#maybe she has a magic golden rattle that's really really long

[scoriarose]

The princess is sleeping in her tower tonight

Good night sweet princess!

[thedeathlysallows]

Santa Baby

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Summary: Think of all the fun I've missed/ Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed/ I really do believe in you/ Let's see if you believe in me.

Warnings: Smut. Degradation, dirty talk, loss of virginity (reader's), dom!Loki, oral sex (f!receiving), breeding kink, unprotected sex, ever so slight Jotun!Loki. Loki hasn't had his redemption arc yet

Okay, so, I really have no excuses for this one. It's borderline crackfic but I did my best lol

"Nicholas!"

"Odin!"

You stand shoulder to shoulder with your brother as you watch your father embrace the Allfather. For as long as you can remember, this has been your family's Christmas tradition. After your father finishes delivering gifts all across the nine realms on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day is spent on Asgard with the royal family. You aren't sure why it's a tradition- the elves say it's because Odin was the one to gift your father his powers, to create Santa Claus as the worlds know him- but you've learned over the years it's best not to argue about it.

(There was one year you wanted to spend Christmas at home in the North Pole like a normal family... and your mom fainted from the shock. The elves wouldn't talk to you for a month (which wasn't all that disappointing if you were to be honest). So you considered that lesson learned and never brought it up ever again.)

You watch as your mother greets Frigga next, the two of them looking like the epitome of the Mother archetype. Frigga with her regal air and your mother with her kind smile. You can't imagine ever having to step into their roles and you feel relieved you'll never have to. Your brother is set to be the next Santa and his wife will be Mrs. Claus. Odin's throne will go to Thor and his wife we'll be Queen of Asgard.

All you have to be is yourself.

Free to make your own rules.

To forge your own path.

To-

"Hello, little one." Loki smiles at you fondly and steps towards you. His hands are bound in front of him and the chains draped over his body rattle with each movement.

You tilt your head, observing him closely. "Loki. I knew you were on my dad's Naughty list for the whole New York thing, so I guess it makes sense you ended up on Odin's list too."

His smile morphs into a nasty sneer as he bares his teeth at you. A guard yanks on the chain around his neck, pulling him an appropriate distance from you.

"Must we do this today," Frigga whispers to her husband. "It's the last day of Yule. Let Loki have an hour of freedom."

"And what will that hour cost us," Odin counters.

Your father raises his hand. "If I may? The kids have been working on their magic and sugar plum over here has a real talent for it. I'm sure she could keep Loki in line for an hour."

Loki's eyes burn a hole into the side of your skull as he says, "Yes. The Santa baby can watch me."

"For an hour," you add, turning to your dad. You point a finger at the jolly old man. "And only an hour."

Odin strokes his beard thoughtfully, considering every possible outcome of letting Loki free for a bit. Eventually, he bangs his staff against the shimmering golden floor and Loki's chains fall away. Loki, for his part, makes an effort not to appear too eager. He rubs his wrists and rolls his neck before squaring his shoulders and turning to you.

"I'm at your mercy for the next hour, sugar plum."

And the way he says it so seductively has you reaching the realization that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

You fidget uncomfortably, balling the ends of your long sleeves in your hands. Loki watches your twitchy movements silently. That's how he's always watched you. Ever since that first meeting when you were nothing more than a child coming to terms with her father being the Santa Claus. He's always watched you silently, thoughtfully, like he's waiting for you to decide who you'll be... and maybe, just maybe, if there will be a place for him beside you when you do decide who to be.

"I'm already regretting this," you say out loud to no one really.

No one is paying attention anymore anyway.

No one except Loki who places a hand at the small of your back and gestures in front of you with the other. "Come, we both know you're foaming at the mouth to get to the garden."

You can't help the eyeroll his words induce. "How eloquent."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

Loki purses his lips, fighting back a grin. "No, you would never do that, would you?"

"Just shut up and follow me."

He pretends to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key, earning an aggravated groan from you.

If you were to be honest, you don't find Loki's presence all that objectionable. Sure, his ego is out of hand, he tried to take over your home planet, he can be a real pain in the ass, sassy, confrontational, a know it all... wait, what was your point again? Oh, right! Loki has many, many, many faults, but he's always been kind to you. Deep down you know his affection for you doesn't truly account for the monstrosities he's committed, but it does make him ten percent less Naughty in your eyes.

"When will you tell Jolly Old Saint Nicholas that I've been the one helping you with your magic, sugar plum."

Okay. Five percent less Naughty.

"Never," you say without looking at him. Instead you fix your eyes on the garden up ahead.

He clicks his tongue. "How absolutely Naughty of you. I approve."

Two percent.

"I don't need your approval. And stop calling me sugar plum!"

Loki stops walking abruptly, forcing you to turn around and meet him face to face. Or face to chest rather. He's taller than you by several inches and his broad figure almost blocks out the steadily rising sun. Hues of pink, orange, and purple burst from behind him in pastel streaks of color. The wind is soft and gentle as it wraps around the two of you, pressing your bodies ever closer. If you could paint you think you would paint him just as he is now, all soft edges and gentle eyes.

He shakes his head. "You don't need it, but you want it. You crave it, don't you, my darling?"

You think you prefer him calling you sugar plum. That feels far less intimate than hearing the words my darling come out of his mouth.

"I don't want anything from you," you say full of false bravado.

"Oh?" Loki pulls you in to his body and tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger. "Not even my cock? I think if I were to bend you over this balcony and fuck that tight little cunt of yours, you'd thank me by the end of it. Wouldn't you, sugar plum?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and will away the rising heat in the pit of your stomach. "I said stop calling me that, Loki."

"Then what would you prefer, hmm?" His lips are centimeters from yours, teasing you by brushing against you ever so lightly as he speaks. "You positively lit up when I called you my darling. How does my queen sound? Better yet, how about my whore?"

"Stop."

"Did you make it to the Nice list this year? No sneaking around and kissing boys behind my back?"

You grit your teeth, embarrassment washing over you with the realization that you actually enjoy having him talk to you like this. "Stop. I know what you're trying to do."

"And what would that be?"

"You want me to give up on you like everyone else. There's a past between us whether we like it or not and you want me to just... forget it. Let it go. Everyone else already believes you're a monster and you can't stand that there's one person in the world who still believes you can be good."

Silence stretches out between the two of you like a snake sunbathing on a rock. It's an almost tangible sensation. All you can hear is the air rushing through your lungs as Loki's chest rises and falls at an alarming rate.

"Is this the part where we hug and I thank you for always believing in me? Because... no, I don't think I'll do that," Loki finally says after a few painful seconds.

You huff in frustration, spinning on your heel to go back inside and forget the whole deal. You'll lock yourself in a guest room with some delicious Asgardian mead and that'll be that. This whole sexual tension thing with a man you shouldn't want in the first place will disappear along with the alcohol.

Before you can take a step forward and put you're new Christmas Day plan into motion, Loki grabs you by the arm and pulls you back. His chest presses into your back, a warm and solid wall of muscle.

"Where do you think you're running off to, sugar plum?" He bends down and whispers the words in your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin and leaving goosebumps all over your body.

"Your hour's up."

"I've still got forty five minutes."

"Yeah, well... I'm finished with this."

Loki slips an arm around your waist, grinding his hardened length into your ass. "You're through when I say you're through, and right now I want you down on your knees worshipping."

"But... we're outside..."

The protest dies on your lips as green sparks emanate from Loki's fingertips, circling the two of you before sinking back into his palm.

"There," he says simply. "Problem solved. Now if anyone were to walk by they would simply see us admiring the flowers. Now, on your knees."

You let him push you down on your knees, his long fingers curling in your hair. Through the tight leather of his trousers you can make out the imprint of his cock. You won't be able to take all of him in your mouth. There's just no way. You're willing to try though, you think to yourself as you look up into the familiar green-blue of his eyes.

He helps you undo his pants, picking up the slack when your nervous fingers tremble while untying the laces. He's eerily patient and allows you to take your time. Build your courage as it were. You want this. You know you do. You're just... nervous.

The realization strikes Loki suddenly. "You're a virgin?"

The accusation- however true- doesn't sit right in your chest. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

Loki's eyes shine bright with absolute glee. "You are!"

"Loki-"

The world swirls and warps around you, the oxygen leaving your lungs in a sudden woosh. You suddenly find yourself in your usual guest chambers. Still on your knees. Still out of breath.

"Much better!" Loki sighs happily before making himself comfortable on the large bed. "Actually, one more thing."

A fire roars to life in the hearth and the bright gold decorations littering the room turn a deep shade of emerald.

"Lest you forget who you're with," he explains simply.

"I couldn't if I tried." You look at Loki out of the corner of your eye as he lounges on the bed. His pants are undone, exposing the deep V of his pelvic muscles and a light dusting of hair. He looks at you so intently you feel like you might explode. "What?"

Loki motions for you to come closer. "I want you to come on my face, sugar plum."

You swear your body just gives out as soon as you hear the words. "W-what?"

He growls and sits straight up. "You are going to walk that pretty little arse over here, and then your are going to straddle my face, so I can lick your cunt until you come."

It takes everything in you to do exactly as he says. You aren't completely inexperienced and you aren't a complete idiot either. You know what the fire in your belly and the slickness between your thighs means. You want Loki, wanted him for years. Never in your wildest dreams did you think he actually wanted you too.

It's a Christmas miracle in your opinion.

When you make it to the edge of the bed Loki tuts at you, toying with the hem of your dress. "I meant to comment earlier, but this is the most horrid thing I've ever seen."

Your brow furrows. "Hey! Sprinkle made this for me!"

"Sprinkle." The way Loki says the elf's name almost sounds like a curse.

"You've met him before. Back a few- oof!"

Loki rips the dress to tatters in the blink of an eye. You want to hit him, curse him, something, but he moves too quickly. Instead you make a mental note to apologize to Sprinkle when you get home, and let Loki manipulate your body so that your kneeling over his face. His breath on your core sends a shiver through your body.

"Loki," you whine, gripping at his hair.

"Good girl," he moans out as you tug on the long, dark strands. "Let's see if you taste as sweet as you look."

His tongue laves at your folds, teasing you. It's strange but nice and exhilarating all at once. Your hips buck involuntarily when he finally slips his tongue inside you and he sighs happily against your skin.

"Fuck, yes," Loki groans.

You whimper pathetically.

"I need inside you. Now," he says against your soaked cunt. "I need you, darling."

All you can do is nod. Your bones feel like jelly, but you want more. You want him. You want him inside you. You want him to come inside you. You want it so badly you can almost imagine a future filled with children who have your hair and his eyes.

When he looks up at you there's a split second where you think he sees that future too.

Loki ends the moment quickly though, telling you to get on your back. He positions his cock at your entrance and you have a momentary lapse in confidence. You don't want him to stop, but he's bigger than you could've guessed, and-

"Relax." Loki presses his mouth to yours, nipping at your bottom lip. "You were made to take this cock."

You nod and angle your hips up so his tip slips inside you. Your unused muscles twitch against the intrusion, making Loki hiss out something in Old Norse. One of his hands wraps around your throat while the other pins your hips against the bed. Using this leverage he pushes his entire length inside you, swallowing your screams with his lips. Loki pumps in and out of you slowly, watching your face for signs of discomfort.

"M-more," you sigh. "Harder... more... please..."

His breath hitches. "Are you sure, my darling?"

"Yes!"

"Very well." Loki's hips snap, shoving himself even deeper inside you.

Your hands fly to grip his biceps. His skin is colder. Colder than you've ever felt it. And there's a slight blue tinge.

"Loki, fuck... oh my god..."

His hand not wrapped around your throat slaps across your cheek. "My king. Say it. Say I'm your king."

You manage a tiny nod. "You're... you're my king..."

Loki's grip tightens and his pace quickens. You can feel his thick cock sliding in and out of you, stretching you around him, forcing his way deep inside you.

"L-Loki..." You let out a short whine. "Come inside me. Please. I need it. Please, please..."

He chuckles darkly. "How pathetic. You're begging like a common whore. Is that what you are, darling? Are you my whore?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, my king."

Loki, seemingly satisfied by your answer, lifts your leg over his shoulder and shoves his way deeper inside you. There's a painful burn as you adjust to the new angle and pace, but the look of ecstasy on Loki's face is enough to send you over the edge again. You come on his cock once more, but this time he comes with you, filling you until it leaks out.

You aren't sure when you closed your eyes, but when you open them Loki is looking at you with a strange expression.

"My hour is up," is all he says.

[obsidiancreates]

Taishen's Guide On Being The Best Uncle You Can Be

(Somehow I hit exactly 1,400 words for this. I just wanted to say that because that is a damn satisfying wordcount.)

It takes just about a year after traveling with Gricko and Frost for Gideon to start being called "Uncle Gideon" whenever Gricko mentions him to Hootsie.

"He sure warmed up to us quick," Kremy had said one night, sitting by the campfire and keeping an eye on his roux. "Callin' us family already seems a little much, don't it, Gid?"

"Yeah, but he's a fuckin' weird little guy. Not really surprisin'."

"True."

Truth be told, Gideon doesn't mind it. He thinks Kremy doesn't mind the "Uncle Kremy" title either, because there's always just enough room in the budget to buy Hootsie a trinket, or snack, or new little hat. And sometimes Gideon decides not to go back for thirds of whatever Kremy cooks so Hootsie can have seconds, and sometimes Gideon doesn't even need to hold back because Kremy sets aside extra just for her.

The first time Gideon accepts it aloud, though, is when they're staying in a little inn, and Hootsie is dancing just for fun in the tavern area, and someone throws a tankard at her and calls for the "wild beast" to be thrown out.

The man finds himself thrown out, his throwing arm broken, and the shout of "That's my fuckin' niece, asshole!" haunting his drunken dreams.

"That was very violent, Gideon," Gricko says later as they're all prepping the single room they could get. Hootsie is curled up in the corner, a little rattled still, but Gricko already has his pack set out and is making up a little bed for both of them where she lays. Gricko's tone is scolding, but he mouths "Good job," when he knows Hootsie can't see it.

"People shouldn't be throwin' things at her," Gideon says with a shrug, fluffing up his thin-as-paper pillow as much as he can. "She's just a baby."

"Your little baby niece," Gricko says with a wide grin. "Isn't that right, Hootsie? You've got big strong Uncle Gideon to protect you!"

Hootsie looks up at Gideon with those giant round eyes and hoots. Maybe Gideon's starting to catch some of Gricko's strange brand of cookoo-bananas, but Gideon could swear she looks and sounds grateful.

"Yeah yeah, I'm Uncle Gideon, we all heard me say it." Gideon gets into the bigger bed in the room as Kremy and Frost play a game of cards to determine who gets the other one (card counting versus slight-of-hand cheating, mind-reading versus shadow magic, it's tough to know who'll win) and shuts his eyes. The sounds of shuffling cards, Gricko telling Hootsie a bedtime story, and the bed likely splintering beneath Gideon's own weight lull him to sleep.

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

Gideon walks into a tea shop. He doesn't really drink tea, that's more Frost's thing, but he's here anyway.

He doesn't question it, as is the nature of dreams.

"Finally!" an excited voice rings out in the empty shop as Gideon finds himself sat down at a counter. The golden dragonborn on the other side grins brightly at him as he pushes a cup of fresh tea forward. "I've been waiting so long for you to finally realize you're an uncle!"

"Uh... what?" Gideon takes a sip of the tea. It's actually not bad. He didn't know tea could be spicy.

"That little owlbear has a lot of support, but that doesn't mean you can take being her uncle any less seriously." The dragonborn gestures at an ink painting hanging on the wall, of himself and a younger dragonborn girl. "Mei Li taught me just how important this role truly is, and I'm going to help you be the best possible uncle you can be."

"Hey man, listen. I appreciate the fuckin' thought and all, but, I don't know who the hell you are!"

"You won't remember once you wake up anyway," the dragonborn says, pouring himself a cup of tea and pulling a stool over to his side of the counter. "We've talked a few times, actually. But those were usually extremely upsetting times, and now we finally have something to celebrate!"

"Celebrate with tea?"

"I know you prefer alcohol, but if I can get Skrimm to enjoy tea I can get you to enjoy it as well."

"Well, I dunno why I'd need any advice on bein' an uncle, 'cause it seems pretty fuckin' easy t'me." Gideon knocks the rest of his tea back. The cup is full when he sets it down. "Give her treats, buy her stuff when she wants it, and punch guys who're fuckin' dicks to her."

"Those are all part of it," the dragonborn agrees, "But there's more to it than just spoiling her and protecting her. You have to nurture her as well!"

"I mean, Gricko's her dad, he's the one who's doin' all the raisin' and stuff."

"If you all lived in a town, that might work out just fine. But you're always on the move! You're the only four constants in this young girl's life, so you're all very influential on her as she grows!"

"Aw, man. I gotta be a good fuckin' influence now? I just got outta havin' to watch my every fuckin' move all the time, man."

The dragonborn seems to deflate, suddenly growing weary and ancient. "I'm... very aware. But I promise it's nothing like that. I just mean that Hootsie is an impressionable little girl right now, and it's a good idea to teach her important, valuable lessons."

"... Like... if somebody's bein' a fuckin' dick, she can bite their fingers off?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd encourage it to be that extreme, but self-defense is a good lesson, yes! And self-respect, it's much easier to defend yourself when you respect yourself and your value."

"Okay... I think I get it. And uh... knowin' when somebody's talkin' a load of bullshit."

"Exactly! Not to insult anyone but, you and I both know that Gricko can be... quite gullible. I mean, I understand him, I was very much the same way for most of my life, and can still be now. Oh, I remember Skrimm told me that a certain gesture was a universal greeting-"

"Which one? This one?" Gideon flips him off.

"That's the one! He always managed to find me when no-one else was around and pull pranks on me like that." The dragonborn laughs a little, fond. "Oh-ho, when it was a matter of life or death I was truly distressed, but now it's easy to look back and laugh."

"Alright, so, make sure she knows she can bite people, make sure she knows when she's bein' tricked, and I guess... make sure she knows how to get outta tough situations!"

"That's another great idea!"

"Man, I knew this whole uncle thing'd be easy." Gideon knocks the tea back again and looks around the shop. There's lots of ink paintings like the one he saw before, with these two dragonborn enjoying life. One catches his eye, of the man who sits across from him letting the young girl ride around on his shoulders.

"That'll be easy too," Gideon says, gesturing at the painting with cup in hand and sloshing spicy tea all over the floor- or would, if it ever hit the floor, but the tea just ceases to exist before it makes an impact. "Fuckin' piggyback rides and life lessons, easy as hell."

"And best of all, rewarding. It's an incredible joy to care for a child, as much as it is a serious responsibility." The dragonborn looks around. "And if you see Yorgrim when you leave here, let him know about the piggyback rides you plan to give. I think he'll appreciate a little warning."

"Who?"

"You're right, I'll tell him. I think you're waking up now anyway."

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

Gideon picks Hootsie up and plops her onto his shoulders as the group exits the inn and gets going. Hootsie gives a startled hoot at first, and then looks down. Her face lights up, eyes ghetting as big as possible, and she gives another, more excited hoot as he leans over to watch everything from her new height!

Taishen sighs happily as he watches, and looks up at Yorgrim. "Does that help soothe some of your old wounds?"

Yorgrim huffs a little. "It's... bittersweet."

Taishen reaches up and pats Yorgrim's arm. "I understand. ... Tea?"

Yorgrim is quiet for a moment before sighing and holding his hand out. "Thank you."

"Of course, my friend."

[midnightstargazer]

Fic Author Self Rec

When you get this, reply with your 5 favourite fics that you've written. Then pass it on to five other writers. Spread some self love.

Tagged by @celestemagnoliathewriter

1. A Little Bird Told Me

A canon divergence AU where Regulus never found out about the locket and, as a result, never betrayed Voldemort. Fast forward to 1995, the Dark Mark starts burning again - but by this point, he's perfectly happy living the "I swear I was Imperiused" life and really would rather not have Voldemort back, thank you very much.

This is probably the most intense experience I've ever had writing a fic. I had never done a fest before, but the prompt this fic was based on immediately grabbed me and refused to let go. It demanded to exist. It demanded that I write it. I stayed up late at night finishing just one more scene, typed lines of dialogue into email drafts from my phone, and had epiphanies about it at the most inconvenient of times. It wasn't meant to end up anywhere near as long as it did, but I'm super proud of the result.

Excerpt:

Okay, he had to admit it: a part of him had missed this. Not the murders or the screams of innocents, but the thrill of danger, the back-and-forth of spells, matching wits and magical power against an opponent worthy of the effort. Maybe, in another life, he could've made a career in competitive dueling. In this life - well, this life was about to be over if he wasn't careful. The dance of spells and shield charms had taken them dangerously close to the veil, and Rookwood's warning echoed in his memory as he glanced at its looming shadow. It hung over him hungrily, as though waiting for him to venture too close - or for one of his spells to knock somebody else too close.

2. They Said the End Is Coming

I adore Tedromeda, but I haven't actually had the chance to write much with them as the main focus yet. This fic imagines them a few years into their marriage, raising their daughter together, working hard to make ends meet, and navigating what role they are willing to play in the war against Voldemort. Plus a few customer service related headaches along the way. The title and the fic's inspiration come from the Taylor Swift song "Sweet Nothing."

Excerpt:

The world as they knew it was on the brink of ending, but when Andromeda arrived home, the house was warm and bright, the scent of something delicious filling the air and a faint musical sound coming from the kitchen. There, just inside, Nymphadora sat at the table with a coloring book while Ted stood by the stove, stirring a pot full of chicken soup and humming Celestina Warbeck’s song “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” under his breath. It wasn’t so much that Andromeda intentionally let her guard down; it was more that every wall she put up during the day, every scheme and backup plan, every suspicious thought, vanished into thin air at the sight of him.

3. Midnight Rain

My basic starting point for this fic was "What's the angstiest, most heartbreaking idea I can come up with?" So, in a storyline inspired by the Taylor Swift song "Midnight Rain," Emmeline Vance and Alice not-yet-Longbottom fall in love towards the end of their time at Hogwarts. While they both have big dreams, Emmeline is very goal-focused, while Alice has a much more balanced approach to life. As you might be able to guess, it doesn't work out - and takes a very tragic, canon-compliant turn. This fic was absolutely agonizing to write. In a good way.

Excerpt:

Alice was like nobody else Emmeline had ever met. With golden hair and bright, warm smiles, dressed in robes of Hufflepuff yellow, it was hardly an exaggeration to compare her to the sun. Maybe that was why Emmeline found it so hard to look in her direction, so hard to meet her gaze without blushing and turning away. Alice was made of pure sunshine, but Emmeline was something cold and dark, like raindrops on the surface of the lake at midnight, echoes of thunder and flashes of lightning rattling the depths of the castle long after she ought to be asleep.

4. Wit Beyond Measure

This one is about Helena Ravenclaw, both during her lifetime and her afterlife as a ghost. I really enjoyed getting to dig into my founders era headcanons and imagine the woman who the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower might have been. And the ghost she might have been in the centuries that came in between her death and her interaction with Harry. I'm especially fond of what I ended up doing with Helga Hufflepuff and how Helena's perspective on her and her House changes over time.

Excerpt:

If there was one thing Helena could change about Ravenclaw, it would be the entrance to the common room. Centuries later, children who had left their Quidditch gear inside would groan, demanding to know whose clever idea it had been, and she would smile and shake her head. “My mother’s, of course.” That made it far worse, as far as she was concerned. If it had been some silly Head of House’s idea long after the founders’ time, she would not have had to put up with it herself in the days when a locked door could still keep her out. Sixteen-year-old Helena would not have been banging on the door in the middle of the night, hoping for someone inside to let her in, because she had fifteen minutes to grab her telescope before she was due at the Astronomy Tower for class. “Feed me and I grow. Give me water and I die. What am I?” “I don’t bloody know!” Helena groaned. “Just let me in. My mother’s going to kill me if I’m late.”

5. Toujours Vivant

Regulus survives the cave, then goes to Dumbledore to change sides and ask for protection. His motives are initially rather selfish and his attitude still very prejudiced, but as time goes on, he interacts with people who challenge his views and slowly develops into a better person.

I feel weird including this on a self rec list, because it is by far my most popular fic. It doesn't need any help attracting attention. But it was the idea I just couldn't get out of my head that got me back into fic writing after years of being like, "oh, I'm an adult now, I don't do that anymore." So it has a very special place in my heart for that.

Excerpt:

He fell silent under Dumbledore’s scrutinizing gaze. For a moment, he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Perhaps the older man thought he was finally showing his true colors in some sort of sneaky plot to infiltrate the Order, gain their leader’s trust, and bring them down from the inside with poorly-brewed potions or something. “You truly wish to become more involved?” asked Dumbledore. “I do.” “May I ask why?” Well, Regulus certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth, was he? Thank goodness the veritaserum incident had happened only once, because “I’d like to avoid outliving my usefulness” was definitely not the right answer. “I’d like to see this war end soon,” he told Dumbledore instead. “And I’ve already thrown my lot in with your side. Is it so surprising that I’d want to do my part to make sure you’re the ones who win?" Dumbledore’s smile returned. “You can say ‘our side,’ you know,” he said gently. “Our side, then,” Regulus repeated, the words feeling awkward and foreign on his tongue.

I've seen this going around a lot on my dash, and I'm not sure who's already done it, so let's make this easy. If you're seeing this and you want to do it - tag, you're it! 😉

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home.  (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice.  Her own soul felt more numb than anything.  To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot. 

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute. 

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason. 

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?"  She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home?  Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone.  Papyrus tried to call them nonstop.  Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence.  They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them.  It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to.  These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look.  Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away.  “Anyway.  Like I said, I don’t know what happened.  Just.  Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah.  You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans.  If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her.  I’m makin’ a great first impression.”  He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long.  There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I.  Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish.  “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend.  Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted.  It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well.  Uh.  If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not.  I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.”  It was difficult to tell if he was joking.  “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.”  She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand.  It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with.  She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off.  To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself.  Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway.  Still… he’d believed in them.  Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery." 

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?”  Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"  

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke. 

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel. 

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly. 

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment. 

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius. 

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened. 

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!" 

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook.  Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good.  I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori.  My bro sees the best in everyone.”  He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?”  His sockets widened.  “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely.  It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant.  Had he said something weird?

...Oh.  He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he?  He should know better than to use nicknames without asking.  Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.”  She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms.  For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm.  He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh.  I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut.  Geez, how stupid could he be?  Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out.  She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza.  He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently. 

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had.  He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not.  Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him.  “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic.  Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair.  In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries.  In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates.  She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her.  She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.  

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry.  I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.  

“They’re lovely.  I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.”  She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them.  Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away.  “I was thinking.  If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked.  Her face seemed to catch fire.  That was rather more… forward than she was expecting.  Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time.  But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed.  My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh.  She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking.  How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said.  “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh.  “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating.  Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed.  If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright.  Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.”  He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room.  She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door.  Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.”  He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand.  “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort.  The bed’s not even queen sized.”  He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets.  That was the only fresh thing about the room.  Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado.  A self-sustaining trash tornado.  Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much.  Uh.  Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked.  “Huh?” 

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months.  Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all.  Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her.  In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.  

“‘S no problem, Tori.”  A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones.  How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything.  And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed.  Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh.  I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.”  He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.  

He looked up, one brow ridge raised.  She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted.  It was silly, really.  She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.”  Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.  

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it.  “Why not?  Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”  

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command.  Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light.  What had she expected him to do?  She’d asked him to stay.  Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it.  She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all.  Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure?  You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her.  “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed.  Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress.  She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.  

The sheets were a barrier in name only.  There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing.  It felt terrifying.  It felt like a mistake.  It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore.  Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper.  “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly.  “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him.  Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself.  “Sorry.  Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull.  Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed.  Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you.  So.  Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body.  Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans.  If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her.  His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine.  All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh.  “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.”  He shrugged.  “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes.  You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently.  At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you?  For sure.” His gaze darted away.  “But it’s crazy.  Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?”  She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know.  Don’t tell Papyrus.  He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them.  It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.  In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze.  She froze.  There was no way to play that off gracefully.  And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant.  Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue.  “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning.  She was the Queen once more.  If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp.  She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close.  She did not know if sleep would come or not.  She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone.  For tonight, that was enough.

[renjuseyo]

can i pls request Lucas x male reader where Lucas is the popular kid and reader is really quiet, but lucas likes reader because of readers personality(not like other guys/girls who tries their best to let them get noticed by lucas) and Lucas always tease and talk to reader because of that. maybe add a scenario where reader gets bullied on why he's dating Lucas and Lucas comes in and comforts reader. Thats all thank you!💖

up to you ; lucas

group: nct / wayv

pairing: wong yukhei / reader (male)

synopsis: yukhei is your school’s most popular heartthrob, and you’re the quiet wallflower. can things be any more obvious?

genre: fluff

warning: bullying

i hope this satisfies you anon! personally i lost inspo so it’s not that good... i apologize :,) also i just realized how long my fics are, so oops? as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! <3

you’re in the library shelving piles of books into their respective slots, gently humming to yourself as you drum your fingers on the spine of a book. the library is silent for the most part, save for the low buzz of the fan by the entryway and your soft humming. it’s quiet and cozy, just how you like it.

the quiet ambience is slightly ruined by the loud rattling from the left. it startles you, but luckily you remain your balance and don’t plummet to your demise. when you look towards the source of the noise, you see yukhei standing by the bottom of the ladder, flashing you his signature rectangular grin. “hi (name)!” he chirps, waving at you. a warmth blossoms within you, but the chorus of agitated shushes distracts you. he cowers within himself, sending other students an apologetic look. “sorry,” he whispers.

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” you reply, turning your attention back to the books in your arms. there’s no malicious intent behind your words, because you genuinely would’ve thought he would spend his free period playing basketball with his friends, not in the library.

but he gasps with loud, feigned hurt. “i’m offended! just because i prefer sports over school doesn’t mean i won’t come in and pick up a book every now and then!” another round of shushes ripples throughout the room, though this time they’re paired with irritated glares. you’re among one of them.

“please be quiet, we’re in a library,” you remind him, stepping down a few rungs. he sends you an apologetic look, one that reminds you of a kicked puppy. “if you’re looking to borrow textbooks, the librarian’s up front. if not, you’re welcome to browse through.”

“nah, i already got all of my textbooks. i just came in to see you~” he winks, which you respond with by rolling your eyes. you promptly ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “oh come on, don’t be so mean. why don’t you ever react?”

“why should i? all you ever do is tease me,” you deadpan. you finish categorizing the last book and begin climbing down the ladder to grab a new pile. yukhei seems to notice this, eagerly scooping up a pile to hand to you. it doesn’t quite work out though, because his massive hands accidentally push them to the floor, and he winces, knowing what to expect. along with other disturbed patrons, you glare at him. you bend down to pick up the books, sighing. “you know, you’re lucky i haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“sorry,” he apologizes, sending you a sheepish smile. “sometimes i have no control over this massively tall body. i guess being short like you would be better, huh?”

for your age, you stand at a relatively average height. but yukhei is a little taller than most, standing at six feet. it really isn’t that big of a difference, but he still teases you for it all of the time.

you’re about to retort when you see two figures lurking by the other side of the shelf. you sigh, already knowing what to expect. something like this happens nearly every two days. “two of your so-called fans at nine o’clock.”

yukhei turns to face that direction and the two figures jump in surprise, confirming your suspicions. you see two girls step out from behind the shelf, timidly staring at you two. you recognize one of them, yujin, from your history class. “hi lucas,” the girl greets. it’s the nickname he goes by, the one that everyone is familiar with. you’re one of the few people that uses his real name, though.

you don’t even blink at the lack of acknowledgement. you’ve never really talked to yujin, save for the time she shared her notes with you. a real life saver. “oh hey yujin! is there something you need?” he asks. she looks pleasantly surprised that he remembers her.

you see the girl beside yujin, probably her wing woman, ushering her to hand him what appears to be a letter. not wanting to disturb the love confession that’s to come, you quietly grab the cart of books and roll it away from them. no one seems to notice though; the perks of being a wallflower.

five minutes later, you’re standing behind the counter of the check-out area, helping a few students check out textbooks. “is that everything you need?” you ask, not looking up from the computer screen.

“no, but i’d love to check you out.” you turn your head at the familiar voice and snort upon seeing yukhei.

“that was bad, even for you.”

“the only way you’d notice me,” he shrugs. you notice that he isn’t holding anything in his hands, and from the corner of your eyes you can see yujin and her friend walking towards the exit. judging from the way her friend rubs her shoulders, you can only guess that she’s been rejected like the others.

“you turned her down?” you ask.

yukhei sighs. for someone who receives several confessions, he never looks less guilty when rejecting them. “yujin is really sweet and smart, but i’m only interested in her as a friend. plus, between you and me?” he leans in as if telling you a secret. “i’m pretty sure her friend somi has a thing for her.”

you shake your head in sympathy. poor girl, having to be a wing woman for the girl you like. “well, that sucks.”

he frowns at your curt response, resting his arms on the counter. “you know, we haven’t been friends for very long, yet you never question why i reject everyone.”

you shrug, walking towards the storage room. “you’re just waiting for the right person, because contrary to popular belief, wong yukhei isn’t a heart breaker.”

yukhei can only forlornly watch as you head to the back. “i’ve found the right person, they just haven’t noticed yet,” he mutters.

if you’re being honest, you don’t quite remember how yukhei entered your life. after all, he’s way ahead in the social spectrum, surrounded by swarms of friends like some enforcer of happiness. on the other hand, you’re on the complete opposite side of that spectrum. you’re the quiet guy who minds your own business, so you don’t have many friends like he does, save for the few close ones you’ve made prior to high school. but one day, like the friendly giant he is, he magically appears by your side, and now his presence fills each of your days.

save for the times he teases you about your height and your personality, yukhei isn’t as bad as kids like you describe. sure, he’s loud and outspoken, every introvert’s nightmare, but he isn’t a jerk or a heart breaker like they whisper about. he’s quite the opposite, actually, his personality similar to a golden retriever. the way others perceive him never gets less funny for you. you’ve personally seen him get his nose stuck in a coat hanger before; how in the world does a klutz like him scream heart breaker material?

you’ve only known him for half a year, yet you feel like you’ve known him since childhood. he’s never quiet about his life, and he always seems genuinely interested in you. naturally, like the fool you are, you found yourself inevitably falling for him. it’s not like things will go your way - yukhei is at the center of the school’s attention, meaning he’s surrounded by plenty of suitors. it’s so cliche you’d laugh - the quiet guy pining over the school’s heart throb - but truthfully, you’d rather watch him excitedly talk about his interests or do anything that elicits a smile from him. you’ll have plenty of time to laugh later, anyways.

when you enter the cafeteria, you scan the cliques assembled at each table, looking for your own little group made up of you, mark, renjun, and donghyuck. it’s a mix of different personalities with even more different interests, but sharing the cast roles of trees in the third grade goes a long way.

your sight is quickly obscured by two massive hands, and you sigh, recognizing the cold feeling of a ring against your face. “guess who?” a voice above you sings.

“what are you doing here?” you ask. you quickly regain your sight as the hands slink away, and you turn around to face a smiling yukhei.

“here to grab food just like everyone else,” he answers, ruffling your hair. he laughs when he sees you try to remove his hand from your hair, yours impossibly small compared to his. “is this bothering you, tiny terror?” he teases.

“seriously?”

“sorry, did you say something? you’re a little too quiet.”

to a bystander, it would look like yukhei, the tall, popular kid, was bullying you, the average quiet wallflower. but your friendship all began with this “teasing”, so you don’t really mind anymore.

before you can say anything, you hear a crowd of guys headed your way. you take that as your cue to leave, removing his hand from your hair. luckily, you finally see your friends at a table at the other side of the room. “i’m going to go now. bye,” you say. before you get a response, you slink away from him.

as you slide in a seat beside mark, you catch renjun and donghyuck eyeing you with interest. you’ve known them long enough to know that look means trouble - specifically from renjun and donghyuck. mark is never a part of their schemes, wanting nothing more than a peaceful day. “can i help you?” you ask, leaning down to steal a fry from mark, who shrieks in protest.

"so, you and yukhei?” renjun gives you a knowing look, while mark gives you an apologetic one. you feel like you’ve just jumped straight into a trap.

“we’re friends. what about it?” you ask, taking more of mark’s food. at this point, he’s given up on fending it from your hands.

“he’s in denial,” donghyuck whispers, though you hear it loud and clear. “dude, he gives you heart eyes when you do so much as breathe. how does it feel, having a heart throb like him wrapped around your finger?”

the thought is baffling; you, having yukhei wrapped around your finger? “no comment because i don’t.” renjun and donghyuck boo at your comment. “enough with that nonsense already. we’re just friends. plus, i’m not going to swoon over him-”

“-like everyone else in the building?” mark finishes, pointing his head forward. you look up, and unsurprisingly, a swarm of people surround yukhei, and he’s eagerly chatting with them, probably thriving from the attention. you swear you see a glimpse of yet another letter from a guy you recognize from your biology class, but with so many people it’s hard to tell.

“you know, i don’t understand how people perceive him as a heart breaker. he’s like a clumsy puppy with too much energy for his own good,” you comment, munching on a fry.

“maybe because you’re one of the few people who actually know him well enough to determine that?” mark suggests. “he gets along with everyone, but he tails you like a puppy all of the time. it’s no wonder you know him well.”

you shrug. “maybe if he teased other people all the time, they’d probably get to know him better, too. apparently that’s how people befriend others these days.”

they all exchange a knowing look before staring at you. “riiight. because he teases everyone he wants to befriend. not because, you know, he’s interested in them,” renjun remarks.

you stare at yukhei for a little longer until he looks up and sees you. he frantically waves with a large grin, and you can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips as you wave back. when your hand falls and you go back to eating mark’s food, you shrug. “right.”

something you find odd about your schedule is how you have pe right after lunch. do teachers seriously think it’s a good idea to have students running laps right after eating? that only calls for disaster. it’s something you complain about every now and then to donghyuck, seeing how he’s the only person you can talk to.

“i heard we’re doing the mile run today,” donghyuck shares.

you groan, walking beside him. “i don’t care how many times we do it. i will never not complain about it. what makes him think running’s fun?”

“i don’t know, i think running’s pretty great,” a voice chimes. you don’t need to turn around to guess who it is, but you do anyways. unsurprisingly, yukhei’s right beside you, grinning his signature smile.

“easy for you to say. you’re built like a greek god and you have abnormally long legs. you’re like... a spider.”

yukhei chooses to ignore your comparison about the spider, instead beaming. “you think i’m built like a greek god?”

what a way to feed into his ego. “i take it back.”

he visibly deflates, pouting. “what! you can’t take it back, (name)! don’t hurt me like that!”

you’re about to retort back when donghyuck taps your shoulder. “lucas, (name), hi. i’d hate to bother your flirting session, so i’m going to bother yangyang now.”

“we’re not-” the words are barely out of your mouth before he slinks away from you two, but not before throwing up finger guns at you. you’re left alone with yukhei, who shoots you a cheeky wink.

the five minutes it takes for you to walk to the track field quickly goes by, having spent it conversing with yukhei. your teacher tasks everyone to partner up for the mile run, and your instincts are telling you to go to donghyuck, who’s been your partner each time. but then you see him approach yangyang with an intention in his eyes and you decide to go against it. the only other friend you have in this class would be...

you turn around to look for yukhei, but he’s no longer by your side, instead being encompassed by several guys. he doesn’t quite meet their gaze though, eyes flickering to you. he’s obviously occupied. to your dismay, there are no other options left, and you’d rather die than talk to other people.

someone taps your shoulder and you jump so high that even the perpetrator seems startled. you fearfully stiffen, contemplating the dozen methods of running away, but when you turn around, you visibly relax. it’s hendery, one of your classmates. you don’t know him too well, but you share most of your classes together. “hey (name), you still looking for a partner?” he asks.

“yeah, i am. are you?" of course he’s looking for a partner. why else would he approach you? great. now he’s going to think you’re weird, and then you’re not going to have a-

“perfect, so am i! do you want to run first, or should i?” he flashes you a smile that eases your nerves, and the butterflies in your stomach still.

“i don’t have a preference.”

“okay, then i’ll go first. be sure to keep a good eye on me, okay?” he sends you a flirty wink, and you’re taken aback by the sudden motion, lightly blushing. he seems to notice this, too, grinning at your silence. “i’ve been told i’m a good runner. i hope i impress you~”

your mind is running faster than your body could ever, still trying to process hendery’s boldness. “oh. well, i bet you’re far better than me. i’m not a good runner,” you awkwardly laugh.

it’s only been a few minutes, but you find yourself pleasantly surprised to become acquainted with hendery, though it’s mainly hendery doing the talking since you’re not quite out of your shell yet. in the five minutes you’ve known him, you learn that he’s the captain of the track team and strangely enough, really likes hot dogs. you go through the five stages of regret upon learning this, because your running won’t even begin to compare to his. but he gently assures you it isn’t a big deal, even patting your shoulder.

you decide that hendery’s ability to put people at ease is incredible, because you’re too absorbed with his presence to notice the look yukhei sends from afar.

after that, you and hendery quickly befriended each other. your relationship kind of reminds you of your’s with yukhei because of how different you are, but unlike him, he doesn’t tease you all of the time. you’re not sure how to feel when you find yourself missing it.

on the bright side, he’s a great friend to hang out with when others are busy. renjun and donghyuck have volleyball practice? you go to the arcade with hendery. mark has speech and debate? you get tacos with hendery. yukhei is busy... being the social butterfly he is? you go over to hendery’s house. your increase in hangouts has definitely made your friends suspicious, with donghyuck going as far as accusing you of cheating on yukhei, whatever that means. it’s not like you two are dating, anyways.

(the thought reminds you just how impossible the concept is, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t bothered by it.)

your third period is when you act as mrs. choi’s library assistant. you’re sitting by the counter, flipping through the latest issue of haikyu!! when you hear footsteps approach you. having to act like the responsible assistant, you quickly tuck the book away, but not fast enough judging from hendery’s smirk. “so mr. studious isn’t quite so studious, is he?” he asks.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrug. “anyways, what are you doing here? do you have a free period like-” you quickly stop in your tracks. the name stands at the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, a part of you tells you not to say it.

thankfully he doesn’t question your abrupt pause. “no, i have math. pauses for boos,” he sighs. “anyways, can you check this out for me?” he slides a thick textbook your direction.

“sure. student id?” you go through the procedure of checking out his book, which doesn’t take long. “okay, you’re good to go.”

he doesn’t immediately leave though, eyes never leaving your frame. “(name)?”

you pull out your book, flipping back to the page you were on. “yeah?” there’s a pause, which is unlike hendery. from what you know, he’s confident and doesn’t take breaks, which makes you look up from your book. he looks almost... nervous? “are you okay?”

he pauses to take a deep breath, and you’re suddenly embracing for something serious. “would you go on a d-”

“hey (name), hendery! what a coincidence seeing you here!”

you look behind hendery and is surprised to see yukhei approach you with a strained smile. you’ve been hanging out with hendery so much that you haven’t seen yukhei in a while, aside from your shared classes.

at this point, the other patrons in the library have already gotten used to his loud voice, and seeing how you never once kicked him out, they stopped shushing him altogether. “it isn’t a coincidence, yukhei. you know i’m here during third period.” you squint at his appearance. he looks stiff, sweaty even. “are you okay?”

hendery looks like he knows something you don’t, glaring at yukhei. “we’re in a library, or have you forgotten?” there’s an obvious bite in his words, one that shocks you. you had no idea they didn’t like each other, but seeing their mutual glares, it’s kind of obvious now.

“sorry, i had to get my point across,” yukhei responds. he turns to face you, and his smile quickly fades into one of genuine. “hey (name), can i talk to you about something?” he turns to give hendery the stink eye. “in private?”

“he can’t abandon his responsibility as mrs. choi’s assistant, much less for you,” hendery snaps.

okay, you’re really missing something big here. in an attempt to clear the tense atmosphere, you clear your throat. “can it wait...” you glance at the clock. “five minutes? mrs. choi should be back then.”

yukhei nods, giving hendery a triumphant smirk. “of course.”

five minutes later, mrs. choi comes back, allowing you to slink into the empty hallway with yukhei. “before you tell me what you need to tell me- what the hell was that?”

he gives you an oblivious look. “what was what?”

“the tension between you and hendery!” you exclaim. “you two looked like you were going to shoot each other had i not been there.”

he looks genuinely surprised that you noticed. what does he take you for, a dunce? “oh, that? we’ve never really gotten along... but recently, we found out we both like the same person, so that kind of worsened things.”

you nod, though the thought of yukhei finding his right person surprises you, and a small part feels a little disappointed. rightfully so, because not only is it not you, but because he didn’t bother telling you! “you finally found the right person for you?”

“for a while now, actually,” he corrects. now you’re even more surprised; yukhei found someone he liked and hadn’t once told you? the betrayal! “i just haven’t been able to tell them.”

“well, who is it?” you sigh, shaking your head. “you had all of these chances to tell me, and you didn’t even try? i’m disappointed.” technically he would be saving you from heartbreak by not telling you, but that’s beside the point.

“well, that would ruin the surprise then. i was planning on confessing,” he explains, giving you a cheeky smile.

this is fine, this is fine... except it’s not, you mentally narrate. you’re already flashing him a strained smile. “when?” you ask.

yukhei’s smile never once fades, and you’re tempted to wipe it off his face. “right now.” he sweeps his arm in a flourish. “i like you, (name) (last name).”

a pause. you’re frozen in your spot, replaying his words in your head.

i like you, (name) (last name).

this must be some sort of fever dream. or an elaborate prank; you frantically look around for someone to jump out in front of you, camera in hand. but to your shock, you’re still wearing clothes, and no one jumps out. “did i hear that right?” you gawk.

yukhei’s still grinning; your shocked look seems to satisfy him. “i like you. you’re the person i was talking about.”

you’ve been duped - bamboozled! “am i dreaming?”

he laughs, ruffling your hair. “this is very much real, cutie. do you want me to kiss you to prove it?” you visibly flush, hiding your face behind your hands. he’s always teased you, but this it the first time he’s really flirted like this. has he been holding back on your account? he peels your hands off your face, cooing at how red you are. “may i ask for your answer?”

your face is still warm, eyes refusing to meet his. he’s holding your hands, and it feels like he’s holding your heart in them, too. “why?” you’re not asking this because of your insecurities, but because you’re genuinely curious. if he’s shown signs that he likes you, he’s done a great job at making it subtle. 

(yukhei’s definitely not subtle though, which means you probably didn’t notice because you’re just that dense.)

“i like your personality,” he begins. “you’re a breath of fresh air among the familiar, the quiet in my loud. i think we fit really well. plus, teasing you is a bonus, seeing you get all bothered.” he caresses your hands, and you’re suddenly keenly aware of where you two are. “you know, i would’ve made things more extravagant, but hendery was going to sweep you off your feet, so i had to make things quick.”

wait, hendery likes you too? then at the library... this feels like a wattpad fanfic. but instead of pondering on that, you roll your eyes. “even if he said anything, i wouldn’t have accepted.”

his face contorts to one of surprise, but it takes him a few seconds to understand the implications behind your comment. “does that mean you like me, too?” he hums, eyes twinkling in delight.

you hate feeding into his ego, but you decide right now is an exception. “maybe.”

you immediately regret it though, seeing him grin like the cheshire cat. you’re never going to hear the end of it now. “i even managed to woo you with my charms, huh?”

“shut up.”

“with your lips? because i’d love that.” he leans down, batting his eyelashes, and you’re heating up all over again. at first, you take it as another one of his flirty remarks, but the look he gives you is a silent question of consent. it reminds you of how no matter how much he teases you, he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, never do anything without permission.

there are several thoughts swirling in your head and many things you need to discuss with yukhei. how will the general public react learning about this? will you be harassed by his hoard of fans? will things even work? but instead, you grab his hand and begin walking to a secluded part of the wing. ignoring the what-if’s is very unlike you, but you have more important matters to tend to. “we have to talk about this later.”

yukhei can only hum in agreement as your breath fans over his lips.

as mentioned earlier, yukhei isn’t subtle at all, so it’s no surprise that soon the whole school finds out about your relationship. you can’t be mad at him though, because he really did try. but then he accidentally let it slip during basketball practice, bragging about how you were an amazing kisser. you can’t really be mad at his comment, anyways.

to your dismay, your popularity has soared being yukhei’s boyfriend. you much prefer the times when people had to ask for your name again, because now they all label you as lucas’s boyfriend. like, you have a name. plus, high school students are incredibly nosy. but people are nice, for the most part.

needless to say, your friends had a field day with you upon hearing the news. apparently renjun and donghyuck had made bets on you, to which the former had triumphed. mark simply congratulated you as he struggled to stop the two from fighting each other.

to your surprise, hendery had approached you and congratulated you two on the manner. he ruffled your hair and told you that he’s always available if you ever choose to drop yukhei, to which the latter responded by lunging at him. you didn’t have time to question hendery about the events in the library from the past week, having to stop your boyfriend from fighting him.

your days at school have certainly become livelier. for starters, yukhei has become much more open about expressing affection, though the displays in public are nothing compared to in private. his friends were also quick to introduce themselves to you, even going as far as stealing you from him. you’re pretty sure you’ve become an honorary member of the basketball team now. things have seemed to calm down now, though your friends still tease your relationship every now and then. you try to go by your day with minimal interaction as usual, save for yukhei and your friends.

today was supposed to be your free day, but mrs. choi had called you asking if you could finish up things in the library, having to leave early for a doctor’s appointment. like the kind assistant you were, you had accepted with no hesitation, finishing up her tasks. however, you did feel like you were forgetting something important.

you’ve just finished shelving the final textbook when you hear footsteps approach you. you turn your head, expecting to see the janitor, but you’re startled to come face-to-face with a guy. judging from the threatening look on his face, you can tell you’re in for an unpleasant conversation. and if that’s the case, it’s probably because of yukhei.

with his popularity and your relationship, it isn’t surprising that there were a few that weren’t too happy to see you together. he isn’t some object that wannabe teenagers have ownership over. however, many are yet to grasp that concept. “how can i help you?” you politely ask.

you barely have any time to blink before you’re being pushed against the bookshelf, trapped in between his arms. this feels like a showdown between the love interest and the wannabe, the latter fighting for the affections of the male lead. “listen up, (last name),” the guy snarls. “you better stay away from lucas. you don’t deserve him.”

under normal circumstances, you would be terrified. but apparently you have a death wish, saying, “and you do?”

you close your eyes, bracing for a fist to your face, but surprisingly, it never comes. you squeak an eye open to see him looking down at you with a smirk. “whatever he sees in you, it won’t be there long. did he ever tell you how much he hates boring people?”

usually jerks like him don’t bother you, but... boring? you may be quiet, but you don’t think you’re that boring... right? the stranger releases his hold on you. before he can say any more, the library doors swing open, and like some knight in shining armor, there stands yukhei who looks out of breath. “(name)? hyunjung?”

you two are lucky he didn’t see your position earlier, otherwise it would beg for some unpleasant questions. “hi lucas,” hyunjung politely greets, doing a quick bow. a complete 180 from his personality from earlier. “i was just leaving.”

yukhei nods as hyunjung walks away from you two. he approaches you, pouting. “i was looking all over for you! did you forget about our date today?”

oh, so that’s what you were forgetting. you absentmindedly nod, still thinking of hyunjung’s words from earlier. “oh, sorry.”

he must sense some hostility in you, because he gently grabs your shoulders. “hey, are you okay? you look a little shaken up.”

usually you bottle up your worries; when they overfill, you shove them down even further. but yukhei is the complete opposite, so open about himself like he has nothing to hide. perhaps it’s because you spend so much time with him that his candid tendencies have rubbed onto you. “are you sure you’re okay with this?” you ask.

he tilts his head in confusion. “okay with what?”

you shrug, trying to show hyunjung’s words didn’t bother you as much as it had. “dating me?”

instantly he narrows his eyes, tightening his grip. “did- did hyunjung say something to make you think that way? is that why he came in here?” he protectively wraps his arms around you. “remind me to give him a lesson next time.” you snort; yukhei can’t even hurt a fly. if he does, it’s unintentional, and he always screams at the realization.

“i mean, i usually don’t listen to jerks like that, but-” you pause to gesture at yourself. “i’m your polar opposite, and as funny i think i am, i’m pretty quiet and boring. plus, you hate boring people, or at least people too stuck up for their own good.”

yukhei musters all of the sincerity in his eyes. “but that’s what makes us work so well, (name). i think i’m really cool and nice and all-” you snort at the comment. while all of those adjectives are true, it doesn’t make it less funnier, seeing how much confidence he has. “but i also have my flaws. i can be hotheaded, and i’m bad at saying no. but you help balance them out. you keep me leveled, and you’re always firm about what you want. plus, i help balance your flaws, too; we just work like that.” he squishes your cheeks together, eliciting a sound of protest from you. “if i don’t have a problem with a cutie like you, they shouldn’t, either.”

“some have yet to grasp the concept of treating you like a taken man,” you answer, though it comes out muffled. he giggles at the acknowledgement, leaning down to peck your nose. a garbled noise leaves your throat, and you close your eyes in embarrassment.

“maybe i should show them just how taken i am,” he hums. he promptly removes his hands from your face and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “how about we start by going on our date?”

despite how simple his resolution seems, you know you and yukhei will have another deeper discussion about today’s events. whereas he likes solving things with cuddles and kisses, you like to do it with deep conversations. that can wait for now. “let me lock up first. we’re getting food, right?”

when you look up at him, you suddenly realize what donghyuck meant when he said yukhei looks at you with heart eyes. the look he gives you is so sweet you feel like you’re getting cavities. it’s so endearing you nearly forget all of your insecurities, only focusing on how much he seems to adore you. he always seems to know what to do when you’re in a slump. “of course! gotta feed the cutie here,” he answers, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head.

you roll your eyes with a laugh, though you sneakily wrap your fingers with his. you’ll have plenty of time to repay the favor later.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH20

The battle in this chapter has a lot of references. Can you name all of them? ;) You can see our new heroine’s design here!

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Chapter 20: my tears ricochet

“Is everything okay, Marinette?” Tikki poked her head out of Marinette’s shirt collar.

The subway station was quiet save for a few other waiting passengers, too absorbed in their phones to notice the girl talking to her small magical friend. Marinette took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, “I just can’t believe it’s finally over.”

“Don’t you think it’s wrong to seek revenge? What if Lila gets akumatized again because Ladybug exposed her?” Tikki asked with a worried frown.

“Normally, I’d say yes, but it’s about time someone set the record straight,” Marinette said as the subway car pulled up. “Look, I won’t talk about it ever again as Ladybug or Marinette. It’s over now. We’ll just stay on the lookout for the next few days.”

Tikki sank back into Marinette’s shirt without another word, though her frown persisted. Taking a seat on the train, Marinette leaned her head back with a sigh. It had been nearly a month since Marinette changed schools, and she’d done her best to put the past behind her. From the moment she left, she didn’t want anything to do with Lila, but it was too late to take back the interview now. The truth was finally out there, and it was unlikely that Lila would be able to lie her way out of this one. Everyone was free.

When the train arrived at her stop, Marinette followed the crowd of people and pushed the whole ordeal from her mind. What was done was done, and Lila had no power over her anymore. Marinette had often wondered what this day would feel like. Truthfully, it wasn’t as relieving as she thought it would be. Maybe removing herself from the situation lessened the impact, but Marinette felt nothing but apathy. A small part of her was glad to be done with it, but the majority of her just didn’t care about Lila anymore. She’d made new friends, and she was in the process of making one more.

Gabrielle averted her gaze when Marinette entered the café, just like she always did. Marinette had programmed Gabrielle’s work schedule into her calendar, and she’d been making it a point to stop by when she could. Although Gabrielle tried to hide it, Marinette could tell that she was happy to see her.

“Does this count as harassment?” Gabrielle asked, setting Marinette’s usual order on the table.

“Only if you want me to stop,” Marinette said.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and smiled. “You’re such a dork. No wonder I used to pick on you.”

“That’s not a no,” Marinette said pointedly.

“You’re so annoying,” Gabrielle sighed, stalking back to the counter.

Marinette bit back a smile, retrieving her sketchbook from her bag while Gabrielle tended to other customers. The café was cozy and secluded enough that Marinette could work freely while also keeping an eye on Gabrielle. Her deadline was only a few days away, and she’d already taken time out to help Adrien.

Adrien…

He went behind her back to stop Lila. She’d been so touched in the moment, that she agreed to help without really thinking. But he’d gone against everything he believed in for her. Not Ladybug, not Chloe, not even his best friend. For Marinette. How could she resist? The moment Adrien said he needed Ladybug, she couldn’t help herself. It was selfish, but if he called, she’d always come running. And as it turned out, Adrien was quietly doing the same for her all along. It was kind of romantic in a way.

But what did that make them? Were they dating? Neither one of them had confessed their true feelings, but it was obvious they both really cared for one another. Adrien wouldn’t have teamed up with Chloe if he didn’t feel something for Marinette. Being mean wasn’t in Adrien’s nature—it was one of the many things she loved about him. He had to be in love with her now. There was no other explanation.

Marinette pressed her lips together, tracing hearts along the edges of her sketch. She would tell Adrien how she felt after her presentation with Clara. No chickening out this time. Just her honest feelings and hopefully Adrien’s soft lips and silky golden hair, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and those strong arms wrapping around her-

“What’s that for?” Gabrielle snapped Marinette from her trance, replacing the cold cup Marinette had long forgotten about with a fresh one.

“Oh, uh, just some designs I’ve been playing with,” Marinette said. “Actually, will you tell me what you think?”

Gabrielle quirked a brow, spinning the sketchbook around to get a better look while Marinette sipped her coffee. She’d narrowed it down to three sketches, and Gabrielle studied them thoughtfully.

“I think the skirt on this one could puff out more, and I think this one would look better if you made it slouch off the shoulder,” Gabrielle said, “but that’s just my opinion.”

“No, that’s really helpful. Thank you.” Marinette smiled.  

Gabrielle shifted her weight and mumbled, “Your designs are really good.”

Marinette beamed, but before she could reply, a loud boom shook the café, knocking over cabinets and cups. Gabrielle and Marinette rushed outside to find the source as several passing people ran away from the scene.

“Lila,” Marinette murmured under her breath.

“What?” Gabrielle turned to her.

“I said it must be an akuma,” she said quickly. “We should probably evacuate.”

“As if my boss will let me leave. This place could burn down, and he’d still expect me to show up and sweep the ashes.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You go.”

Another crash rattled the street, shattering the windows of every parked car along the block. Marinette shielded her face from the debris, Gabrielle taking a defensive stance in front of her. Locking eyes with the villain, Marinette’s blood ran cold.

Lila hadn’t been the one to get akumatized, but the girl staring back at her was all too familiar. Her suit was red and black with spots resembling Ladybug’s on the bodice. Long red hair was tied back into a ponytail, once hazel eyes now scarlet. Her ex-best friend looked at her with utter disdain.

“You…” Her eyes narrowed.

“Alya?” Marinette gasped.

“You two know each other?” Gabrielle quirked a brow.

“She and I used to be…” Marinette lowered her gaze.

“Used to be what, Marinette? Bffs?” The akuma snarled. “Or maybe you’d like to forget that!”

With a swipe of her phone, a purple beam shot toward them. Gabrielle tackled Marinette to the ground, avoiding the blast by an inch. Gabrielle’s manager came out to see what the fuss was about, and the beam engulfed him. He blinked a few times, looking around at the café in confusion.

“Where am I? Better yet, who am I?” he groaned.

Gabrielle pushed Marinette away, eyes wide. “Run!”

“What about yo-”

“Just go!” Gabrielle shouted.

“Oh, she’s not going anywhere.” The akuma swiped her phone screen again, pointing it up to the sky. Storm clouds materialized, and large chunks of hail rained down. “I’m not your bff anymore, Marinette. My name is Ladyblogger, and I can use any power I want! I’m going to expose the truth to everyone once and for all!”

Gabrielle grabbed the coffee pot from her manager and hurled it at Ladyblogger. She took Marinette’s hand, and the two raced up the street.

“This way!” Gabrielle ducked into an alley. She lead Marinette through a private courtyard, down another side street, and across to another alley before stopping. “Take this street, and you should be able to make it home from there.”

“Where will you go?” Marinette asked.

“I should get back to the café. I doubt my manager’s amnesia will last long. You should get somewhere safe.” She shoved Marinette on, heading back in the direction they came.

“Gabrielle?” Marinette called, and she turned over her shoulder. “Thanks. You saved me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Now go!”

Marinette bit back a smile as she raced up the alley. Her suit materialized before she made it to the other end, and she tossed her yoyo into the rooftops. Any warmth she’d felt from Gabrielle’s selflessness faded the moment Ladybug touched down on the scene. Chat Noir arrived at the same time she did.

“Looks like the ‘heroes’ decided to show up,” Ladyblogger said with air quotes. “Or should I even call you that anymore? The only people you seem to protect these days are ones with egos the size of monuments!”

“Alya, listen to me! Lila is manipulating you,” Ladybug said.

“You’re one to talk about manipulation. How’s your bff Chloe these days? Or is it actually Marinette?” Ladyblogger shot another beam from her phone, but Chat Noir and Ladybug dodged. The attack hit Gabrielle’s manager again, snapping out of his confusion only to be transformed into a Ladyblogger look alike.

“Wow, for a journalist, you seem to have a hard time swallowing the truth,” Chat Noir said.  

Ladyblogger swiped blasts from her screen, and Ladybug and Chat Noir dodged between them, charging in to strike. Chat Noir’s staff phased through Ladyblogger, and he stumbled several paces before regaining his balance. She smirked at him, lifting her finger from the screen and regaining tangibility just in time for Ladybug to land a hit.

The two grappled, dodging each other’s swipes and jabs. Ladyblogger phased in and out of tangibility, striking Ladybug with purposeful blows. When Ladybug finally landed a hit, Ladyblogger simply smiled. Her aura glowed, and she took Ladybug’s wrist, tossing her effortlessly into her partner across the street.

They rolled across the pavement, limbs tangling around each other. Chat Noir immediately helped her to her feet, dusting himself off. “Okay, is it just me, or are her powers super random?”

“I don’t think they are,” Ladybug said. “She’s using abilities we’ve fought before. I think she’s using powers from old akumas.”

“Not just akumas.” Ladyblogger corrected, tapping her screen. “Cataclysm!”

She charged at them, fist glowing with black energy. Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped out of the way, and Ladyblogger swiped the streetlamp, reducing it to a pile of ash.

“Okay, so you can copy our powers too,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed on Ladyblogger’s screen, an inverted version of her blog theme with icons for each power available to her. “Her blog!” she gasped. “She can use powers of anyone—hero or villain—that she’s reported about on her blog!”

“You always were a smart one,” Ladyblogger said. “So, how come you can’t see through all of the lies people keep feeding you?”

“She’s not the one that needs to open her eyes.” Chat Noir shot back.

Ladyblogger summoned another Cataclysm, punching the ground and sending a shockwave rippling up the street. Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped up to the roof to avoid it.

“Got a plan?” Chat Noir asked.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug summoned, and a deck of playing cards materialized.

“Up for a riveting game of poker? We can wager our Miraculouses for her akuma,” Chat smarmed.

“No…” Ladybug studied the logo on the box. “I have to go. Maybe you can annoy her to death with your jokes before I get back.”

“Purrhaps she’ll be a better sport than you.” Chat Noir winked. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long. Even this cat will run out of jokes eventually.”

Ladybug flicked his bell before racing off. Ladyblogger could mimic the power of anyone so long as she’d written about them on her blog, so Ladybug needed a power she hadn’t seen before.

“Master!” Marinette burst through the door. “Chat Noir and I are fighting an akuma, and I need to borrow a Miraculous.”

Master Fu set aside his book. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

He retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place and presented it to her. Marinette surveyed her options carefully. The mouse could work, but she wasn’t sure it was the one they needed. Then there was the monkey, but that could confuse things even more. She needed something stealthy. Something like…

“Do you have someone in mind?” Master Fu asked as she grabbed the tiger gauntlet.

“I think I just might.”

♪♫♪ Bad Blood ♪♫♪

Ladybug found Gabrielle sweeping broken glass outside the café. The street was quiet and long since evacuated. Chat Noir and Ladyblogger relocated to the Trocadero, but Gabrielle stayed behind, waiting for everything to go back to normal. She quirked a brow when Ladybug approached.

“I’m going to assume since I’m still here sweeping glass that you haven’t defeated the akuma?” she asked.

“Not yet.” Ladybug admitted. “I need a little help. Think you’re up for it?”

“Why do you need my help? Don’t you have a passel of super-freaks on speed dial?” Gabrielle grunted, returning to her sweeping.

“I do, but… how would you like to be one of them?” Ladybug offered, and Gabrielle froze.

“For real?” she asked, eyes glinting with intrigue that extinguished just as quickly as it lit. “Why me?”

“Didn’t you watch my interview earlier?” Ladybug cocked a hip. “I’m always looking for new partners, and I saw how you helped your friend earlier.”

“We’re not really friends,” Gabrielle said, but when Ladybug gave her a disbelieving smirk, she sighed. “Okay, fine. She’s annoying, but whatever, I guess she’s my friend. I just don’t see how that has anything to do with me becoming a superhero. You obviously don’t know me very well, but let’s just say I’m not exactly the hero type.”

“Don’t you want to be?” Ladybug asked, and when Gabrielle averted her gaze, she added, “Look, I didn’t think I was superhero material at first either, but being Ladybug helped me realize I’m more capable than I think. You have an opportunity to do something good. Isn’t that what you want?”

Gabrielle lowered her gaze, tapping her nails against the wooden handle. Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders and let the broom fall to the ground.

“Gabrielle Burton, this is the Miraculous of the Tiger, which grants you the power of invisibility. You will use it to fight for the greater good.” Ladybug recited, presenting her with a small box. “Once the battle is over, you will return it to me. Can I trust you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes and took the box, barely flinching when Roarr manifested.

“Hello there! My name is Roarr, and I’m a-”

“We don’t have time for that. My job doesn’t pay me enough to fight supervillains, so let’s just get this over with.” Gabrielle cut him off. “Now, how does this thing work?”

Ladybug flashed him an apologetic grin, and he flicked his tail. “To transform, all you have to do is say ‘Roarr, transform me,’” he said without any fanfare.

“Cool.” Gabrielle slipped on the gauntlet. “Roarr, transform me!”

Gabrielle caught on quick, following behind Ladybug without need for explanation. If Marinette had learned anything about Gabrielle, it was that she was straightforward and to the point. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she was guarded around Ladybug. Marinette was still breaking through some of those walls herself, but she truly believed that Gabrielle could be a good hero if she tried.

When they arrived at the Trocadero, Gabrielle cracked her whip before Ladyblogger could ready another attack. Seeing Ladybug with a new ally must have struck a nerve because Ladyblogger let out a frustrated growl. Chat Noir rushed in but slammed into an invisible wall. Ladyblogger tugged an invisible cell door shut with a smile, but Gabrielle didn’t leave her much time to gloat.

“Who’s the new pet?” Ladyblogger called. She and Gabrielle sparred while Ladybug checked on Chat Noir.

“Obviously, someone she trusts more than you.” Gabrielle retorted. They locked hands, glaring each other down.

“It seems that Ladybug is employing a lot of mean girls, these days. Falling on hard times?” Ladyblogger grunted, hiking a leg to knee Gabrielle in the gut. “You must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel. Looks like your little tigress needs some more training.”

Ladyblogger struck again, but Gabrielle caught her wrist, redirecting her down the stairs. As Ladyblogger stumbled to the bottom, Gabrielle cocked a hip.

“Tigress, I kind of like that. I think I’ll keep it,” she said.

Ladyblogger scrambled to her feet as Ladybug and Chat Noir flanked Tigress. Her attention turned to the news station helicopter hovering over the Trocadero to catch all of the action.

“Let’s see if the rookie is really up to snuff,” Ladyblogger said, tapping her screen again. “Venom!”

“No!” Ladybug shouted.

Ladyblogger jumped, clearing the distance to the helicopter easily. With a light tap, the pilot froze in place, and Ladyblogger hopped out the other side as the plane spiraled into a tailspin.

“Chat Noir, Tigress, get everyone out!” Ladybug ordered.

Her partners sprang into action while Ladybug hooked her yoyo around the streetlamps. Tigress took care of Nadja while Chat Noir carried the pilot and cameraman. They got out just as the helicopter landed in Ladybug’s net. Her feet skidded against the concrete, bearing the weight of the aircraft as she gently lowered it to the ground.

“Hey, Bugheads! Ladyblogger here, and do I have the scoop for you!” A large camera broadcast their efforts to every screen in Paris, and Ladyblogger watched in amusement. “Always playing the hero, but only for those she deems worthy of saving. Hasn’t anyone ever wondered if the girl under the mask is really as nice as we all think?”

“Thanks, Ladybug,” Nadja said as Tigress set her down.

“Get somewhere safe,” Ladybug ordered.

The pilot groaned and rubbed his head, free from Venom’s sting. Ladybug eyed him with a pensive frown as the reporting crew scrambled to safety.

“Any ideas?” Chat Noir asked.

“Forming one,” Ladybug replied. “It looks like she can only use one power at a time, so when she switches to a new one, the effects of the old one wear off—like closing an app on a phone.”

“Okay, so what does that mean for us?” Tigress crossed her arms over her chest.

“It means we have to keep her moving,” Ladybug said, palming her yoyo. “Lucky charm!”

A catcher’s mitt landed in her hands, and Chat Noir quirked a brow.

“Great, so we can invite her to play catch,” he said.

Ladybug glanced around singling in on Tigress, Chat Noir’s staff, and her glove. A smile broke over her lips. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do, but we’re going to do it my way. Chat Noir, you and I are going to keep Ladyblogger busy while Tigress sneaks in.”

Chat Noir nodded without a second thought, but Tigress shot Ladybug a skeptical look. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“This isn’t even her most convoluted plan.” Chat Noir shrugged.

“And now the superheroine has summoned her last resort. I think it’s time everyone learned the truth about Paris’s savior. Coming up next, we’re going to take her Miraculous and find out what kind of person is hiding behind the mask! Stay connected, Bugheads.” Ladyblogger ended her broadcast and swiped to a new power. “Let’s see which one of us has more luck, Ladybug. Lucky Charm!”

Ladyblogger caught the rocket launcher with a sinister laugh, taking aim at the band of heroes. When she pulled the trigger, they dispersed, splitting up in three different directions.

“Camouflage!” Tigress whispered.

Ladybug and Chat Noir wasted no time drawing Ladyblogger’s attention, dodging past missiles as they closed in. They took turns taking jabs and kicks, and with closer proximity, Ladyblogger abandoned her weapon in favor of a different power. Light beams shot from her screen with each swipe of her fingers, transforming streetlamps and benches into hard black lumps.

“Coal? But I’ve been so good this year!” Chat Noir taunted.

“I used to think you two were so great, but now I see you for who you really are! You’re not heroes, you’re just two little kids playing dress-up for attention,” Ladyblogger said.

“You know what? You’re right,” Ladybug said. “Just keep all of your attention on us.”

“It shouldn’t be hard. I am pretty good-looking.” Chat Noir flexed his biceps.

Ladyblogger’s eyes narrowed, but before she could make her next move, her arms pinned to her sides. An invisible force wrestled her to the ground, kicking her phone from her grasp in a direct pitch to Chat Noir.

Tigress materialized on top of her, pulling her whip tight. “Looks like Hawkmoth should have trained you a little more,” she said.

“Batter up!” Chat Noir called, swinging his baton.

Ladybug caught the phone in her mitt easily and stomped it under her foot, releasing the black butterfly from inside.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Looks like she struck out.”

Tigress stood up as Ladybug’s magic healed the city. When Alya came to, Ladybug crouched beside her, presenting her repaired phone.

“I know you’re hurt and confused, but I promise that everything I said earlier is true,” Ladybug said. “You’re a smart girl, Alya. The truth is right in front of you if you look for it.”

Alya searched her expression, lips pressing into a firm line. “Why should I believe you?”

“Seriously? After everything Ladybug has done for this city, you’re going to blow her off just like that? Some journalist you are,” Tigress grunted, flipping her braid over one shoulder.

“Tigress-”

Alya’s jaw clenched. She snatched her phone from Ladybug’s grasp and stood up. “So these are the kind of people you replace real heroes with? I thought one drama queen was a coincidence, but I’m starting to think you just have a type,” she said. “You’re right. I am smart—smart enough to see when someone isn’t who they say they are. So from now on, I’m no longer your fan, Ladybug, and I’m going to expose the truth to everyone!”

Tigress averted her gaze as Alya stormed off. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” Ladybug said. Her heart sank watching Alya walk away from her for the second time. “She already made up her mind.”

♪♫♪ Far From Heaven ♪♫♪

“You okay, Al?”

Alya peeked at her boyfriend over the pillow she was hugging to her face, tears streaking her cheeks. Nino sat on the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. Alya nestled into his neck and allowed his warmth to thaw the cold ache in her chest.

“I saw your blog post. Are you really done with Ladybug?” Nino asked.

Alya flicked her gaze to her phone resting on the bed, her latest post on the Ladyblog displayed on the screen. She might have gone too far with it, but she didn’t care. Ladybug wasn’t who Alya thought, and the world needed to know that their beloved heroine wasn’t so loving.

“After everything I’ve done for her, all the time I spent proving to her how trustworthy I was, and she just replaced me without even saying anything. Then she’s out there being best buddies with Chloe?” Alya’s voice cracked. “How could she do that?”

Nino pursed his lips, and Alya leaned her cheek against his chest, breathing him in. She didn’t blame him for not having an answer because neither did she. In only a few weeks, her entire world had been flipped on its head. Losing Marinette had hurt enough, but now she couldn’t even believe in the people she revered most. Were all superheroes just pretending to be nice? Or did they all have a Chloe Bourgeois behind the scenes pulling the strings? And what was Marinette’s role in all of this? Was all of it really her fault? Alya didn’t know what to believe now.

“Maybe you should take some time away from your blog. I think it might be good to put some distance between you for a while.” Nino suggested, kissing her temple. “At least while you’re hurting, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be around all that. Take some time to clear your head.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Alya picked up her phone, thumb lingering over the home button, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.

Nino was right. Her obsession with heroes wasn’t healthy. How many times had she put herself in danger capturing footage for her blog, and for what? Ladybug clearly didn’t care, so why should Alya? A break wasn’t what she needed. If she came back, it would just be more of the same. What Alya truly needed was to walk away. To shut the door and never look back. Maybe then she could find something worth believing in.

“Al?”

Alya bit her lip, thoughts racing. Before she could change her mind, she hit delete, erasing months of hard work in an instant. Countless late nights, dangerous battles collecting footage, all of her hopes and dreams and theories gone at the touch of a button. Ladybug didn’t trust her anymore, and now the feeling was mutual.

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[forthehpfanboys]

Quidditch and T

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him; transmasculine reader.

Summary: Harry surprises Ron with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup after the war, after Hermione and after finding out Ron has a crush on the first professional trans masculine the Chudley Canons or the World Cup has ever seen. 

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, tiny amount of transphobia?? super long, focuses on Ron more than it should, super long and probably really bad.

Notes: Trans masculine reader again! We love to see it- No one asked for this but I liked the idea. Also, Ron has long hair because I love him and Harry is a good friend. The bestest of friends.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Even with the second wizarding war years behind them, everyone struggled to regain control over themselves. Loved ones were lost far too soon, strained relationships came crashing down and businesses all but shattered like glass, but that was a year or two after. Families were beginning to recover and move forward, but some struggled. It was only natural, that was why the Ministry decided to bring at least a tiny bit of normality back to everyone's life with the Quidditch World Cup. They thought it would bring some light in the barely lit times everyone lived in.

While life for some was morphing back to a semi stable state, times were transitioning to a new era. Of course, no one batted an eye or fought against her when the Hermione Jean Granger demanded rights for wizards, witches and sorcerers who were, for lack of a better word, different. Not after everything she’d done for the world with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and especially not after S.P.E.W.  The world really was shifting for the better.

She created two acts for equality. If house elves can have it, why can’t magical humans who just- feel different. Hermione called it S.P.L.A.T.E.R, also known as Sorcerers Lover Protection Against The Everyday Routine, and it was meant to protect wizards and witches who desire relationships with the same sex against discrimination. The talented witch went on to create a similar movement against portraying gender and identity; The Sorcerer’s Typical Identity or Gender May Alter Shield, better known as S.T.I.G.M.A.S. Both were very welcomed by the public, which happened a good year before the game would be returning, and that led to you gaining your dream job.

You were able to join the Chudley Cannons, your dream team despite their reputation. You were naturally talented on a broom and weren’t afraid to pull some risky stunts to get the golden snitch, plus it fueled your ego to hear the crowd gasp, go silent then cheer loud enough to be heard from Mars. The team and their fans didn’t care that you were the only trans masculine player, in fact, they loved you! The team was very proud to have you be their seeker and it was even better when the Cannons got into the World Cup. You basically carried the team, and they fucking knew it.

Your face made the front page almost weekly, quoting comments from your games and showing off your merchandise like it was no big deal. While you caught the attention of many wizards, witches and magical humans in between, there was one who was absolutely fascinated, maybe borderline obsessed, with you. You somehow stuck in his head, causing him to repaint his room in his shared flat bright orange just like his childhood bedroom. The ex-auror even went as far as getting your newly printed poster. He would glance at it when he was writing letters to his mother, but then would spend a good few solid minutes staring at it, daydreaming about meeting  you and lose track of time. Life got a little harder with the moving poster in his room. Of course you had no idea the famous Ron Weasley was a die-hard fan of yours.

The youngest Weasley son ended up being the first out of three up everyday just to read the newest info about (Y/n) ‘Point Breaker’ (L/n) and the rest of the team. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew enough about you to be considered a borderline stalker and couldn’t help but spew facts about you to his twin brothers. Those very twins would tease him about his newly found crush but were secrealty very happy that he was getting over his heart break.

Ron and Hermione, more Hermione, had decided splitting and remaining friends was better for them, leading to the poor bloke locked in the spare room of his older brother's flat for a solid week. They told everyone it was mutual, but it was clear to Fred, George and Harry that it was most definitely not a decision that they were both fond of. Harry could still remember the frantic howler he got from Fred and George saying their little brother all but stopped functioning as a human.

He only started eating and showering once he heard the team was up and running again. He figured that was why Harry showed up to the flat one afternoon with tickets to the sold out game. When Ron asked his best mate how he got them, he just smiled and said something about knowing people and favors being exchanged. The ticket was more like a bandage encased in clear plastic and stuck to a lanyard, which is what Ron was fiddling with the day of the game when his best friend suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron screeched out as he steadied himself in his chair. His hand gripped at the shirt on his chest and chose to ignore the head rushing to his cheeks. “Could’ve sent me a warning!” He let out a slow sigh, trying to steady his rapid heart beat. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry laughed out. The professor had his hands in his jacket pocket, a sly grin across his face. “Come on then! Game’s gonna be starting soon!” The raven haired male all but yaned his freckle covered friend out of the chair.

“Ok! Ok, sheesh. Let me grab a jacket.” The red-head knew this was going to be a game that leaked late into the night. Both teams were itching to get the trophy and forget about their troubles- It was gonna be absolutely beautiful. 

Grabbing his coat and reaching into the pocket, Ron pulled out an elastic band and put his hair up into a messy bun quickly before tucking the jacket into his arm. He walked over to Harry, who was gazing at the photo-covered walls of the flat.

“If you want, I can take ca-” Harry was cut off by Ron grabbed his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I like it like this.” Ron shook his head back and forth causing the messy ball to swap back and forth. “Come on. You were the one rushing us.” Harry let out a simple chuckle before apperating them to the field. 

“Tadah!” Harry did a fancy little wave, gesturing to the crowded field and began to make his way down the hell, passing by the old boot. Ron looked down at it as they passed before looking back at his best friend.

“Damn, it has been far too long.” Ron sighed out. A smile broke out across his face when he saw little kids running around with paint covered faces and happy couples sharing tea outside of their tents. “Do we have a tent?” 

“Nope, won’t be needing one this time around.” Harry shoved his hands in his pants pocket.

“No ten- Blimey, Harry, this is a game! This is going to go on for hours-”

“Ron-” 

“Won’t need it my arse. Hours, Harry. Where are we going to sit? The damp ground?” Ron was flaring his hands about.

“We get to spend our time in the Minister’s Box, Ron, relax.” Harry shook his head in mock disapproval before adjusting his glasses and moving forward. 

“Minister’s Box-” Ron’s voice stuttered out.

“Yeah! Isn’t that cool? We’re gonna be in the middle of the action!” Harry waved to a child who had recognized him with a smile.

“Ministry box-” Ron was’t used to such luguries, even after working with his brothers at their shop. Harry figured he’d never get used to being spoiled like this. It made him choke back a soft snicker.

“Yes, Ronald, the Minister’s Box, now hurry up! I told them we’d get there before the game started so we can chat.” Harry grabbed the lagging boy’s wrist and proceeded to maneuver through the crowd with him. 

“How did ya score this, Harry?” Ron all but yelled over the crowd. Once Harry dragged them through the crowd and to the front doors of the stadium, he spoke up.

“Remember when we went on that assignment to stop LeStrange again? Just before her Dementors Kiss about a month before we quit?” He handed the ticketier his lanyard to check over. Ron did the same before they both entered.

“Yeah? What about it?” Ron’s blue eyes glanced across the crowded inside. Gods, it really had been a while since he’d been here. It felt normal, like he almost hadn’t lost Fred to an explosion, like Harry’s life wasn’t on the line everyday, like every day wasn’t terrifying. Ron turned his attention back to his friend when he spoke up again.

“Well just before that, I went on a loner mission. This one involved taking care of some dark witch who was claiming she could bring back the dead and threatened to bring back Voldemort and the Death Eaters, so they sent me down to check it out.” Harry led him to an elevator, where the gate opened allowing the pair to step in. There was an exhausted looking male standing in uniform, most likely a worker from the Ministry himself. “Ministers Box, kind sir. Thank you.” The gate closed with a shuttering rattle and soon they were moving upward. Green eyes turned back to blue to finish the story. “Anyway, turns out she was actually trying to resurrect the noseless twat, but instead of over time or promotion, I asked for this and the best seats in the house. Figured this would be a good gift for you.”

“Gift? Harry, bud, mate, my fuckin best friend.” Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You’ve already done your fair share of helping me. Blimey, I’m not worth this.”

The gate opened again, allowing the two ex-aurors to step out but not before tossing a few sickles to the poor man who looked bored out of his mind. Ron casted him a short wave before he was sent back down.

“You deserve more than a crummy game and a nice seat, Ronnie. You literally helped me destroy Voldemort.”

“I didn’t do that much and besides it’s not a crummy game!” Ron took his hand away from Harry's shoulder. They walked down the short hallway to the door leading to their seats, but paused just before opening it. “That’s fuckin wild, isn’t it?” Ron grumbled out. “Was she smooched by a Dementor in the end?” 

“Yup. All her research was swiped and burned. Anyone and everyone she knew was obliviated. Now enough talk about old work, let’s relax.” Harry spoke before opening the door and allowed Ron to walk in first. 

The room was bigger than Gred and Forge’s flat, Ron was sure of it. It had silvery blue walls and a huge open window in the front, showing off the screaming fans and showed the entire field which held the perfect view. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting across the fancy black leather seats and the buckets of ice holding expensive bottles of wine, flasks of firewhiskey and glass pitchers giggle water and suddenly Ron wanted to cry and simultaneously brag to Malfoy. Sure, he hadn’t seen the blonde in a year or so but it’d be nice. The red-head didn’t realise he was drifting toward the giant window until someone spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weadley, I’m so glad you could make it!” A wizard dressed in a suit came scurrying over, his chapeign glass almost overflowing with foam.

“It’s Weasley, actually.” Harry didn't hesitate to speak up. “But of course! I was thrilled when Ron decided to come with me! I couldn’t have caught that witch without him. Anyway, where will we be seated?” Harry was using his Auror Voice™ while Ron stood there, trying to recall how on earth he helped his best friend with a case he wasn’t even on.

“I did wh-?” Ron was interrupted.

“Ah. My apologies. Of course, of course.” The man in the suit adjusted his tie before gesturing to the window in the front with his glass.. “Front row, just as you requested.” He took a sip from his glass before walking off to the seat he came from, talking to the witch next to him. 

Harry thanked the man before grabbing Ron’s wrist and bringing him over to their seats. He sat Ron at the seat right in the middle of the big opening. Harry could actually see his friends blue eyes gloss over with tears, causing Harry to chuckle into his hand.  It was so worth fighting that witch and staying in St. Mungos for a week with a concussion, broken hand and a stupid spell that nearly killed him.

“Bloody fucking hell, Harry. What did you do to get these seats?” Ron’s voice did little to hide his excitement. Harry released a chuckle over his friend's excitement, but the sound got louder when Ron literally threw his jacket haphazardly onto the seat only for it to fall to the tiled floor.

“I already told you. Don’t worry about it.” Harry took his seat as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the coffee table at their feet. He examined the label before nodding his head and popping open the cork.

“Wish I had a camera. Ginny would’ve loved this.” Ron walked past the table to the window, resting his hands on the railing and leaning over, looking across the field.

“Ron, she’s a professional coach-” Harry rolled his eyes, testing the wine with a small sip. He set the dark, tall bottle down on the table with a clank.

“Fred and George then.” Ron turned back to his friend and walked over, plopping himself down in his seat with confidence. Harry snorted, almost dropped his drink all over himself. This was therapeutic; he got to spend time with his best friend without the ever looming death threat of Nose-less Snakey Man breathing down his neck. 

“Yes, I’m sure their jealous tears could flood the shop.” Harry’s voice was filled with sarcasm and it had Ron laughing too. Harry checked his watch while the giggling red-head grabbed an empty glass at the table in front of them and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. “It’s about 5:53. Game should be starting at 6 something.” He turned to Ron, casting him a smile while he brought his glass to his lips. “Wanna talk about your newest boyfriend or should I ask him for the details myself?”

Ron almost spat out his drink, his hand coming up quickly to catch the dribbles falling off his lips. Blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and before he knew it, he was bright red. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“I’m sorry, my what? Harry, I’d be lucky if he gave me the time of day let alone be my boyfriend!” Ron ran his hands through his hair, his eyes cast downward into his drink. “I mean, have you seen me lately?” He gestured to himself. “I’m a bloody mess. He could do better anyway.”

“You’re not a mess, Ron, anything but. In fact, you’re probably more put together than I am. Ginny would beg to differ, but I’m sure it’s true.” Harry shook his head in disapproval before taking another sip from his glass. “Besides, you’re a good guy. You did get Mione to fall for you and you are kinda well known, aren't you? I say you got a better chance than most.” Once the niorette male finished, he turned to look at his friend who nodded his head in silent agreement before deciding to change the topic.

“How is Gin, by the way?” 

Harry answered with a long explanation that she was good, but one of her chaser’s kept giving her trouble and didn’t believe Ginny was good for the team. The Harpies would be starting their first game soon and Ron made a note to buy a ticket. The questions came around to his brothers, of course, so Ron 

“Hey! Good for them!” Harry refilled his drink once it was finished and put the glass back in the ice bucket. “And good for you.” Harry checked his watch again when it beeped out, indicating the change in hour. “Game time!” 

The room went silent as the minister walked over to the window, doing his usual speech, but no one was really listening. Ron's legs were bouncing with excitement while his eyes looked across the white, green and orange fans waving flags. Ron should’ve known it would've been the Kenmare Kestrels duking it out against the Chudleys Cannons.

The crowds were going absolutely ballistic over the Kestrels and the screaming only seemed to get louder once the Cannon’s made their appearance. He watched the players zoom past the window, felt the air rush past him and before he could control himself, Ron was back at the railing, practically leaning over. His eyes bounced around the orange and black colored players for the new seeker.

“Harry!” Ron gestured pathetically behind him. “Harry! Come here! Look-” Ron pointed across the field to the seeker who was taking circles in the middle, taking in the crowd. He couldn’t help but stare at your confident smirk as you pulled the goggles over your eyes, casting the crowd a wink. The red-head basically melted.

“Godric, your smitten, aren’t you?” Harry was leaning against the railing next to his friend, his glass still in hand. A smirk came across his lips when his friend turned red again.

“Shut it.”

“You a Cannon fan, Mr.Wealsey?” 

The two ex-aurors turned to see the man who approached them earlier coming to Ron’s free side. The man held a cocky grin and a new drink in his hand, most likely giggle water. The red-head turned back to the game once the whistle sounded.

“Yeah. Have been for years.” Ron didn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Huh, even with their sour reputation? I’m more of a Bats fan, myself. Wouldn’t count this game in favor of the Chudley’s though, new seeker and all.” The man scoffed before sipping his drink. “Good seekers are hard to find. Hogwarts was lucky to have you though, Mr. Potter. Should’ve played Quidditch professionally, if you ask me.”

The two males shared a look with each other and came to the conclusion it’d be better to not fight the man on his clearly biased opinion and clear ass kissing. The pair gazed on, ignoring the crowd forming behind them the longer the game went on. Ron almost shoved his friend over when the announcer yelled you spotted the snitch. Ron blinked and you were standing on your broom, balancing perfectly, leaned over, golden snitch just a few inches from your fingertips.

“He’s a risky bloke, isn’t he?” Harry spoke up, hands going to his chaotic locks. “Gdoric, he’s gonna fall!” He squealed out when your foot shifted just a little too far on the broom.

“He’s bonkers.” Sir Pompous sneered out over his fancy drink, causing Ron to audible groan. 

“Sod off, will you?” Ron was so fucking sick of this man. “Stop bein’ pissy he has more balls than you and he was born without them.” He shot the suited wizard a glare before turning back to the game.  He let out a cheer when you finally grasped the snitch, plopping yourself down on the broom. The freckled male turned to Sir Pompous and smirked. “So.. Wouldn’t put this game in their favor, huh?”

The wizard turned on his heel, grumbling what the two friends assumed to be insults as he walked shamefully to his seat. Harry and Ron clinked glasses, giggling like school girls as they took a victory shot. They sat back in their seats, discussing games and just over all basking in the win. 

“Godric, I could get used to living like this.” Ron sat back, spreading his legs and just feeling confident. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t afford to do this all the time, Ron.”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Ron didn’t blink twice when the door to the ministers box opened or when two voices spoke up. He was busy relaxing.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Coach Dorkins! The Chudley’s have always been my favorite-” The same kiss ass from earlier, spewing the same pompous bullshit as earlier. Ron was gonna fake a gag, but he hesitated. Coach Dorkins? Coach of the- of his favorite team? 

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m just here to drop off Point Breaker.” As your coach went on with his arm now wrapped around you. Ron whipped around, his jaw was dropping to the floor. “Got a favor to fill in for an old friend. Ah, there he is! Potter!”

“Nice to see you again.” Harry stood up and shook hands with the coach. Ron’s blue eyes bounced between his old friend, his favorite coach and his favorite player. What the fuck was going on? Ron shrunk into his seat when you glanced over. He was acutely aware of his messy outfit and hair and- did he brush his teeth? “Ah! I should introduce you to my good friend, Ronald Weasley-” Harry waved over to his friend, a smile on his face. Ron stood up as well, but almost fell into his chair when he saw you shaking hands with his old friend and suddenly everyone was turning to him.

“Uh-hi-” When did his voice get all high pitched and creaky again. He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans before shaking hands with the coach. “Sorry, big fan.” 

Dorkins shook his head, saying how he understood between deep chuckles. The male then turned to you, who was standing by his side. He introduced you to the red-head while you held a similar, nervous smile on your face. You held your hand out as you spoke up finally. 

“I know all about you, Mr. Weasley. Well, no not- Wait, not everything like.. Like everything everything, like um- I.. well- Ok, let me start again.” You cleared your throat, shaking the ex-aurors hand. “Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m a fan, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron was just kinda shaking your hand, confusion filled in his brain. He was just running over your rambling and was so confused. 

“You’re a fan of me?”

“The famous auror? Of course!” You were grinning now and he found himself just staring at you. The two of you missed how Potter and Dorkins were chuckling about star struck fans and wondered somewhere else in the room.

“You played great today-” Ron almost blurted out, his voice turning prepubescent again.

“Thank you! You don’t think it was too much? Too flashy?” 

“No, no, I’d say it has the perfect amount of flash.” Ron shot you a lopsided smile. The smile allowed you to relax some, the star struck tension between the two of you almost dispersing completely as you joked back and forth. You soon found yourself sitting in Harry's abandoned seat, chatting away like you had been friends since your school years. 

“So then- then- hold on, stop laughing-Haha! No, shh! We stole my dad's car just to save him! My brothers didn’t even try to talk me out of it! The only thing my older brother said was “yeah, get the car. We’re gonna find out if it’s considered kidnapping if we’re children"! Mum really chewed us out when we got back that mornin’!” Ron finished his 7th story that night while you were enjoying a nice glass of cold water. You couldn’t get over his terrible impressions of his brothers. More than a few times his stories led to you almost choking on your drink or just letting out a loud laugh.

You told him some stories about your life at home too and only got encouraged by his snickering behind his own drink. You were so open with him, telling him stories of quidditch practice and the strange gifts you got from fans, his favorite being a bra with your face hand painted on it. 

More time passed by as you chatted, finally coming around to just playing 20 questions just day to day stuff. Now, it was your turn to ask a question and honestly, the game shouldn’t even be called 20 questions, it was more like 500 questions.

“Ok. Ok. Is it true that you had a thing for Krum?” You grinned when his cheeks turned red. “I heard from a chaser that you were here when we got on the field and our  keeper was willing to bet his life on this rumor that you had a fling with Krum.” 

“N-no, no fling! Just uh- more of a sexual awakening, if you will.” Ron snorted out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes turned away from yours for the first time that night, casting his gaze out across the empty field.

“Ooh! What is the great Ron Weasley’s sexual preference?” You leaned forward, your grin turning to a teasing smirk. You put a hand on his shoulder when he started stuttering over his words. “Come on! You can tell me! I don’t spill secrets.”

“Would hot quidditch players be an acceptable answer?” Ron was playing with a spare ponytail holder on his wrist now, his face turning redder.

“I’d say so.” You smiled, setting down your water glass. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair, Point Breaker. Spill it.” It was Ron’s turn to get cocky as you blushed. 

“May or may not be hot ex-aruros, but who’s keeping track.” You were not going to admit you’d been fanboying over the red-head since his face came across the Daily Profit. While he knew a lot about your game stats and quotes, you knew about the dark wizards he fought against, how he helped Granger and Potter and decided fighting was too much.

“Oh really?”

“I said maybe. Don’t get cocky. Besides, I could mean Harry-”

“I have a feeling you don’t mean him.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“How about a date?” Ron leaned back in his chair, gauging your reaction. He mentally sighed when you didn’t appear grossed out or scared.

“Hmm, let me think. “ You pretended to count stuff on your fingers before smiling at the red-head. “Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure! Tuesday?”

“I’m free after 6.”

“Done.”

[shirtlesssammy]

5x07: The Curious Case of Dean Winchester

A woman sits at home reading tabloid news. Her husband rushes in and doesn’t even greet her as he runs for the bathroom. Once there, he quickly transforms into an old man, and dies. 

The CDC is on the case! Sam and Dean check out the victim -and he does not look like he was born in 1984. Dean calls Bobby to give him the heads up on the case. Dean then asks Bobby how he’s doing, but Bobby isn’t one for emotions.

The brothers then go to interview the wife of another missing man. Dean sneaks off to rifle through the man’s things and finds a receipt to Madame Liu’s Golden Palace. Bingo. 

When Dean and Sam go to investigate the hotel of fun, they don’t find the old man they’re expecting, but a much younger man. 

They almost don’t realize that he’s who they're looking for but Sam notices he has the same tattoo on his arm and Dean had to confirm by looking under the sheets. Oh Dean. Dean also tells the guy he looks great. 

Cliff begs the brothers to not tell his wife. They want to know what his story is. He tells them it’s poker --chips are for years of your life. He won big. The guy running the game is an Irish man named Patrick and he moves around from bar to bar. 

On the phone, Bobby confirms that there’s a lot of lore on this. Sam and Dean split up to find the guy. Bobby grabs his keys. 

Dean stops at a bar and tries talking up the bartender. The bartender tells him where to go with a little bribe. Dean heads to where the game is played, only to run into Bobby. Dean asks Bobby what he’s doing there. Bobby played the game, and lost. BOBBY. 

Dean storms off to find the (man)witch. Dean threatens him with a gun (pre-witch killing bullet days make me laugh --like that isn’t a threat, Dean!) but Patrick tells Dean that if he wants to get Bobby’s years back (WHICH HE DIDN’T HAVE ANYWAY UGH UGH UGH) he’ll have to play for them. 

Dean bets 50 years. He cashes out Bobby’s 25 right away, and Bobby returns to normal. Dean needs to win them back. 

Sam gets back to the motel with food to find an old man there. Well, not really --it’s Dean! They exchange fun barbs about what Dean looks like as an old man while Dean digs into his burger. Bobby pops in and Sam gets to watch a live recreation of Grumpy Old Men, which he’s enjoying IMMENSELY. 

Dean continues to chastise Bobby for being so reckless. Bobby tells Dean he doesn’t understand. Dean then collapses into a chair with heart attack pains. Bobby tells him it’s acid reflux and he’ll “have to put down the cheeseburger.” The struggle is real, Dean. 

They need to head out and win back the 50 years for Dean. As they’re leaving, the housekeeper arrives and finds old man Dean cute as a button. Your charms are worthless, Dean --and Sam and Bobby are delighted. 

They track Patrick, who steals a car, and heads to a high rise apartment building. When he leaves again, they head inside. The elevator is out of service so Sam and Dean head up the stairs alone. Dean’s near exhaustion by the second floor.

 Sam (and eventually Dean) find Patrick’s apartment and break in. There are a lot of unattended candles burning --stressing me out. 

They find a safe but Dean can’t focus on the numbers, lol. Sam breaks it though and they find coins inside. A woman finds them and asks what they're doing (so the candles weren’t unattended, whew.) 

Also, she’s a witch, and Patrick is also there and tells them they can gladly take the chips --they’re just chips. Patrick tells them they’ll have to play if they want the years. 

He won’t play Dean though --he’s not a murderer. They leave, but Patrick gives Sam a parting gift BY CLAPPING.

Sam “Why Do I Get All the Venereal Diseases” Winchester wants to play the poker game. “When you get to be our age,” Dean tells Sam condescendingly as they try to talk him out of it. 

“You’re thirty, Dean!” Sam retorts. Cracks me up EVERY TIME. 

Bobby follows the Winchester playbook by offering to play again - this time for Dean. He argues that it’s worth risking his life. That way, he misses out on the apocalypse. Also, we’re reminded that Bobby hates his paralysis and thinks he’s useless. “I’m old...I’m broke down. I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless.” I tell Bobby that his role was lore and manning the phones for most of the series so far and ANYWAY he ain’t useless. 

Lia greets them at their motel. 

She offers them “the most powerful reversal spell you ever laid your eyes on.” First of all, love the confidence! She tells them that it’ll undo all of Patrick’s spellwork - including her artificial youth. She mysteriously fondles a heart locket at her throat, but I’m sure it isn’t important. 

Patrick plays another game of poker. He’s got a pair of kings, but he folds so the old man he’s playing can live to see his grandchild’s bat mitzvah. Sam enters and remarks on Patrick’s kindness. Then he deals in. 

Meanwhile, Bobby and Dean grouse at each other over a grave. Dean’s OLD and he does not LIKE IT. Bobby has ZERO SYMPATHY. 

For Shadow Puppet Theatre Science:

Sam faces down Patrick, ignoring the gambler’s strategic talk. While Lia distracts Patrick during a break in the game, Sam heads outside and hands Dean Patrick’s toothpick for a little witch DNA. Dean and Bobby do the spell and Dean gets ready to shed several decades. Dean’s “old man” actor continues to delight me. 

Back at the gambler’s den, Patrick taunts Sam with a toothpick. Sam stole the wrong one...no DNA. Patrick tries to force-choke Sam in retaliation.

Lia begs Patrick to stop and confesses that she gave the Winchesters the spell. As for her reasons? Well, she fondles the locket meaningfully. They keep playing. 

Bobby and Dean race to save Sam - they’ve got to get some DNA before the spell will work. At Patrick’s place, Dean tries to find some trace of hair, spit, whatever he can find. Back at the gambling table, Sam places his final bet.

Patrick folds, only to discover that Sam’s bluffing. He tells Sam that Dean’s on the verge of death. (In Patrick’s place, Dean clutches his chest dramatically.) Patrick notes that imperiling Dean turns Sam’s brain into an emotional slush pit. Sam shoves all his chips into the pot. It’s time to end the game. 

Dean rattles out his final breaths as the game wraps up. It looks like Patrick wins, and Lia starts to cry. “For a witch, you're so nice,” Sam notes. “it's actually kind of creepy.” SAM! Don’t be rude. (Can’t wait ‘til you become Witch!Sam.) Sam pauses for dramatic effect and...I remind him that his brother is still dying? He reveals his cards. Sam won!

Dean runs out of the building, leaping with joy at the return of his youth. 

Patrick and Lia sit together. She opens her locket to reveal her daughter...dead from extreme old age and buried long ago. Lia is tired of seemingly eternal youth. She puts in all her chips and they finish the game. They share an emotional farewell as she ages in front of Patrick. 

Back at the motel, Sam “The Clap” Winchester heads out to get a booster shot. Dean apologizes to Bobby for being so hard on him. “You’re not useless, Bobby.”

“You don’t stop being a soldier ‘cause you got wounded in battle. Bottom line is, you’re family. I can’t do this without you.” Dean targets Bobby with his MOST EMOTIONAL FACE and tells him he can’t check out early. Dean needs him. 

Bobby promises, thanks Dean for the sentiment, and then growls about needing to drop the emotional talk before they start growing “lady parts.” SIGH. Dean drops a burger, having learned for one episode to avoid cholesterol. They head out into the sunshine. I marinate in the emotion, until I realize that they never defeated Patrick? Have a nice life, I guess, ManWitch!

Boris: I absolutely adore this episode every time I watch it. I think we praise the actors who play the younger version of Dean so much, but I almost never consciously think about whether that’s a version of Dean or another actor playing Dean ---this actor seamlessly became Dean to me. Magic! Maybe because Dean’s already an old man. I love the case--I love Patrick--I love the look into Bobby’s struggle.

Benjamin Quotin’:

I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit

Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching?

Pound it up your ass, ironsides

 Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[charmandhex]

If you're taking requests can I have blupjeans 4? Please? :0

4. Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft, tender

Hey anon? Hey anon?? You have Real Good Taste.

Special thanks to @capitalnineteen for helping me not panic while writing smooches for the couple that invented love.

~

Lup is content. She has every right to be. This one of the Raven Queen’s babiest Reapers (fine, she’d gotten to the point that repeating Taako’s joke had become unironic) is done with work for the day, having exchanged her feathery cloak and scythe for an impossibly soft oversized cream-colored sweater and thick woolen socks. And if that would seem out of place in the Astral Plane, well, it sure as fuck doesn’t at home, where Lup is comfortably curled up on the couch and under a blue and silver blanket from Istus. In her hands is an open book, its faintly musty scent twining with that of the cinnamon and ginger candle she’d lit earlier.

Outside, it’s a crisp autumn day in the Prime Material Plane. A lively breeze races through the rainbow of leaves still clinging to the trees, while far above a far stronger wind sends faint whisps of clouds sailing through a pale blue sky. The chill in the air heralding the season to come still yields to the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. Only the last reaches Lup here inside though. Golden light pours into the room, setting golden curls and silver yarn shining as well as illuminating the magical symbols and necromantic diagrams painstakingly drawn in the old book.

Okay, so, look, Lup may have picked up the book from a raid on a necromantic cult last week. Maybe.

Lup turns the page and hums. Hm. That’d be an interesting idea for their next at least somewhat condoned if still illicit necromantic experiment.

Okay, she definitely got the book from the raid on the necromantic cult.

The quiet of the room, broken only by the sound of an occasional turn of the page or a gust of wind rattling its way over the windows, is broken by the familiar, delicate rrrrrrrrrrrip of the barrier between this plane and their place of work.

“Hey, babe,” Lup says, looking up from the book as Barry steps through the rift. Her husband’s scythe disappears into nothingness as the tear closes behind him, and he turns to her with a smile.

“Hey, Lup. How is the most beautiful person in any world doing?” Barry asks, taking off his own black-feathered cloak. As expected, beneath the cloak and the scythe and the whole lichy, spooky agent of the Raven Queen vibe, Lup’s husband is as he ever was, one of the plane’s biggest nerds with a denim-clad ass that just won’t quit.

“I don’t know, Barry, how are you doing?” Lup replies, a triumphant smirk on her lips. As expected, even after decades, Barry goes bright IPRE red at the remark.

Barry clears his throat, straightening his glasses, likely trying to will the blush away. Gods, Lup is so in love. “I-I’m great. You?”

“Enjoying my time off, natch.” Lup puts the book down on the coffee table and takes a moment to stretch, cat-like, ears flicking as she does.

“Uh-huh. And how did you manage that?” Barry asks, stepping away toward the line of hooks on the wall where Lup’s cloak already is already hung up.

“I finished my paperwork early,” Lup says, smug and entirely pleased with herself.

Barry pauses, looking back over his shoulder at her. Whatever he sees in her face makes him let out a soft, fond snort as he shakes his head. “What did you bribe Kravitz with?” He calls as he hangs the cloak, trading sensible work boots for slippers. Having fully entered nerd alert mode, Barry quickly returns to his beloved wife.

Lup stifles a snicker, drawing her legs back and patting the newly vacated couch cushion. “How’d you know?”

Barry sits before turning to her, face schooled into solemnity. Lup bites back another giggle. “Well, now, you see, Lup, darling, love of my lives and deaths… liches have True Sight.”

At that, Lup does laugh, and Barry’s face splits into an easy, affectionate smile, the kind Lup might have called sappy if that same smile didn’t turn her own insides to lovey-dovey mush at the sight. If seeing Barry smile like that, at her, because of her, for her, didn’t fill her heart with such love that could anchor her across time and space and still bring her home. But, uh, it kinda does. Like a lot. So she doesn’t say a word, and Lup breaks into her own fond, loving smile.

Slowly, deliberately, just as quietly deliberate as the love they had carefully cultivated for 47 years, Lup rolls forward onto her knees and places her hands on her husband’s warm, steady shoulders. Barry remains still as Lup leans in and kisses him, soft, feather light. Even that simple touch sends a spark through her as the echo of their melody plays in her mind. Lup pulls back and studies Barry for a moment. Half a heartbeat after she does, Barry’s eyes open, and Lup is, not for the first time, struck by the depths of the love in his eyes. Lup’s lips, still electric where they’d touched Barry’s, quirk into a small smile. She leans in again, planting kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, once, twice, three times. The last elicits a quiet laugh, and Lup grins wider as she feels the shaking of his shoulders beneath her hands.

In a flash her arms are wrapped around his neck, tugging him forward as she falls backward into the couch. Barry’s lips are back on hers at once, warm and soft and so familiar. Even in the quiet cycles, where the Light had been found and worlds had been peaceful, there’d always been a sense of urgency, a sense that each kiss could be the last before they lost each other, perhaps for the final time. Now, in the calm and quiet of their comfortable home, in a far happier and more hopeful world- well, they really did have time enough to love each other.

Hey, Lup had said she’d smooch Barry’s brains out when she’d gotten her body back. She most definitely had, but she rather likes continuing to make good on that particular promise.

If the sun is lower in the sky when they finally draw back, breathless, neither of them comments on it. They fidget, rolling onto their sides with Lup throwing the blanket over Barry as well, neither letting go. Comfortable once more, Lup tilts her head in, bringing her forehead to touch Barry’s, their quick breaths mingling.

“Wow,” Barry whispers, seemingly stunned.

Lup might laugh, but for the moment she feels just the same, just as in love and in awe that she is so loved in return. “Taught him how to make elvish bread.”

“Hm?”

“Kravitz. What I traded for paperwork. How to make it. And how to twist it into the right shape.”

That gets Barry’s attention. Gods know he’d spent enough hours having Taako help him practice before presenting anything to Lup. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“How about that?”

“I know, about time, huh?” Lup breathes out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Can we really judge? We took long enough.”

“We took exactly the right amount of time; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Barry’s chuckle seems to reverberate through her, and Lup reaches up to cup his face, running a thumb over his cheek. “Hey, babe?”

“Mm?”

“I think I have a new favorite plane.”

“Mmhmm? Which one?”

Lup leans in to kiss Barry again, but, just before she does, she answers. “This one.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 14: The Reckoning

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,438

Chapter Summary: With Loki gone, Teki finds herself reaching a breaking point.

A/N:  I’m sorry.

This chapter includes depictions of violence.

Thanks for reading!

TW: Graphic violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Somehow, Teki managed to return to her rooms, although she didn’t remember how—she was fairly certain the Queen had offered to escort her back, but she wasn’t sure if she actually had or not. Perhaps she was in shock, or perhaps her mother’s training to keep a mannerly expression was rooted deeper than she realized, but some way or another Teki made it back to her bedroom before she completely fell apart.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. She sobbed into the front of her dress, the words circling her head in an endless chant. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

He was the only person she had, the only person she could talk to, the only person who would listen. He was the only place were she could smile, where she could stretch out and actually breathe instead of suffocating all alone laced into a crimson dress. He was the only person in her life that didn’t have to care about her and somehow the only person who did.

And they had taken him away.

It was clear that her mother and Osvald had known about it. The dressmaker debacle made sense now—it was all planned, to keep her and Loki from protesting until it was too late. That night, Teki face down on her bed, hiccupping into her pillow, listening them whispering outside her door.

“It’s a good thing,” her mother was saying. “Even with her throwing a fit about it. I’m glad the King agreed. He was just mucking everything up.”

Teki turned her head to the wall, staring but not seeing. Empty vials of poison danced across her vision.

Was Daddy mucking everything up too, Mama?

She was still sniffling that night when her door creaked open just a crack.

“Teki?” Brant’s voice was hushed, uncertain. “Can I sleep with you?”

She quickly wiped her cheeks, humming in quiet affirmation as she grasped for her responsible voice. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Ever since he had learned to walk, Brant had been sneaking into her room at night, fleeing his bed and the snarling creatures he was certain lurked in the darkness. He had only stopped this a few months ago, after Osvald found them curled up together one morning and spent breakfast ranting on about how Teki was turning his son into a recreant.

But tonight, Brant shook his head as he crawled under her covers.

She frowned. “Then what’s wrong?”

He stared up at her with wide eyes that glistened in the faint moonlight coming in from the window.

“You’re sad,” he said.

Oh, Brant. Teki pulled him close, and he hugged her back. She rested her cheek against his sandy hair. It was nice to have somebody to hold on to.

“Yes, I’m sad right now,” she murmured. “But it’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll be fine.”

“I have to take care of you,” he whispered solemnly. “Prince Loki told me I’m s’posed to.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Prince Loki?” she asked. “When did he tell you that?”

“He came while you and Mama were gone. He said they were sending him away and he had to talk to you. He said he’d be learning more magic things, so when he came back he’d be able to give me wings.”

Teki bit her lip. She wondered what he would’ve said, had he managed to get to her before they sent him off. She thought of the day of the Games, hidden away in the healer’s tent.

I don’t want you to marry my brother.

Next to her, Brant inhaled.“Teki?” he asked slowly, as if he were afraid to put the thought to words.“Do you think you could maybe marry Prince Loki instead?”

There was a lump in her throat as she pushed his bangs out of his face. “No,” she sighed. “It has to be Thor.” Saying out loud only made the cords around her heart pull tighter.

“I like Loki better,” he whispered, barely a breath.

Teki stared into the nighttime shadows. “So do I.”

Suddenly, Brant grinned through the darkness. "We could run away!” he hissed excitedly. “Prince Loki says there's secret tunnels all over Yggdrasil. We could go through one and meet Loki in Vanaheim!"

"Brant." She hadn't heard that one before, but it sounded like something the prince would tell her brother. Teki felt very tired. "That's just a story. They're aren't any secret tunnels."

"Yes there are! He told me where— I put them on my map!" He sat up, readying to crawl off the bed. "I'll show you!"

Teki pulled him back. She wished she had his steadfast belief in everything-- in magic wings and secret tunnels and happily ever after. As it was, all she could do was hold him closer. "It wouldn't work," she said. "They'd follow us and take us back. It wouldn't work."

For a moment, Brant seemed completely deflated, but then he perked up once again. “If I change my wish, do you think he could make it happen?” he asked excitedly. “Instead of the wings?”

Something about his face, the way hope seemed to radiate from his smile, crushed her even more.

“No,” she whispered. “Nothing’s going to change.”

…

The next week was less of a continuous period of time and more like a string of actions that looped over and over again. She dressed. She played piano for Frigga. She picked halfheartedly at her food. She waited for Thor to ask her to dance, then waited for him to move on once he had. She fell asleep to the empty throbbing of her heart.

Rinse and repeat.

Sometimes at night, she’d  pull Loki’s dagger from its sheath and stared at her reflection in the polished blade, running her hands over the golden snakes on the hilt and wondering what he was doing. He had said he had always wanted to study in Vanaheim. She wondered if he was enjoying it. She hoped he was. Somehow, the thought that he was just as miserable worlds away from her as she was here made Teki feel even worse.

Her mother tolerated her gloom for a bit, but by the end of the week it was clear she was ready to move on.

“I had an idea!” she announced one day after barging into her room without warning. Teki had barely any time to shove the dagger into her nightstand drawer, but luckily her mother didn’t seem to notice her scrambling. “You know those little white cakes you love, that they make for the Winter Festival? I was thinking that perhaps we could convince the chefs to make an early batch. We’re nearing fall after all, and I can’t imagine that they’d refuse a request from the Crown Prince’s bethrothed!”

Teki mumbled a nondescript reply. Speaking to her mother—even looking at her—had suddenly become one of the most difficult tasks throughout the day. She avoided it when she could.

“Or, perhaps the three of us could take a day trip to the countryside! Remember that little cove we visited when Brant was a baby?”

When Teki didn’t even bother to answer this time, her mother huffed indignantly. “Tekla, I am trying here. You can’t just sit and mope in your bedroom forever.”

“Why did you marry Osvald?” Teki asked suddenly. It had been a question that had clung to her like a shadow for the last few days, Loki’s words rattling in her head. Your mother had a plethora of other options. Why Osvald? Of all people?

For a moment, her mother was stunned into silence. She laughed nervously. “Well, your stepfather and I met, and we got along very well, and we felt that we liked each other very much—”

“I don’t believe you.” The Teki of last month—the Teki of last week—would have fainted at the thought of such bitter words, but now she didn’t even flinch.

Her face darkened into a deep scowl. “What do you mean you don’t believe me?”

She should’ve stopped there, but the simmering resentment that had been bubbling within her for so long had just found a vent.

“Why did you really marry him?” she snapped. “What did he do to get you to marry him?”

“Stop!” her mother snapped. “I’ve had enough of this from you! You’ve had your time to sulk, now we have appearences to maintain.” She stormed from the room, only pausing briefly in the doorway to spit one threat. “If you won’t listen to me, then perhaps you should have a talk with your stepfather.”

The door slammed as she left. Teki sat in silence as the vibrations echoed in her eardrums. She had the sudden urge to scream—just to scream, at the top of her lungs until the windows shattered and the very foundations of the palace shook—but she swallowed it.

…

It came to a head the next day. She had just taken Brant for a walk in the gardens—his idea, as he insisted that looking at flowers always made people feel better. It had been sweet sentiment, and Teki tried her best to smile for him as they strolled past the lake, hoping that her brother didn’t realize that the sparkling water only reminded her more of Loki.

When they returned to their apartment, Osvald was waiting just inside. His cold glare immediately screamed trouble, but it wasn’t until she realized what it was that he was holding that Teki’s chest turned to ice.

“I found your little hiding spot.” His voice was low and dangerous as he tapped her father’s journal against his other hand.

Teki didn’t say anything. She watched the journal swing up and down against his palm, hypnotized by the soft beat of worn leather against skin. Besides her, Brant whimpered, gripping her hand more tightly. She didn’t move. Something kept her frozen in place, but it wasn’t the usual chill of fear. No, a single thought broke through the fog in her mind as she watched her only physical memory of her father dance in Osvald’s hands.

How dare you.

“You stole from us,” he continued. “You went through your mother’s things and you stole from us.”

“I didn’t steal anything.” She felt Brant stiffen at her words. You didn’t talk back to Osvald. They both knew this. They both knew what would happen if you did. But the fire blazing within burned through her caution.

Osvald was seemed taken aback by her bitterness, but he recovered quickly. “No?” He stalked closer to her, waving the journal in her face. “You’re lying to me now? Is this what I’ve raised? A filthy, lying little thief?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” she repeated. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to drop her gaze, but she held her glare into his glittering eyes. How dare you. “That book is my father’s. It belongs to me.”

His scowl deepened. “I am your father. And I will not tolerate this behavior—”

“You’ll never be my father.”

She cried out when his fist crashed into her abdomen, doubling over as pain exploded across her ribcage and air rushed from her mouth. Her stepfather grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backwards, slamming into the door. Colors splashed across her vision as her head smacked against the wood. Before she could completely lose her balance, Osvald yanked her up by the front of her dress.

“You think you’re tough, don’t you?” he hissed, throwing her back to the floor. Somewhere in the background, Brant was sobbing. “Brave little bitch.” His boot collided with her chest. Teki’s pained scream almost drowned out the sickening crack from her ribs. His foot came down again.

Her chest was on fire.  

Teki coughed as she struggled to shield her abdomen, the taste of blood metallic and heavy on the back of her throat. He kicked her again, crashing against her lower back. When she gasped for her next breath, it felt like burning coals rushing down her airways.

“You never seem to learn, do you?” he snapped. She braced herself for the next blow, but instead her stepfather cursed.

Painfully, she craned her neck just enough to see her little brother pulling at Osvald’s arm.  “Stop it!” he cried, tears running down his cheeks. “Get away from her!”

No—

Teki fought to get up but her limbs weren’t working properly, everything was throbbing, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe—

Brant shrieked in pain, a horrible screech that cut Teki to her very core. The room shook as a body hit the floor, Osvald growling words that she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart.

Get away him from Brant—get him away from Brant—

Her brother lay lifeless on the ground, Osvald towering over him like some malevolent spirit about to feast. Teki wasn’t sure how she made it to her feet, but once she did, she flung herself at her stepfather with the last shreds of strength she could muster.

He must not have been expecting her to move, because when she collided with him her meager effort was enough to send both of them tumbling to the ground. Her body howled as they hit the hard wood. She had barely enough time to gulp for air before Osvald had her pinned to the floor.

“Is that the game you want to play, you fucking cunt?” he snarled, his hand a vice around her neck. Teki thrashed against his grasp, but he only pounded her head against the floorboards. “Is this what you fucking wanted?”

She couldn’t breathe. Teki clawed at his hand in a panic as she battled for air, scanty gasps that were rewarded with a tighter grip.

She couldn’t breathe!

“Please!” she choked as his wild eyes bored into her. Her vision was going white around the edges. “Please!”

Osvald didn’t budge.

He’s going to kill me.

Tears flooded the corners of her eyes, running down the sides of her head.

Dead dead dead dead dead dead—

Please! she screamed in her head, for her voice no longer worked. Please! Mama! Norns! Somebody!

But it was only Osvald, panting down at her with eyes as black as Hel—

I don’t want to die!

Only Osvald, sneering mouth twisted in laughter because he knew no one else was coming—

… please …

But there was nothing. Even her stepfather dissolved into a million bits of sparkling glitter as Teki faded away into the white abyss.

[jarienn972]

Weathering the Storm - Part Four

For a multitude of reasons, it has been ages since I've been able to update this story. I had the chapter all plotted out, but never seemed to be able to find time (or sometimes just motivation) to write. I appreciate those who reached out to me asking if I planned to update it and I thank you so much for your patience! I absolutely plan to finish it and right now, there are 2 more planned chapters to close everything out.

For now though, since it has been a few months, here’s a quick recap of where we left off in the last chapter: Emma braved the elements to investigate the abandoned Sheriff cruiser, and after seeing the dashcam video, knows that her husband is injured after the disastrous traffic stop. She's made the assumption that Killian would try to make his way to the closest dwelling to the lonely stretch of highway - Zelena's farmhouse. We're going to pick up at that same farmhouse as the unrelenting thunderstorm continues. 

If you’d like to catch up from the beginning, you can find all of the current chapters on FF.net and AO3. Tumblr: Part One  Part Two  Part Three

Despite the warm glow from the flickering orange and gold flames in the fireplace behind her chair, the lingering dreariness of the day was wearing heavily on Zelena's mood. The sky was still laden with dull, grey clouds unleashing unholy torrents of rain upon the farmhouse's metal roof and continuous gusts of wind threatened to blow away the fluttering blue tarp which was only barely protecting them from the elements.

Oh, what she wouldn't have given right now if she could still possess the ability to poof them all away from this isolated outpost deep in the forest. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty and rammed that beat up old jalopy of hers into the Black Fairy. She wasn't particularly good at driving the beast but perhaps she could have managed to get into town… Oh, heavens...who was she kidding? In this weather, she wouldn't have made it to the end of the drive, and anyway, the ugly, metal death-trap was still sitting on a lot in town, rusting away as it awaited repairs. It hadn't been a high priority to fix when she'd had electricity and a working telephone to call Regina who'd pop in with supplies and whatever if she needed a hand with something. If she couldn't solve the problem with magic from a distance, she'd drive out to help her sister and niece, but she certainly couldn't do that right now.

At least, she could be thankful for the simple fact that Robin would sleep through almost anything when she had a full tummy. She couldn't recall the exact time she'd put her daughter down for her afternoon nap, but she estimated that it had been about an hour and a half, meaning her child was going to awaken soon and Zelena would have to figure out a way to entertain a cranky toddler in a dark, drafty house. For now though, the exasperated mom was enjoying the quiet reprieve from this stress-filled day before Robin was awake and wanting to play ,and then Zelena would also have to figure a way to keep the baby from bothering their guest.

Their guest.

How long had it been now since Hook showed up sopping wet on her doorstep? Two hours? Closer to three? Surely Emma would have realized that something was amiss if she'd not heard from her husband by now. How long might it take before someone realized that he was lying on her sofa right at this very moment? He was still semi-peacefully slumbering after taking a swig of the children's pain reliever which might have taken enough of the edge off to allow him to rest - or he'd just passed out from sheer agony and exhaustion.

Either way, she tried to distract herself with a little bit of reading by the firelight. The dancing flames cast odd shadows across the pages making the text difficult to see at times, but then she wasn't fully paying attention to the prose before her. She could scarcely recall a thing she'd read from the prior chapter, much less the last paragraph. She just needed something - anything - to keep her weary mind occupied during this brief reprieve. She was going bloody stir crazy, even beginning to believe she was hearing things that weren't there. She'd swear she just heard something rapping on the kitchen window, but quickly dismissed the thought, figuring it was just the swirling wind rattling the creaky door.

Until she was certain that she heard the sound of her name being called over the howling of the storm.

**********

Emma had briefly considered poofing herself right into the center of Zelena's kitchen, but decided against it at the last second, instead materializing from a cloud of pale grey smoke on the front porch instead. While she was somewhat protected from the storm by the narrow extension of the roof, rain water poured over the eaves in sheets. Considering that the gravel driveway leading up from the road had morphed into a shallow, muddy lake, the porch was relatively dry in comparison, although Emma wasn't certain just how protected she was from Mother Nature's fury when a bolt of lightning lit up the darkened skies. The tin roof above her head probably wasn't the safest right now…

She took a long stride closer to the door, wiping away some condensation from the glass with her sleeve as she peered through the window. She couldn't make out much inside the empty kitchen as it was fairly dark with a faint orangish glow in the distance. Zelena probably had a fire burning to provide some light and heat to stave off the chills with the power still out. She couldn't hear any voices emanating from the interior of the house, but it was possible that the noise of the rain striking the metal roof was drowning out any sounds from inside. But in the dim backlight provided by the firelight, Emma could make out a dark mass draped around the back of one of the ladderback chairs - a shape that looked decidedly like the collar and shoulders of a coat. A dark coat that had enough of a sheen on its surface to reflect the warm hue of the flames. Just like a certain black leather coat that her husband had been wearing when he departed for the station this morning.

Please, let that be Killian's coat, she begged of whatever higher power might be listening as she knocked anxiously on the window. Not noticing any movement inside the farmhouse, she rapped again, but this time on the wooden door instead of the glass as her sight fell upon a ruddy stain upon the white paint. Was that blood?

"Zelena?" she shouted, hoping that her voice would carry louder than her knocking. "Zelena? Are you in there?" Well, that was a stupid question...Of course she had to be inside. Most people wouldn't leave home with a fire still burning and where exactly would she go? Even if she'd managed to get her crappy car running, there was no way she would have made it into town in this downpour. She probably wouldn't have reached the end of the driveway… "Zelena!" she cried out even louder this time.

Seeing the familiar hue of the former witch's wild auburn hair through the steamed up glass, Emma's nerves abated momentarily and she let out a relieved exhale as the door was yanked open.

"Emma?" a startled Zelena muttered as she found the drenched, blonde sheriff standing at her doorstep, but her mood instantly lifted. "I am so happy to see you! I was hoping that you'd soon figure out your husband came here to seek help."

"Thank goodness. There weren't many places he could have gone, so I was really hoping he made it here. He recorded the whole thing on the dashcam, so I know he was shot. Is he alright?" Emma tried to keep her nerves in check, but as she rambled on, she knew she was failing miserably.

"He's in on the sofa. He's sleeping right now. Well, at least I think he's sleeping… He's been in and out of consciousness," Zelena explained as she waved Emma inside. Emma brushed past the redhead who closed the door quickly before the wind blew any more of the never-ending precipitation into the kitchen. Zelena continued detailing all she'd done to help, even though she doubted Emma heard half of it. "I've tried my best to get the bleeding under control. It isn't near as heavy as it was before, but he still lost a lot. The bullet that hit him went clean through and I don't think anything too vital was struck, but I really don't know for certain. He's still a bloody mess and a bit feverish. I tried giving him some of Robin's baby ibuprofen to help with the pain too, but I don't have a bloody clue how well that worked..."

Half-listening as she rounded the corner into the living room, Emma made a bee-line over to the sofa where she discovered her husband curled on his side with a woolen blanket draped over him. Even with the golden glow cast by the flames, his skin bore a deathly pallor. "Oh, Killian…," she sighed as she dropped to her knees on the floor beside him. She cupped her palm around his cheek, finding it cool and clammy beneath the warmth of her fingers. A muted, but guttural moan escaped his throat as he stirred at her touch. He blinked twice in the low light but as his sight adjusted, his eyelids parted fully to focus on the unexpected, but magnificent face of his true love.

"Swan?" he mumbled, his muddled brain trying to determine if she was real or just a cruel hallucination.

"It's me," Emma smiled, happy to find him conscious and communicative. "I'm here and I'm going to get you help…"

"Now that you can heal him, it'll all be fine," Zelena spoke up. "I would have already done that if I still had my magic, but now Emma can get you all fixed up," she gave a nod to Killian but the expression that crossed Emma's face confused her.

"Unfortunately, it isn't quite that simple…," Emma groaned in frustration. "Because this situation involved criminals from outside of Storybrooke, I had to have David notify the state police and put out a bulletin to watch for the vehicle. They'll have questions about the shooting, and if the deputy who they can see being shot on dashcam footage is suddenly, miraculously healed, those questions are going to get uncomfortable and weird and cast doubt on the whole thing. I don't even think that saying Killian was wearing a bulletproof vest would hold up under the circumstances…"

"So, what does that mean?" Zelena questioned.

"I'll have to get him back to Whale - transport him directly to the hospital…"

Emma was cut off mid-sentence as the storm unleashed a tremendous gust of wind that blasted through the broken window, billowing out the tarp until the nails could no longer hold and the resulting gush extinguished the fire. Swirls of raindrops, leaves and other debris were forced through the opening as the tarp floundered and flopped about the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, she spun around and raised her hands. In a split-second, a magical wave of bright light filled the room, vanquishing the tarp and all of the storm debris as it repaired the damaged window, restoring it to its original state like its twin further down the living room wall.

Zelena breathed a sigh of relief as the threat of further damage subsided for the time being, even though the room was plunged into darkness without the flames illuminating it. She wasn't going to miss that ugly plastic sheet, nor would she miss the drafts and rainwater that seeped in around its edges.

"Thank you for fixing that awful eyesore," Zelena said as Robin let out a terrified wail after being awakened by all of the commotion. "I'm coming, my love," she assured her daughter but she also gave Emma a quizzical look before heading over to the play yard. "Do you think you're going to have to explain that one?" she asked Emma with a gesture towards the repaired window.

"Hopefully, it won't come to it, but I suppose I'll think of something, if necessary," Emma replied as she turned her attention back to her wounded husband while Zelena scooped up a whimpering toddler. "Okay, one crisis averted," she whispered as she gently squeezed her husband's bicep through the blanket. "Let's get you into town so we can get you fixed up too."

Killian gave a weak nod and allowed his eyes to fall closed again as he steeled himself for teleportation, never knowing how rough the landing may be when they re-materialized. The commonplace of magical transport was something this grizzled mariner was still getting used to.

"Take us with you," Zelena interrupted. Unprepared for such a request, Emma glanced upward into the pleading eyes of the redhead who was still bouncing a teary-eyed toddler on her hip.

"What?" Emma stammered, her brow knitted in confusion. Had she heard that right?

"Please… Will you transport us there with you? I promise, we will be out of your way as soon as we get there. I'll call Regina to come pick us up, but I can't stay isolated out here in this bloody storm with no power and no way to get in touch with anyone. I hate not having magic anymore… I don't want to be a bother, but please…?"

"Um...sure, I guess," Emma responded. "For everything you've done for Killian today, I suppose it's the least I could do."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" the former witch gushed. "Let me grab Robin's things. I'll be less than a minute!" She scurried into the bedroom to collect Robin's diaper bag as well as a jacket for each of them, then quickly darted into the kitchen to grab the baby's pre-made evening bottle, which the little one eyed greedily as they returned to the living room. Her final task was to toss a pitcher of water onto the smoldering remnants of the fire to ensure it was completely out before they vacated the farmhouse. Returning to Emma's side, Zelena gave her daughter a tight hug and exclaimed: "All ready."

"Then off to Storybrooke Hospital we go," Emma stated, swishing her wrist before the magical cloud enveloped them.

[masterweaverx]

Pit Stop

"So you hear about that Ruby transmission?"

Cinnamon chuckled. "It's all anybody's talking about," she said as she handed a plate to him. "We only get spotty transmission out here, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but... still." The customer laughed a little awkwardly. "Atlas being under attack, magic being real, this... Salem person... It's a lot."

Cinnamon nodded, looking around the pub. It wasn't anything too fancy, they were just a village after all, but it was an informal gathering spot for both the villagers themselves and travelers just passing through. Some tables had people clustered around them, while others had but a single customer apiece; it wouldn't have been anything unusual if it weren't for the hushed murmurings and occasional glances northward.

"Well, it's only been about a day, right?" Cinnamon reassured the man. "They're probably still holding out up there."

"...right." The man took his fork and began poking at the food in front of him.

Cinnamon sighed, heading back behind the counter. It was a slow day... which, given what that Ruby girl had said, was only to be expected. The casual vibe of the pub didn't really gel with the tension in the air; even the stress drinkers had just dropped by, bought a bottle or two, and walked out. She could see some of her customers eyeing the kegs.

Just scrub the glasses, she told herself. Scrub the glasses and look calm and relaxed. She wasn't a huntress, but damned if she didn't know the importance of image in keeping negativity down...

They'd get updates, eventually. Probably from some force heading up from Vale. Or... maybe, if things were really horrible, from some Atlesian refugees. No matter what, it would take a few days.

She couldn't help worrying, of course, who wouldn't be worried, but it wasn't like she could make time move faster. It had only been a day, after all.

There was a strange sound from outside, an oddly growling hiss. For a moment Cinnamon gripped her cleaning rag tighter. There would have been shouts from the lookouts if Grimm were approaching, right? Unless they'd been so rattled by the transmission that they forgot to--

--no. Even with that message, they wouldn't have abandoned their posts. They didn't during the fall of Beacon, after all.

"Somebody's just messing with burn Dust," she suggested casually, to nobody in particular. "Probably just a few teens... hopped up on bravery and wanting to go fight monsters in Atlas, you know?"

There were a few chuckles, but they were strained. The sort that were made by obligation--

One of the customers, leaning to peer out a window, jumped back with a yelp. "It's--! There's a Grimm woman!" he gasped. "It's gotta be Salem!"

Another customer rolled her eyes with a nervous chuckle. "Okay, you've probably had a bit too much to drink--"

Twinkli-linki-link...

Cinnamon looked at the door as it swung open, and her breath caught in her throat. The figure that practically glided in was breathtaking, in the same way a Sea Feilong was; tall, elegant, pristine, and as clearly capable of slaughter as any Grimm she could name. Her black dress, lined with red, certainly made her look like one; it was a resemblance only furthered by her bone-white hair and skin. Purplish veins crawled up her arms and under her sleeves, reemerging round her neck to frame a pair of dark eyes--utterly black, save for the rings of red that ross from their shadowy depths.

One hand was wrapped around an ornate golden staff, which was capped with a blue gem. The other, bearing a ring that resembled nothing so much as a beetle, gestured around the room surprisingly gently.

"I see you have a table available."

It took Cinnamon a couple of seconds to process that. She looked to see that, yes, there was an empty table--there were quite a few, in fact. "Ah... so I do," she replied, voice quavering.

"I believe we will take it. If you would be so kind...?"

Cinnamon put down her glass, quickly reemerging from the bar. "Right this way, ma'am," she said automatically.

The tall woman walked past her, and only then did Cinnamon register the second woman following behind her. The gold-embroidered black garb she wore was short but elegant, much like the hair covering her eyepatch. In fact, she almost looked like a freshly graduated huntress; if it weren't for the fact her left arm consisted of Grimm flesh and the way her amber eye produced literal fire, Cinnamon wouldn't have any idea why she'd be smugly trailing after the bone-white woman.

She shared a nervous look with one of the customers, flicking her eyes toward the door. The man's eyes widened, and he nodded subtly, casually walking out as the new pair seated themselves.

"...So." Cinnamon said, forcing her fear out of her voice. "What will it be?"

"Oh, nothing too much," the pale woman assured her. "A small meal will suffice."

The younger woman frowned for a moment, but nodded. "Perhaps... do you have fish and chips?" she asked.

Cinnamon almost said no, out of habit, but cut herself off. "We... have a salmon soup," she offered hesitantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other customers quietly filing out.

"Hmm." The younger woman shakes her head. "I'd prefer something more... solid."

"Would a chicken sandwich do the trick?" Cinnamon offered.

The younger woman nodded. "I think it would, actually."

"And..." Cinnamon turned to the beautiful violation of all she had ever thought she'd known. "What will it be for you, ma'am?"

The Grimm woman smiled wryly. "I don't suppose you serve the souls of the innocent here."

"No ma'am. Innocence is a rare commodity these days."

The younger woman actually smirked at that. "Isn't it though."

"Well... perhaps I shall have the salmon soup," the woman offered.

"Of course." Cinnamon took a quick look around the pub; it was almost empty now, save for one horrified customer staring at the scene. She turned back to the pair. "It might be a minute."

"We have all the time in the world."

Cinnamon nodded, heading around the bar. "Get out of here," she hissed to the last customer as she passed.

"You're just serving them--?"

"The longer they're here the longer you have to get to Vale, now move!"

The customer blinked twice, before her eyes widened. She vacated her table with haste, rushing out the door.

"I'm beginning to think the locals don't like us," the younger woman noted calmly.

Shit.

"Ah, it's nothing too much," Cinnamon assured her as she went behind the counter. "Just a bit nervous about celebrities visiting our little village."

"Celebrities?"

Cinnamon very carefully put the pot of soup on the stove, stirring it slowly. "You didn't catch the transmission?"

"Ah," said the bone-white woman. "So, Ruby Rose's message did reach the outside world."

"Whole world, if I heard right." Cinnamon set aside a plate, carefully putting together a sandwich.

"Wait, what transmission?" The young woman looked from Cinnamon to the other. "Was that what Penny was doing with Amity?"

"It was," the bone-white woman replied. "If I recall, you were unconscious at the time."

The younger woman stiffened... and then bowed her head. "I... yes, master. I made an error in judgment."

"Mmm..." The bone-white woman put a hand on her shoulder. "Not all lessons can be taught gently, Cinder."

Cinnamon checked the soup, subtly activating the recording function on her scroll. "So, yeah. What happened after that anyway?"

The bone-white woman gave her a coy smile. "Now, why do you ask that?"

"I'm just a small village chef," Cinnamon replied, pouring the soup into a bowl. "Can't help but be curious about the outside world."

The younger woman--Cinder--examined her Grimm nails. "It was a very busy day in Atlas, honestly."

Cinnamon assembled the sandwich, taking the bowl and plate out to her customers. "I guess it'd have to be. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I suppose I wouldn't mind a glass of wine," the bone-white woman allowed.

"Just water for me," Cinder added.

"Of course." Cinnamon prepared the drinks, surreptitiously looking out the window. Entire families were loading up tightly in the delivery trucks, rolling out through the gates--

"Is something going on out there?"

"Farmers headed out to bale hay," Cinnamon lied smoothly. "Big deal for us small-town folk."

Cinder gave her a look as she put the glasses down. Cinnamon shrugged, retreating behind the counter.

For a minute or two, the only sounds came from Cinder and the other woman quietly eating. She could see how much Cinder savored every bite. And... the other one, she did seem to enjoy the wine, if the way her eyebrow quirked was anything to go by.

"...Three questions."

Cinnamon looked up, keeping a mask of calm even as her heart pounded.

"You have been an excellent host," the bone-white woman continued, "and you reek of fear. So. Three questions."

"Ah." Cinnamon glanced at her hidden scroll, still recording the entire conversation. "How's Atlas doing, you reckon?"

"Oh, it's flooded," Cinder replied casually. "Entire city."

Cinnamon blinked at her, almost opening her mouth--but, no, three questions. Atlas, flooded... well, it was a floating rock, for one. How could they get water up there? Even with a magic rainstorm... no, it didn't make sense. A city in the sky couldn't...

...unless...

Cinnamon swallowed carefully. "I see... what happened to the survivors?"

Cinder frowned, biting into her sandwich aggressively.

"Apparently miss Rose came up with a scheme to get them all to Vacuo," the bone-white woman replied, sipping at her soup. "Which, of course, means I'll be meeting them again fairly soon."

Her smile was far too soft for such a threat. It almost looked motherly, in a way.

Cinnamon felt her heart beating. She glanced out the window again. She couldn't see anybody.

"...How am I going to die?"

The bone-white woman turned to her, then. "Now that is certainly an interesting question. Especially as I don't have an answer. What do you think, Cinder?"

Cinder finished her sandwich, taking a long draft from her glass.

"I think she has options," she said eventually. "We could lock her in this building, weld the doors shut so she can't escape with the rest of her village. I could burn her to death, or freeze her. You could summon any number of Grimm, or even use magic."

"We might do nothing at all," the other woman mused. "Let nature take its course."

"...we could take her with us," Cinder offered. "Hazel was our primary chef, before... well, before."

The bone-white woman quirked a brow. "And how would we carry her?"

Cinder glanced at the staff. "We're not using that for anything right now. An airship would be easy."

The bone-white woman considered this. Cinnamon felt her hands trembling.

"...I will prepare the airship," the woman finally said, standing up. "You will help our new... associate gather what she needs."

Cinnamon flinched as Cinder stood up, quickly ending the recording and sending it out on broadcast. "I, uh, I'm... it might take me a few tries to get your food like you like it--"

The bone-white woman smiled at her. "Oh, don't worry. I have all the time in the world."

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Thirty-Three: I Partake in a Really Stupid Full Frontal Assault

For a couple of minutes, she had been doing great.

Aletheia blended in seamlessly with the weapons of the other dead demigods. Her helmet was old enough that it didn’t raise suspicions, and the chest plate covered up her mortal clothes just right. She was able to scream and sprint right through the crowd which parted for her as they continued their battles with one another.

The trick was so simple but so dangerous, she had to believe nobody would think twice. There was really no other option.

“AUGHHHHH!” She shouted, ducking under a spear and continuing her sprint. One demigod scuttled backward in shock as she waved her sword around furiously. Another cheered alongside her, excited to see the shedding of more blood.

She blocked a spear, pushed away a smaller demigod's shield, and kept charging. Swords swiped over her head in passing as other demigods clashed with one another, screaming just as loudly as she was.

Holy Hermes. This was actually going to work.

Soon, she was just another blip in the field. Another helmet-covered face in the crowd. Her own human flesh was hardly any different from the revived bunch, and they couldn’t see much around her covered face. Her hands were moving too quickly around her sword to zone in on. Most of them were too focused on staying alive. Or… less dead?

She was starting to feel much more confident. Between her secret weapon buried in the straps of her armor and the rush of adrenaline from throwing herself into battle, she easily crossed two or three football fields through the rush until she was really neck deep in the battle. The portal was barely visible on the top of the hill around the swarms of demigods.

Just for a moment, she faltered. She’d run straight through the thick of it and had been for at least a few minutes to cross that much space. Was Amity still behind her? She turned, ready to spare a glance when a horrible roar shot a chill right down her spine.

She knew that voice.

She turned back towards the portal and the ongoing crowd, watching as a demigod right in front of her was sliced through the chest, his body being thrown back into another demigod with a horrible crash.  

Right in the middle of the chaos was a demigod she was hoping to never see again. Achilles.

He’d swapped out of his muscle tank for a bronze chest plate, and if he’d had a helmet at some point he didn’t anymore. His eyebrows were knitted together and narrowed in focus as he slashed and hacked. But this wasn’t like the Achilles who’d been scoffing at Theseus by the mine or picking fights with Luz and her friends back in the mountain.

This Achilles felt much more serious. Almost like he actually feared the battle. This might have reassured some, especially since Achilles was known for his arrogance and power, but to Luz, this only made him seem that much more deadly.

It looked almost effortless the way he lifted his sword, slashing down another demigod barely taller than her. He’d obviously swapped his spear for a far more deadly weapon, a five-foot bronze falcata. Luz couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that Amity had been the one to kill him again, but right now all she could worry about was trying to get around him without being noticed.

As she tried to skirt around the edges of the battling demigods, she almost had her head knocked clean off by another sword. She raised her own to deflect it, meeting the gaze of a young demigod who couldn’t have been much younger than Achilles, though he looked nothing like him. While Achilles had layers upon layers of muscle, this demigod was almost skinny, with mischievous brown eyes behind his helmet, and smooth tan skin despite the half-dead, half-alive look the revived demigods had. He swung with his own xiphos, and Luz barely had a second to deflect before he swung again.

This demigod was fast. He was also cocky, and he turned his head to eye Achilles with an almost devilish smile.

“Just like old times, eh? Is this what you’ve been getting up to while I’ve been waiting my turn for revival?”

Luz had a moment to jump away when another demigod slashed forwards, and he had to deflect. She did her best to blend back in the crowd at the distraction, especially when she heard another sharp cutting of metal and a scream, followed by Achilles' angry shout, “Patroclus, be more careful!”

Luz continued to slash and hack her way through the crowd, her only thought to put as much distance between her and Achilles as possible. She was draining fast, and not just because the demigod Patroclus had been stronger than she’d thought. Her arms ached from working in the mines and then charging into battle, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any sleep at all.

If she didn’t get to the other side soon, she’d drop from exhaustion.

She continued the charge, deflecting swipe after swipe and making sure her face covered by the protection of the helmet. She didn’t know if any of these demigods had fought her inside the mountain, but she did not want to be recognized here.

She could see the portal in sight now. It was maybe less than a hundred feet up the mountain, surrounded by demigods, yes, but at least in her line of sight. If Amity was already at the top, she would just have to wait until she spotted her before she used the flame to open the portal one more time and pull Amity through with her.

But that wasn’t the plan. And as much as it pained Luz to admit that she couldn’t just sneak her way out of this one, Amity had made a really good point. The quest couldn’t end until Belos was taken care of for good. And Luz had the closest thing to a plan strapped to her back.

But he wasn’t in sight. And Luz had no idea where he would be if not by the portal.

As she met another demigod's strike, she scanned the crowd desperately for Amity. She would know what to do and where to go. She just needed to find her.

She was so focused on scanning the crowd she had no time to react as another demigod lunged from her left. She had no choice but to lean as best she could, and white-hot pain seared across her side as the sword split the armor and grazed her ribs. The pain was excruciating, doubling by the tenfold just from being in the Underworld. Blood spilled down her side, and the demigod who’d cut her froze, his mouth dropping at the sight.

In between painful breaths, Luz realized revived demigods weren’t supposed to bleed. Before he could sound the alarm, she lashed out, spearing him right through the chest with Aletheia and watching as his body disintegrated.

If she didn’t close the portal soon, he’d be back.

Stumbling through the crowd half-blinded by the pain, she scuttled behind a group of boulders nestled about fifty feet from the portal. Hiding behind them, she dropped to her knees and inhaled sharply, clutching at the wound with her hand and hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding. When she looked down to assess the damage, her head spun.

It felt bad because it was bad. It wasn’t deep enough to kill her right away, but it was long enough and bleeding enough that it was soaking through her shirt and down her armor. If she had nectar or ambrosia, she’d have been fine, but she didn’t and she had a mission to complete.

She needed to pull herself together. But right now, all she could think about was the pain in her side.

She pictured Amity, rolling her eyes at her stupidity. “What did I tell you, Luz?” She’d say with an annoyed sigh and a crinkle between her brows. “Don’t look back!”

She’d be right of course. Luz did look back. Exactly what she told her not to do. Her nose crinkled, thinking about the last demigod in the Underworld who wasn’t supposed to look back. She didn’t like the idea of making the same mistake Orpheus had.

As she struggled to catch her breath, breathing through the pain, she realized that the shouting and the brawling from behind her had quieted. Completely quieted.

“Oh no,” she whispered, already dreading what that meant.

She had to get back out there. Pull herself to her feet and climb to the portal. But every time she tried to stand, her vision went fuzzy. She leaned against the rock for support, eventually managing to use the ridges of the boulder to stand.

Behind the rock, the gathering demigods were sheathing their swords and turning to face the portal. As Luz’s eyes trained upwards, her lip curled on its own accord.

Belos was standing at the stop next to the portal, his white cloak shimmering and his neon eyes boring down on the gathering demigods. The crack in his mask from where Luz had stabbed him was still there, and in his hand, he was holding his pointed staff.

He was waiting for the crowd to settle. He must have called for their attention. Luz saw Theseus standing with a man in white robes and a golden chest plate, and then Achilles and Patroclus moving forward to take a position just to their left. Orpheus was on their right, still without a bow, his hand wrapped tightly around the shoulder of a woman wielding a dagger.

“Children of the gods!” He called, extending his hands as he spoke. His voice echoed around the clearing of the Underworld, rattling inside Luz’s ears. More magic. “Today, we rally together for the last time. With the strength of the portal I have created, we will charge onto Mount Olympus and tear it down brick by brick!”

There was a chorus of cheering from the gathering demigods. Spears slamming into the earth, swords clacking against shields, it was chaos. Belos lifted his hand again, and it was silent once more.

“Every one of you is here for a reason. Whether you were scorned by the gods for your skill, bravery, or passion, I have lifted you all from the darkness of the Underworld and brought you life once again! I have revived back your allies, your friends, your loved ones, and together we will grant ourselves a new life on the mortal world. It will be ours for the taking, and I, your Emperor, will lead you in glory and rid the world of the gods who have wronged us!”

Luz swallowed as cheering erupted once again. So that was why the demigods joined up with Belos. It was about more than revenge. In payment for his service, Belos had brought back Achilles’ boyfriend Patroclus. That man next to Theseus… that was his father who’d leaped off the roof of the palace when he returned home. That woman with the dagger was Euridyce, the woman who’d faded after Orpheus looked back.

Belos raised his hands again. “But children, we are not done yet. There is one more demigod who must join our ranks, and lead the charge on Olympus beside us as an ally!”

He waved someone forward, and from behind his shoulder came a shadowy spirit. The misty figure of-  

Luz’s heart stopped.

Amity crept forward, and the crowd erupted into jeers.

“Aphrodite’s brat!”

“What is she doing here?”

“Send her to the Fields of Punishment!”

Luz lunged out from behind the rock and towards the crowd, falling into rank as she lurched forward with the rest of the demigods. Her side screamed out at her and she stumbled as she charged, leaning on her sword for support. Had the whole crowd not erupted into fury, she would have been caught for sure.

“Now, now! Hold my children!” Belos called, his voice silky and smooth. The crowd came to an uneasy but eventual stop. Luz didn’t move, now between the second row of demigods less than fifty feet from Belos. Her heart was hammering with questions. How did Amity get there? What did Belos want with her? But as the misty face of Amity scanned the crowd and found her, there was something almost pleading in her gold eyes that made Luz want to charge forward and forget the plan altogether. She had to get to her, had to get her out of Belos’ slimy gloved hands and through the portal-

“We all know what the gods are capable of. They use us as their pawns, and very few of us ever learn that in life. Some of us die painful deaths and only then do we learn the truth. We mustn’t hold that against every demigod that wants to join our ranks.”

He gestured Amity forward, who took a few more tentative steps towards the crowd.

“Amity here has repented to me, and seeks to join us, just as many of you have before.”  

Luz sought to meet Amity’s eyes again, and though her face was neutral, hiding most of her fear, Luz could see right through it. This was a desperate act. A distraction she was praying Luz understood.

She scanned the clearing, looking for any kind of out for them. She was hyper-aware of the blade on her back, pleading with every god she could think of that she would find a way to get to Amity and kill Belos, all while running through the portal without being killed by the swarms of angry demigods.

The odds weren’t great.

“But, I am favorable to the feelings of those I have revived,” Belos continued, his voice dropping dangerously. Chills shot up Luz’s spine, already dreading what he was going to say next. “I require that one of my soldiers vouch for the strength and dedication of Amity Blight. Should any hero welcome her into my army, she will be rewarded with life. Should nobody volunteer… well, the Styx always welcomes new souls into its depths.”

Amity’s misty face, if possible, paled even further. Laughter range out around the gathering demigods, many of their faces twisting in malicious delight.

“Oh gods,” Luz hissed under her breath. Panic was quickly rising in her chest. She needed a plan, and fast.

When nobody stood forward, Belos tisked, but it was almost like a cat ready to play with its prey. There was nothing reassuring about it.

“Come now, nobody vouches for her? What about you, Achilles? This Blight did best you on Mount Pelion.”

More snickering rose, especially from Patroclus on his right, and Achilles stepped forward, his face red with both embarrassment and barely concealed anger.

“Beating me once is simply a fluke. This Blight will bring nothing to our table.”

Belos hummed as the crowd broke out into more cheers. “Very well. And you, Orpheus?”

The demigod stepped forward, turning up his nose at Amity. “I would hardly call this one strong. At my manor in Kansas, she could barely stand, never mind tear down Olympus.”

Luz grit her teeth in fury as the crowd cheered again, clenching her sword tight in her hand. Her rage was rising in her chest, so quickly she was easily able to block out the horrific pain in her side.

“My, my, this sure is a tough crowd,” Belos chuckled, leaning into his staff. “What about you, Theseus? You had quite the hand in this quest.”

Theseus shot Belos a cocky little smile, stepping forward almost too casually. “I was more invested in the little Noceda girl. While I’m sure she would be devastated to find out her friend is a traitor, I see no need in keeping her around. All loose ends should be tied if you truly want my opinion.”

Luz was seeing red as the crowd burst into more cheers. She took a few more steps forward, so infuriated by the arrogance of the revived demigods she wanted to just shank Aletheia right through all of them.

The second she thought it, Luz came right to a halt, an idea bubbling forward before she could stop it. Arrogance. That was all of their fatal flaws. These demigods were all so arrogant, their pride came before everything else. A demigod would sooner die than admit they were wrong, or that their actions were their own faults. It’s what had brought every single one of them here, to this clearing in the Underworld.

Maybe all Luz had to do was blow it up. Fight fire with fire, arrogance on arrogance.

Belos was still chuckling, clearly amused by the gambling of Amity’s afterlife. Next to him, Amity was standing completely still. Luz would do whatever it took to get her out of there, and she had a pretty good feeling that if done right, this would work.

“Come now, children,” Belos cooed, “will none of you vouch for Amity Blight?”

Luz gathered up all her strength, and with a deep breath, charged straight out of the crowd and towards Belos. There was a series of shocked gasps from the demigods as she did, and Belos’ eyes watched her curiously as she stepped forward, reaching for her helmet and throwing it off her head and onto the floor. For just a moment, deep satisfaction ran through Luz as she watched Belos’ eyes widened, obviously floored she was standing in front of him.

“I will, Belos,” she said, pointing her sword at him. “Amity is the strongest, bravest, and most honest demigod I know, and anybody would be honored to have her fight alongside them. That’s why I’m going to kill you and destroy this portal once and for all. I challenge you!”

There was half a second of complete silence. Most of the crowd looked stunned, mouths open and shoulders hunched in awe. Next to Belos, Amity shot her a proud little half-smile that sent butterflies right through her chest. Then, a furious roar began to take over the crowd. Luz braced herself, ready to be run right through by a hundred swords when Belos’ eyes narrowed and a deep shout, louder than anything she’d ever heard in her life, belted across the clearing.

“THAT IS ENOUGH.”

An eerie hush fell over the crowd. Luz couldn’t see behind the dark narrowing of his neon blue eyes, but she imagined that Belos’ jaw was grinding his teeth together. She’d put him in a tough position. Ignore the challenge, and he looked weak. Accept, and there was a chance he would lose.

“You think you’re special, demigod?” He hissed, stepping forward and gripping his staff. “You think that some prophecy will save you? A new age will dawn, whether you like it or not. And here you are, bleeding out on my soldiers field, ready to die for this cause.”

“I’m not special, and neither are you!” Luz retorted, taking two confident steps forward. “All I see is a cowardly demigod unwilling to fight his own battles and command his army. You hide behind others to do your dirty work. What makes you better than the gods?”

There was an uncomfortable shuffle in the crowd as they processed what Luz was saying. Belos laughed, shaking his head.

“I brought them life again! I will bring them a new world of peace!”

“You scare them into submission,” Luz said certainly. “You’d make no better a leader than the gods. That’s why I’m going to stop you for good. Right here, right now.”

Luz didn’t have to look behind her to know that the gathering demigods were considering what she was saying. It was all over Belos’ face. Right there, for just a moment, she was more arrogant than him. She had control, and he was going to fight her tooth and nail to get it back.

“Alright, little demigod,” he hissed, spinning his staff into a sword. “Let’s play.”

He charged right at her, and Luz met his first strike furiously with one of her own. A deep metal clang echoed around the clearing, and for a moment, both of them strained against one another. Luz ducked, letting the force of his sword throw him off balance, and aimed a stab at his calf. Belos deflected, and Luz had no choice but to step back as he swung again.

“Sloppy work at best,” Belos spat, and Luz grit her teeth, reading her next swing. Behind them, the roar of the crowd spurred her on, and she made brief eye contact with Amity, who was discreetly trying to make her way towards the portal. Her expression told it all to Luz: make it quick.

She was right. Luz might have been angry, but so was Belos. She needed to keep matching him, arrogance for arrogance until he let his guard down just enough…

Metal met metal again. Luz kept at him, swipe after swipe. But she was weakening, lightheaded, and exhausted, and she had no idea how much longer she could keep this up. The only reason she was still alive was that Belos was taken aback because she had been the one to issue the challenge. He was surprised, but she was out of his depth.

It didn’t take long. He smacked the flat end of his blade hard against her shoulder, and she stumbled backward and hit the ground on her back. The crowd jeered behind her as she struggled to sit up, but Belos kicked her back down with his boot.

Her side screamed at her as she rolled, and she lay on her back in the dirt gasping for breath. Aletheia skidded towards the portal, leaving her unarmed. But behind her, the straps on her armor had loosened, and she felt ice-cold metal slide down her back. The blade.

Belos marched over to her, shifting his sword back into a staff and pointing it down threateningly at her. “Did you really think you could kill me here, demigod? I am their Emperor.”

Luz carefully adjusted the straps on her armor, feeling the dagger slide further down her shirt. With her back to the portal and her eyes to the crowd, nobody would have noticed the little action, especially since genuine agony ripped across her face.

She just needed one more little shimmy, and it was out.

“You come to my camp, antagonize my army, and you think I’ll just bow and cower?” Belos continued, and Luz looked up and met her brown eyes with his cold neon ones.

“I mean, I was kind of hoping you would.”

Belos growled, quickly losing his patience. He reached down and grabbed Luz by the strap of her chest plate, and Luz took that opportunity to shimmy one more time. With a satisfying plop, the knife hit the dirt behind her.

“You are every bit as loathingly arrogant as your father.”

It took everything Luz had to not scream in agony has Belos pressed further into her armor, and then into the wound. But with every last bit of strength she could muster, she leaned up towards his face.

“Do you want to hear a fun fact?”

“What?” For a second, Belos was completely taken aback, and Luz used that moment to reach behind her, gripping the hilt as tightly as she could.

“My dad wasn’t just the god of travelers and merchants,” Luz said, unable to keep the smile off her face. “He was also known as the divine trickster.”

And with all the force she could manage, Luz spun the dagger around and sunk it right into his chest.

[shireness-says]

Birthday fic recs: @welllpthisishappening

It was @welllpthisishappening​‘s birthday yesterday! Laura is consistently one of my favorite authors, and a dear friend to boot. So, for her birthday, I’d like to recommend some of her deep-cut, hidden gem fics - favorites of mine I think everyone should be reading all the time. Go read them and check out her seriously impressive fic page. The organization is downright inspiring.

Thank you for your friendship and your fics and your willingness to listen to me have a conniption about not-your-hockey-team, darling - I hope the next year gives you all the joy that you deserve!

Start Spreading the News

Emma Swan is just looking for something that’s hers. She’s fairly certain she’s found it in New York, with a group of friends and a good job and picture frames on her apartment walls. But then the past she’s spent so long trying to ignore shows up where she least expects to find it – wearing pinstripes in right field at Yankee Stadium.

More Famous Than A Yankee Can

He knows it’s not a dream. He’s had this dream before. Finding her again and talking to her again and wearing pinstripes. They usually aren’t all the same dream. So this has to be real. But the last place Killian Jones ever expected to see Emma Swan was while he was wearing those pinstripes. With her standing on the bleachers in Yankee Stadium.

I’ve read these fics three times this year. Maybe four. I love it every time - there’s romantic type miracles and pining and fate and I can’t resist it. It’s everything you need to cheer yourself up in these weird stressful times. Every time I read one these, I immediately have to go tell Laura that it’s So Good because I just can’t resist. That good.

What Used to Be Limes

Killian Jones is ready for his rookie season in the NHL. He's got a hell of a shot. An almost acceptable amount of confidence. And a roommate he doesn't want to check. Plus, his best friend. Who he's hopelessly in love with.

A Rooting Interest

Emma's only doing Ruby a favor. And playing bartender is kind of funy — especially when the guy in front of her keeps smiling and looking up how to make drinks. She doesn't want to make a fool of herself. That seems inevitable, though. Once he leaves the tip. Two tickets to a hockey game. And the good-looking guy from the bar turns out to be the star of the New York Rangers.

Look, obviously Laura has proved she’s the master of hockey fics with her Blue Line stuff. But! These are a great pair of hockey fics not from that ‘verse. Disaster rookies! Emma who doesn’t know a thing about hockey! Flirting galore! If you haven’t read these already - you need to get on that right away. And then join me in my quest to remind Laura that if she ever has hockey feelings that don’t fit into Blue Line, she could totally add on to these ‘verses and no one would complain. Or at least I wouldn’t.

Feeling As Good As Love

Emma is excited about this weekend. It's always good — this thing they do, with the house and the ocean and the friendship that seems to stand the test of time. But now, there's an added bonus. Because this year she and Killian aren't just coming to the house on the beach with that friendship moniker hanging over them. They're coming as a couple. A real couple. That kisses. Regularly. And Emma's excited about that too. She just didn't expect her friends not to believe her.

I am, admittedly, biased, because I all but demanded that Laura write this. But that’s only because it’s so up her alley, as demonstrated by the masterpiece that ensued. The banter! The cliches list! Emma’s righteous (and warranted) anger! It’s everything the prompt demanded and more than I could have imagined. Perfect.

In Case of Emergency, Call...

Killian Jones does several things on Thanksgiving: breaks his ankle, meets a very loud redhead in the ER, tells his best friend he loves her. None of them were part of his plan. The plan only involved cookies.

This is a little bit of an odd one - because Emma’s not even there for half the fic. But her presence and her absence and her impact is just so palpable. That pining, man! I live for that pining. The best kind of friends-to-lovers, with plenty of Killian and Ariel banter and a little dose of fake married because why not. What else could you ask for?

Gone the Way of the Dinosaurs

Emma doesn't entirely understand the town of Storybrooke. It is, apparently, the kind of place with story time at the library and spring festivals on Friday night and unfairly attractive people with blue eyes who know all the words to the dinosaur song her kid is also inexplicably singing. She doesn't understand the town of Storybrooke yet, but maybe Emma is willing to do a little research.

I love librarian!Killian. I love tiny!Henry. Put them together? I’m a sucker for it. It reads so believably, both for Emma and for Storybrooke. And I think Laura might have been channeling her own shoe collection, which I find so charming. And you can learn about dinosaurs! And what names they have! Read it in the name of paleontology. 

Wrap Around Your Dreams

Emma Swan is not a very good witch. She’s emotional and prone to immediate reactions and neither one of those things are currently helping her when the body count in Storybrooke is on the rise. And there’s far too much blood at each crime scene and far too much magic and Emma has no idea where to look next. So she does the almost human thing; she starts making a list. Of clues and ideas and the absolute desperate hope that the killer isn’t what she’s certain it absolutely has to be. The last thing she expects is for the notebook to start writing back.

This is a perfect Halloween-type fic. I love epistolary fics and pen pal fics, but I’ve never seen anything like this before or since. The idea of them reaching out across all kinds of magical barriers because fate just gets me, man. Plus, the suspense is absolutely palpable. And the ending! Perfect. Another of my regular rereads. 

All Was Golden In The Sky

Magic is dying. Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away. To New York City. And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

I was just enthralled the whole time this was posting. There were so many twists and turns, but everything still weaves together absolutely perfectly. Plus, canon has been adapted so well in this. I don’t even know how to start describing this fic - but trust me, you’ve got to read it. 

Out Of The Frying Pan

Emma Swan is only doing this for one reason, well, make that two. To get her show's numbers back up and, maybe, impress her son. She doesn't like admitting to that second one though. Killian Jones is doing this for absolutely, positively, just one reason. To expand his restaurant. And maybe get Regina off his back. So that's kind of two reasons. Neither one of them is doing a year-long Food Network all-star competition because they're celebrity chefs and there's not really any other choice. Of course not. And neither one of them is enjoying it because they maybe, kind of, sort of enjoy each other. That would be insane.

Ok, this one may not be that overlooked as much as it’s my FAVORITE THING ON THE PLANET. This is a perfect fic. Every time she posts another sequel one-/two-shot, my heart sings. It’s so good. The way Laura paints this competition, and lets everything grow over the course of weeks and month, is perfect - plus, there’s all the romance and Captain Cobra feels you could ever want. If you haven’t read this yet - Get On It Today.

Check out her fics on Tumblr and Ao3, and make sure to give her and them lots of love!