulous smile and a bow in return, quickly stumbling through his own introductions and finally giving up the name of the princess, who was called Allura. It was to her that he turned when he finished speaking. “Princess, maybe we should go somewhere and talk about this?”

“Yes...” she agreed, clearly reluctant. “I think that would be for the best.”

[fangirlfindings]

Rukia deserved better (A Bleach Retrospective)

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m older and have a different perspective on life, or the fact that I have a number of friends with a professional or personal interest in mental health- but thinking of it in 2020, Rukia’s life and her ‘Happy Ending’ are deeply frustrating and unsatisfying to me. Because I realized her ‘loved ones’ are the ones who have hurt her the most, but she stayed with them despite it.

Let me explain.

Rukia had a hard upbringing, I knew that. She lived a harsh life on the streets struggling to survive until everyone except Renji died. Things started to look up from there- until Byakuya came along. While she was adopted to a high status and would see all her needs taken care of, she was basically thrust into a life of social isolation. She had trouble making friends before that, and the sudden shift in social rank only made that worse. She was the target of gossip and rumor- too noble for most people to try and get near her, and too lowly born for the nobles to give her the time of day. That left her only friend, Renji- and he let her go into this new life, thinking it was best for her. But it resulted in her essentially losing her only friend. He made new friends to help make up for it. She didn’t.

This happened 40 years before the start of Bleach.

But the part that disturbs me is Byakuya and his adoption. While we understand his motivations and mindset as the audience, his actions seem highly questionable from Rukia’s POV. All she knew was that a cold, stoic noble wanted to adopt her into the clan (as a sibling), simply because she resembled his dead wife.

She was adopted by a strange man... because he reminded her of his dead wife.

Even if Rukia understood her place in the clan would be a platonic/familial one, there’s some unsettling implications there. Like she was expected to fill some strange emotional void of a grieving man, even if it meant trading her old life for the new, unfamiliar and unwelcoming world of nobility. Just so a stranger could feel better about his lost wife.

To make it worse, he didn’t actually look at her- For 40 years! Not so much as a glance, according to Rukia. So she’s adopted and for all intents and purposes ignored. He then pulled strings so she wouldn’t have any kind of rank as a Shinigami- to keep her safe, we know now, but Rukia wasn’t aware of this. She had to tell him directly that she wasn’t good enough for a ranked position, and he let her think it was solely due to mediocre abilities. She was convinced  he didn’t care about her at all, to the point that her month-long mission to the living world was a ‘minor thing’ she felt he wouldn’t care to hear about.

Byakuya’s treatment is worse than I remembered, because now it registers to me as a form of emotional abuse. The isolation from her peers and only friend, the independence lost in becoming part of a noble clan, and the complete lack of basic acknowledgment or emotional support are all pretty alarming. On top of that, when it came to her execution, he would stop at nothing to uphold the laws so it went forward. Once again, as an audience we learned of his motivations and reasons for doing so- at conflict with his love and promise to Hisana. But that doesn’t absolve him from being a chief proponent of having Rukia executed. There’s a difference between standing aside to let the law take its course to honor his vow, and actively encouraging it. He took an very proactive part in making sure it went along without interruption, fighting, injuring, or trying to kill anyone who threatened that. Even after she was saved, he still actively challenged Ichigo despite the entire execution unraveling.

Now, I have nothing against Renji or Byakuya as characters. I liked them before, and I still do. We understand the reasons behind why they acted the way they did. People and characters aren’t perfect. Their motivations, perspectives, and feelings all shape their actions. Byakuya did care for Rukia in his own way, and it wasn’t a coincidence she ended up in the division with the kindest, most welcoming captain. Renji still cared for her- from afar.

Despite that, looking at the story with 9 more years of life experience under my belt, I find myself going ‘No. What they did is NOT okay.’ 

So what made Rukia happy?

Rukia never liked being a noble. She never grew used to servants being at her beck and call and treating her better than anyone else, and never wanted special treatment due to rank. That’s why she grew so close to Kaien and Ukitake- they treated her as a person first and foremost. She craved that familiarity that she lost when becoming a Kuchiki. When Kaien was killed, her one emotional connection was gone.

As a result, she fully closed herself off from emotional attachments like love or friendship. She hardened her heart so she wouldn’t be hurt again. She convinced herself that they were pointless anyway, and that she didn’t need them, so her life really wasn’t that bad. She was doing fine without them, after all- right?

Of course, that all changed when the fire nation attacked when she made friends in Karakura town.

So when Rukia goes on her adventure in the living world, meets Ichigo, makes friends, and gets to live with a real, caring family- She loves it. Even the tiny closet she stayed in! (She even brought some items to spruce it up her second time around.) It’s such a far cry from her old life and nobility, but she embraced it without the slightest pause. Ichigo’s family welcomed her in their own warm way, and it’s the closest thing she’s had to an actual, loving family.

Suddenly Rukia had friends again, even if they were all human and in a different world. She embraced them and learned the importance of friendships for the first time since childhood. Even Ukitake noticed how different Rukia was with Orihime, now that she had friends. I realize a key part of the story was how after Ichigo’s interference, Rukia’s relationships with Renji and Byakuya would begin to heal. But we’re talking 40 years (or approx 1/2 to 1/3 of Rukia’s life) of what was essentially emotional abuse and abandonment. They just recently took any kind of action to help her, and that was after arresting her and putting her in prison in the first place. (But not before trying to kill her human friend first.)

All I know is, if I had a friend who said ‘My relationship with my brother is getting much better lately- he actually looks at me now!’ then I would want a hard intervention for them to get out of there and move towards healthier relationships. 

Characters make imperfect decisions when caring for others, just like people. The problem is, Rukia never seemed to realized or acknowledge that these actions by others were flawed and harmful. Well-intentioned, yes, but damaging nonetheless.

It’s to Rukia’s credit as a person that she so easily forgave everyone for what they did to her. She didn’t hesitate to start rebuilding those bonds. She didn’t acknowledge anything they did as wrong, or the effects their actions had on her. She just took it, dismissed her own pain and feelings as not important, and sought to rebuild those relationships.

Rukia was a better person any any of them deserved, I think.

Oh... and remember when there was a time jump, and Rukia came back with a haircut? Apparently that was so she’d look less like Hisana, and therefore easier for Byakuya to actually look at her without feeling grief. It’s a lovely, caring gesture on Rukia’s part. Unfortunately, that means she’s physically altering her looks for his comfort, or- at worst- can’t look her natural self around him without causing him pain. Which... isn’t so nice.

It doesn’t help that as the story progressed, Rukia’s happiness and identity became increasingly tied to her brother’s approval and adopting traditions of the Kuchiki clan. She literally starts to wear clothing of the noble clan, and the latter chapters increasingly focus more on Byakuya’s approval.

Even in the ending of Bleach, after getting married, she purposefully kept the name Kuchiki to show her connection and pride to Byakuya and the clan.

There’s even the element that Rukia felt she owed Byakuya after ‘what he had done for her’- which is what? Adopt her and make her unhappy, cutting her off from making friends with other Shinigami? If she was never adopted, she would have been fed and sheltered by the Gotei 13, maybe even placed in a seated position from the start. And she would’ve stayed friends with Renji instead of losing him. She would’ve risen from a place of nothingness of Inuzuri and made something of herself despite it.

Instead, she not only dealt with the emotional abuse for 40 years, but she sought approval even harder as the story went on. She didn’t learn to step away from that mindset- she doubled down on it. I’m hesitant to use the term ‘brainwashing’, but it certainly doesn’t seem like a healthy fixation given the situation.

What troubles me the most about all of this is in the end, Rukia doesn’t branch out as her own person, she doesn’t make a future for herself. She’s defined no longer by her own merit but by Byakuya and making him proud. What happened to her as a character? Is that really the happy ending- that she doesn’t grow and create a life of her own, but instead devotes herself to serving her brother, the clan, and Renji, as well as the Gotei 13? That her future is almost entirely based on her loyalty to them and seeking their approval?

For such an independent, headstrong, passionate, layered character, I’m sad to see her ending is ‘doing what’s expected of a good Shinigami and Kuchiki’ and leaving it there.

Rukia deserved better than being defined by the expectations of others.

At least she grew her hair out later on, so that’s a win... I guess?

I only hope that before the epilogue she made lots of visits to the living world to spend time with friends, read cheesy romance novels, and enjoy being herself. Not worrying about what’s expected of her out of duty, or to seek her brother’s approval.

But it’s pretty clear to me that in the latter half of Bleach, Kubo lost track of her amidst the 300 other characters all fighting for the spotlight of the story. And he tied up her loose ends in the easiest way, which seems nice as long as you don’t think much on it. We’ll probably never get more canon details on her, apart from the part she plays in Renji and Byakuya’s lives.

So... Yay for happy endings?

[scaredofheroin]

Captain N - Chapter 15: Bright Lights, Big City

Soon after being sucked down the warp pipe, Captain N found that Zelda's claim was proven correct. Even though he could feel himself shooting through the pipe faster than before, Captain N could tell the pipe ride to New Donk City was longer than the previous pipe he traveled through. Like before, he couldn't see or hear his allies in front of him, his senses being filled only by the blackness of the pipe and the cold air whipping past his ears. The sensation of traveling through a warp pipe was as strange as it was the first two times, feeling as if he was being sucked through a massive vacuum cleaner. Thoughts of his home still haunted his mind. The trees and tall grass growing on the side of the worn, deteriorating asphalt road cutting through the woods of Midnight Lights, the sun hanging high in the sky as a cool breeze brushed through. This image brought a pang of nostalgia he never imagined he would feel for such a mundane situation. The trees and grass of Yamajiro were similar to his own, but different enough in incredibly subtle ways to feel alien and unfamiliar. The grass was too brightly colored, the trees were too shapely, none of the world around him made him feel at home. The differences didn't stop with the plant life, either. The sky was colored a subtly different hue of blue, and the sun was slightly larger than he was used to. All these examples of "almost, but not quite" left him with a slightly uneasy feeling, as if trapped in an artificial world.

As he was reminiscing about the most mundane aspects of Earth, light suddenly returned to his field of vision. With the air around him warming up once again, he could tell New Donk City was near. Preparing himself mentally for being shot out of the pipe once more, he steadied his legs and braced himself. Emerging from the pipe with the three familiar gulping sounds, Captain N maintained this stronger form, landing squarely on his feet on the metal platform below. Feeling slight satisfaction at his improvement, he looked up to see Pit, Falco and Zelda leaning on the platform’s guardrail and looking ahead at the city, with a cable car on a large cord leading down to the main road. Captain N joined them, getting a good view ahead. From a distance, the city looked incredibly populated and lively, with neon billboards decorating surprisingly modern skyscrapers, and cars and taxi cabs busily traveling through the roads. Once again, Captain N was left with a subtly uneasy feeling from the city, everything about it feeling slightly off. The taxi cabs were adorned with slightly different writing, the buildings were colored either too dark or too light from the usual gray color he was used to, as well as more of the skyscrapers being pointed at the top. He was so close to home, yet so far away.

"It's been a while since anyone came from that warp pipe." Came a chipper voice from behind him. The four turned to face the voice and were met with a woman in a semi-formal uniform behind a tourist stand adorned with merchandise of New Donk City. "Is there anything you all need help with today?" She politely asked, but quickly experienced minor shock upon seeing Zelda with the three, and immediately corrected her demeanor. "I, I mean, welcome to New Donk City, your highness." She spoke, as formally as she could muster in spite of her nervousness. "Thank you, but I wish we were here for solely leisurely purposes." Zelda replied, as noble as ever. "Well, it would be an honor to assist the Princess of Hyrule, is there any way I can help?" The woman asked. "You wouldn't happen to know where we could find Ryu, would you?" Pit asked her, stepping forward. "Uh, well, not really." She sheepishly admitted. "But maybe Mayor Pauline would! I bet she'd be willing to meet with you all!" "And she's in city hall?" Falco asked further. "She should be! I'm not privy to her schedule, but it's worth a shot." The woman confirmed. Captain N was still looking over at the city, listening in on the conversation. The air was remarkably warm, and the hustle and bustle of the city could be heard even from such a long distance away. "Are you okay, sir?" The woman asked him, catching him off guard slightly. "Yeah, I'm just... new around here." Captain N covered up, turning back to her. "Well in that case, you might want a map!" She offered, pulling one neatly folded map from the display and holding out for him. He carefully took the map and unfolded it, surprised by how large New Donk City was from the illustration, with places of interest marked on the key. But looking at the woman, he was surprised to find her identical to his own species. She didn't have wings like Pit or pointed ears like Zelda, she looked like an ordinary human. "We'll make sure he doesn't get lost." Pit assured the woman. "In that case, is there anything else I can help you with today?" She politely asked the group. Captain N folded the map back up and stored it in his jacket pocket. "That will be all, thank you ma'am." Zelda answered her. "In that case, I'll fire up the cable car and get you folks down to main street! Welcome to the Big Banana, the city that never leaps!" She boldly concluded, flipping a nearby switch in the booth. The cable car whirred to life behind them, the sound of a basic motor rumbling in the device holding the car to the cable. With one last "thank you", the four carefully got into the cable car, which was found to be a bit small, barely being able to hold two people on each side. Captain N found himself crammed in next to Falco, with Pit and Zelda on the other side. But once they were all secured, the machinery kicked into gear, and carried them down to the main entrance to New Donk City.

"Seems like your disguise wasn't very effective." noted Falco, looking at Zelda. "Perhaps, but we can't afford to turn back for a wardrobe change. Surely the people will be too busy with their own tasks to notice." Zelda reinforced, undeterred. "How come Princess Zelda was the only one to get recognized? Aren't you two kind of celebrities as well?" Captain N asked Pit and Falco. "Not really, Pit spends most of his time helping out Palutena and I've spent most of my life on the planet Corneria." Falco casually explained, leaving Captain N surprised to find that Falco was essentially an alien. "So, what do we do? Apart from asking Mayor Pauline, I mean." Pit asked the group. "Well, Princess Zelda has telepathy, right? I say we split up and try to cover more ground that way. I've got a map, so we could try asking around the more populated areas." Captain N semi-confidently offered, not entirely comfortable with the idea of splitting up, but felt a need to contribute something. "That's rather risky. If we get into conflict it could mean more trouble if we're separated from each other." Zelda responded. "I say it's worth a shot! Plus, I'm sure we could handle ourselves if we get into a sticky situation." Pit piped up, adjusting himself as to not be crammed right next to Zelda. "Well then, where should we look other than bothering the mayor, Mr. Map?" Falco asked Captain N. Getting the map back out of his pocket, he looked over the places of interest marked on the key. Beneath the Projection Room, Crazy Cap flagship store and RC car room, what stuck out to Captain N was the Commemorative Park. "Maybe we could check there?" He offered, pointing at the park. "Maybe we could find someone there who's in the know on what Ryu is up to, or he could be training there." "Sounds good to me!" Pit happily responded. Falco idly nodded, not offering any other ideas. "Then it's decided. Pit and I will search the park, and you two can try to meet Mayor Pauline." Zelda concluded, still slightly fidgeting with her dress. Captain N put his right hand out, facing down in the middle of the space between the four. None of the three others knew what this meant, and he was only met with confused looks. "Come on, put 'em there." Captain N insisted. After some slight hesitation, the three put their hands in the middle, where Captain N lifted them into the air, with a hearty "Go team!" before the car came to a stop with a sudden clunk.

Captain N carefully stepped out of the cable car, Zelda, Falco and Pit following. Up close, Captain N could see the countless men and women in black and gray formal attire densely populating the sidewalks, some carrying briefcases. Steam rose from beneath the manhole covers when not obscured by the countless cars, motorized scooters and taxi cabs populating the streets. The buildings closest to the entrance could be identified as apartment buildings, with fire escapes on the exterior. In the distance could be seen the taller, more pointed buildings where business took place. Countless billboards adorned the nearby walls, from advertising music events to the Crazy Cap store to the upcoming World Warrior Tournament. Falco nudged Captain N slightly, motioning to the rooftops ahead. There could be spotted Koopa, Kremlings and small, tan creatures with round bodies and stubby limbs, all patrolling the edge of the buildings while carrying high-tech spears. "Looks like Waddle Dees up there." Pit whispered, keeping his head low to avoid eye contact with them. Captain N nodded, and quickly led the group down the sidewalk, obscuring the four somewhat in the massive crowds. The horde of hasty businesspeople going about their daily lives felt reminiscent of the crowded hallways of Midnight Lights High School, where he learned to survive the torrential waves of classmates and the occasional faculty member in between classes. Fortunately, the businesspeople were too focused with their own tasks and responsibilities to pay the four much notice, despite Pit and Falco standing out with their avian features. The hat, while cumbersome, proved especially helpful in obscuring Zelda from the sight of those patrolling the rooftops. The businesspeople moved as if they were packed together like sardines, so maneuvering through the crowds proved a difficult task. With the map, Captain N quickly noted the group's current location in the city, and while walking at a brisk pace matching those of the businessmen around them. Stopping at a busy intersection, Zelda took a quick glance at the map and found the path to the Commemorative Park. "Looks like this is where we part ways." Pit spoke up. Nodding, Zelda straightened her posture and looked to Captain N and Falco. "If you two get into trouble, reach out to me in your mind, and Pit and I will-" "Don't worry, we got this, don't we, Cap'n?" Falco interrupted, nudging Captain N. Despite his slight worry of parting with two of his only allies made so far in this new world, Captain N nodded along, with an earnest "Yeah, we’ve survived worse, right?". Zelda still wasn't entirely swayed. "It's not your well-being I'm concerned for, Lombardi, rather your reckless inclination." She noted, earning a scoff from him. "Y'hear that, Cap? She doesn't care about me." He reiterated with mock-hurt in his voice. "You get too eager to use that weapon at your side and it could endanger countless civilians!" Zelda insisted. "That's why he's got me, Princess. I'll keep him on a short leash." Captain N interjected, using Falco's earlier quip against him, much to Falco's annoyance. "Then it's decided! We better get going before someone nasty notices us." Pit cut in, impatient to get going. Zelda sighed in reluctant acceptance and bid the two good luck before she and Pit set off in the opposite direction. Left with Falco, Captain N watched Pit and Zelda disappear from his vision, vanishing into the crowd. "Come on, let's not keep Miss Mayor waiting." Falco reminded him. Captain N put on a more confident face, turned back to Falco, and responded with "Yeah, let's roll.".

As they tried to casually stroll alongside the businesspeople to remain inconspicuous, Captain N spotted a good amount of Toad people struggling to make their way amid the dense crowds. Their short, stubby stature did little to aid them, being pushed around and almost tripped over by the much larger people who barely paid them any mind, except when they almost cause the businesspeople to trip over. The struggle of the Toad people was felt by Captain N, empathizing with how out of place they felt, suddenly being in a completely alien situation they're clearly unsuited for. Peering out of the corner of his eyes, he could spot the Koopa, Waddle Dees and Kremlings patrolling diligently across the rooftops. Both he and Falco could tell they were incredibly impatient to use their advanced spears, constructed of white metal with bright blue machinery underneath. Fortunately, the two were slightly shorter than the businesspeople surrounding them, helping hide the two fugitives from the sight of the three king's forces. Upon closer inspection to those around him, Captain N could tell the businesspeople were uneasy being surrounded by the nefarious forces above them. Each one of those around him kept their heads down and avoided looking at the goons above, as if expecting to be fired upon at a moment's notice. Who knows what kind of trouble could have happened before, Captain N wondered? With the cars on the road rushing by, enough ambient noise was provided to hide conversations between Falco and Captain N from prying ears. "So... you're an alien?" Captain N awkwardly asked Falco.

"In a way. From where I'm standing, you’re alien." Falco pointed out.

"Yeah, good point." Captain N relented.

A moment of silence between the two passed as they walked.

"So, what's Corneria like?" Captain N asked.

"A lot more advanced than this planet. We completed our space program before the Mushroom Kingdom was even created. In fact, those guys back in New Leaf Town are actually the great-grandkids of the first Cornerians to live on Yamajiro." Falco bragged, taking pride in his planet's achievements.

"I assume the Arwing was built on Corneria?"

"Pfft, yeah! Those rickety airships are as advanced as Yamajiro technology gets!" Falco boasted.

"That doesn't sound so bad, given their armaments." Captain N reminded him.

"That's cheating, and you know it. They didn't invent them on their own, those three creeps were GIVEN those high-tech gizmos from who-knows-who," Falco was quick to shoot back.

Another moment passed between the two.

"So... what else does this solar system have?" Captain N asked.

"Well, you've got this planet, Corneria, the desert planet Titania, the ice planet Fichina, there's Sauria, Venom, and... Zoness." He answered, a tinge of disgust in his voice in mentioning the last planet.

"...Have you visited them?"

"All those and then some, even planets outside the system like Zebes and Big Blue." Falco informed him with pride in his voice.

"Wow..." Captain N said, amazed at the prospect of such adventures.

"I guess they don't have space travel back where you're from?"

"...Not really. The farthest we've ever gone is the Moon."

Falco snickered at the thought, the concept seeming quaint to his experiences.

On the way to the mayor's office, a large, brightly lit billboard on a wall nearby caught Captain N's attention. The billboard proudly displayed Mario in an energetic jumping motion, smiling at the viewer with "SUPER MARIO BROS. - NOW PLAYING" right next to him in blocky, multicolored text. Captain N stopped walking to take in the billboard, feeling incredibly small in comparison. He could feel a sense of gravitas emanate from the massive illustration of Mario, his bold yet positive demeanor providing a stark contrast against Captain N's inner turmoil. Looking up at the billboard, Captain N knew he couldn't compare. He felt like a child playing pretend. Mario has been made out to be larger than life, in a sense. The greatest hero in the Mushroom Kingdom, whose might and bravery were so great he saved Princess Peach and triumphed over Bowser time and time again.

But not this time.

Bowser and his two ally kings now possessed a power unparalleled by anything seen before. They now possess a power so great that not just Mario, but Link, Samus Aran, Kirby and other presumably legendary heroes failed in their mission. To his right, Captain N spotted a businessman having stopped to look up at the massive billboard of Mario. When the two shared eye contact, a moment of knowing mourning was shared at the disappearance of Mario, before the businessman hung his head defeatedly and continued on his way. The weight on Captain N's shoulders grew more intense, knowing what was at stake. He, who only just arrived in this world, now had to triumph where men greater than him had failed. He couldn't bear to look back at the billboard of Mario, feeling he doesn't deserve to look upon someone with such prestige and call them his equal.

"...You doing alright, Cap?" Falco asked him, bringing him back to reality. Captain N stepped back and turned away from the billboard, facing Falco. He took in a deep breath to puff up his chest, and nod reassuringly. "Yeah, I'll make it." He assured, not entirely convincing Falco. "Well, we shouldn't stand around much longer, those goons are gonna notice us." Falco reminded him, subtly motioning to the Koopa atop the tall buildings. In agreement, Captain N continued on to City Hall, which was marked on the map as the tallest building near the plaza. The rest of the walk wasn't too troublesome, apart from getting in between businessmen and the odd Toad people. Captain N's red varsity jacket and jeans and Falco's blue avian physiology made them stand out noticeably among the crowd of homogeneously dressed businesspeople, but not so much so to cause a disruption. Soon enough, after crossing the plaza decorated with a fountain and grassy pathways, the two found themselves before the massive city hall. Separated from the interior only by three pristine, glass doors. Feeling slightly intimidated by the massive building in its art deco style, Captain N looked to Falco and remarked “We best not keep the Mayor waiting, huh?”. Falco nodded, and the two pushed open the doors and walked in.

[ferryboatpeak]

more tom/harry/ben/meri

and here’s the smuttier bit i didn’t get to earlier...

[last installment and links to previous here]

The days change, after that. Harry joins Tom and Ruby in the garden after his morning swim, flopping down on their blanket and letting Ruby pour him cup after cup of invisible tea. He balances Ruby on his shins and raises her into the air, holding her hands and making airplane noises. The August days get hotter, and Ruby splashes on the top step of the pool while Tom sits on the edge with his feet in the water and Harry swims in circles, popping his head up to surprise her.

The nights change too, or at least they change back to something more like what they used to be before Harry arrived. Dinner, wine, bed. Asleep at an hour that Tom hasn’t considered bedtime since he was in primary school. It all feels so… grown-up. Civilized enough that he can almost ignore the off note that sounds in the back of his head whenever he remembers he’s sleeping with his bosses.

Tom and Harry suck Ben’s cock in turns, shoulders jostling for position between his legs, tongues intersecting as they lick along the shaft. He can feel the contour of Harry’s cheekbone against his own. The cut head plays at the corners of their lips as they kiss. As a blowjob, it must be ineffectual, but it’s not for Ben’s benefit, is it? It’s for Meredith to watch, curled up next to Ben with his hand between her legs. Or maybe it’s for Harry’s benefit, a scenario well-suited to his desire to be the center of attention at all times.

“Harry, finish up,” Meredith says, the directive clear even though it’s more breath than words. With Harry’s cheek against his own, Tom can feel the working of his jaw as he slides his lips around Ben and lowers his head to take him all in. His hair tickles the side of Tom’s face.

Tom rolls onto his back in front of Meri. Any disappointment at being relegated to the side pales in comparison to the privilege of watching Harry. It’s a performance, of course it is, but Harry’s an artist. Tom presses his hand against his dick like it’s an injury, less out of pleasure than necessity, reminding himself that he can’t come just from the sight of Ben’s thighs tensing around Harry’s blissed-out expression.

Ben’s hips twitch up, and Harry dips his head downward, pressing his forehead against Ben’s belly. He kneads his fingers into the inside of Ben’s thigh and pulls off slowly, lips carefully pinched together. When his eyes find Tom’s, there’s a gleeful challenge in them. A smile threatens the edges of his pursed lips.

Tom pokes the tip of his tongue out at him. Harry’s a dirty joke with a clever punchline, joyfully filthy. It’s contagious, like a little kid convincing his friends to play in a mud puddle. He waggles his eyebrows at Tom, as if his intent isn’t already clear. “Let’s be having it,” Tom says, propping himself up on his elbows.

Harry knocks him back down, pressing Tom into the mattress with the full length of his body, kissing him with his mouth full and slick, until Tom can barely breathe from Harry crushing his chest, filling his mouth, Ben’s taste trickling messily between the edges of their lips. Sex with Harry involved is a full-body experience, an assault on all of his senses at once. Exhilarating. Stupefying.

It pitches him into a well of thick and dreamless sleep afterwards, as if his body needs to shut down to recover. But tonight, stretched out at the edge of the bed with his head on Ben’s shoulder, he fights off the temptation of oblivion. He’ll only wake up two hours from now with his neck at a strange angle and not enough room to roll onto his back. Then he’ll barely sleep the rest of the night, uncomfortable and sweaty and thinking too much about the metaphorical implications of the bed being undeniably too small for four people. His initial stubbornness, the need to claim his spot in bed and cling to it, is rapidly giving way to the reality of how miserable it is to follow a toddler around all day while sleep-deprived.

He bargains with himself: he’ll just sleep for a little while. Just a little nap with everyone else, and when he wakes up he’ll go back to his own room. He can sleep the rest of the night there so he’s not useless on the job tomorrow. It’s a satisfying plan. He hooks his calf over Ben’s leg and lets himself drop right to the edge of sleep before he realizes: Colin. If he slips downstairs in the middle of the night, the dog’s going to wake up, bound over with his tags jingling to investigate the disturbance, and probably bark his head off even once he’s realized Tom’s not an intruder.

That’s what had happened early in the summer - the night Tom saw the fox - the first and only time he’d tried to slip into the main house for a late night cup of tea. He regretted it as soon as his hand touched the doorknob and Colin sprang into action. Tom frantically shoved the door open and pulled the dog into the kitchen by his collar, hitting the light switch with the irrational hope that if Colin could see him, he’d calm down. He was crouched on the kitchen floor, shushing the dog and holding him still and trying anything he could think of to convince him to stop barking, when Ben’s whistle cut through the cacophony. Colin abruptly quieted and obediently trotted over to Ben standing at the kitchen doorway. Tom stammered out his apologies and slunk back to the carriage house, dying of embarrassment but not so far gone that he couldn’t have a wank over the sight of Ben in nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, blinking in the bright light of the kitchen.

So he’s got to go now, while the candles are still burning and everyone’s just sinking into sleep. Let the dog get over the excitement early instead of waking the whole house in the middle of the night. He slips out from under Ben’s arm and peels himself away from his side. Ben’s breathing goes shallower and he slits an eye open at Tom. Tom runs a hand along his arm -- no bother, just heading out -- and Ben snores again. On his other side, Harry and Meredith don’t stir.

Tom locates his clothes, wincing at the creaking floorboards, and pulls on his boxers. He stares at his shorts for a moment, trying to decide if it’s necessary to get dressed for the walk downstairs and out to the carriage house. There’s no sightline to any of the homes nearby. Fuck it, he decides, bundling his clothes together under his arm. When he looks up, Harry’s propped on one elbow, watching him over the sleeping Winstons. His voice, lower and softer than usual, doesn’t disturb them. “You leaving?”

“Too hard to sleep here,” Tom whispers, as softly as he can. He crouches down and sweeps his hand over the floor, trying to find his sandals in the shadow of the bed. He can’t change course now, but it’s harder to leave with Harry’s awake, watching, knowing that Tom’s ceding the master bedroom to him for the rest of the night.

“Stay in mine, if you want.”

Tom looks up, not sure if he heard right. “Sorry?”

“If you don’t want to go outside,” Harry murmurs, blinking slowly, his eyes level with Tom’s across the bed. “You can stay in mine.”

Tom’s hand connects with his sandals too hard, scraping the soles against the floor. He gathers them up and gets to his feet. “Thanks,” he says, polite and noncommittal.

Harry nods once and sinks back into bed, stretching a hand across Meredith’s stomach. Tom turns away from the sight of the three of them in the candlelight. Something about being just across the hallway while Harry falls asleep with Ben and Meredith seems worse than retreating to his own room. But it would be nice not to wake the dog, or get any more dressed than he already is. He closes the bedroom door behind him not knowing what he’s going to do.

When he stops at Harry’s door, it’s curiosity, more than anything, that pulls him inside. He slides his bare feet gingerly across the floor, trying not to trip on any obstacles in the unfamiliar terrain. The door to the en suite is visible only as a darker space on a dark wall. He grasps the safe harbor of the door frame, dumping his clothes next to it, and feels inside for the light switch.

His eyes adjust slowly to the shock of the light bouncing off the tile. The bathroom’s larger than the one in Tom’s quarters, with an expansive glass-walled shower that’s big enough to have a built-in bench. The creamy granite countertop is populated with a wide and mysterious variety of jars and bottles. Tom glances them over, seeking out what’s recognizable. A packet of cotton pads. A pink drugstore toothbrush resting on a folded flannel. A basic tube of Old Spice, garish and out of place among the spare letterpressed labels and sleek minimalist logos.

He splashes water over his face. Rinsing his mouth, he briefly considers stealing some of Harry’s toothpaste so he can brush with his finger. But he’s not entirely sure that’s what the French-labeled tube next to the sink is, and he’s not willing to take the risk of accidentally brushing his teeth with some posh skin care product.

The bed is visible in the light spilling from the bathroom. It’s unmade, with three pillows lumped unevenly and the duvet halfway pushed back. Tom dries his hands on one of Harry’s towels -- both neatly hung on the towel rack -- and tries to determine which pillow looks least slept-on. That’s the one he takes, on the left side of the bed. Ben’s side.

The sheets smell overwhelmingly like Harry. Tom wonders which of the products in the bathroom is responsible. For a moment it seems impossible that he’ll be able to fall asleep in such foreign territory, so close to Ben and Meridith but banished down the hall while Harry’s warm in their bed. But his limbs are still heavy with the satisfying weight of an orgasm well-earned, and he’s already halfway down the well when footsteps in the hallway pull him back to the surface. He listens, holding his breath, as the footsteps approach and pass through the door that Tom left open so he can hear Ben up and about in the morning.

It’s not so dark that Tom can’t recognize Harry’s lean silhouette and tousle of hair. He pats his hand across the foot of the bed, grabbing Tom’s ankle through the duvet when he finds him. “There you are.”

Tom makes a noise of concurrence. Here I am. As Harry slides under the covers on the opposite side of the bed, the curve of his arse is outlined in the faint light from the window. Harry, naked, climbing into bed with him. Tom’s toes curl.

Harry settles into bed on his stomach and pulls the third pillow under his body, wrapping an arm around it. His face is almost buried. “‘Night,” he says, muffled, and reaches out under the covers to brush his fingers over Tom’s arm.

Tom waits, his skin tingling from the brief touch. A moment later, Harry’s breathing settles into a snore. “‘Night,” Tom whispers, too late.

[nikkigrand]

Hi did you ever continue your Blast From the Past kakasaku story? I found it in my likes and am hoping to read more if you have it. Thanks!

Hi! 

Here is the next part. It was never finished so I can’t really say I remember where I was going with it lolol. It’s about 4k words. There’s a bit of NaruSaku in here, just letting you know!

               The only sound that fills the coldstone room is the rhythmic dripping of a leaky faucet. Kakashi’s nose twitchesand it is a quirk usually hidden by the barrier of his mask, but annoyancefills him at knowing that it—much like his headband and weapons—has beenstripped from his person. Idly drumming his fingers on the arm rests of thesteel chair he’s been fettered to—with strong chakra suppressors, ofcourse—Kakashi shifts his eyes from one end of the cell to another. There are archaicmanacles hanging from chains bolted to the wall and he bites his lip to stop achuckle from escaping him; how many times had he strung up a prisoner on thosesame manacles and stood in on interrogations?

Kakashi was never really fond of irony to begin with, anyway.

           It’s a shame the reality he foundhimself in was actual reality and nota genjutsu, because his current situation was definitely putting a dapper inhis usually unaffected mood. He mused that perhaps, in retrospect, he shouldn’thave taken out a kunai in the presence of so many wary shinobi. His intentionsweren’t to attack anyone, but rather to pierce himself with it when disruptingwhat he thought was a genjutsu with chakra didn’t work. He was quickly disarmed,however, and his disbelief was momentarily curbed by the sharp kunai drawingblood from his neck. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousnesswas the sickening feeling in his gut telling him everything is wrong.

And then heawoke in the all too familiar T&I “chamber of doom,” as his pink-hairedformer student like to call it.

           Brought out of his musing by the gratingsound of the heavy steel door being pushed open, Kakashi quickly bit back a mirthlesssmirk. Speak of the devil and she shallappear. Even without his chakra, he could recognize his sole female studentanywhere—she still preferred the shampoo she used as a twelve-year-old child. Floral Green.

Two membersof ANBU followed her in and moved to stand in the corner as the sharp click ofher heeled boots stopped at the table in front of him. For a long while, no onespoke and he took the time to silently observe this unknown version of hisstudent.

This Sakurawas different, uncomfortably so. Gone was the childish naiveté and lingeringbaby fat, and in its place is a woman Kakashi is unfamiliar with. Her hair isunbound and longer, reaching well past her waist and adorned with small braidshere and there. Just like her shishou, Sakura chose to paint her nails the samecolor as her lips—ruby red. He watched as she patiently pulled out a chair andremoved her formal Hokage robes to drape them over her seat. Kakashi blinked atthe black cat-suit she wore under the stifling robes, and that terrible gutfeeling returned. When did Sakura becomesuch a woman?

Well, hesupposed he wouldn’t know, this Sakurais apparently 30 years old.

Said thirty-year-oldwoman cleared her throat and Kakashi cut his eyes back to her own steely green.The weight of her gaze made him uncomfortable; he was familiar with torture ofcourse, but the fact that it was Sakuramade him nervous.

“Hatake Kakashi,”the sound of her voice makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end. Itis deeper, smoother, and not entirely unpleasant, but its novelty makes his jawclench.

“That is the person we believed you wereimpersonating,” she says evenly, and his brows furrow at the absurdity of it.He is Hatake Kakashi!

“But when Ipersonally ran a thorough examination on your person, everything points to youbeing who you appear to be,” she continues slowly, “It is impossible to replicate the Sharingan, it’s impossible to have someone else’s chakra signature, and yet you do.But that can’t be right, so we had a Yamanaka confirm who you were by perusingyour memories.”

The silverhaired man ignored the blatant invasion of his privacy and continued tosilently observe her as she chewed the inside of her cheek while deep inthought. Sakura raised eyes the color of sea glass to meet his own and thesight of unshed tears surprised him.

“Kaka-sensei,where have you been?”

Kakashi wasalways known as a genius, and it didn’t take him long to figure out that thingswere obviously not how he left them.

He sent hera small smile, the one he knew had always comforted her, and she bit her lip astears spilled over and made their way down flushed cheeks.

“Maa, Idefinitely got lost on the road of life thistime Sakura-chan!”

His familiareye crinkle, even without the mask, made her laugh even as she cried and rushedaround the desk to remove his chakra suppressors and pull him into bonecrushing a hug. Kakashi grunted as she squeezed him with that monstrousstrength of hers and he gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

Sakurapulled away with a sniffle, and then chuckled as she wiped her eyes.

“Look atme,” she said bitterly, “the great Hokage crying in front of her subordinates.”

Kakashirubbed his wrists, levelling her with a measured gaze and his mouth pulled intoa grim line.

“About that, Sakura,” at the sound of hername coming from his voice, fresh tears started anew but she held them at bay,“What is going on here?”

           Sakura sighed and rubbed at hertemples. It was such a difficult question to answer; what was going on? How could anyone explain how a man thought long deadhad suddenly appeared in her office looking the same as he did when he firstdisappeared 14 years ago? It was a difficult mystery, and it would take thebest minds available to figure it out. But she figured she could begin with thebasics and fill him in on important events that had happened in his absence.Sakura sat in the uncomfortable steel chair once more, and gestured for Kakashito do the same.

“Tiger-san,”addressing the ANBU operative to her left, Sakura pulled a few files from thefolds of her robes.

“Hai,Hokage-sama?”

“Pleasefetch me some sake from my desk, please.”

The ANBUoperative disappeared with a nod and Kakashi rose an eyebrow when he reappeareda few moments later with two bottles of expensive sake. Both eyebrows almostshot to his hairline when she poured him and herself a generous helping of thealcoholic drink. He instantly pushed the cup back towards her, and she shookher head at him before pushing it back.

“Trust me,Kakashi, you’re going to need it.”

He didn’tthink so, but he guessed he’d humor her for a bit. Sakura quickly drank herfirst cup, refilled it, and then swirled it around as she collected herthoughts. Looking at her at that moment, he saw little to no trace of the girlhe used to know. Sitting in front of him was a woman who was hardened by life,weighed down by her own personal burdens, and he was suddenly reminded ofhimself.

It…wasn’tsomething he wanted to see in any of his students.

“Kakashi,”he brought his attention back to her face, where she was gazing at him with thesame look she would give a particularly difficult medical scroll, “it’sdifficult to understand, but it seems like you’ve jumped through time.”

Tilting hishead, he made a point to keep his voice level, “What do you mean, jumped through time?”

Sakuralifted her shoulders in a minute shrug and took a sip from her cup, “Just as itsounds; you have, for all sense and purposes, travelled through time. Orrather, your body stayed in some sort of stasis as time passed you—passed allof us—by. Though your records say you should be in your mid-forties, your bodyis that of a 30-year-old; which means you have not aged—at all. And we don’tknow how.”

Kakashiquickly drank the sake in his cup as his mind whirled. Ah, perhaps a drinkwasn’t so bad of an idea after all. His mind raced to put together bits andpieces that would lead him to an answer to how such a thing was even possible.How could he have jumped through time and remained the same age? He didn’t feelany different, he felt the same way he did when he woke up in his apartment a fewdays ago—old and burdened. Eyes the color of slate widened when the answer cameto him the form of a memory.

“The last thingI remember was fighting a foreign nin, and he opened the scroll and used ajutsu that casted an extremely bright light. He spoke strange words as he didso, and I remember dragging myself to a cave to rest for the evening before Imade my way back to the village.”

Sakura tooknotes as he spoke, and her brow furrowed, “Were there any side effects to thejutsu?”

Kakashi’seyes narrowed, “Yes, there was. His body had aged, and it was as though he hadbeen drained. It didn’t take much to burn his body; it was on the verge tobeing blown away by the wind.”

She hummedover the sound of her pen scribbling in her notebook, waving her left hand in asign to continue with his recollection.

Kakashisighed and leaned back in his seat, “When I woke up again, my injuries had beenhealed, and the only sign of any time passed was a significant beard. After Igot rid of that, I made my way here.”

“That’sright,” Sakura mused as she crossed her arms over her modest chest and staredat the ceiling thoughtfully, “when I conducted your examination, all you hadwere lingering muscle tears and a few new scars.”

Kakashishook his head, “It doesn’t make sense; I had a broken leg and multipleinjuries.”

“Then I takeit you don’t remember how you were healed,” she remarked wryly as she bit theend of her pen. Kakashi’s answering shrug was enough of a confirmation for herand she placed her pen down.

It was along moment before Kakashi spoke, his voice carrying a hint of hope that madeher wistful, “What about the scroll? The jutsu he used came from the scroll.”

His hopedissolved into ash at the shake of her head, “The scroll is useless. We openedit when we inspected your bag and it was blank. It was a one-time-use scroll.”

“So,”Kakashi started carefully, as if his next words would destroy the delicatebalance between himself and the world, “I can’t go back?”

Sakura’spitying glance was answer enough and Kakashi closed his eyes against theonslaught of emotions even as she said, “I’m sorry, but there’s no feasibleway.”

But Kakashihad always been resilient and adaptable, even in the face of grief. There wasnothing he could do—this was his life now.

“Tell me,Sakura,” he began wearily, “what happened while I was…gone.”

The silencethat followed was tense, and it felt as if the ever-present weight on Sakura’sshoulders had gotten heavier. Refilling her sake cup and Kakashi’s once more,she cradled the ceramic cup in her hands as she gazed into the warm liquid.

TellingKakashi of the many changes that happened while he was away was going to betough. But she was the Hokage, she was the bearer of any and all bad news, shewas used to breaking hearts. It didn’t make it any easier, though. Here was aman she had looked up to for most of her life, even when he hadn’t paid muchattention to her as a Genin, and she loathed to add to his many lists ofregrets. But he had to know, he neededto know.

“Fourteenyears is a long time, Kakashi,” she began softly with a sad smile, “a lot ofthings have happened since then.”

“Like youbecoming the Hokage?”

Sakura’shumorless laugh made the room seem colder and it almost made him regret hiscallous tone—even if he was very curious as to how she became the leader of thevillage. Wasn’t that Naruto’s dream?

“Yes, likeme becoming the Hokage.”

His eyesfollowed the course of her finger gently tracing a crack in the wood of thetable as the heaviness in the room threatened to suffocate him. When it didn’tseem like she was going to speak any time soon, Kakashi cleared his throatpointedly. Sakura startled out of her thoughts and she smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry,it’s just that there’s so much that’s happened this last decade, it seemsdifficult to put it all into words.”

Kakashi wasnever good with emotional situations, much less emotional women, but Sakurawasn’t just anyone, and it was obvious whatever she had to say was extremelyimportant and quite distressing.

Emerald eyesshot up in surprise when a hand covered her own. Kakashi’s warm eyes crinkledin reassurance and it only made things worse.

Nothing shehad to say was positive.

“Let’s startwith the village first, and then move onto the people.”

Sakuranodded, took a deep breath and squeezed his hand thankfully.

“It’s alot,” she whispered, “but okay.”

When Kakashileaned back into his seat, she began.

“It turnsout that mission Tsunade-shishou sent you on long ago was more important thanwe realized—that scroll was moreimportant than we realized. Yes, it was a retrieval mission, and had you allsucceeded, it would have been given to a representative from Iwa in a show ofgood will. Unfortunately, what Shishou didn’t know was that the representativefrom Iwa was actually a ninja from Kiri and both villages were in conflict overrights to the scroll. Unknown to us, Oto was pulling the strings behind bothvillages in order to cause turmoil, and when the scroll suddenly vanished, allthree blamed Konoha.”

Bothpowerful ninja drank from their cups to lighten the weight settling in their guts.

“Kiri hadsent a spy into our village, and that was an act of war all in itself, but twoyears after your disappearance—we searched for you for months—the village was invaded by Kirigakure, Otogakure, andIwagakure. I was 18.”

Kakashicradled his head in his hands. Invaded.His village was invaded and he wasn’t there to defend it. How bad was it? How manypeople died? Were they anyone he knew?

He hadn’trealized he had spoken out loud until Sakura began to answer his questions.

“It was—itwas bad, Sensei,” she said shakily, “The village was decimated. Civilian casualties were in the hundreds, and the numberof shinobi killed…Kakashi, we have two memorial stones now.”

He drew in asharp breath at that, two memorial stones? Were more of his friends on there?Sakura must have seen the question on his face because she grasped his hands inher own and ran her thumbs over his knuckles in a comforting gesture. Her handswere rough, testament to all of the battles fought and training done to get towhere she is.

“Kakashi,”she began softly, “I’m so sorry, butGai-sensei gave his life in that attack. Along with Asuma-sensei, Genma-san,and Raidou-san.”

Kakashi’schest threatened to cave in under his grief; all of his friends had perishedduring the invasion. But now was not the time to mourn, he would do that in theprivacy of his own home. Sakura continued to rub her thumbs over his skin, hergaze riveted to each silvery scar that riddled his hands.

“There was awar soon after that,” Sakura’s jaw clenched, “The Fourth Shinobi Great War. Itwas brutal, the worst war the Shinobi world has ever seen, even if it lastedonly a few days. It was a war between the Akatsuki and the Shinobi Alliance.They were planning on casting an Infinite Tsukiyomi, collecting all of thebijuu to summon the Ten-Tails, and then destroy the shinobi nations. They—theymobilized the dead and made us fightthem. Our friends, our family, loved ones. It was awful and Konoha was alreadyso weakened from the attacks by Iwa, Oto, and Kiri. Do you remember Tobi,sensei?”

Her eyeslatched onto his own and he nodded mutely.

“Tobi was UchihaObito,” Kakashi sucked in a sharp breath but she continued, “He was rescued fromunder that great rock that destroyed half of his body and was trained by MadaraUchiha. He inherited his plan to create an ideal world where you, Rin andhimself would be together again. In the end, Sasuke-kun was the one who foughthim, but it was Naruto who made him have a change of heart.”

Sakura’slips curled into a smile as she spoke of Naruto; he would be the one to make an enemy switch dispositions.

Her facehardened once more as she continued recounting the war, “Obito sacrificed hislife to save us from the war, and Team 7 fought the Moon Goddess Kaguya.”

Kakashi wasstunned, so much had happened while he was gone sleeping in some random cave.

Sakurasmiled gently, “Team 7 won, of course. You would have been so proud of us. ButSasuke-kun and Naruto, well, they just couldn’t let it end there. Sasuke wantedto kill the tailed beasts, and the remaining Kage, so that he would be theultimate authority and decide right from wrong to avoid another war. Narutowasn’t having it, of course, and they fought once more at the Valley of theEnd.”

Sakura drewback and swirled her drink before throwing her head back and drinking it.Kakashi followed suit, then scrubbed at his face with his left hand. He wasalmost loathed to ask, but he had to know.

“And thenwhat happened?”

Sakura’sbottom lip trembled as she spoke, “Naruto and Sasuke were always evenlymatched,” she lifted teary eyes to meet his own, “you should have seen them,Sensei, they were amazing. They were legendary.”

Anxiety andimpatience threatened to swallow Kakashi whole and he raked a hand through histangled hair, “Sakura, what happened?”

She loweredher eyes sadly to look at her hands, tears welling up in her still too-largeeyes, “I—Naruto and Sasuke used the Rasengan and the Chidori respectively.Their attacks connected and they were—they were terribly injured and I—I didn’thave enough chakra to heal the bothof them and—“

Sakuracovered her face with her hands as a shuddering breath escaped her, “I couldonly save one; I had enough chakra toonly save one. Even with the Byakogou,I only had chakra for one. And—ohgod, sensei—I had to choose who tosave. I loved them both and I had to decide who would live and who would die.”

Kakashicould only watch silently as her grief consumed her, her elbows leaning on theold table in the cold interrogation room, and he admitted to himself that hewanted to lend himself to grief as well. But he held himself together, and soonSakura did the same. Drawing herself up once more, and wiping furiously at thetears leaking from her luminescent eyes, she continued her tale.

“Sasuke madethe choice for me,” but her voice was still thickened by sorrow, “he told me tosave Naruto. He said that his death would atone for his sins, that it would putan end to a cursed clan, and—and he said he didn’t deserve to live. Sasukebelieved Naruto was the future, and they held hands until he died.”

Sakuradidn’t mention how Sasuke thanked her once more, how he apologized for notbeing able to love her the way she wanted. But she forgave him, and she criedfor him, his brother, and for her heart while she worked on healing Naruto.

“When Narutowoke up, he asked for Sasuke, and I had to tell him the outcome. It was hard,Kakashi. We had lost you, and gotten Sasuke back, and then lost him too. It wasa lot to happen to Team 7. Sasuke-kun’s memorial service was held with all ofthe other fallen shinobi, and the Uchiha compound was turned into an orphanagefor orphans of the war.”

Feeling thewarmth of the sake running through his veins, Kakashi slumped in his seat,“What happened after the war?”

Sakuravisibly perked up at that and Kakashi was intrigued by the prospect of somesort of good news.

“Well, afterthe war, everyone started pairing up. War does that, I guess. People startrealizing that their time is limited and they want someone to carry on theirlineage. Naruto married Hinata and had a son and a daughter, Ino married Saiand they have a son, Shikamaru and Temari married and they too have a son, andChouji and Karui had a daughter. Most of the Rookies are married with children,actually.”

Kakashichuckled, goofball Naruto managed to marry the Hyuuga heiress and have twochildren? Go, Naruto.

“Where isNaruto now, anyway?” he asked, “I’m surprised he’s not here shouting at me formy record breaking tardiness.”

Instantaneously,it was like a dark cloud filled the room, and the ANBU in the corner tensed.Sakura wrung her hands in front of her nervously before releasing a deepbreath.

“He’s dead.”

Kakashi felthis whole world screech to a halt. Naruto,dead? His head was pounding, his stomach churning uncomfortably and he thoughthe was going to be sick. How could Naruto be dead? He was supposed to be the future of the shinobi world, theinheritor of The Will of Fire! How couldhe be dead?

“How,” heground out, “how did he die?”

She gentlygripped his hands in her own and steadily held them between them.

“It was anambush on a mission that took them,” she began progressively, “It was Sai,Naruto, and another Jonin. They were vastly outnumbered, and they made it tothe village gates before the collapsed, but they had bled too much and theirinjuries were infected from their journey back. It was disastrous to village morale.”

“Didthey—did they have any last words?”

Sakurasmiled sadly, “Yes, they did. Sai asked for Ino, he wanted me to tell hisfamily that he loved them. Naruto wanted the same.”

What shedidn’t tell Kakashi, however, was Naruto’s true last words. Yes, he asked forhis wife and children and sent them his unconditional infallible love; but hislast words were for her. For his Sakura-chan.

As she heldhis cool hand in her own smaller one, shaking in fear and grief andhelplessness, she stared into his beautiful blue eyes as the light began tofade from them forever. She told him how much he meant to her, how much of ahero and legend he was, how Hinata and his children needed him so he couldn’t die. And with one last squeezeof her hand, one last brilliant grin, he said to her, “I have never stopped loving you, Sakura-chan. You have my heart, always.”

And she heldthat close to her heart. Those words were hers and hers alone.

[finestfenwick]

Now or Never--Undercover

He’s awoken by clanging coming from the other room. Benjy rolls over, instinctively feeling for Cleona. Maybe she’s the one making the noise, but if she isn’t...

Benjy’s eyes open and take a few seconds to register the unfamiliar ceiling above him. The mission. The nifflers. Cleona wasn’t there for a reason-but she was safe. Benjy lets out a small breath and rolls out of bed almost noiselessly, the only sound a small creak of one of the floorboards as he stalks towards the kitchen, wand raised. 

He’s not as familiar with the cover apartment as he should be-a dumpy, cramped two room number above a long ago foreclosed exotic animals shop in Knockturn Alley. Benjy makes a mental note to do that if he doesn’t get his brains blasted out of him. As he turns the corner towards the icebox, he recognizes the back of the head and relaxes slightly, but keeps creeping forward, speaking only when the tip of his wand is digging into the other man’s spine. Benjy smiles slightly when a cry of surprise rings out, but he makes his voice a bit sleepier, drunker, when he speaks.

“Ya know, Glenn, if you wanted a bite, all ya had to do was ask.”

“Fucking Hell.” 

The leader of the Nifflers turns around to glare at Benjy, who backs up with his hands raised, indicating he didn’t want a fight.

“Don’t call me Glenn, it makes me sound like a pussy.”

Benjy makes a show of yawning. “Alright, mate. What are-”

“Are you naked?” O’Donnell cuts him off, his expression balking in the dim light of the room as he studies Benjy. Benjy chuckles and summons a pair of his robes with a wave of his wand.

“How the hell else am I supposed to sleep? Want a cuppa?”` Benjy feels O’Donnell’s eyes on him as he moves around the kitchen-no doubt he’d glimpsed the scars marring the majority of his left side. He didn’t think O’Donnell or anyone on the Nifflers recognized his name or his previous Quidditch fame-but then again, had Sawyer even told them his last name? He sets the kettle ablaze with a wave of his wand, trying not to talk to rapidly, trying not to make his lies obvious.

“Auror training gets a bit er...brutal. They don’t-they make you feel less than human-hardens us, you know. Makes us better at killing. “ The look on O’Donnell’s face is almost laughable. He’s buying it. Benjy picks up an apple on the counter and bites into it, buying himself some time to think.

“Sorry for sneaking up on you like that. That’s old hat too-Moody, the fucker, used to break into our places and torture us-he said it was a good lesson in setting protection spells-we’d never forget after that, and I haven’t-mission accomplished, I suppose.” 

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Moody had broken into his place when he was a trainee, though instead of torturing him, Benjy had simply woken up to the sight of his new boss staring him down, laying beside him in bed. “VIGILANCE, FENWICK!” He’d roared, falling off into laughter as Benjy leaped out of bed screaming and throwing every curse word he knew at him. They’d had their lesson in protection spells after that (and after Benjy had put some clothes on-a key part of the lesson he’d forgotten).

“You forgot tonight.”

Shit. He couldn’t exactly tell O’Donnell he’d been instructed not to set the charms for the sole purpose of their current exchange possibly happening. Vigilance, Fenwick. Benjy grins in what he hopes is a malicious way. 

“I’m waiting for the bastard to break in again-I reckon once they find out where I moved I’ve got a few weeks ‘til I come by an ‘accident’ of some kind.”

O’Donnell’s eyebrows raise as Benjy takes another bite of the apple. It’s mealy. 

“They can do that?”

“It’s the government, mate. They can do whatever the hell they want.” He summons two mugs over as well as a bottle of cheap whiskey. He pours a generous amount into both and adds the tea just as the kettle starts to whistle, sending one over to O’Donnell without waiting to see if he wants it. “So I say, let him come-the bastard has no idea what I’m capable of.” Benjy glances at the clock on the wall-it was nearly 4 am. 

“But anyway, mate-what can I help you with?”

O’Donnell studies him with an expression that might be intimidating if his face wasn’t so beady. 

“Just wanted to make sure you’re the real deal.”

Benjy laughs to himself, taking a generous sip of his mug. “I respect a man with suspicions- and you have every right to have them. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I wanna take those fuckers down-more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”  Another long drink-the whiskey burning his throat makes the lies easier. 

“And I’m grateful you lot are allowing me to help you do that.”

It might be laying it on a bit thick, but Benjy sees O’Donnell stand a little taller. His arrogance would be laughable if Benjy didn’t know first hand how dangerous it could be.

“It should be easy enough if Scamander holds up his end of the deal this time. Though it seems like he’s come to his senses-if you ever wonder what happens when you double cross us, just ask your mate. ” O’Donnell says with a chuckle-Benjy stays silent, all but holding his breath. That was basically a confession.

“Er, alright-”

“Do you know where he is? Scamander?” O’Donnell whips out a cigarette and starts to smoke, the tip pre-lit when it touches his lips. “He wasn’t in when I popped in-I’m hoping for both of your sakes that he’s not done something idiotic like run off.”

Benjy swallows hard, letting that statement physically affect him more than it actually does.

“I can go check on him tomorrow-”

“No. The less you two see of each other, the better. You’ll know what I need you to know, Fenwick. This is the real shit-this ain’t no pussy auror squad full of bitches. You listen to me, you do what I say-you don’t fucking question it-understand?”

A wand is poking the center of his chest, O’Donnell had drawn it so fast Benjy hadn’t even noticed. There was no need to feign fear this time.

“Yes sir.”

O’Donnell smiles in a way that strangely reminds Benjy of his ex boyfriend, Graham.

Gross.

“Good. I’ll ask again. Do you know where Scamander might be?” 

Benjy clears his throat.

“Er, he mentioned some bird he knew from America being in town or getting out of prison...or going to prison. Something. He’s probably with her. And knowing Sawyer...he’ll probably be back at his in the morning.”

O’Donnell nods.

“You seem capable, Fenwick. I can see you sticking around for a while as long as you don’t fuck it up.”

Benjy meets the other man’s eye again and bites back a strange urge to laugh. If only O’Donnell knew-and how like Benjy to be thrilled at the thought of anyone underestimating him. 

“Cheers.” Is all he says, raising his mug as O’Donnell nods, spinning on the spot to leave.

Game on, motherfucker.

~

There had been no point in going back to bed. Benjy had brewed a proper pot of tea-sans whiskey-and set to work pouring over everything he had on Sawyer. Intel from the man himself and from the rather thick file the aurory had on him. Benjy breaks out the pensive he has hidden under the bed and drops in on his and Scamander’s interactions from the past-mimicking how Sawyer moves and speaks right along with the memory. After a few hours, when it’s close to 8, Benjy pours one of the vials of polyjuice with Sawyer’s hair into it into his mug of tea. Amelia, who was on guard at his place had gotten the All Clear from Frank, positioned at Sawyer’s-no Nifflers about. The gang was small enough that after a bit of digging, the squad knew for certain who most of it’s members were-there were always the unknowns, but that was the gamble Benjy had to take. He squinches his nose as he downs the cup of tea, dreading what was to come. 

Benjy wasn’t sure if the transformation process was this painful for everyone, or if the curse scars on him made it worse. He’d forgotten to set his mug down, and when it fell from his shifting hand, it shattered at feet that were no longer his. He’s shorter now-which is funny, Benjy isn’t that tall to start-but stockier. Thicker, he guesses. His hands aren’t as quick and his vision is a bit fuzzy. Benjy squints and things focus-Scamander needed glasses. His left side doesn’t throb any longer-its not ever something Benjy notices anymore unless he’s someone else-shifting back meant he’s going to notice it again for a few days. He absentmindedly goes to run his hands through his hair but he stops himself-Sawyer didn’t do that-his hair was always tangled and close to ratty-Benjy couldn’t be himself any longer. He crosses to the small loo and squints at himself in the mirror. It was always surreal, no matter how many times he did this-but at least Scamander wasn’t as ugly as the last person he morphed into. Carefully, Benjy presses his wand to his own neck, saying the spell and wincing as life like hickeys start to form. Another wave of his wand crumples the simple t-shirt and boxers he was wearing. He’d throw on one of Scamander’s dressing gowns when he got to the apartment. As a final step, Benjy dumps a bottle of whiskey over his head. It’s cold and awful-but he flicks the wetness away with a final wave of his wand-he was dry now, but he reeked. Satisfied that he looked like a proper version of Walk Of Shame Sawyer, Benjy grips the sides of the sink and takes a breath. 

All he had to do was convince a dangerous criminal that he was someone he wasn’t-if he failed, all that would happen is putting a major very expensive mission in jeopardy and the possible loss of his life.

He pictures Cleona, in low light, telling him about dying at one hundred and fifty three. Benjy smiles, shakes himself, and turns on the spot.

It was now or never.

~

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

‘Sawyer’ opens the door and feigns surprise at seeing Glenn.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Fun night, last night?” O’Donnell jeers, pushing past Benjy as Sawyer into the living room. He’s different here. More relaxed. Smarmier. 

“Oh you know it-birds from the states are fucking mad women.” Sawyer’s voice was hard to mimic, his accent a blend of American and British. Benjy clears his throat. “Bit of a cold-probably got it off her, Merlin knows how many blokes she’s been shagging on her vacation. What can I do you for?” He adds, watching O’Donnell run his hand over the back of an armchair.

“Where’s Ruse?” O’Donnell asks instead of answering, looking around the apartment with surprising softness. The Niffler wanting the niffler. Benjy as Sawyer chuckles softly, lighting up one of the cigarettes he’d found in Sawyer’s bedside table-they certainly weren’t tobacco and the taste of weed instantly relaxes Benjy. He offers a joint to O’Donnell who shakes his head.

“I don’t want your hippie shit.”

“Your loss, then. Ruse is out on an errand for me. Need a bit more funding before I can start your project. You’ve got expensive taste, Glenn.” 

The smell from Benjy’s joint starts intruding on the space between them and he sees O’Donnell wrinkle his nose. He doesn’t tell Sawyer not to call him Glenn-he trusted him more than he let on. 

“Just get it done-I don’t care what it costs you.”

O’Donnell, of course. was employing Sawyer to make a variety of dangerous and damaging potions and poisons for the Nifflers to use against their enemies and to sell. The ask at their initial meet up alone was enough to arrest O’Donnell, but Benjy didn’t just want the leader-he wanted the whole damn group-especially if they were supplying any for Deatheaters. Benjy as Sawyer smiles easily. “Did I say that I cared?”

O’Donnell doesn’t respond, he just looks around the apartment, uneasy.

“You alright, mate?”

“That fucking auror of yours is something else.”

Benjy inhales again on the joint, raising the cup full of tea and polyjuice to his lips just after, not grimacing at the taste despite how badly he wants to. “He’s not my auror, for fucks sake. He’s just a bloke I know.”

“I don’t know if we should trust him.” O’Donnell says, watching his own fingers trace the back of the chair still. “Seems dodgy.”

“Right, and Nim and the rest of the lot are upstanding citizens, so I see where you’re coming from.”

O’Donnell meets his eyes with a glare and BenjSawyer laughs.

“I’m just saying, mate. Listen, you don’t have to worry about Fenwick. He’s not...well, he’s a bit of a wank, but he’s not nearly as important as he thinks he is. The whole mess with him getting fired did go down as he says, but I bet he didn’t tell you about the shit they found his locker.”

O’Donnell’s eyebrows raise up his forehead. “He didn’t.”

Benjy as Sawyer laughs. “Bastard’s an addict-pretty much anything you can think of, he’s on it. And yeah, that makes him a bit unstable-but that also makes him vulnerable. And when you’re vulnerable, you’re easy to use.” He lets out a puff of smoke, eyeing O’Donnell carefully. “Anything you tell him to do, he’ll do. I’m the only one that’ll sell to him-Avery and the lot of others don’t fuck with him because of the ministry ties. He’s desperate, Glenn. And eager to please. It’s a great combination.”

O’Donnell lets out a little laugh. “I had no idea you were that fucking cold, Scamander.”

“This shit hasn’t hit yet.” Benjy raises the joint. “Soon as it does I’ll be back to your regular scheduled programming.”

O’Donnell laughs and Benjy sucks harder on the joint.

“As soon as Ruse is back, I’ll get started on what you need, mate. One problem though-no one has Doxie powder. Like, no one. I even asked that weird bitch Avery shacks up with, and she hasn’t had a taste of it in months. I think there’s been some bullshit crackdown from the ministry.”

“Ah you don’t need to worry about that, mate. I’ll bring you some on the 25th-little Christmas present for you. Shipment’s coming in on Christmas Eve-Doxie powder and lots of other shit. The ministry closes on the 23rd-before those idiots even know what’s hit em we’ll have so much of it already out on the streets.”

O’Donnell lights another one of his cigarettes.

“Sounds good, just keep me posted.”

“Sure-I told Fenwick to stay away from you-he’s got to prove himself proper or he’s gone-I hope you’re not too attached.”

Benjy feels a little piece of his stomach drop as he watches O’Donnell’s face change back to the complete coldness he’d shown him in the apartment. He’d under estimated him a bit-while still incredibly dumb, he was far from harmless. Benjy as Sawyer clears his throat and shurgs, taking another hit of the joint to buy him time.

Vigilance. 

“Fenwick? Nah, mate, I’m not attached.” Another inhale, exhale-the smoke floats towards the cold expression on Glenn O’Donnell’s face. Benjy ignores the tick up in the speed of his heart rate. Emotions, valid or not, are not helpful now. He’s not going to lose this-there’s no way the idiot standing in front of him, scary or not, will ever best him. With newfound resolve, Benjy speaks, an almost perfect imitation of Sawyer’s accent, spoken lazily, as if discussing the weather.

"If he has to die? Just collateral damage.”

[quietasasanctuarymouse]

Season 1 Episode 3 1/2 ~ Tuatha De Danaan

Helen Magnus sat on the edge of the desk in her office, her legs crossed demurely, the erratic flexing of her feet in their black patent pumps the only outward sign of the nervous energy coursing through her body. Hands grasping the lip of the desktop to either side of her, she leaned forward slightly, all attention focused on Will Zimmerman in the armchair opposite her.

“Are the current security protocols really enough? I mean, they know where we are, they’ve been inside, seen the layout of the facility, and, Magnus, they were pretty pissed.”

“It’s alright, Will. I have my contacts keeping an ear to the ground about any and all Cabal activity, especially in areas near any of the Sanctuaries. This encounter was instigated because of our possession of Danu and her sisters, nothing more. The Cabal have been in operation for centuries and the Sanctuary Network has been a large force for the last two. They have never crossed our path in such a way before, and I see no reason for them to again now, not since they got their ‘property’ back anyway.”

Will pulled his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose and fidgeting with the tines. “Are you saying you think this is over? That you believe the Cabal’s sole interest in us was reclaiming the Morrigan and now that they have them we’ll never hear from them again?”

Helen gave a cheeky grin, “Not hardly. I’m saying they’re smart, resourceful, focused, and patient. This isn’t over by a long shot, but whatever their endgame, our encounter with them two nights ago wasn’t part of it. They never intended to turn their hand to us in such a way at this time. It was a fluke because of the situation with the Morrigan. Now that it's happened, they’ll be planning their next moves even more carefully. Such intentions can be corroborated by the utter silence that has fallen since they left here with the sisters.” She smiled reassuringly. “This isn’t over, but we have time. They won’t be making any moves, not yet. Trust me, Will. When they do, we’ll know.”

“All that confidence and self-assuredness. Calming the anxieties and reassuring the troops. So attractive.”

Will gave a start at the unexpected sound of the unfamiliar voice, sitting forward in his chair he turned to the doorway to see who it belonged to.

Standing in the slanted early morning sunlight falling through the tall windows of Magnus’s study was a tall, lithe, curvaceous woman of about late twenty-something with milky pale flawless skin, striking red hair the vibrant color of blood that fell to mid-thigh in soft full cascading waves, and startling green eyes like vibrant emeralds lit from within as if the sun shone through the perfectly faceted gemstones. The smooth satin of her green dress, a darker shade of her dazzling eyes, that was something of a cross between Victorian era steampunk corseting and a bohemian sundress swirled gracefully about her alluring shape as she strode into the room toward Helen’s frozen form still perched on her desk. She was absolutely stunning. Her lilting voice like music as she spoke again in her undeniably Irish accent. “I do hope you don’t mind, I let myself in. I did so want to surprise you, and I see that I have succeeded.” She smiled warmly, a twinkle of mischief in her glittering eyes.

Will, mouth agape, turned his attention back to Magnus whose eyes were fixed on this strange woman in a mixture of stunned silence and surprised delight. He had only known her a short time, but nothing about her had in any way indicated to him that she was the type of woman who could be rendered speechless. Even the very unexpected appearance of John Druitt a couple of weeks ago had not stolen her voice. Far from it, and yet here she sat, staring unbelievingly at the mysterious woman standing in front of her.

The woman held out her hands and, as if by automatic reflex, Magnus grasped them delicately in her own and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. The gallant gesture seamlessly flowed into a friendly embrace, the woman placing a lingering kiss on Magnus’s cheek, her long elegant hands cupping Helen’s shoulder blades as she took in the length of her, uttering a whimsical sigh; the whole exchange one graceful fluid motion. “Bí fós i mo chroí. You’re as beautiful as ever, Helen, and I love what you’ve done with your hair,” she smiled as she gingerly stroked a lock of chocolate curl between thumb and forefinger, the back of the latter caressed Helen’s other cheek as the hand slowly brushed by.

The brief, yet intimate, physical contact seemed to break whatever had held Magnus spellbound and brought her back to the present. “Dear Lord,” she breathed, the utterance barely more than a whisper. “I haven’t seen you since….” She trailed off.

“Midsommer. ‘98,” the other woman supplied, her eyes still locked on the radiant blue of Helen’s.

“Yes, I saw you in the drawing room and had intentions of finding you at table, but then you just disappeared. I never saw you again after that.” Will caught the tiniest flicker of sadness behind the wonder in her eyes, so quickly covered he doubted the mystery woman had seen it at all- regardless of how intently their gazes were locked. Helen’s eyes searched the woman’s face, for what Will couldn’t even begin to guess. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl just pop in to see an old friend for no apparent reason?” her grin was cheshire through and through, and Helen’s raised eyebrow brought a melodious laugh. “I never could get anything past you, could I? Bíodh sin mar atá. It was the Morrigan.”

The shift in the tone of the conversation parted the embrace as Helen stepped back into the edge of her desk. “What?” The change of topic alleviating the privateness of the moment, Will cleared his throat. Helen’s eyes snapped to him, still sitting in the armchair. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Will, this is one of my oldest friends, Rowan Llewellyn. Rowan, this is my newest colleague, Dr. William Zimmerman. I do apologize for my poor manners, the surprise of seeing Rowan after so long has just left me a bit flabbergasted. Please, forgive me.”

Will stood, extending his hand to Rowan, “Nice to meet you,” he smiled. “No need for apologies, Magnus. I can understand being surprised to see someone out of the blue after a decade or so of no contact with them.”

Releasing the handshake, Rowan let out a hearty chuckle, “My dear boy, how long have you known our most lovely Helen Magnus?” At Will’s startled look she continued. “The ‘98 that I was referring to was 1898.” She beamed at Helen as Will’s head tennis court swiveled between the two women’s faces, his turn to be rendered speechless.

When Will found his voice, he turned his quizzical gaze on Magnus. “What, did you give her some of your blood, too? Was she also dying of some terrible disease?”

The left side of Magnus’ mouth quirked up into a small smile. “No, actually she was far older than I am now the first time I ever met her.” Will’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Rowan is a Daoine Sidhe. She’s immortal.”

Will turned his stunned gaze to Rowan who laughed lightly, “Well, in so much as long as nothing kills me.”

“Yes, Will, I can see that you have many, many questions. Come, let’s sit and we can talk.” The three of them moved to the seating area around the fireplace, Will taking the far armchair and the ladies settling onto the settee. Rowan crossed her ankles sliding her feet under the edge of the settee, her gaze traveling the graceful length of skin up Helen’s bare legs, the black pencil skirt stopping just shy of her demurely crossed knees, the hands clasped delicately in her lap, the swell of her breasts beneath the blue linen of her blouse, the neckline of which was low enough to catch a glimpse of rounded flesh, the arch and curve of her collar bone, the soft line of her neck adorned by only a few errant curls, her chestnut hair swept up and pinned to one side, her full lips, moving as she spoke to Will. “Before you launch into your, I’m sure, very long list of questions, I have one of my own that I’d like to ask.” Then, those piercing sapphire eyes turned upon her, dark lashes fluttering as their gazes met and she smiled. “You said the Morrigan brought you here?”

For a moment, Rowan said nothing, lost in the depths of Helen’s eyes locked with her own. She dropped her gaze to her own hands resting in her lap and took a steadying breath. Returning her gaze to Helen’s crystalline eyes, she nodded, “Two days ago, they used their powers, for the first time in centuries. I felt the call, and I came to investigate. When I saw that the place they had been was yours, well, I had to stay. To see you. I am so very sorry for the unexpected intrusion.” She smiled warmly at the woman seated next to her, “De réir na déithe go léir, I’ve missed you, Helen. Deeply, and I’d like to spend some time here with you if you don’t find objection. Reminisce old times and catch up on current ones. After all, when the Fates drop you on someone’s doorstep, who am I to turn and walk away?”

The grin that spread across Helen’s lips lit her whole face. She took Rowan’s hands in hers and gave a light squeeze, “Of course. You’re welcome for as long as you like. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” She squeezed her hands again before letting them fall and straightening back into the arm of the settee. “Alright, William, I can see you’re full to bursting,” she extended her hand to him, offering the floor. “Please, by all means,” a playful smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

“Okay, well basics first, I guess. What exactly is a Daoine Sidhe? An abnormal, obviously, but….” he let the sentence trail, quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, eagerly awaiting the answer.

“Well, yes,” Helen said, smiling at the obvious connection. “Daoine Sidhe are an ancient race of abnormal, Irish in origin, who have many names and varying forms throughout Gaelic folklore; Puca, Changeling, Banshee, Sluagh, Leprechaun- to name just a few that you’ve likely heard of.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Will sat straighter on the edge of his chair, “You mean to tell me leprechauns and banshees are real, and they’re abnormals?”

“What we are, Sir William,” Rowan interjected, voice full of pride and dignity, “are the Fair Folk. We are Fae.”

“What, like fairies?” Will couldn’t keep the disbelief from his smile.

Helen smiled at his enthusiastic skepticism. “The legends are numerous and varied, some claim they are the descendants of fallen angels, others claim they are from the lineage of the Tuatha De Danaan.” At Will’s raised eyebrows, Magnus forged ahead, “The Tribe of Danu, the Gaelic gods. The Tuatha De arrived in Ireland in clouds of mist, according to the mythos, likely from heaven due to their knowledge of architecture, the arts, and magic. At the First Battle of Magh Tuireadh they defeated the Fir Bolg, thus securing their reign over the land. A Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh was fought and won, however at the Third Battle the Tuatha De were defeated, and when the victors divided the lands with them, they granted themselves the land above ground and they gave the Tuatha De the land underground. So it was that the Tuatha De Danaan came to live in the Sidhe mounds and the Daoine Sidhe were born.”

“Children of gods, really?” Will gave Magnus a look full of disbelief.

“Well, obviously, fallen angels or children of the gods, these are just stories of the old local folklore. A way to explain evolved creatures that differed so drastically from the human cultures of the area. Creatures with advanced abilities that these people had no other way of explaining. The true origins of this evolutionary strand of abnormals has, unfortunately, been lost to history. But the lore is at least colorful and entertaining.”

“Our dear Helen here has devoted her life to science and all of its many pursuits, and so she finds it easiest to explain things in terms of ‘evolution’ and ‘advanced ability’. She always has had rather the hardest time opening her mind to believe in the concept of true magick.”

“Magic? Seriously?” Will gave a chuckle, but the look in Rowan’s eyes quickly silenced it.

“Cén fáth, you did just have a trio of witches in your home, did you not?”

He leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled, trying to digest all this information. Immortal fairies. Gods and their progeny. Magic? “Wait, what did you mean you ‘heard the call’ when the Morrigan used their powers?”

“Danu and her sisters, Tatha and Caird, are part of the old magicks of Eire, just as the Daoine Sidhe are. We are rooted to the lands that bore us, fundamentally connected to it and to each other. When they unleashed their magick, it was like loosing a shockwave. Macalla. It sent a pulse through the Isle of Eire, a pulse that echoed through the hearts of all her Childer. Not much speaks so loudly from the Olde Earth anymore, so when something does we pay heed.”

“If that is the case, then why do we not have the rest of the Daoine Sidhe at our door asking about the Morrigan?”

Rowan’s features became stoic and withdrawn, her gaze turned down to her lap, her hands twisting and bunching the soft fabric of her skirts.

Magnus cleared her throat and as Will’s focus turned to her, he saw a deep sadness in her eyes. “Because, Will, there are no other Daoine Sidhe. Rowan is the last of her kind.”

“Oh. God. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s alright,” Rowan smiled at him sadly. “You couldn’t have known, and it’s been my reality for a long time. Tá síocháin déanta agam. I can see that you still have many questions. It’s alright, I’ll answer them as best I can. The first, obviously, is that if we are immortal, how can I be the last?” Will nodded. “The Daoine Sidhe have no natural life span; we are born, we grow to maturity, and then we stop, our physical bodies forever frozen at their peak. Some, who are very old, may choose to allow a bit of their age to show, lines at the corners of their eyes, turning hair, but even still, those of our elders who choose this path will only appear as a human of late forties or early fifties. You would never find a Fae the physical equivalent of an average human elder- seventies, eighties, nineties. Because our cells cease their growth process at the height of health and maturity, they never degenerate and decay, therefore we as a species have no natural cause of death. Our life span is indefinite and unlimited by entropy and deterioration.”

Rowan stood and paced to the cold fireplace, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed on some invisible focal point beyond the mantle. “That does not, however, mean that we cannot die. We can be killed, we have no immunity to mortal wounds, just as no other creature has no such capacity. We have impressive regenerative capabilities and heal faster and more fully than mortal entities, but a killing blow will end us just as surely as it would you. We also possess rather intense and thorough immune systems, a common cold or flu does not exist for the Fae, nor do any of us succumb to cancer or other such diseases. Yet, that does not mean we cannot fall ill; there are sicknesses that ravage and even kill Daoine Sidhe that you have no knowledge or understanding of, nor would they have any effect on you at all.” She turned back to them and her eyes fell on Will as she continued. “Death, as you know it, is not the only end to life for one of the Fair Folk. Whereas you have no choice in the matter of your eventual and inevitable death, we Sidhe have every choice since a natural end is not afforded us. As a species, eternal life can appear to be a fantastic gift to those who are limited to less than a century. However, to those faced with an endless eternity, such a gift has quite the way of easily becoming a burden and a curse.” For the briefest of moments, she rested sympathetic eyes and a sad smile upon Helen. “Mallacht sáraitheach. For some, this burden becomes too much to bear, and rather than live on endlessly and forever, they choose to simply fade away. The Daoine Sidhe are children of Eire, sprung from her earth and raised on her waters, we are bound to and fueled by her lands- thus the deep rooted connection between all Childer of the Isle- in this way, if we so choose, we can cut our ties to this physical plane and return to the thrum of the magicks of her earth.

“Some of my Kin fell ill to various plagues among our people, more died in one battle or another. As the centuries stretched on and on, most grew weary of endless existence and began to Fade. As more of my Kith Faded into oblivion and our numbers dwindled fewer and fewer and fewer, it became even harder for those left to continue on. The loneliness, the lack of others not only of their kind but of any creature who existed as they did, who remembered times long gone, who held the memories of the Olde Magicks or even the current world while it was still in its infancy. As more and more chose to Fade, usually the oldest first, those among the numbers of our elders dwindled to almost nothingness. Which placed a new strain on those that remained; how do you combat the isolation and abandonment that you feel when there is no one left who remembers the first thousand or more years of your life? How do you convince yourself to push forward when everyone you knew, loved, grew and shared everything with is gone? How do you justify living as worth it when you have literally nothing left, and not even eventual inevitable release is offered you?” Rowan stared unseeingly at her hands in front of her, fingers twisting aimlessly at the ends of her hair. “And so, one by one, all the remaining Daoine Sidhe gave up. The end of the long, distinguished line of a noble species. Faded out of existence leaving naught a trace. Níl ann ach mise, anois. Tá mé i m'aonair.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell in the wake of her words. Will sat motionless, stunned and shocked, Helen’s blue eyes were filled with tears, a few that had escaped still glistening on her cheeks. When Rowan finally spoke again, her voice, barely more than a whisper, was nearly deafening after the oppressive quiet. “I hope this has been a sufficient answer. Please, William, what else do you wish to know?”

Will nodded, cleared his throat, straightened himself in the chair. “Um, well, I guess,” he paused.

Rowan smiled wanly, “It’s all right. Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat again, “Honestly, I’m wondering why. If you’re all alone and your longevity is such a burden, why did you stay?”

“Why did I not Fade as the rest of my Kith did? Well, at the time I was fairly young, relatively speaking, for a Fae- I still am- I had not spent the time here to grow weary of this life, nor lonesome for companionship and understanding. I was hungry, for everything- life, experience, knowledge. Gach rud. After the first handful or so decades alone, the isolation did start to take its toll; however, I had grown wise enough to recognize that I didn’t wish to take my leave without the full wealth and richness of every experience I desired, and even after centuries of life there were a few I was lacking.” She moved back to the settee and settled herself next to Helen. “I was thirsty for knowledge, the world was just truly coming into it you know, dramatic advances by leaps and bounds, and I wanted to study everything. It was the late 1800s, Oxford was the premier school of the world, and I wanted to learn. I only audited, of course, but I sat in on everything. In the autumn of my first year in London, I met the most exquisite woman,” she reached out and cupped Helen’s face in her hands, tenderly brushing the tears from her eyes as she spoke. “She was bright and vivacious and determined, with the most insatiable appetite for life, knowledge, exploration. The first time I ever laid eyes on her, I knew she was the most radiant creature I had ever beheld. Croí mo chroí.” Helen’s hand raised to her cheek and placed itself gently over Rowan’s. Eyes locked, the two women smiled at each other, lost in memory. Will watched them with deep curiosity as Rowan continued, “She was unequivocally the most alive person I had ever met, not to mention the most mysterious and alluring, and I decided, upon seeing the drive with which she attacked the world, that there was something out there for me that was worth sticking around to discover.”

Will smiled at the sweetness of the exchange, “How did you two meet, anyway?”

Rowan stroked Helen’s now dry cheek affectionately before returning her hand to her lap. “Your turn for storytelling. I’m quite curious to hear how you remember it,” she said with a wink and a smile.

Helen beamed back at her in return. “Cheeky,” she grinned. “It was late September of 1884, I was beginning my third year at Oxford, lectures were done for the day and weather was nice, lots of us were sprawled about the grounds out of doors. Most of the fellows were picnicking or playing various games, a few close friends and I were taking the opportunity to compare notes and discuss theories about a pet project we were working on. There was a bit of a commotion across the promenade that caught our attention, a crowd of young men were striding through the park, all clustered together and adamantly focused on something in the midst of their congregation. My companions stood to see if they could get a better view of what was causing all the ruckus, that’s when the crowd of gentlemen parted and a young woman emerged from within.”

She glided across the grass of the courtyard as if she were floating, her full and flowing skirts trailing behind, a stunning jewel of purple. Her hair glittered in the light of the setting sun like rubies caught fire, plaited in the latest fashions about her crown, long curls spilling elegantly down her back. She moved with such natural grace and it was clear to see why she was leaving gawping faces and enthusiastic clumsy attentions in her wake. She was elegant, fascinating, magnetic. Helen found herself inexplicably drawn to the striking woman. She could hear her companions speaking amongst themselves in the background, but their voices came to her ears as if across a great void. “Who is that?” “New auditing student.” “Have any of you met her?” “When did she arrive?” “Any of you chaps know her name?” None of their conversation really registered with Helen, though, for she was caught in the pull of the tide flowing out, to her. Transfixed, she couldn’t look away. That was when, as if drawn by Helen’s gaze, the woman looked up from her admirers, across the promenade, straight into Helen’s eyes. Breath caught in her chest, heart thrumming in her throat. Her eyes. Glittering emeralds, glowing with their own light, their own life. It was as if the dazzling woman was staring straight into her soul. Her gaze sent chills all the way up Helen’s spine. No one had ever looked at her that way before. No one had ever looked into her. She smiled, and Helen’s pulse fluttered. Then she turned back in the direction she had been heading and was gone.

Three evenings later, one of the senior fellows was holding a formal ‘back to university’ gathering to which Helen and her colleagues were in attendance. While mingling about the salon, mostly speaking of the week’s most fascinating lectures, there was a bit of a hubbub from the front hall. Moments later, the woman from the courtyard entered the parlor. To Helen’s great surprise, within seconds the woman’s eyes locked onto hers and she glided straight across the room, directly toward Helen. The woman both kissed Helen’s hand and dipped into a small curtsy, though their eyes never parted, introducing herself as Rowan Llewellyn, starting her first year of attendance at Oxford. She said she’d very much like to talk to another woman in attendance as she hadn’t met many people since arriving in London and hadn’t even seen another woman about campus aside from Helen, who was rather enamored herself by the idea of speaking with another woman braving the male dominated world of university at that time. She commented briefly about the press of the crowd and the stuffiness of the room suggesting a stroll through the garden; having already been introduced to the world of abnormals by her father almost ten years prior and wishing to have the opportunity to study this woman more closely, Helen leapt at the excuse for a chance to talk privately.

The two women made their excuses to Helen’s companions and arm in arm walked out into the gardens, strolling under the moonlight. Once they had made their way a good distance into the flowers and fountains, well away from earshot of anyone who might come out onto the lanai for some air or privacy of their own, Rowan broke their companionable silence. “Lady Helen Magnus. I asked about campus after you following our brief encounter across the promenade. Might your father be Dr. Gregory Magnus?”

Helen allowed herself a small smile at the interest Rowan had shown in discovering more about her after only a brief glance, “Yes, actually, he is. Do you know him?”

“We’ve never met, but I’ve heard rather a great deal about him over the years. Both him, and his work.” The last word carried a great deal of emphasis. “Do you work with him?”

“My father has shared with me much of his practice, and I hold great interest in working with him on some of his more specialized projects. Though, that won’t begin until after I complete my studies, of course.”

“Of course. You’re in your third year, are you not? A large accomplishment for a woman of these times, especially one so lovely.”

“Are you implying, Miss Llewellyn, that a pretty face hides an absence of intellect?” Helen lifted an eyebrow at such an implication.

“Surely not, my lady. Simply acknowledging that someone with your charms could easily be the prized bride of any prosperous gentleman she chooses, and thus well kept and cared for. To strike out on one’s own and make one’s own way, especially in university halls, in medicine no less, as not only a woman but an enchanting one at that, is an honorable and admirable feat. If it pleases,” Rowan smiled at her with such genuineness it set her heart to flutter.

“My,” Helen stared at her, at a complete loss for what to make of this rare and beautiful creature before her, nor what to make of the foreign feelings swirling inside her.

“You are unique, Lady Helen, and utterly enchanting. I find myself entirely enraptured by you. I would consider myself most fortunate to find myself blessed with the pleasure of your continued companionship during my stay in London. Might I call on you in the future, possibly engage the honor of your guidance round yon fair city?” she dipped a dramatic bow and a cheeky wink, the corner of her mouth quirking into a wry smile.

Helen felt her cheeks warm and was glad for the low light of the starlit garden to hide the color she knew must be there. This woman, the language and gestures were overtly intended as comical, though the affections were obviously genuine. Women did not behave this way toward other women, not in polite society or otherwise, and well-bred ladies attending university to become well respected doctors did not return feelings toward advances from mysterious women they had just met. And yet.

Helen curtsied low to match the obvious drama Rowan had displayed. “It would be my pleasure to accept your call, Miss Llewellyn, and I would be most happy to show you about London. After all, we can’t leave you unescorted on your first journey to our esteemed capital.” She smiled warmly down upon Rowan as the fire-haired maiden bent to kiss her hand, piercing green eyes never leaving her own twinkling blue, Helen’s pulse hammering in her ears.

The distant shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of leaves, faint voices calling out.

“Adieu and anon, Fair Lady. My gratitude for a moonlight stroll with such enchanting company.” Her lips brushed the back of Helen’s hand while she spoke, lingering as she gazed longingly into the intense crystal blue eyes of the radiant woman standing before her. Eyes full of wonder, a playful smile tugging the corners of full supple lips, angelic blond curls spilling over smooth bare shoulders, maroon satin ruched just so to accentuate supple rounded flesh peaking over the top of a shapely corseted bodice. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and she was unequivocally spellbound.

The distant shuffle now deliberate footfalls, faint voices now clearly men calling Helen’s name.

Lips pressed a gentle, intentional kiss firmly to the delicate hand she held as she forced herself to stand and pull away. “Tá tú chomh hálainn. Sweet night and pleasant dreamings to thee.” She bowed once more and backed away into the night, disappearing into the indistinguishable shadows of the moonlit garden, eyes still lingering on Helen’s even after the other woman had lost sight of her to the dark.

The crunch of gravel behind her finally tore Helen’s gaze away from the patch of shadow where the enigmatic Miss Rowan Llewellyn had vanished from her sight, the man’s voice breaking into the swirling multitude of thoughts and feelings coursing through her body, “There you are, Darling. Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, of course. Just taking in some air.” The man’s long arm wrapped about her waist, drawing her down the pathway, back toward the party. For a brief moment, she threw a fleeting glance over her shoulder hoping, well she wasn’t quite sure what for. Yet the moment passed, and she settled her stride to match her beau’s. “Shall we take a turn through Piccadilly this evening on the ride home?”

“We saw much of each other throughout the subsequent semester, both on and off campus. We shared several classes whose lectures we enthusiastically dissected with each other, but more than that it was simply thrilling to have a woman to socialize with who wasn’t looking down her nose at us for daring to have the unwomanly audacity to sit next to the men folk in the lecture halls vying for accolades and accreditation equal to theirs. It was a different time, Will, a different world. Women were meant to sit in parlors with their smallwork, to bear babies to their husbands, to organize charity galas, and to keep house. Education of that level for women was unheard of; studying philosophy, science, medicine, well that was the devil’s work.”

Will had listened to Helen’s tale in rapt silence, closely watching the two women sitting across from him. Their eyes had been on each other while Helen recounted their history, and based on the fleeting micro-expressions on their faces and the minute tells of their body language, it was rather clear to Dr. Zimmerman, profiler extraordinaire, that there was more to this story than was being put into words for his benefit. A lot more.

“Well,” Rowan said, “I’m sure there’s questions you now have for Helen alone that you would prefer to ask in private. If the two of you will excuse me, I’ll take my leave of you for now and set about exploring this gorgeous place. I’d like some time to collect my thoughts and wander my own memories, anyway.”

Will tried to keep the surprise out of his expression as he stood to extend his temporary farewells. It was absolutely true that he wanted to talk to Magnus privately for the moment, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how Rowan had known that.

She stood and leaned over Helen, lips caressing her ear as she barely breathed, “I’ll find you later,” too quietly for Will to hear. She then brushed a gentle kiss against the sweep of her neck and left the room in a quiet rustle of green.

Heat rose to Helen’s cheeks as she watched her go, the loose and flowing construction of her dress allowing far more of the shape of her body to be viewed than the many-layered garments of the late Victorian era that she had worn when Helen knew her last. Helen realized she’d been staring after her, and dropped her gaze to the hands clasped in her lap, painfully aware that she was blushing and Will’s keen eye would not miss that fact.

She could feel his penetrating gaze on her as he analyzed what he had just heard and seen and assessed how best to go about getting the information he wished to know.

“Go ahead, Will,” she said calmly. “Ask what you wish to know. I’ll answer. Every room, every door, right?”

“Magnus, this has nothing to do with us working together. This isn’t a patient or a case. This is your personal life. I have no right to pry, nor to demand full disclosure. My questions are merely curiosity from the perspective of a new friend who would like to get to know you better.”

“Go ahead,” she repeated.

Will cleared his throat. “Alright.” He sat forward in his chair, fingers laced, forearms propped on his thighs, eyes focused on her face. “Did, uh, did you two have, um… Did you have a thing?”

Magnus let out a chuckle at his awkwardness as she looked up at him. “No, we did not have ‘a thing’. Mutual attraction, some seriously intense sexual tension, a handful of hidden coatroom kisses. But nothing ever came of any of it.”

Will’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline, bringing a grin to Magnus’ face.

“What, because I’m a relic straight out of good ol’ Victorian England, I can’t have kissed a girl and liked it?”

Now it was Will’s turn to feel heat in his cheeks. “No, I just…. What happened?”

“It was All Hallow’s Eve 1885. I was throwing a party, bit of a masquerade. Music, horderves, dancing, drinks. Some fellows from school, some ladies that I knew from our presentation days, some colleagues of my father’s who mostly kept to his library so as not to ‘spoil the fun for the young folks’. Everyone bedecked with masks, offering a bit of anonymity and allowing folks to mingle a bit more freely than they would have otherwise. There had been no receiving line, and I had arrived half an hour into the affair myself, so that no one knew who anyone else was. Everyone danced and milled about having anonymous conversations, it was a grand time. The soiree had been in full swing for about two hours or so, and most of the gentlemen had retired to the front parlor for cigars and brandys, leaving the gaggle of masked ladies to partner with each other on the dance floor, giggling and gossiping. There was a knock at the door, and our man escorted a late guest who had finally arrived to the ballroom. She cut a striking figure in a stunning sleeveless ballgown; black corset with blood red boning, a panel of black lace down the back behind the blood red laces, the voluminous skirt alternating panels of black and red, studded with sparkling gemstones of the opposite color in swirling patterns down the full length of the skirt. Red jewels hung from her neck, and black from her ears, she wore an elaborate mask dancing with gems that shone in the candlelight, as was the call for the night, it obscured her whole face. Yet there was no mistaking that hair. Laced through with sprigs of black pearls, twisted and coiffed and curled into the very definition of elegance, the waves cascading down the center of her back, brushing the waist of her gown, and red as fire rubies.

“She glided across the room, curtsied, and escorted me onto the dance floor where she twirled me about as effortlessly as if we were dancing on clouds, and for the way it felt, maybe we were. By the end of the third song, we had somehow made our way to the doorway of the salon that was serving as coatroom for the duration of the masquerade. She spun me through the doors, had them closed behind us, and was turning me through the final steps of the dance all in one liquid movement. She danced us farther into the room, deeper amidst the rows of racks of coats and furs, further into the shadows. Her eyes held me rapt, my heart in my throat, as she gingerly pulled the mask from my face, smiling, stroking my cheek.

“Your ensemble is stunning, my Lady, but I would gaze upon thy lovely face,” she said. She tugged at the ribbons of her own mask and, once removed, tossed them both onto a chair in the corner, taking my hands in hers. Her eyes. My God, it was like she was trying to drink me up with them. She drew her hands up my arms, across my shoulders, up the sides of my neck. My skin tingled and pulsed under her touch. Those eyes, they searched my face, looking deep for something. They found it, or maybe didn’t, depending on exactly what she was looking for; because then, her right hand still cupping the side of my neck, her left sliding around to cradle the back of my head, she drew me to her, ever so slowly, bent her head, eyes still boring right into me the whole time, and she kissed me. Slow, gentle, lingering, tender. Each caress of lips so deliberate. She held my face, and she breathed in to me, her tongue ran lightly across my lower lip, then she was kissing me again, my lip between hers, sucking ever so softly. My whole body was on fire, I could feel each and every nerve where her skin touched my bare flesh, all of them quivering with desire, and I was intimately aware of the length of her pressed against the length of me as we stood there lost to all the world, save each other. Her fingers slid into my hair at the base of my neck and her other hand glided its way down my back, stopping in that curve just above hips, and she pulled me tighter against her. I could feel the heat, the desire, rolling off her in waves, her breath coming in short gasps, yet every move she made remained very intentional, and the moment went on and on and on.

“I was no innocent maiden at that point in my life, Will. I was thirty-five and while some aspects of physical romance had not yet made themselves known to me, I wasn’t completely ignorant of it all. Now, well, I can assure you I am well and truly an experienced woman, but I have never been kissed like that in my life, ever.

“She drew back from my lips, her face hovering in front of mine, our foreheads almost touching, her breath quick and short, just as mine was, those vibrantly intense emerald eyes of hers staring straight into my soul. For a long moment, she just stood there looking at me, stone still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Then she pressed her cheek to mine, her lips brushing against my left ear, her breath tickling the few loose ringlets that fell down my neck, and she whispered to me, “I’ve been dying to do that from the moment I first laid eyes on you.” I could feel her smile against my ear. ”I wanted the first kiss I gave you to be one that you would never forget.”

“She let go of me all at once, dropping into a sweeping bow, “Fair night, lovely Lady, and sweet dreamings to thee.” With a flourish, she swept out of the room and was gone.”

Helen’s breathing had quickened with the memory of the kiss, her fingers unconsciously on her lips, and she sat silently, trying to quell the tingling nerves crawling across her skin.

“Wow,” Will uttered, almost to himself.

“That kiss was the singular most paramount experience of my life. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of monumental comparisons by which to judge it.” Helen took a deep, steadying breath. “Things only got more intense from there. On the Christmas Eve of 1891 we held a small get together, just a handful of closest friends, to exchange gifts, eat, drink, and make merry. No band, no ballroom, just an intimate gathering in the salon. I had dismissed the staff for the week to spend time with their families, and so I was playing full hostess that night. The six of us were sitting informally in the salon trading stories and catching up on each other’s lives, we had gone a bit separate ways since Oxford, but we still got together for special occasions. At one point, I had gotten up to take something to or retrieve something from the kitchens- I don’t remember what now- but as I was down the hall, closer to the kitchen than the salon, Rowan caught up to me. She had excused herself from the men and had followed me out. No sooner had I turned around to the sound of her footsteps than she had her hands on my hips, pushing me into an alcove in the wall- someplace we’d be out of the line of eyesight should anyone else leave the salon- her lips on mine, kissing me fervently. She pressed me into the wall, her hands sliding up my sides as she kissed at my neck, my collar bone, across the neckline of my dress, back up my neck, across the line of my jaw. I was panting, my hands running the length of her back, trying to draw her closer to me. Her hips pressed against mine, her strong delicate hands stroked their way up my chest as she ran them up my arms, holding my wrists against the wall above my head, kissing me again and again, harder, with more desperation.

“The whole length of her body now pressed against mine as she held me against the wall, her free hand drawing my skirt toward my waist, her fingertips brushed the bare skin of my thigh, and she traced them up my leg, drawing my knee up to rest on her hip bone, her hand then sliding back to cup my bum. I couldn’t kiss her hard enough, fast enough, deep enough; I just wanted more of her- I wanted all of her.

“Pulling my hips harder against hers, she drew her lips away from mine, again running kisses down and up my neck, a shudder of pleasure coursing through my whole body. Then her whisper brushed against my ear, just as it always did, “My gods, do you have any idea how exquisite you are? I just couldn’t stand it any longer, sitting in there watching you from across the room, not being able to touch you. Is ar éigean is féidir liom é a iompróidh.” She glided the hand she had under my bum up my abdomen and wrapped it around my right breast, squeezing gently, and she kissed me again; deep, passionate, full of hunger and desire, but tender, intentional. “Oh, gods.” She breathed against my gasping mouth, her breath just as ragged and erratic as mine. “Tá m’intinn caillte, you drive me crazy! I swear, I can’t think when you’re around.”

I laughed at her at that, “Oh, please. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and we always talk about the latest scientific advancements, we’ve traded philosophical views for years, you’re knowledge of the arts is vast beyond imagining and you’ve schooled me on more than one o-” Her mouth pressing over mine stopped my train of thought as well as my words.

“Bíodh sin mar atá, I can’t think of anything but you when you’re around. You tucked that errant lock of hair behind your ear earlier, and all I wanted to do was kiss you here,” her lips brushed across my ear, “and here,” the bit of tender flesh just behind the lobe, “and here,” up and down the side of my neck. “You had a bit of jelly tart,” she brushed delicate fingertips across the corner of my mouth, “and I just wanted to,” her tongue flicked across the same spot, then traced my swollen lips before she pressed hers over them again. “You leaned down to set the tea on the table in front of me, and I,” her eyes were watching my chest rise and fall in heavy, panting breaths, her hands sliding over me cupping the underside of my bosom, her hot shallow breath on my skin as she kissed feverishly along the tops of my bare breasts where my corset spilled them out the top of my dress. She muttered into my chest, the exact words muffled and lost in the press of flesh. Their meaning, however, was quite clear. She was just as aroused and hungry as I was, and she also knew just as well as I did that there was nothing to be done about it.

“Don’t look at me like that, Will. It simply wasn’t done in those days, and as open-minded and forward thinking as I have always been, there were some conventions of society that just couldn’t be broken until times had changed enough for me to still keep my feet under me if anything was ever discovered. I was building the Network, after all, and it was a cause just as important to Rowan as it was to me. We both understood what was at stake, and we were both willing to put our personal desires aside for the sake of larger things. Not to mention, we weren’t alone. Four well-known, upstanding, and revered men sitting in my salon at that very moment, one my father. What, precisely, do you think would have happened if we had just disappeared to my bedchamber to conduct our affair?

“With sighs of frustration from our lips and longing in our eyes, we parted ways to compose ourselves and rejoin the rest of our assemblage. Rowan set off to the powder room, and then the kitchen to collect whatever it was I was supposed to be bringing back with me. She’d make my excuses to the boys and garner me a bit more time to get myself together, which I sorely needed.

“A few moments quiet to myself, my legs too weak to hold me without the support of the walls, I was propped in that alcove, my skirts wrinkled, my hair mussed, my breasts spilling a bit overmuch from my neckline. I might have known it was best not to act upon the desires burning within me with Rowan, but I was neither inexperienced nor prude enough to be closed to the notion of acting upon them by myself, if for no other reason than to satisfy my arousal enough to be able to return to my father’s presence without fantasies of a sexy female abnormal flooding my thoughts. So in the handful of minutes that I had left before I was missed overmuch, my own fingers found their way beneath the hem of my skirts and worked at the places Rowan couldn’t touch while the rest of my body quivered with the memory of her caresses still fresh on my flesh.”

Will’s face was so flushed, Magnus thought he might faint. “You did ask to hear this, did you not?” she asked him, a suppressed smile twitching at the corners of her mouth anyway.

“Well, yeah, I just-” He stopped, cleared his throat, started again, “I guess I just didn’t expect that this story would include you, um, well…” He stopped again and made no attempt to continue.

“Did you think me incapable?”

“What? No! I mean, I’d never considered… Uh-” Will floundered miserably, stuttering. Then he noticed the teasing smile spreading on Magnus’s lips and the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “Ah, I see.” He smiled ruefully.

“I am sorry that I’ve embarrassed you, Will. But history lessons about Rowan and I don’t much come without kisses and fondling in some form or other.”

A bit of the extra color had left Will’s cheeks as he flopped back in the armchair, “Jesus. But I don’t understand, you were both obviously into each other, like seriously into each other. I mean, that’s pretty hot and heavy, Magnus. How did you get from that to ‘nothing ever came of any of it’?”

Magnus sighed, a wistful smile playing across her lips. “May Day, 1898, she showed up at a garden party I was hosting. She made eyes to me from across the lawn and disappeared into the house. I excused myself from the group of guests I had been talking to, and I followed her. Once inside, I began hunting through the rooms for where she had gone. As I passed the parlor door, a hand reached out and pulled me inside, sliding the door closed behind me. In the stretch of a blink she had closed the distance, wrapped one hand around my neck and the other about my waist, and her lips were pressed to mine. Delicate, tender, slow. Like the first time. She took her time, gently caressing me with her supple lips. Time slowed, the world disappeared, we were the only two beings in all of existence. When our lips parted, her eyes were more intense than I’d ever seen them before. She took my hands, and her look took on a somber quality.

“Run away with me, Helen,” she said.

Helen let out a peal of ringing laughter. “Be serious, Rowan. Run away? To where, why? Our lives are here, our friends are here, our work is here.”

“I am serious. You’ve been through so much these last years, you need time, you need respite in which to heal. You always spend so much time taking care of everyone else, you take care of the whole world, but you need taking care of too.”

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you.” Helen smiled in mock offense.

“Yes, I know, but you don’t. You never save any time for yourself.” Rowan dropped her hands and paced anxiously across the floor. Frustration at an inability to express herself was clear in her countenance. “I don’t mean we should disappear, much as I envy the idea of falling off the face of the earth with you. But we could go for a time. Take a trip, we’ll go anywhere you wish. There’s so much of the world it would give me great pleasure to show you.” She turned back to face the golden haired beauty standing in the center of the room; soft sunlight gleaming in her sapphire eyes, playing across the highlights of her delicate curls setting them on fire, creating a fitting halo about her elegant face. Rowan’s pounding heart caught in her throat at the sight. She’s magnificent, she thought, the most glorious creature ever to exist. She’s witty, and charming, and brilliant- one of the foremost minds in the world… and she can’t even see how I feel about her. “Just the two of us, in some far off city, exploring the culture by day,” her vibrant, mossy eyes drank in the length of Helen’s stunning figure, “exploring each other by night. Do come, we could be on the train tonight. Ní fheiceann tú go bhfuil grá agam duit?”

“As enticing as that proposition is, there’s simply far too much to be done right now. With Father away someone has to keep everything in order; the expansions to the Sanctuary, we’re taking on new residents by the dozen, cataloguing the correspondences he’s sending back, to say nothing of the massive shipment he’s sent. I’ve barely even gotten half of it unboxed.” Helen closed the distance between the two women.

“What about James, he could-” Helen laid a gentle finger across Rowan’s lips, silencing her.

“It’s just not possible right now. Too much is at stake, not the least of which if anyone were to see us….” Her words trailed, leaving the harsh reality of the situation unspoken. She slowly twined her arms around Rowan’s waist, palms flat against her back, drawing their bodies closer. “In the meantime,” she smiled, removing the remaining distance between their lips, electricity sparking between them, mouths pressed fervently together, Rowan’s fingers twisting their way into Helen’s curls, soft moans escaping from both mouths.

“This isn’t the end of this conversation, Fairest Lady,” breathless voice emanating through a cheshire grin reaching all the way to probing eyes captivated by the face they witnessed. “I will give you time to get your affairs in order, and I shall ask you again. Perchance you shall be less thoroughly engaged with other pursuits by Midsommer.”

“She wrapped her arms tighter and drew me closer to her. She kissed me like her life depended on it, long and slow, every feeling either of us had ever had for the other all pressed into that single joining of lips. She lingered, like she couldn’t bear to part, and I couldn’t either. When she did pull away, pulled so very slowly away, her eyes on mine, like she was memorizing every facet and shift of color, she brushed her thumb gently over my lips, one final caress. Crossing back to the door, she slipped her hand into the gap and slid one side back into its pocket in the wall. She winked at me, her devilish grin full of cheek, and was gone.

“After a few moments to compose myself and a quick glance in the mirror above the fireplace to make sure my hair was still in place, I smoothed my skirts and followed her through the doorway.

“I didn’t see her for the next fifty-one days, an attempted correspondence elicited a simple written reply, ‘I shan’t engage your attention toward pursuits other than thy current occupation of settling affairs into order, thus possibly engaging another dismissal of my petition for your attendance on holiday.’ Midsommer arrived, and my nerves were fluttering all day long. I had not realized how much comfort I had gotten used to drawing from her steadfast company. I missed her fiercely, and the desperate desire to see her again consumed me.

“Finally, half an hour before the meal was called, I saw her enter the drawing room. I started to make my way across the room toward her, but halfway to her my course was diverted by some associates of a colleague of mine who wished to discuss some funding we had requested for one of our ventures.

“I thought to join her at table, but she wasn’t there. After, when the men retired for cigars and brandy and the women tucked in to gossip, I excused myself and began hunting through the house. She was here somewhere, tucked away in some empty room far from the rest of the gathered crowds, awaiting the chance to steal kisses behind the drapery and in the alcoves, just as she always was. Yet there was no sign of her, and upon inquiry the doorman announced he had seen her depart rather quickly just as everyone had been settling into the dining hall.”

“In the weeks that followed, when she never made an appearance at any of the various social functions, was absent from the music halls and the theatres, didn’t pay a call to any of her friends in residence at the Sanctuary, a dark knot of certainty settled itself in the pit of my stomach. I called to her apartments, even though in my heart I already knew what I would find. “She’s not here, Miss. Took a carriage out well after dark back Midsommer night, loaded down with trucks she was. Left instruction to place the rest of her belongings into storage. Ent leave no forwarding address,” her porter told me when I enquired at the door.

“She was gone.” Magnus’s unseeing eyes stared ahead, looking through the arcane mists of the past, recalling times long gone. Not for the first time, Will wondered just how much had transpired between them that had gone unsaid.

“I never saw her again. Not until she walked in here today like a ghost straight out of memory locked away long ago. I had begun to wonder if she was even still alive.”

Will sat quietly, staring out the window. He could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t fall far short of the response that her tale deserved.

“Will?”

“Yeah, Magnus. What is it?”

“I’m done talking for now. I think I’d like to be alone.”

“Yeah, of course.” Will stepped into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind himself, leaving Magnus to her memories.

Helen Magnus stood on a parapet of the tower jutting from the Sanctuary roof, watching the dying sun set the skyline of Old City on fire. She snugged her shawl around her shoulders against the wind, her chocolate locks lifting off her shoulders in soft waves.

“I had a feeling I’d find you up here,” the melodic voice from behind her sent a warm shiver up her spine. How quickly feelings long buried could wash back over you as if it were just yesterday you had felt them in the first place. Rowan soundlessly stepped up beside her, “It’s beautiful. Cé nach bhfuil sé chomh hálainn leat. I can see why you picked this spot.”

They stood in silence, gazing out at the last breaths of the day falling across the city that Helen had made her home for the last ninety years.

“Why did you leave?” Helen watched the final rays of light shine across the peaks of the cityscape.

“I’m sorry, leannán, I swore a promise. It’s not important anyway. You had work to do, and by the looks of it, you’ve done it well. My path lay elsewhere. What matters to me is that we are together now. I’ve missed you.”

Helen turned to face her, the dying light setting diamonds to sparkle in her deep blue eyes. She smiled. “I am very glad to see you.” Rowan’s arms wrapped around her shoulders as she leaned her head against Rowan’s chest. The pair stood on the roof embraced that way as the full moon climbed high into the sky.

“Come,” Helen said once the orb had reached its zenith. “I think I’ve the perfect room for you.”

Rowan gently kissed the top of Helen’s head and stepped to the roof floor, offering her hand to Helen. She took it and, after stepping to the floor herself, they walked hand in hand back into Helen’s home.

Once back inside, they stopped at the first landing. At Rowan’s raised brows, Helen grinned and threw the door in front of them wide. It opened on a large square room ringed in oversized stained glass windows, though the ones to their left were doors leading to a small balcony overlooking the water, the tall ceiling all exposed rafters and stonework, gaslight sconces adorned the walls and a single gas chandelier hung from the central beam of the ceiling. Helen strode into the middle of the room where she turned circles with her arms held out from her sides, a playful smile making her mischievous eyes twinkle. “Well?”

“Déithe, it’s beautiful,” Rowan smiled, joining Helen in the middle of the gothic revival-esque room, turning a slow circle herself.

“It’s away from the rest of the rooms, so you’ll have plenty of privacy, it’s got views for days, we can make any changes or additions to it you’d like, I want you to feel at home here. There is one other, small benefit to this particular room’s location. I rarely sleep these days, not much anyway, and I spend much of my time on the tower roof at night. On occasion, one might happen to hear the sounds of a sleepless woman climbing the stairs outside their door and decide to mount the roof to offer the company of an old friend.” She quirked a conspiratorial smile.

“Well, in that case, I’d say it’s perfect. Thank you, Helen.”

“Welcome to the Sanctuary.”

[morelikeskelesinstwopointoh]

sharp as a tack (but in the sense that you're not smart, just a prick) (1/?)

on ao3

S4 is fairly confident that when the doctor tells him to pack his things, tells him he's being relocated to more appropriate quarters, tells him it's nothing to do with him, obviously, because the provided conditions have been more than adequate, but that it's instead due to some impending renovations on the otherwise-vacant Guard barracks... Well, he thinks, really, that Gaster is very nearly convinced he's doing his subject a favor. He'd never actually say as much, of course, the stubborn old bastard, but S4 is nothing if not used to interpreting the mental gymnastics his pseudo-father performs in order to justify the goings-on behind the lab's polished steel doors. S4 knows better than to ask why—it's not his place, not relevant data for his work, he does not need to think independently to perform his functions as assistant, only obey— but Gaster stares down at him anyways. Stares at his small, trembling claws curled, white-knuckled, around the strap of an old black backpack he'd found abandoned in a closet months beforehand and been permitted to keep. He furrows his brow. Behind the thick half-rims of his glasses, his eye sockets narrow. S4 takes a shallow, shuddering breath, and tries to still the beating thing in his ribcage that is definitely not his heart. Granted, the bag is practically empty, hanging light and almost flat in his grip, but what had Gaster expected? The subject owned nothing aside from the toy tucked safely into the bottom of the backpack, wrapped neatly in the lab coat that had been deemed his, and subsequently altered to fit his stunted form. He's hidden the stuffed doll almost without meaning to, same way he tucks it beneath his pillow every morning when he makes his bed. Gaster has never expressly forbid him to have it—never really expressly forbidden him anything, though he makes it abundantly clear, generally with a few well-placed cutting words, whenever S4 happens to stumble over one of those invisible lines. It makes his stomach squirm when his creator looks at him like that, anyways, so it's just easier to hide her and participate in Gaster's charade that he is an adult, with no need for something soft to cling onto at night. “Ugly thing,” is all Gaster had to say about it when S4 had first turned up with the toy. It had been gifted to him by one of the more recent additions to Gaster's staff, a stocky fish monster with shimmering green scales and a smile even wider than the subject's own fixed grin. Gaster had not asked, only turned back to his notes with a long-suffering sigh and continued reading. (“Got a kid about your age,” had been Doctor Melusine's gruff explanation, as she'd thrust the toy at him, shaking it for emphasis when he only stared in confusion, blank. “Undyne said it was alright, I mean, I know I'm no seamstress and it got a little Frankenstein there on the left arm— “ and here she points to a limb distinctly mismatched from the uniform brown cotton of the other three, “—but y'know, she said you probably wouldn't mind it and, well.” The doctor huffed out a kind of near-laugh. Her little head-light bobbed charmingly in the resulting draft, shaggy red bangs puffed up alongside. “Doctor G doesn't really seem like the paternal type so much.” S4 just. He just stared at the doll, at her too-wide blue eyes and the tiny embroidered line suggesting a nose, at the careful pink plaits that formed her mane of braids and reached for it entirely without meaning to. Doctor Melusine is right, of course, and the left arm does look distinctly grafed-on, especially with the large, obvious black stitches spanning the shoulder, but he didn't care. The mismatched limb was darker and printed all over repeatedly in small pink lettering with the word 'Chanel.' His claws only just grazed one small foot before Melusine actually shoved the thing at him, evidently overjoyed at any sign of life from him. “Why?” he had croaked, but he'd taken it from her all the same, running one thumb absently, awed, over the soft, worn cotton of her blue flowered skirt. Doctor Melusine had just shrugged and shoved her scarred hands deep into her lab coat pockets, a gesture her daughter would mimick unconsciously in years to come. “Part of my debriefing was reading through your files. Project, uh, S4-N5 was it? All of your files.” He'd bristled a little at his full designation, though she didn't appear to notice. He knows what's in those files. Because he'd read those files, hadn't he, pored over them to the extent that he thought he could probably replicate whole chunks of the horrible reports solely from memory. He knew exactly what was in them, knew Doctor Melusine had been reading detailed logs of every single one of his humiliating stumbling blocks on the road to learning how to function like a real monster. Logs of the way he'd struggled even to speak with the unfamiliar conjured tongue. How he'd taken months just to learn to stand upright without the balancing aid of the tail he should have been born (?) with. How he'd had to dispense with the automatic feral instinct to puff himself up and snarl at his creator whenever he loomed over the subject's comparably tiny form. To bare his blunt fangs and try to enforce any kind of personal space. That...had actually been the first thing to go. Gaster had seen to that. “Yeah?” was all he'd managed aloud though, sounding dazed. “Yeah. And today is, uh. Your...birthday? I wasn't sure if he ever told you or not.” Which he hadn't, obviously. Gaster had let, what, eight consecutive March 9ths pass without so much as a word on the subject, though he'll grant it's possible the doctor had simply forgotten. Possible, the subject amended, that he had actually forgotten the concept entirely. He certainly never mentioned his son's or his own, no parties, no gifts, no celebrations on lunch break with the myriad of techs. “No,” is all he'd said though, and curled one pink braid around his forefinger. [He'd name her Chanel, he decided, since he didn't actually know any names besides ones belonging to monsters he knew personally. The idea of naming her after one of them didn't exactly sit well.] “Yeah, that's kinda what I figured, so. Uh. Happy birthday, kid.” And then she had done this baffling thing where she'd thrown her big arms around him and kind of crushed him briefly to her chest, this stifling thing that pressed the breath out of him as much as it made him feel weirdly warm all along the surface of his bones. A hug, he'd learned at about age ten, which was embarrassingly old for something so basic, but hey. Not relevant data, right?) “Is that all?” Gaster says, and S4 blinks wide, startled eyelights up at him. “What about your clothing?” S4 glances down at himself, double-checking that he's still fully-dressed in his usual faded blue scrubs, his bare toe-claws. “I'm...wearing it?” he says hesitantly, unsure if the question is meant to be a trick or not. Gaster scowls. “I suppose we'll have to pick up something more suitable for you, then, won't we.” It's patently not a question. He's not even looking at S4 anymore, which the subject is abundantly grateful for, because he has absolutely no idea what the correct answer should be. Surely Gaster doesn't think he'd somehow acquired the means to clothe himself...? He's been wearing the same scrubs every single day for the past seven years of his life, save for the handful of occasions when they became filthy enough to require an actual wash. He's not totally certain how Gaster hadn't noticed. He suspects it will be forgotten before his creator actually musters the bandwidth to do anything about it and he...turns out to be entirely right on that point. His creator's son, on the other hand, barely makes it a week before approaching him to ask, nasal cavity crinkled in pointed disgust, gangly arms crossed over his narrow chest, “Don't you have anything else to wear?” Papyrus himself is dressed in a slouchy black skirt that kind of drapes unevenly to his knees and an oversized sweatshirt emblazoned with a crude picture of a rocket ship, which are both brand-new articles of clothing to S4. He seems to have something different for each day of the week, and he mashes the styles together in a loud, clashing way that doesn't really make any sense at all to the subject, who is accustomed to—prefers?—the relative ease of his uniform. “No,” the subject answers honestly, with a small shake of his head. “This is all Doctor—uh, this is all your dad ever gave me. But he wears the same thing every day, so...?” He shrugs. “Maybe he thinks that's fine?” Which actually makes Papyrus bark out this surprised laugh, which makes Papyrus smile at him, doesn't it, possibly for the first time ever. It's a bright, crooked thing, considering the brilliant purple bruising all around his right eye, but he only winces a little bit when he jars the injury. “Well shit, we can't have that,” Papyrus says, and then he follows it with “No brother of mine's gonna walk around dressed like an escaped mental patient.” He just, he says it like that, lets it slip between his teeth easy and warm as the smoke of that green stuff he never ever uses when his father is around. Like it's nothing. Like he doesn't even think about it. If the subject is mute for a long time after, if he can't actually manage to say anything past the booming repetition of brother brother brother he called you his BROTHER playing on repeat inside his skull, well. Papyrus doesn't seem to find it strange at all.